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hongjoongspoetry · 17 days ago

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A Love Written in Gold

Part 1 — The Debut

🦢 Summary: Dearest gentle readers, the much-anticipated season of debutantes has finally graced us, casting a spell of delightful nerves among our young ladies poised to conquer the glittering heights of society. As is tradition, a diamond amongst them has been selected to dazzle—oh, which lucky charm shall it be this year? Amidst a flurry of introductions and grand soirèes, let it be noted that the inaugural ball shall be hosted by the illustrious His Grace, the Duke of Beaumonte. But pray tell, who are those most peculiar gentlemen drawing all eyes with their striking features? And what delightful mischief lies in wait for the debutante of the Jeong Household and her charming commoner, behind the discreetly shut doors of the music room?

🦢 Pairing(s): Proletarian!Hongjoong x Noble!Reader, Duke!Seonghwa x Noble!Reader

🦢 Genres/Tropes: Bridgerton AU, Regency era, forbidden love

🦢 Warnings/Tags: no use of (Y/N), female reader, sexism, mentioned classism, explicit language, overprotective!Yunho, wholesome family dynamics, slight angst

🦢 Wordcount: 14.7K

🦢 Author's Note: Welcome to my second series!! Whi-hoooooo! I've been wanting to write a Bridgerton AU since s3 came out and what better than to make it a Hongjoong series. It was about time I did something for my bias lmaoo. Anyway, the tags are a bit vague and I'll update them as the chapters come out, so check them out with each update. A little fun thing I did. There are a few 🎼 emojis spread through out the chapter with songs I thought were fitting to the scenes, so if you want, listen while reading :) The following songs are in order:

Young and Beautiful, Vitamin String Quartet | We Are Young, Vitamin String Quartet | Positions, Jeremy Green | Chopin: Waltz No. 19 in A minor, Op. posth.

This is all fiction and not meant to represent the idols involved in any way or form. This work is NSFW and not appropriate for minors as it contains explicit scenes. Minors and ageless blogs refrain from reading this work!!!

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Winter prepared for its departure as spring eagerly waited by the door, a green blanket in hand and pockets full of overgrowing flowers. She was more than ready to wrap the world in a warm hug of vivid colors and greenery. Many ladies got ready for their first active participation in the social season, giving their parents, maids and butlers a handful of things to fret over. In one of the most respectable households of the ton, the Jeongs were arranging everything for their youngest to make her appearance in society as a débutante and help her search for the perfect eligible man.

“We must hurry! The carriages are outside,” Wooyoung announced and raked his hand through his combed hair, making it appear messy as if just risen out of bed.

Although being the second born of the late Viscount and Viscountess Jeong and possessing no title to his name, Wooyoung still dressed the part of an aristocrat. His double-breasted vest was a white creme color with a tad bit brighter dress shirt beneath, the light colors contrasted his dark features and he stood out as a star in a pitch black sky. A matching neck scarf rested around his neck and he occasionally tugged at it, complaining of the itchy and suffocating material that no one dared to alter, courtesy of it being his mother’s choice. His legs were tightly wrapped in a pair of black trousers, showcasing his glutes and muscles. The black tailcoat was yet to be worn, but he had no doubts it would hug his body in a delicate way to display his slim waist and make up for his lack of height.

Granted Wooyoung was not seeking a lady to wed, he would still arrive to gatherings wearing expensive pieces of clothing and jewelry and a dazzling smile that would make even the stubbornest of ladies swoon. Much as last year’s social season, Wooyoung planned on greeting the pretty debutants with a kiss to the back of their hands and — if feeling frisky — asking to sign their dance cards with a glint of mischief in his truffle colored eyes.

“Then someone should hasten our lovely sister, do you not agree, Brother?” Yunho, the current viscount and head of the household, suggested.

Unlike Wooyoung, Yunho was wearing darker schemes besides his white shirt and the pretty silver patterns on his thick vest. His tailcoat was darker than coal, but soft as feathers, made out of a velvet fabric indigent people had never set eyes on, much less dreamed of. The black scarf was neatly tucked beneath his vest and the elder showed no signs of irritation, he looked rather content and relaxed on the plush couch in the living room. Yunho’s long legs were decorated with black pants and extravagant leather boots reaching up to his knees.

The Jeong brothers did not look alike, from their varying facial characteristics to the height difference, anyone not aware of them sharing blood — they would be foolish not to know — would not believe they were nurtured by the same father and mother.

“What a splendid proposition, Brother, however, I do have to say she is far more civil in your company.”

“Stop speaking of your sister in that way,” their mother, Dowager Viscountess Ireum Lee, chastised and gently ran her palm along her beautiful pistachio green gown.

At first glance, the woman seemed to be a very serious and strict lady. Some even dared to compare her to a sly fox. Looking into her sharp and dark eyes would be the equivalent of staring into a void hole—dark, empty and cold. Her neatly braided, black hair and red-tainted lips were vivid against her bright complexion, and she was always shielded from the sun whether it was under an umbrella or a great tree. Despite her resting facade — claiming to be missing that motherly warmth newborns would yearn for — she could light up a room with her bright smile and soft-turned eyes. Her beauty was truly unmatched and no amount of makeup could make the other mamas appear nearly as pretty. It was no secret both Yunho and Wooyoung acquired their looks from her. Yunho with his cupid bow lip and Wooyoung’s wide cheekbones and sharp jaw.

“Although it is true we do not have time to idle. Let us fetch your sister.” The brothers followed their mother as ducklings padded after a hen, with haste and no further questions asked.

“Is she still not ready?” Yunho asked as the trio stopped before a great white opening, both of the doors closed and some shuffling noises coming from inside the youngest's room.

“It seems so, dear.”

“We do not have time, Mama. I should call for her.” As Wooyoung advanced forward, his hand stuck out to grasp the golden knob, Yunho quickly gripped the younger’s wrist.

“Did you not say she preferred my company over yours, little Brother?”

“That was before we risked running late, now if you would.” Wooyoung ripped his hand out of the gentle hold and gave a new try of entering.

A millimeter away before Wooyoung’s gloved fingers made contact again, the doors swung open and the trio simultaneously stepped back. Multiple maids rapidly left the room and soft as a feather, the youngest and only daughter of the Jeong family came into view. You were gorgeous. The epitome of breathtaking. The white dress cascaded down your body and reached the glossy tiles of the hallway. The details of the gown were subtle. The pair of golden roses professionally woven into the puffed sleeves and across the bosom accentuated your chest. No more frilly necklines or thick dresses to cover your figure. Your exposed neck was adorned with a golden necklace, an heirloom passed down in generations, from your late grandmother to your late mama, to you and eventually to your future daughter or daughter-in-law. It was a simple piece of jewelry and resembled branches of a tree holding pearls and clear diamonds instead of leaves. The maids responsible for your hair arranged it into an updo with many pins to not accidentally stray in your gently dolled-up face. A feather headpiece drew all the attention to itself, standing tall on your crown and flapping with each little movement of yours.

“Miss Lee!” Wooyoung teasingly remarked, “You sure do make a fine debutant, little Sister.”

Matching Wooyoung’s playfulness, you pinched the material of your dress between your silky-clad hands and curtsied with a faux smile, an expression you mastered over the years for this specific event.

“Thank you, Woo.” Facing the rest of the family, you bowed again, “Mother. Yunho.”

“You look lovely, my dear.” Ireum placed her hands on your shoulders and gave them an encouraging squeeze. “Your papa and mama would have been proud of you, treasure.”

“Do you really believe that?” The insecurity in your tone did not go misheard.

“I am more than certain.” She cupped your jaw and allowed her thumb to caress the apple of your cheek.

Your real mother passed during childbirth along with your younger brother, who did not live to take his first breath outside her womb. Three summers passed until your father, the late Viscount Lee, wed another lady with the promise of taking her two sons under his care. In exchange, Ireum raised you as her own daughter, but never with the intent of erasing the trail your mother left in the short three years she shared with you. There was only so much a three-year-old could remember and if it were not for the big portrait of your late parents hanging in your room, you would have forgotten the face of your biological mother. Despite the loss of your mama, you still felt the motherly love seep through the words and touches of Ireum.

The quirk of having a small family was that all members fit into one carriage and no one was rarely ever forgotten. Except for Wooyoung, who did the unthinkable just to escape the watchful eyes of Ireum in order to have some fun. Holding the title of the household, Yunho never stepped out of line and fulfilled his duty of keeping the family in good hands. You had what would probably be the easiest task; to stand and look pretty. It sounded boring at first, but the more you did not bring attention to yourself, the easier it was to slip under the radar of the ton.

That would all change today. Whilst the people of the ton woke up hours after the sun rose, the famished side of town was on their legs since before the bright star had peeked over the horizon. For them, it was nothing more than another day of hard work and bringing food to the table. Age and gender were two words that did not mean much besides giving character to their entities. The poor were thrust into work at a very young age — something families like the Jeongs could never imagine — and brought in a handful of pennies over the course of weeks. The cycle would repeat until driven into an early grave from either lung poisoning, exhaustion or starvation. Some would say it was unfair that the sole family you were born into could determine your whole life and others would argue otherwise, claiming life was formed by sheer strategy and the use of tools that were handed to you after birth.

Mister Choi would agree despite having more leaves and sticks in his boyish pockets than coins. Raised and almost born on the floor of his father’s pub, Mister Choi spent more time inside the beer-filled room than in their own house. He was a somewhat respected man, not by means of money, but by the reputation built through his greatest treasure, his pub. It was the reason behind the Choi’s survival through generations and the next owner in line was no one else but his first and only child, San. Mister Choi would be turning in his grave had he known what his offspring planned to do with his greatest treasure.

Far away from the flower populated streets filled with luxurious carriages, men and women dressed in eye-catching costumes, and magnificent architecture, a dingy space residing in a rundown building. The name decided by the great grandfather of Mister Choi was carved into the wooden sign hanging above the entrance, albeit reformed throughout the years. The moment the key was in the palms of San, the young man decided to change the complete interior. The Crescent was the pride and glory of the Choi bloodline and looking over the semi-full boxing club, San could not have imagined a better use of the previous pub.

“I do not get how you do this, I mean, you can not even see a speck of blood on my floorboards!” San exclaimed, bruised hands resting against his bare hips.

The male who was done scrubbing the wooden floor threw the dirtied rag over his shoulder and glanced up at the owner. San was a very handsome man. Sharp eyes, full rosy lips and prominent cheekbones. The black hair was parted down the middle with a few strands escaping and falling over his forehead. His most alluring feature were the dimples appearing with his dazzling smile, an attribute people would commit treason for. That was not all. Beside his captivating face, San’s body was that of a sculpture. The thin tank top did nothing to hide his broad shoulders and strong arms, and even brought forth his slim waist. The man had muscles in all the right places, courtesy of the daily exercise in his club blessing him with very hard abdominal muscles and firm buttocks. San was a work of art and there was no doubt in mind he would fit right in with the ton, if he only discarded that kindhearted personality.

“Lukewarm water and a lot of finger strength,” replied the worker, his pale hand coming up to wipe the sweat off his forehead.

“Remind me to give you a raise. You have helped me more than anyone and to you I am forever in debt.”

“The debt was paid off the moment you allowed me a space in your home, providing food on my plate and shelter over my head. Do not fret over such minor things, San. I do see you as family after all.”

“Good, because you are the closest I have to an older brother, Hongjoong.”

The first time San saw Hongjoong, they had yet to reach the age of puberty. The elder was a scrawny child by nature and stayed that way in his twenties as well. Thinking back to the olden days, not much about his appearance had changed except for the aging and looking part of a man and not a boy. His caramel colored hair was still untamed and reached the base of his neck while the front strands were cut so as not to fall in his line of sight. Hongjoong was a man of very delicate features; a small and pointy nose, a heart-shaped mouth and feline eyes in the prettiest shade of brown San had ever bestowed.

Hongjoong would have thrived in the life of a rich man, but that loose mouth of his would certainly land him in a heap of troubles. However, it did not matter as he was born with nothing. No title that would pay off all his troubles in life, no family with a great sum of money or greater achievement to inherit. Hongjoong was a mere man with a dream that would never be fulfilled. All the obstacles thrown in his life taught him to be grateful for what he had and not long for dreams out of his reach.

“I do believe we have cleaned up nicely for my cousin’s arrival. You can take a rest and write some of your poems and stories that you oh-so-desperately hide from me.”

The exhaustion settled over Hongjoong’s shoulders and he could not have been more happy to hear the word ‘rest’ leave San’s lips. They had been cleaning since stepping foot in the boxing club and all because of San’s wish the place be tidy for his cousin’s first visit.

He let out a sound the mix of a chuckle and cough. “They are music sheets, not stories and I am merely hiding them because they are yet to be finished.”

“You are telling me you have not even finished one piece of music over the course of how many years?”

“I am a perfectionist! You of all people should know that, San-ie.”

Prepared to tease the elder a little more, San threw an arm around him and lit up the room with his dimpled smile, but was interrupted as the door creaked open. In came a man appearing younger than Hongjoong and with a bigger value than the whole club and San’s apartment combined.

Judging by the unknown male's exquisite choice of clothes, Hongjoong would guess he belonged on the opposite side of town where they dined appetizers for lunch and drank champagne instead of water. Not a speck of dirt tainted his all-white suit, in fact, the only brown smudge on his whole appearance was his neatly parted hair to show his forehead. The stoic expression on his round face sent caution heedings through Hongjoong. Fearing he was there to cause ruckus — because why else would distinguished gentlemen stop by a boxing club funded by another poor man — Hongjoong hardened his gaze and balled his hands into fists. A gesture that would have him shunned out of every place in the whole town, no matter how poor or rich he may have been. As Hongjoong moved to greet him in an unfriendly manner, San’s sudden detachment from the caramel-haired man caught him off guard, but not nearly as much as the loud and warm greeting following seconds after.

“Little Cousin!”

San moved at the speed of a racing horse and disregarded the extortionate suit as he wrapped his bare and sweaty arms around the man, using enough power to lift him off the ground and spin them around. The man looked uncomfortable, but his features were not colored with a tinge of annoyance or anger, quite the opposite. He broke out in a smile, gummy teeth on display and eyes creasing as a cute giggle filled the spunky atmosphere. The threat Hongjoong created in his mind was nothing but an exaggeration. Instead of a Grizzly Bear, the man became a teddy.

“San, release me!”

“I cannot help it, Cousin, I have not seen you in ages!”

The cousin, Hongjoong had yet to put a name to, dusted off imaginary dirt and straightened the lapels of his suit. “It has not been ages, you always exaggerate. We met at Mama's funeral last season, although I do apologize for not interacting all too much with you.”

It sounded like a foolish thing to apologize for, but who was Hongjoong to question it? He had never been to a funeral and would most likely not live to witness one either. The first one would attend, he would be lying in the casket if he was lucky enough to afford one in the first place.

“Anyhow, that is not important now. I did not travel all the way here to reminisce of my last moments with Mama. I have a proposition for you, but before that will you not introduce me to your… comrade?”

Hongjoong looked as perplexed as San’s cousin sounded. He did not expect the young man to address him anywise and certainly not with a high regard. His mouth opened and closed continuously. The silence prolonged and Hongjoong awaited harsh words and a biting remark from the gentleman at his lack of answer, but all he received was a patient stare.

“Uh, right! Right. May I introduce my one and only trustworthy friend, Hongjoong? Hongjoong, this is Lord Choi, owner of Precious, the most well known pub industry in all of Scotland and currently expanding to England.”

“Just… Hongjoong?” The man nodded and Lord Choi sighed. “Very well then. As my cousin said, I am Lord Choi, but you can address me by my given name, Jongho. I am not all that keen on formalities, especially with friends, and a friend of my cousin is a friend of mine.”

Hongjoong stared at the Lord, at his new friend, who showed off his gummy pearls as if the man had promised him a house of gold and not just progressed past the formalities five seconds into their meeting.

“Now, back to what I was saying. The proposition, Cousin. His Grace is hosting the first ball of the season and I have been given the freedom to bring whomever I want.”

“And you decided to bring your dirt poor cousin because?”

“You know I have never liked these social gatherings, I cannot deal with mamas coming up trying to wed off their daughters. Matter of fact, you are invited too, Hongjoong.”

Jongho was full of surprises, Hongjoong concluded. Dressed in a proper suit and hair tidily combed, but he still whined as if a century old child. It was uncommon—in fact, it was very rare—to see an aristocrat be kind toward people the likes of Hongjoong and San. He could not count on his hands the number of times nobility shunned him for his mere existence. To have a Lord call him his friend and invite him to the first ball of the season was bound to leave him skeptical.

Hongjoong cleared his throat and wiped his clammy hands against his ripped bottoms. “Uh, my apologies, Lord Ch– Jongho, but I cannot attend… I do not have the means to finance an exquisite suit or carriage or, well anything to be frank.”

“The same goes for me, little cousin.” San slung his arm over Hongjoong’s shoulders and connected the sides of their heads. “Besides, who will tend the boxing club?”

Jongho broke out into another grin, shoulders up to his ears and his brown eyes squinting so hard one could believe San shared the funniest joke of the epoch. “You seem to forget yourself, cousin. I, Jongho, have enough money to free up the rest of your week and restock your wardrobe for the foreseeable future. For the both of you. Go and clean up while I make some arrangements for us. It is time to pay a visit to an old friend.” He firmly grabbed both men by their shoulders and guided them further into the boxing club.

Hongjoong was never one to back down from a good time full of food, sweets and excessive beverages, not to mention pretty ladies in frilly dresses. Going under the hot stream of water and changing into a new set of somewhat clean clothes, the three men took Jongho’s carriage to the supposed old friend. The representative colors of Kilmartin, blue azure and an argent shade of white, covered the carriage in swirls. The foreign palette was bound to make them stand out from the rest, like the cart passing by drenched in complete black and minimal designs of gold added on the outline and handels.

There was always a mild curiosity among the bystanders standing on the pavement, yet the blue and white colors managed to even catch the attention of the second-born Jeong, who himself was in a carriage going in the opposite direction. The rapid flicks of his wrist slowed down as he continuously peered out the window, his attention caught by something more important than his sister’s worry over her debut. Sweat coiled beneath your armpits and chest, and the air fanned with the help of Wooyoung did nothing to cool you down.

“Are there different ranks for certain carriages?”

You snatched the fan from Wooyoung’s hands and smacked it over his head. “Is that the most crucial thing to discuss right now, Brother? I am sweating like a pig and all you ask is the value of carriages? I have not heard one, ‘How are you, Sister? Can I help you, Sister?’ from you.”

“Will you two hush? The whole ton can hear your bickering and I am certain that will not heighten your reputation amongst them. What man fancies a lady who is ill mannered and what lady seeks out an aloof gentleman?”

The two youngest of the Jeong Household erupted into another fit of whines and complaints making Yunho’s attempt at calming them down futile. As the head of the family and viscount, he could handle all the duties that came with the roles, but aiding their mother with the growth and upbringing of his siblings was a far more complex task than anything he had battled before.

“I would not be deemed ill mannered if my brother could focus on the task at hand!”

“Aloof? Aloof?! What is so aloof about wanting to expand my knowledge?!”

Yunho sighed and leaned back against the plush seat, he could not listen to another second of pointing fingers and turned to his mother for help. The Dowager Viscountess chuckled gracefully, mouth shielded by her clothed hand and lips tightly sealed but not enough to hide the delighted sound. The struggle straining his features did not go unnoticed and she decided to interfere before his rich brown strands turned gray.

“Alright children, settle down!” Ireum took the fan out of your hand and resumed Wooyoung’s previous task. “Now, Yunho does have a talent for over exaggerating, my dears, but I do not agree with his claim. None of my children are ill mannered, maybe sharp-tongued and… on occasions rowdy, but still very demure.”

“But Mama!”

“No, buts Wooyoung dear, stop arguing and let us focus on your sister’s debut into high society.”

You straightened at the attention and raised your chin to the heavens. The pride set into every atom of your body and pulled at your lips until a triumphant smile lit up your face. There was no sweet victory as the one over your brothers. Your pleased look crumbled as the trotting horses slowed down and eventually stopped the whole carriage. The moment you had been dreaming of since little legs was upon you and it was equally scary as it was exciting. Walking through the doors of the royal court and being guided into a room with a dozen other ladies waiting to present made you realize how close you were to your dream. There was no retracing your steps to the life of a little girl anymore and while it sounded great, it also filled you with melancholy. Debuting meant entering a stage in life neither of your biological parents witnessed you in and closing the door on your childhood was to leave the memories of your late papa and mama. However, your mourning did not solely contain the passing of the late Viscount and Viscountess Lee, but also of the girlhood you would not face until your own daughter was brought to the world with an ear piercing cry.

Your brothers or any other male relatives were not allowed in the waiting room and were referred to accompany the remaining guests in the main hall. The girls in your vicinity were all clad the same, some were more nervous than others, but the tension was nonetheless high in the room. The worry of their appearances did not quiet down until the first girl was announced to step out. The remaining débutantes-in-waiting stopped adjusting their gowns and feathers and focused on being calm enough to not ruin the important walk that would determine their rank and value in the market. Out of everyone there, you wished for one person to appear. Mingi, the heir to the seventh Viscount Song, whom you had known since birth more or less. It was a shame only the primary family of each débutante could attend as it would bring you immense peace to have him there. To see his towering height, bright smile, and single crooked front tooth on display and mouthing encouraging words. Mingi’s presence alone would lift the suffocating spell you were under.

🎼 The chatter of the people outside moved in waves, raising and simmering out between presentations. As with many others, your name was eventually proclaimed on the other side of the door and the last ounce of concern sketched on your features evened out into a pleased expression. Your small courtesy smile was to catch everyone’s attention while your eyes would be the gems making them swoon. The announcer’s voice increased in volume as the doors parted, allowing the spectators to drink in the next débutante.

“...Presented by her mother, the Right Honorable, the Dowager Viscountess Lee!”

You took calm and collected steps, synchronizing them with Ireum’s who was half a step behind you, looking equally as mesmerizing and captivating as the day she debuted. The trick to these things, she had told you years ago, was to keep your head straight and posture upright, showcasing importance and elegance. You had been practicing the walk for ages. The amount of trashed books and shattered teapots stretched over a hundred, but they lived to serve their purpose in the end. Hushed whispers and looks filled with curiosity followed your moving forms. You immediately found the scrutinizing gaze of the Queen, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting. She was clad in the most exquisite dress you ever laid eyes upon and that spoke volumes as you had your own fair share of expensive silks tailored to fit your body like a glove. The mighty periwig adorning her small head took on the form of a rosebush and put everyone else’s to shame. It was so huge, you nearly missed the gleaming crown — delicate and small — on top, sparkling in the dim lights of the chandelier.

Somewhere in the crowd stood your brothers. Wooyoung with a proud smile and cheesing eyes while the older looked rather grim, not liking the idea of his baby sister turning into a woman. But underneath that hard exterior, warmth and happiness heaved a weight off his shoulders. A feeling akin to pride swelled in his chest just to see everyone’s surprised and amazed reactions. The Jeongs always knew how to leave an impression.

“Your sister does take after your mother, Lord Jeong.” A deep yet soft voice murmured next to him. Yunho looked away from you curtsying, the correction resting on his tongue dispersing into thin air as it landed on a familiar face.

“Your Grace, what a delightful surprise it is to meet you here.”

The Duke of Beaumonte, Seonghwa, looked as he sounded; rich and eloquent. His hair was long and black, falling as a blanket over his nape and tickling his collarbones. Most of his hair was neatly combed back, all but one piece of his fringe, which was styled to curl in front of his bare forehead. Not many gentlemen dared such a hairstyle, as the fear of appearing gruesome was more probable than winning a horse race, but Seonghwa was the exception. He did not cower for any challenge, even those involving fashion. From peculiar suits to eye-catching hairdos, he frequently introduced new styles into society and it was by virtue of his handsome features that it looked good. The long bridge of his nose, full raspberry-colored lips, prominent dark brows and a pair of mesmerizing eyes held a peculiar coldness, but in essence he carried a warmth strong enough to melt iron. The duke was a character born out of a fairy tale with the posture of a soldier and the brain of a scholar. Women dreamed of a worthy man the likes of Seonghwa and men were green with envy whenever his appearance was made.

Seonghwa chuckled, “I hope it is not that big of a surprise as I intend to find a wife this season.”

“Ah, that does explain your presence indeed and is that the reason behind hosting the first ball of the season, as well?”

Seonghwa pursed his lips, a futile attempt at covering the broad smile fighting to come forth. “You are still quick-witted, I see… Perhaps it is. A man has to assess his range of selection in some way, does he not?”

Yunho nodded, agreeing with the duke, but could not further comment on the matter as the Queen rose from her seat on the red throne, wordlessly silencing the entire hall. She stopped before you and put a finger beneath your chin, guiding you to stand straight. Ireum did not dare to move an inch from the uncomfortable crouched position and your brothers’ held their breaths as if one single intake of air would ruin the moment for you. The Queen’s icy demeanor was a stark contrast to the warmth emitting from her touch. Your heart nearly collapsed as she uttered one single word and blessed you with a tender peck to your forehead.

“Perfection.”

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, and your previously gracious smile fell into one of bewilderment instead. There was no higher honor than the praise of the royal house.

Viscount Jeong did not fathom how powerful of a tongue the Queen possessed. He did not manage to step foot outside the royal court without being hounded by at least a dozen eligible gentlemen, asking for a formal introduction to his sister while boasting about their gold mines in the Kingdom of Spain or studies in India. Yunho was overwhelmed and there was still a ball to attend. The interactions would not stop there, as the season had only just begun, but Yunho was already overthrown by a headache not even his finest flask of brandy could cure. As if that was not enough, another headache in disguise of his brother waltzed through the door of his study.

Wooyoung was dressed boldly that evening. The rich red of his tailored jacket was hard to stray away from and one would think he was one of the débutantes searching for a bachelor to court. It seemed to be a trademark for the Jeongs to have gold details carved into anything they touched as Wooyoung’s jacket was embroidered in that particular color. The rest of his suit was all black; slacks, dress shirt and shoes with his dark hair slicked back with stray strands falling over his forehead in a fashion-like manner. The younger was also freshly shaved and Yunho could feel the pinch of his strong cologne on the other end of the room.

“Oh, Brother! I was sent to fetch you by Mama; it is time to leave yet aga– Pray do tell, why are you not dressed?”

“I have been busy discarding letters asking for formal introductions to our sister. Would you believe me if I said there have been over ten so far?”

“Well, yes? Have you seen our sister? She is the most beautiful débutante of the lot! They would be foolish not to secure a formal introduction with her, especially when the competition is tight. Each word spoken is one step closer to joining the family, Brother.”

Yunho opened another letter from the big pile on his right. “As if I would let those deuces in the vicinity of our sister. That is a very distasteful approach, I must say… Letters? What do they take me for? A man who remembers every single face I come across… Just take a look at this!”

Dear lord Jeong,

I pray this letter finds you in excellent health and high spirits.

I shall be curt and consistent in my writing. The news of Miss Lee making her debut in society has captivated all of London and I, too, find myself among the gentlemen bewitched by her beauty. Though I am not the first nor the last to seek you out in regard to Miss Lee, the urgency of my sentiments outweighs my concern for the multitude of letters that clutter your study.

It is said Miss Lee’s grace and elegance surpass the high expectations of Her Majesty. Whispers swirl the ton that Miss Lee has secured the esteemed title of the Diamond of the First Water, and I must confess, it is indeed quite fitting, rendering her all the more desirable. As you well know, Miss Lee embodies a kindness and warmth unmatched by her fellow débutantes and is a great trait for nurturing offsprings, a prospect with which I wrestle most ardently. The gentleness and affectionate nature of Miss Lee is to be guarded and protected from the vile eyes of the inappropriate gentlemen and as a frequent patron of the pugilistic club, I stand ready to defend her purity. This, I give you my word for.

Each new piece of information adds admiration to her character and one cannot help, but ponder what further attributes Miss Lee may possess. I am but an intrigued gentleman who marvels at Miss Lee’s mere existence and I harbor a desire to peruse the remaining chapters of her story.

It would be my utmost privilege to make the acquaintance of Miss Lee. Might we arrange an introduction at His Grace the Duke of Beaumonte’s ball to deliberate upon a potential courtship?

Yours truly–

The paper was torn to bits before Wooyoung could catch the name of the sender. Although he had to agree the choice of words was improbable, he could argue Yunho’s protectiveness was the main reason as to why none of the letters were approved either. Finding you a possible suitor would be harder than anticipated if Yunho did not let up on his hostility, and as your other brother, Wooyoung made it his mission to help you.

“Perhaps I could help you look through the letters after the ball, but it is best you give it a rest now and get dressed, Brother. I doubt Mama would be delighted to know her eldest is the last to be ready considering your title.”

Heeding his words, Yunho slid the rest of the envelopes over the desk and into his first drawer before disappearing into his bedroom. A similar suit jacket to Wooyoung’s hung over his wardrobe, ironed and ready to be put on along with the rest of his attire. It seemed everyone in the Jeong household was to dress in the colors of love, passion, and anger. The guests and hosts attending the balls Yunho was invited to were usually clad in mild colors and he had yet to witness someone come in a starker hue of red, green or blue. He was well aware of his mother’s schemes. You already garnered enough attention with the simple flick of the Queen’s wrist, and Ireum was a smart woman for playing further into that act. Keeping the curious flame of the ton alive by giving you the most breathtaking dresses the people were going to see. Nothing was to halt Ireum from finding her daughter a perfect suitor, with or without the viscount’s permission.

🎼 Descending down the few steps of the carriage, you held a fair amount of your gown while the other hand was clutching Wooyoung’s open palm. The Jeong family was neither early nor late, although it did not matter whichever because people sought after your arrival. Everyone wanted to catch a glimpse of the débutante evoking a pleased reaction from the Queen. They wanted to see for themselves if your beauty was truly unmatched.

Yunho was the first to exit the carriage followed by Ireum, Wooyoung and lastly you. After your feet met the ground again, Wooyoung delicately passed you onto Yunho. Entering high society meant replacing your simple ballerinas with low-heeled shoes, something you had yet to grow accustomed to.

“Please, do not let go of me,” you whispered and held tightly onto Yunho’s bicep.

“I do not dare dream of it, Sister. In fact, you will not leave my sight this wonderful evening at all.”

Yunho met the eyes of a dozen lust filled men, some of whom could not even keep their tongues from straying past their lips. These were supposed to be chivalrous gentlemen, he thought and scoffed. It was no doubt the red attire — besides your beauty — was making them act ungraciously. Your gown was lengthy and stuck to your waist perfectly, revealing your ample bosom and collarbones. A ruby and gold amulet was sown into the middle of the neckline and you were certain people would not be able to decide what to look at more, your cleavage or the pretty gem. You absolutely loved the color, a deep red reminding you of the stunning roses growing outside your windows or the fresh cherries that were soon in season. The rest of the fabric hung loosely around your legs, granting you the freedom to move more steadily without the fear of falling over. Your shoulders were covered and bejeweled with rosettes and pearls matching those around your neck and ears. To shield you from the summer breeze, the modiste had gifted you a knitted cardigan that you looped your arms through. Ireum insisted on doing your hair as she had done so for many years and learned to style it the way you loved it.

Crossing the short walk to the entrance of Park Manors, you were in awe at the beauty of it all. Disregarding the decorations, the inside was not much different from your own residence; spacious, tiled flooring and high ceilings, a few paintings and statues to liven up the place, even a few flower pots. But as Seonghwa was hosting the season’s opening ball, he made sure to enrich the place with the most outstanding decorations the ton would see. Big hydrangea bushes were planted by the stairs, the different shades of lavender, violet and purple continuously wrapping around the railings and leading the people through the mansion. The walls were a beautiful tapestry of cream white that gave much space to work with any colors the duke wished for, and by the look of the interior, he had chosen all the hues falling under the category purple. Following the stream of people, you and Yunho found yourself standing in the main hall, a big space leaving room for both dancing, socializing and tasting the savory pastries on the sides.

“This is wonderful,” you said under your breath and kept your eyes on the enormous chandelier suspended in the center of the ceiling. Under the lightning ornate was an orchestra stationed, already playing a pleasant melody as the guests strolled in one after another.

Yunho hummed in reply and led you to stand by one of the many windows draped over with a lilac curtain. It seemed to be the safest place for the time being, squashed between him and Ireum, whilst your other brother had already managed to snag a glass of champagne and a tart of some kind.

“I do not appreciate the staring, mother.”

“It is expected, my dear,” Ireum answered, completely overlooking Yunho’s unease. She gave your elbow a soft squeeze of comfort. “We shall let them come to you, my ruby.”

As the music took a quick turn from a mellow to a more festive tune, the gentlemen around you pursued the débutantes for a dance. You perked up at the thought of being asked to dance and could nearly not contain your excitement. A suitor of sturdy height and dark hair had kept his eye on you since your arrival and mustered up the courage to advance with the aid of a much older woman you recognized as Lady Kang. She bowed, which all three of you returned.

“Lady Kang, good evening,” Ireum greeted and smiled politely.

“Good evening, Lady Lee, Miss Lee and Lord Jeong. I believe you have not yet met my nephew, Lord Yoon. Nephew, this is Miss Lee, Lady Lee and Lord Jeong.”

“It is my pleasure.”

“Likewise,” you replied and smiled charmingly. He did not look bad, not at all. His suit was elegant too, and he had a cute pair of eyes, very warm and welcoming.

Yunho, being overly observant and on edge since stepping foot in the Park estate, acted with haste. “Lord Yoon, is it not? I believe I do find your name familiar… Ah, right! You are familiar with the fencing club, correct?”

“Very much indeed, Lord Jeong.”

“It is a shame you have not visited in quite some time… Does it perhaps have to do with your failed payment issue? Or was it for acting unruly after conceiving one too many drinks?”

Despite the festive melody surrounding the two families, the atmosphere had thickened at Yunho’s revelation. Lord Yoon was left gaping with red cheeks giving your dress a run for its money as you took a turn about the room, arm hooked with Yunho’s. Ireum was left to deal with the stunt her eldest had caused, apologizing for Yunho’s curt tongue.

“I did not realize…” You began and glanced down at the shiny floor to hide the embarrassment tinting your cheeks.

“It is not easy, dear Sister. But that is precisely why I am here… and Wooyoung too, but we shall not rely all that much on him as of now.”

Yunho steered you in the direction of Wooyoung still standing by the treats, passing all the mamas and débutantes swooning at his presence, not indulging in them for a fraction of a second. Yunho was not interested in courting a lady and would not do so in the vast future either, he had too much on his plate to seek out a perfect candidate to be his wife! You were his main priority now and God help him if you landed in the hands of someone unworthy, like Lord Yoon, for instance. Creasing and plastering on an overly wide smile, you and Yunho walked past the entrance, missing the arrival of three very handsome gentlemen who stole the attention of every lady inside, single as well as married.

Hongjoong was not used to being under the spotlight. No one would think twice to look at him, let alone whisper about his handsome looks and wish he would ask them up on a dance. Then again, this was not his setting at all. Fancy suits, pretty ladies and interiors worth a sum he did not dare to imagine. At least the music was to his taste, he thought and mentally applauded the orchestra for their skilled fingers managing to handle the instruments correctly. Of course they would, they had all the means for it. Envy climbed up his back and threatened to seep into his bones, but the firm weight of San’s hand on his shoulder brought him out of the jealous haze.

“This is…”

“I know. It is rather overwhelming,” Hongjoong admitted and nervously caressed the front of his white vest. His whole attire was brand new, a little something whisked together by the ton’s modist — a sweet and peculiar man with kind eyes and a soft spoken tone. They were lucky Jongho’s social circle was quite grand otherwise they would have never made it past the gates of Park residency, let alone see the shimmering insides of chandeliers and diamond ornaments.

“Brothers,” Jongho’s deep yet smooth voice called for their attention. How and when he managed to obtain two glasses of champagne was beyond Hongjoong, but the proletariat in disguise did not care as he grabbed the stem of the overly light champagne flute. “Let us be entitled gentlemen for the night.”

The statement was ironic, if something. Out of the three, Jongho was already a gentleman, but the aspiring musician did not correct him. If the owner of Precious wanted to play pretend, then Hongjoong was going to display the best act of his life.

He smiled, the corners of his mouth sharp and his eyes playful as he clinked the edge of his glass with the others, “Let us.”

The intrigued gazes of the remaining guests were not as overwhelming as Hongjoong first thought. After some time, he, along with the Chois, blended in with the rest of the crowd. They stood a bit from the dessert table and snickered at the aristocats under the guise of looking at the sweets. Hongjoong understood why Jongho chose to not socialize with them. Everything they did, from talking to simply existing, was pretentious.

“Do you do this often?” He eventually asked.

“Laugh at the upper class? Yes.”

“No, I meant this.” Hongjoong gestured to the ballroom. “Attend balls and other events.”

“Ah… Well, not precisely. Although I am an Earl, Hongjoong, it does not grant me invites to every social gathering. I am here merely because I am an acquaintance of the host.”

“Where is the man of the hour, anyway? Should the host, I do not know, maybe tend to his duties?”

“His Grace is full of surprises. Everything he does is unexpected. Who knows, perhaps he will not even show, but I do doubt that. It is said he is intending to marry this season.”

Another entitled prick added to Hongjoong’s never-ending list of arrogant nobles. Sipping on the bubbly champagne that left a sour taste on his tongue, he watched as a new round of waltz lured the gentlemen to the waiting ladies. Soon enough the room was in full swing and truthfully, it was making him dizzy. All the spinning and changing partners and maintaining the beat—what an exhausting activity. The people standing on the sidelines, much like Hongjoong, enjoyed the festivities of the ball and he wondered if they had nothing better to do than eat sugary treats, gossip and fantasize about romantic endeavors. Not that he could be one to complain, his free time was spent writing poems and music sheets, more precisely piano scores.

🎼 As the current round of dancing came to an end, the orchestra stopped their performance, making everyone turn their heads in confusion. Their questions were answered as a pair of white doors separated and someone of high status, Hongjoong presumed, entered through simultaneously as the violinists of the orchestra drew their bow across the strings of the instrument. He was mid-sip when the whole room erupted in gasps and murmurs of awe, startling him and having a gulp of bubbly champagne slip into the wrong pipe. Throwing a hand over his mouth to lessen the violent coughs, his eyes widened to the size of the duke’s saucers as they fell on an elegant man knocking the wind out of everyone. It did not matter how well-dressed Hongjoong was or what kind of attire the modiste brought out, no one could match up against–

“His Grace the Duke of Beaumonte!”

Hongjoong could not believe what he was seeing. The duke was simply a flower and every lady, along with their mama, were bees eagerly waiting to get a taste of his pollen. Loyal to the theme, he decided to dress in a velvet suit the color of moonvistas and wisterias. The white damask pattern on the vest was divine and matched his cravat and gloves. Every corner of the room erupted with ‘Your Grace’ as the man passed them, exchanging polite smiles, but not lingering any longer than necessary. What a presumptuous bastard, Hongjoong thought and masked his disgusted scoff with another cough.

The hundred pairs of eyes burned into the body of the duke, never letting him out of their sight, but Hongjoong could not bother to keep looking at him. The host was vexing the green monster inside of him by existing. It was incredible how the toss of a coin pre-birth could determine the outcome for the rest of one’s life. The title was passed down to the duke because of the time and place of his birth. That could have been Hongjoong, San or even Jongho had they come out of the duke’s mother instead.

“Perhaps we should greet His Grace?” San suggested and adjusted his cravat.

“You really believe that would be a wise thing to do? I mean, those hounding him are mainly ladies. What socializing topic could we have to offer him? Perhaps indulge him in your boxing club or– Oh, I know, I can share some of my work and see if he will hire me as a pianist!” The sarcasm did not go misheard and San deflated at the hostility lacing Hongjoong’s voice. The elder quickly regretted his harsh words and patted his friend on the back. “I am deeply sorry, San. That was unjust of me.”

“All is well. It was a foolish suggestion anyway.”

Before Hongjoong could reprimand him for his chastising demeanor, Jongho cleared his throat. “I could formally introduce you. I am quite close to His Grace, after all.”

“You never told me of your connections with a duke?!” San whisper-yelled into his cousin’s ear. “Now you must introduce us, see it as your payment for being dishonest.”

Sighing, Hongjoong replaced his empty glass with another full one. If he was going to turn his nobility act up a notch, he would need more alcohol in his system. Mimicking Jongho’s stance, Hongjoong and San straightened their postures and formed their expressions to make it seem as if they were of important background, all while feigning joy from attending the event. Despite being the shortest of the trio — courtesy of Hongjoong’s heeled shoes making him a few inches taller — Jongho took the lead and maneuvered through the sea of people.

“Your Grace!” He called and the swarm of ladies gathered around the duke dispersed with annoyance dragging their features.

The stoic expression of the duke lit up brighter than the chandelier above his head. “Jongho! I am delighted you could come!” The men sealed the greeting with a firm handshake, both sporting wide smiles and stars glinting in their eyes. It was one thing to drop formalities with an underdog, but to be on first name-basis with a duke was so foreign to Hongjoong’s ears.

“I hope Spain has treated you well?”

“Certainly it has. Very beautiful weather and polite people. I wish to return after the social season… Possibly with my future wife if everything goes as planned.”

“And I am sure it will. You are the Duke of Beaumonte after all, it should not be a harder task than the piles of paperwork you have worked through in your life.”

Seonghwa let out a hearty laugh. “No, it should not, but I do want a genuine lady and not someone who is after my title. Perhaps, if I am bold enough, I may even hope for a love match.”

“I would not put it past you, Park. Anything can happen while the season is still in bloom.” Jongho winked and sipped on the champagne. The clearing of San’s throat diverted the conversation to the pair standing slightly behind Jongho. “Yes, of course. Your Grace, may I introduce my cousin, San, and our very good friend, Hongjoong."

“Well, gentlemen, I hope the evening is up to your taste.”

“It very much is! I adore the theme and colors of the decorations, it is very soft and not flamboyant as most balls are,” San admitted and although he did not have anything to compare it to, he was genuine with his compliment.

“Thank you! I deemed it most fitting to decorate everything in my favorite color, as you may have noticed on my suit.”

“Yes! A very el–”

“If you will excuse me for a moment, I need to use the restroom,” Hongjoong interrupted. The duke had not done anything particular to upset him, he was simply not in the setting to discuss the elements of the interior while he would later return to his rundown bedroom in the basement of San’s boxing club.

“Of course. Take left in the hall followed by the second turn on your right, continue on the path and turn on the first left, and you shall find the restrooms. Do not worry if you get lost on your way, there are servants and guards roaming the halls so feel free to ask for directions.”

All Hongjoong heard was, ‘Do what you want as long as you do not get caught.’ With his disappearance, the duke excused himself for a moment and took a turn around the room. It was lovely seeing familiar and genuine faces, not just people showing up out of curiosity or interest for Seonghwa’s business. Jongho was one of the few nobility he could stand and actually enjoy the company of without fearing possible ulterior motives.

You bowed to your dancing partner, an Earl you could not bother to remember his righteous piece of land, and returned to the safety of Yunho.

“Did he step on your toes?”

“No, Brother.”

“Then why did you make such a horrid face mid-dance?”

You contemplated whether to share the fragment of conversation between you and Lord Emberstorm that pulled on the corners of your mouth, estimating how furious Yunho would be after hearing what distasteful words stumbled out of the Lord’s mouth. Deciding to keep it a secret for you to bear and your diary to hear, you offered a bright smile and averted the topic elsewhere.

“I am quite parched, Brother. If you will excuse me–”

An imitation of a cough halted you mid sentence, and you hastily turned around, expecting to be met with another request for a dance. What you did not expect to see was–

“Mister Song!” If it were not for the public setting, you would have your arms wrapped around the gentleman’s neck and cheek mushed against his. Instead, you settled for a simple nod of your head and a foot of space between your bodies.

“Miss Lee, what a blessing to stumble upon you here.” The underlying tone of amusement did not go unheard.

“Certainly it is, Mister Song. Have you finally come out of your cocoon to find the perfect eligible lady or are you still running from them?”

“The world would not be spinning if I was intending to marry.”

You broke out in a fit of giggles, uncaring for the weird stares and whispers set off around you. At the end of the day, everyone dear to you knew of your and Mingi’s sturdy friendship. You harbored a love that was frowned upon considering your closeness despite being of opposite genders.

There was a point in your lives where both pairs of parents considered Mingi to be a perfect suitor and you to make a wonderful wife. You were perhaps five years of age and they considered the blooming friendship to grow past the platonic stage and into something more romantic, but with your father’s passing and Yunho taking over the role as viscount, your brother abolished the arrangement. The Songs did not take kindly to that and nearly burned the bridge you and Mingi built since childhood. Yet more than a handful of years later and you were still as close as ever. Besides, Mingi was not like the other boys you knew of. He was kind and soft and genuine, despite his big build and long legs always making him the most fearsome in the room, he could never spread evil onto anybody, even if he tried to. Mingi was the purest form of life you had ever seen and you could not understand what others saw in him to picture anything, but a shield of comfort and warmth.

The idea Mingi proposed after your thirteenth birthday — that if neither of you were married after your twenty-fifth year alive, you would marry each other mainly for the purpose of survival and an easy life — was proof of his kind nature and good willed heart. Though, to say you were appalled was an understatement. You immediately declined his proposition despite him providing you with a further explanation. It was first when he revealed the secret tucked far away in his chest, hidden behind his many ribs and lungs, and locked in the depths of his pumping heart, with the thought that it shall never see daylight that you allowed him to speak. In the end, perhaps you only agreed to it because he admitted you were the only woman he could consider himself to marry. The pact was sealed with a handshake and your promise to keep secrecy until soil covered your putrefying body.

A love with Mingi was not horrifying compared to a long life with a stranger because a love with Mingi could never go beyond that of a friendship as he did not fancy women.

“Mister Song.” Yunho stepped out from his place behind you, arms behind his back and a soft smile on his cupid lips.

“Luh… Lo– Lord Je… Uhm! Lord Jeong,” Mingi stuttered out a response. All of the blood in his body gathered beneath the skin of his cheeks as if the sun kissed him in the morning and left him cursed for all of eternity. It was painful to witness, but it was even harder to watch as your brother was oblivious to the flushed mess standing before him, barely keeping his wits together.

“I admire your suit. You shine everyone else down.”

Mingi’s eyes were so devoid of expression you could see the light reflecting in them as he held Lord Jeong's gaze, then glanced down at his clothes and back up at Yunho. Could it be that the viscount was indeed attempting a most audacious flirtation?

“What?”

Yunho chuckled at his dumbfoundedness and had to cover his mouth to avoid garnering too much attention from the people around them. He and Mingi were nothing more than acquaintances tied together through you. They never had the opportunity or perhaps interest to form a friendship and it was mainly because of their different ranks in society. While Yunho became a viscount at an unimaginable young age, Mingi was still in line for the title and had no real task beside scouting his father and gathering as much information as possible. Mingi was undoubtedly still a child in Yunho’s mind and the thought was bitter on his tongue, like the coffee grounded from the beans imported from India.

The elder said nothing more. He pressed his lips into a taunting smirk, eyes relaxed and focused on Mingi despite everything moving around them in a haste enough to have their heads spinning of nausea.

Sensing the air thicken and turn warmer around the men, you gingerly moved without disturbing their quiet conversation conveyed through the windows of their souls. It was not encouraged to venture into an event without a chaperone as whispers quickly traveled around the ton, especially concerning a lady who made her debut not twenty-four hours ago. Walking with your head still on the tall pair, you did not see the figure standing in your way until a collision occurred.

“Pardon me–” The words died in your throat as icy eyes belonging to no other than the duke cut into your core. Scrambling to restore your dignity, you swallowed the thick clump of anxiety and sputtered out an apology. Meeting the duke by carelessly bumping into him on the first ball of the season was not on your agenda. Making a fool of yourself was certainly not an achievement you fought to attain either. “Your Grace, pardon me for my inattentive behavior!”

A hum, dare you say not of disgust, reached your ears. You looked up and came to view with a dazzling smile that spread an assuring warmth through your body. The fear sticking its claws into your back melted and you straightened back up again.

“It is quite alright, Miss…?”

“Ah…" You curtsied perfectly, "Miss Lee, sister of Viscount Jeong.”

It may have been the stark light of the chandelier or one of the many cherry tarts you consumed through the night, but you were certain a spark of recognition flashed across his face. You would not name it eerie, but it was on the edge of being unsettling how long he was staring at you. On cue, the orchestra played another song and people gathered in pairs to participate in the dance. Seonghwa cleared his throat and let his palm face the ceiling, steady and determined. Everyone kept their sights on the duke, and as he was standing in front of you, a promising position that could only mean one thing, it made you be in their center of attention too. A sudden dread settled in the pit of your stomach. Taking a quick glance around the room, you meet the burning glares of mamas and their daughters, as well as the disappointed looks of various gentlemen. The feeling of being perceived was uncommon and your thoughts simmered and eventually began bubbling erratically with questions of what-ifs. You were ready to take your leave, to excuse yourself and run to a place secluded from everyone and their prying eyes and judging whispers.

“Miss Lee,” Seonghwa started and brought forth a pencil from his breast pocket. You were by no means a fortune teller, but there was no doubt in your mind he was going to ask you for a dance. The question leaving his mouth seconds after made you consider opening a magic shop on the other side of London. “May I have this dance?”

If Yunho was anywhere near you and not distracted by Mingi’s cute, rambling mess, he would have pushed you straight into the duke’s arms. To your relief, Yunho was occupied with Mingi’s questions about being a viscount to even consider what his dear sister was up to. The consent was expected to roll off your tongue and disappoint the gentleman, but anger the ladies.

“You must excuse me, Your Grace! I seem to hear my brothers calling for me!”

Your legs moved faster than your sight, and you nearly bumped into an elderly couple. Flustered and sweaty, you whispered out a hasty apology and ran toward a room you deemed to have the least amount of people in it. Seonghwa managed to utter as much as a breath before you were gone, lost between the sea of people and walking in the opposite direction of your brother. While he was supposed to feel irrevocable annoyance at your dishonesty, he could not stop the amused smile from lingering on his face. You were quite a peculiar lady, he thought and exhaled a strong gust of wind. If the duke was charmed by your beauty earlier that day, he was more than intrigued now.

Running around unchaperoned on your first night as an eligible woman was not appreciated by the mamas standing uncomfortably close to their sons. Their judgmental glares stemmed from a place deep within, from a place of concern over what kind of woman their sons would take interest in. It said plenty to see you alone, neither of the Jeong brothers nor that mother of yours that married twice by your side. They do say the apple does not fall far from the tree. No one wanted to welcome a woman carrying the curse of death in her purse with open arms only to later bury their son six feet underground.

Out of respect for your family’s name and honor, but also to protect your own feelings, you stumbled up the big beautiful staircase by the entrance and turned left and right until you were alone with the walls and striking interior to keep you company. If Yunho got a whim of what you were doing, he would be beyond furious. Instead of socializing downstairs, you opted to hide out in one of the many rooms upstairs. You could already hear his patronizing voice in the back of your mind, asking you how you thought to be courted if you were out of sight for the majority of the night. Would you expect a suitor to fall through your bedroom ceiling?

🎼 Yunho’s nagging came to an end as a faint melody filled the silent hallway and sailed your thoughts elsewhere. Caught in its waves, you followed the mellifluous notes. If you were a sailor, then the player was a siren guiding you to your demise with their lulling melody. The further you walked, the louder the sound became and you recognized it as piano notes. Each press of their fingers on the keys was a chord striking along with your heart and your own fingers itched to dance along the white and black surface. The long hallway led to many different rooms, all of them shut except one with its door ajar and a string of light cutting across the tiled floor.

You moved slowly, afraid to accidentally touch the door or disturb the mystery musician, and peeked through the tight opening. Out of all the impressive things you had witnessed that evening, this room would forever be engraved in your memories. In the center of the room by the big window sat a man in front of a dark oak piano, breathing life into the silence. All you could see was his back, a suit the color of snow, and caramel hair reaching his shoulder blades. What a peculiar style for a gentleman, you thought.

Instruments were placed into every nook and cranny of the room. Guitars, violins, cellos, the pianoforte. This was everything you could ever ask for. You were not aware of His Grace‘s interest in music, perhaps your brother could formally introduce you to the duke later. Looking past the expensive equipment, you took in the room for what it was. The walls were a deep red contrasted by the champagne-carved details on the tapestry and rosewood furniture filled the room, everything from bookshelves to uncomfortable-looking desks and chairs, even a few sofas here and there. As every room of the Park manor seemed to have, even this one was lit up by a chandelier — albeit smaller than the one in the main hall — in the center, right above the pianist.

He was on the last segment of the melody and you slipped into the room quiet as a mouse stealing cheese from the pantry, but stayed close to the door where the man could not see you until he had turned around. The song was beautiful, far better than anything created by the professional orchestra downstairs. This man was a proficient player and you wondered if you too could have been this talented if your mother had not established the foolish rule in the Jeong Household.

As the man pressed his fingers on the keys and let them linger until the last notes vanished to silence, your feet got caught on the end of your dress, sending you tumbling forward. Blessed be the chair in your way as it saved you from falling in front of the pianist. The screech of its legs was so thunderous and sudden that it had the man jumping from his seat as if physically burned by the keyboard. The clash of your eyes froze you in place. Not only was his playing enchanting, but his appearance deserved a place amongst the many portraits hanging on the walls. The pianist you had yet to learn the name of was the most handsome man in all of London and you believed he even challenged the duke for his looks. The silence stretched on and your face burned hotter than the fireplace in your living room. Upholding your image, you brought forth your hand and cleared your throat just enough for you to hear.

“Eh– Excuse my intrusiveness, Mr…!”

Despite the fear swimming in his eyes and his heart thumping louder than the music downstairs, Hongjoong schooled his expression into that of a relaxed man. You did not seem to have any ill intentions in mind, but he could not take his chances. For all he knew, you could be of great relation with the duke and have him arrested for trespassing. His music playing was not meant for anyone to hear or see. He did not think anyone would be as foolish or brave as him to explore the second floor in spite of it being a restricted area for the evening. Hongjoong hid his sweaty palms in the smooth pockets of his trousers and slipped on a — hopefully — charming smile.

“You may call me Hongjoong.”

An unchaperoned lady in the presence of an eligible man in a secluded area far from the party downstairs was a risk you could pay for the rest of your life. A barque of frailty, cyprian, doxy, a light-skirt were only some of the vile words that came to life anytime Ireum stepped out of the confines of your home after the passing of your papa and you wished not to know what insults you would be addressed with. Although you did not witness it, you knew it weighed heavily on her. To hear the other mamas speak poorly of her and criticize her parenting, all for being brave enough to search for another love. It was unfair. Ireum’s past was fresh in your memory, but apparently you gave it no heed as you did not run from the man standing in front of you, his hair wild and uncommon and eyes carrying a gleam of adventure. To call a stranger by his name was no better than shaking hands with the devil and your brother would have your head for it, but what Yunho did not know could not harm him.

Pulling your lips into a polite smile, you scribbled your name on the imaginary paper and handed it back to the red figure with sharp horns and a pointy tail. “It is a great pleasure to meet you, Huh–” You cleared your throat and ignored the flare of your cheeks. “Hongjoong. As I mentioned, I apologize for interrupting. You play a divine tune on the pianoforte.”

Hongjoong turned scarlet at the compliment. Praise was foreign to his ears. Yes, he was constantly showered with love and gratitude from San, but it could not be compared to hearing the words come from a pretty lady of presumed high status.

“It is alright… Thank you, Miss–”

“Miss Lee. You may perhaps have heard of me, I am the sister of Viscount Jeong.”

It was no surprise all members of the ton were the same, they bled arrogance more than anything else. How pompous of you to think he would know of your name or origin, if only you would have known how many foreign faces Hongjoong had set eyes on. His lips set into a thin line and the fear swimming in his eyes was swallowed by sheer annoyance. “I cannot say I have… To be frank, I am not from this part of the country, nor am I familiar with the duke either.”

“Oh…” You squeaked, only then realizing how improper that sounded. “Well, please, pardon me for my pretentiousness. It was quite naive of me to assume such a thing.”

In the span of less than five minutes, you managed to surprise Hongjoong three times. The simmering emotion threatening to bubble over calmed within him and he did not understand why. Perhaps it was your sincere apology or the way you cowered in on yourself, or it was simply Hongjoong’s mind taking pity on pretty, young girls. Nonetheless, he could see himself on the same podium as the gentlemen in the longhats chatting shit and sipping wine while doing nothing but sit on their rears all day. He was in the vicinity of a lady for all of five minutes and he already managed to sour the mood. Noticing you had not budged from your spot since entering the room and began fiddling with your fingers, he decided to play nice for once. Who knew, maybe it would bring him good fortune?

“Are you familiar with the pianoforte?”

“Hm?”

He jutted his thumb out over his shoulder. “The pianoforte? Do you play it?”

The smile taking over your features could be described as the sun on a winter morning doing little to warm the earth, but enough to brighten the cold season. “Not precise, but I was very keen on learning it.”

A caramel brow shot up. You were? When did you manage to find and lose the interest in learning the piano? Musicians were one of the few who kept their hobbies alive for most of their lives. Not that Hongjoong had much knowledge on the way things worked in the ton, but was it not better for a lady to have more talents for a better chance of getting married?

“And it is safe to assume the interest died… because?”

“It is quite the story.”

“I believe we have time.”

You heaved in a sigh and ran your palm along the front of your dress. “My papa had a big love for music and I, wanting to be just like him, harbored that same passion… He passed shortly after my seventh birthday and never got around to teach me…” You avoided Hongjoong’s heated gaze by bouncing your eyes all around the room. “The piano was a means for me to stay connected to him, but the melodies became unbearable for my mother. It brought her great pain just to see it in the common room every day. So… she decided to ban all and any music in the house…”

“My apologies, Miss Lee. I should not have asked–”

“It is not a difficult topic, so rest assured everything is alright. On the contrary, I am delighted you asked. I do not remember the last time I spoke of both my papa and our passion for playing.”

Overthrown by the feeling of guilt settling in the pit of his stomach, Hongjoong rounded the stool and occupied the left side, leaving a vacant spot on his right. He beckoned you over with a wave of his hand.

“You will not leave me waiting, will you now, Miss Lee?”

The teasing tilt to his voice was an enchanting spell pulling your feet further into the room that you could not disobey and it sounded louder than the slow church bells in the back of your head. The heedless caution of leaving a safe enough space between you died faster than a daylily. You had already crossed every line drawn to protect your innocence from staining and it was still clear as a day. What harm could it bring to sit by a handsome pianist? Taking the seat beside him would leave no room for defense if anyone were to catch sight of you.

Hongjoong noticed your reluctance and turned his torso facing you. “You are to do as you please, Miss Lee. I can not and do not wish to force you into anything… I do apologize if I am crossing any boundaries, it was not my intention.”

“See it as– as– as you asking me for a dance! I will even allow you to sign my dance card, if you will.”

Pushing the worry of being the main talk of the season to the back of your mind, you occupied the vacant seat and tried, with all your might, to ignore the burn of his thigh pressed against yours and the slight caress of your elbows. A heat warmer than on a summer afternoon grazed your bare arms. Picking your head up from the peculiarly interesting spot on the piano, you gazed into the wide eyes of Hongjoong that eventually creased as his lips curled cutely.

“That would be more than alright. May I?”

As his left hand reached for the pencil lying on the music stand, the other faced the high ceiling of the room. His slender fingers were far from elegant and soft, but rather rough and calloused, reminding you of the elderly men tending to your garden. Nonetheless, you let the dance card fall in his palm and watched as he in one long stroke signed the last vacant row.

“Shall we?” He played a major chord and you let a giggle slip past your lips.

You did not touch the wooden instrument or breathe during his performance. It was a melody too beautiful to do anything but bask in. You simply allowed the uplifting and bright sounds to wrap around the two of you, separating you from the party downstairs. Hongjoong was a different person while behind the piano, you noticed. He closed his eyes and relaxed, becoming one with the music. For a minute you got lost in the beauty of his passion and sensed his love for the instrument emerge from him like sunshine escaping the confines of a cloudy sky. As the last notes spilled out in the room, you quickly reverted your focus elsewhere, but unbeknownst to you, he felt your eyes on him throughout the whole song.

“If I may ask…” You broke the silence, hands intertwined and resting on your lap. “Who taught you to play the pianoforte?”

Hongjoong pressed down on a random set of keys and hummed along to the notes. “No one. I am… self-taught.”

The mystery man was leaving you shellshocked once again. The dozen pianists occupying the dance floor in the main hall were skilled players because of the money in their fathers’ pockets, but Hongjoong was not in need of a teacher.

Talent could not be forced, was what your papa used to say as you sat in his lap before the big instrument while your mama diligently fiddled with an embroidery frame on the other side of the room, her belly round and ready to welcome the growing baby any day. Your papa refused to pay for tutors. He claimed talent and passion ran in your blood and you were too good for a teacher even at the ripe age of three. The late Viscount Lee did not withhold the truth, but before your talent was given the chance to bloom it was put to rest alongside him in his coffin. However, listening and witnessing Hongjoong handle the piano with care and expertise rekindled the flame that died out years ago, and perhaps with the help of another, it could be polished and restored to what it once was.

Scooting closer to the gentleman and pushing your already accentuated chest between your arms — a manner you had witnessed Ireum do countless times while in disagreements with your father to get what she wanted — you executed the mischievous plan with gentle swats of your eyelids. “Such remarkable talent you possess, Hongjoong.”

Honey to go with his tea was not an option for Hongjoong at the breakfast table, but he imagined it to taste as sweet as you sounded. It was almost hard to swallow his thickened spit as you beamed that sugary smile of yours. The bare night sky bore witness to your intimate moment and promised no rain pour for the foreseeable future, and Hongjoong could erase the thought of handing you his suit jacket — a means of protection from the droplets threatening to melt you at contact. Forgetting himself, Hongjoong hastily averted his attention back to the big instrument and cleared his throat, but could not hinder the stutter from latching onto his words.

“Th– thank you, Miss Lee.”

Darting your tongue over your bottom lip as you contemplated your next move — a gamble that could set off Mingi’s proposition five years too early — you reached out and put your hand on his forearm closest to you. The man stiffened beneath your feathery touch and his fingers froze above the keys. This was not the outcome you expected. Hongjoong did not fall under the spell as the gentlemen did for Ireum’s vixen eyes and seductive touch, and your consciousness was halfway down the hole of regret and anxiety before you could play it off as brushing dust off his clothes. The fear of being reduced to nothing but a woman of easy virtue loomed over your head and you forced yourself to proceed with the plan.

“I must confess, a twinge of jealousy arises within me hearing you play. It would be marvelous to possess the ability to play the piano as you do…” The finishing touch was to slowly retract your hand and leave a tingling trail on the wake of his arm, and end it with a big, mournful sigh.

“If it pleases you,” he slowly started and you watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. Being in that close vicinity of a man not belonging to your kin set off a wildfire spreading throughout your whole body. It did not help that Hongjoong was a very attractive gentleman who, thus far, had only shown you kindness. The layer of clothing suddenly became uncomfortable and you longed for a glass of water or a change of clothes, if not both. “...I would be delighted to demonstrate a few simple melodies.”

The act of a dejected woman disappeared and Hongjoong could bask in the light emitting from your bright smile and twinkling eyes. Perhaps it was the very reason he did not inquire about the sudden alteration in your demeanor and gave you a sincere smile of his own.

“Your kindness is most appreciated!”

The late Viscount Lee stood correct as your sponge of a brain absorbed every word Hongjoong uttered and mimicked his motions with utmost perfection. Playing the pianoforte was in your veins and it was a shame Ireum forbade it. Though if the circumstance was different, it would still not change the possibility of playing in public. If one woman did not stoop in your way, then your own female features would. A man with your talents would thrive in high society, but you would only be allowed to play in the confines of your home and even that you were not allowed. The human mind was a peculiar thing. When you finally got around your family and achieved the one thing making you happy, it was still not enough.

Hongjoong’s chuckle brought you out of your blue stupor. “You are a swift learner and possess notable talent at the pianoforte as well, Miss Lee. A most natural talent, if I may declare.”

“Thank you…”

Greed and envy hid in the cracks of your gratitude, and had you gone beneath a knife your insides would bleed a poisonous green. The three melodies he taught you were certainly not enough to quench your insatiable desire, on the contrary. Having tasted a speck of your dreams made it hard to resist the yearn for the entirety of the feast. The youngest of the Jeong Household was not usually bold, but one might attribute it to Hongjoong’s welcoming nature and dazzling smile. Had the circumstances been different, if he had turned the other cheek and ignored your stumbling presence, you would have excused yourself and returned to the safety of your brothers. But he did not. Hongjoong entertained your curiosity and pointed out a branch of excitement you had no prior knowledge of.

“Shall… “ You began quietly and cleared your throat. “Shall you be kind enough to teach me the art of playing the pianoforte?”

The grandfather clock ticking in the corner could barely be heard over your thumping heart. If you thought you crossed Hongjoong’s boundaries before, then you were certain you had done it now if the look of his wide eyes and parted lips were anything to go by.

“I do admire your eagerness to learn, Miss Lee, but it would not be an ideal situation. You are a débutante and I am but a simple gentleman. Our gatherings would certainly garner unwanted attention and be in the way of you finding a suitable husband.”

“It would not be done in public!”

Because if either of your brothers got whim of your absurd idea, you would not be allowed to leave the foyer of your house, let alone accompany him to more balls in search for a partner.

Hongjoong still showed apprehensiveness, but you knew that the one thing no man could turn down — except ladies of the evening — was money. Everyone was always eager for more gold and you prayed Hongjoong was not an exception, as he had shown to be multiple times this night.

“An– And your services would not be free of charge, of course!”

The proposition was not bad, Hongjoong thought and raked his mind weighing the benefits and disadvantages. Teaching a presumptuous lady how to play the piano equaled pockets full of money, less dirty floors to scrub and him getting to practice on a real piano every once in a while. The downside of your brothers having his head on a platter would only come true if you were caught which did not sound too bad of a gamble.

“The question remains of how we are to do this, Miss pianist?”

Too happy to care about the heat attacking your face, you held your hand out for him to shake. The warmth of his fingers burned through your glove and kissed the skin on your palm, a feeling that you soon would find reminiscing for days on end.

“Meet me by the big willow tree in Epiphany Garden two days from now and we shall further discuss our arrangement.”

With a nod of his head, the pianist waltzed straight into the agreement blinded by the shimmering coins floating before his eyes. The celebration was cut short as an eerily creak broke you apart. Both snapped your heads toward the sound only to witness one side of the double doors opened as if given a little nudge from the other side. Fear coiled around your feet and up your legs. You could not remember if you had closed the doors properly or not and your uncertainty did not calm the storm brewing in your abdomen.

“Perhaps it is merely the wind,” Hongjoong suggested feebly, his words taking on the form of a sword and sliced the snake crawling further up your waist. What possible wind he could be referring to was beyond you, but it was easier to deny reality than fall into a spiral panic. Besides, who in all of London would prefer being upstairs than enjoying the presence of the duke down below?

Time scurried on without your knowledge, yet the loud clash of the grandfather clock striking midnight was not the cause of you parting ways. The harmless scare was enough of a sign to reclaim your designated position next to Yunho and not bat an eye at Hongjoong’s figure sliding through the crowd of guests seconds after your return. The forty-eight hours of waiting began as of now and it may have been the longest forty-eight hours of your life.

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j-k-writes · 20 days ago

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The Bronze Targaryen - 9

Summary - When (Y/N) falls injured in a battle with the mountain clans of the Vale, Rhaenyra and Daemon must travel to Kingslanding to protect Luke's claim to Runestone.

Warnings - blood and injury, violence, character death, general HOTD warnings

“I still do not understand why you could not just fly in on Vermithor and burn them out.”

(Y/N) rolled his eyes, stepping carefully over a tree root, “And burn down the forest as well?”

“It would’ve made this all go a lot faster.”

Gerold chuckled next to him, “Osric, leave him alone.”

“Both of you shut up.” (Y/N) snapped, and the two men beside him quieted. They continued to walk through the forest, careful to avoid any snapping twigs that would give their presence away to the mountain clans no doubt hiding somewhere in the trees.

It had been four moons since he’d seen his family, the most time he’d been away in six years. They’d been fighting back the clans for six moons, (Y/N) only flying out to Runestone two moons into the skirmish at Gerold’s desperate plea. (Y/N) was getting increasingly frustrated with their lack of improvement in the fight against the clans, and if they did not root them out soon he may take Osric up on his idea and simply burn the forest down with Vermithor. Gods know the dragon needed it after four moons of little activity in the Vale.

His thoughts fell back to Rhaenyra, she’d been in her sixth moon of pregnancy by now, and (Y/N) longed to be at her side on Dragonstone. She sent him letters with updates about their sons, and Daemon, but (Y/N) wished to hear her voice and witness their children's achievements with his eyes instead of reading them on a page.

The sound of a twig snapping behind them jolted (Y/N) out of his thoughts. All three of the men tensed, pausing their steps. (Y/N)’s grip on his sword tightened, and he watched as the two men beside him eyed the trees, Osric drawing back his bow string and Gerold lifting his sword up in a defensive position.

Before either of them could react an arrow whizzed through the air, catching Osric in the neck. (Y/N) watched in horror as blood pooled and leaked out of Osric’s throat, dripping down the front of his body, a shocked look crossed the man’s face before he hit the ground. (Y/N) turned to Gerold, opening his mouth but another arrow whizzed out from the trees striking his cousin in the collarbone before he could speak.

(Y/N) turned quickly and ran as a second and third arrow struck Gerold, not turning back to watch as his cousin’s body no doubt hit the forest floor dead. (Y/N) continued running, praying to the old gods that he would manage to make it back to camp before whoever was in the trees caught up with him. He cursed himself silently for only taking Osric and Gerold out on the scouting party, he was confident they wouldn’t run into trouble, the mountain clans had not been sighted anywhere near where the three men were scouting camp.

He heard the arrow before he felt it strike his shoulder, right in between the gap in his leather armor. Despite the flare of pain in his shoulder he kept running, even as a second and then third arrow hit his body, the third lodging itself in his leather armor instead of his skin; and he was grateful that he had brought some armor with him, even if it was leather. As he neared the camp, relief starting to flood his veins, a fourth arrow barely missed his calf as it whizzed by. But the shock of it caused him to stumble nonetheless. His stumble only caused him to pause for a second, but long enough for an arrow to actually lodge itself in his calf and he yelled as he tripped.

He hit his head on a branch as he went down, no doubt once again breaking his nose and probably giving himself a concussion as well. He groaned, pushing himself up and grabbing his sword from where he dropped it. He turned to face the direction the arrows were coming from, and he raised his sword up, cutting down a fifth, sixth, and seventh arrow as they flew at him from behind the trees. As he cut down the seventh arrow, an eighth one came at him from behind, striking him in his other shoulder, and as he turned to face that direction, two more arrows whizzed by, striking him in the stomach and the arm.

The force of the arrow hitting him in the arm caused him to drop his sword, and the stomach wound caused him to double over in pain, knees hitting the ground. As he hit the forest floor the adrenaline started to leave his body, the pain of the multiple arrows littering his body and the head wound making his vision swim. He swayed, falling onto his side, his vision tunneled as men approached him.

They stood over him, and one spoke. “Is he dead?”

“He will be, leave him. I want it to be painful.” Another said, and (Y/N) only had enough time to realize they were speaking the common tongue before he lost consciousness.

The dirt and sweat covering his entire body was not enough to dampen the day's mood. Syrax has laid another clutch of eggs, three this time to Daemon’s delight. The more dragon eggs that came into their possession the better, especially with Rhaenyra and (Y/N) needing an egg to place in a cradle within the next few months. The Dragonkeepers were already waiting for the prince as he climbed the hill, and he passed the saddle bag carrying the eggs off to them.

One of the Dragonkeepers passed him a piece of paper, the grim look on his face giving Daemon pause. He slowly took the parchment, looking down at the unbroken seal of House Royce.

“It is from Maester Pate of Runestone.” The dragonkeeper spoke, and Daemon gently broke the seal reading the words of the letter carefully.

To Prince Daemon and the Princess Rhaenyra,

Prince (Y/N) Royce has fallen grievously injured. He and his scouting party were ambushed not half of a league away from their camp. In the fighting, he took many wounds, most caused by arrows, and was left for dead. The wounds were severe and much blood was lost. But my greater concern is the fever that has followed. He burns from within as if his blood has been replaced with dragon fire. The Prince is strong, but I have seen blood fever take men half his age.

I fear to say this is not the only news that plagues House Royce. Lord Gunthor Royce, the Prince’s cousin, has ridden to Kingslanding, preparing to petition the court for the seat of Runestone if Prince (Y/N) is to succumb to his wounds. We must pray to the Gods that the Prince makes a full recovery, but if Lord Gunthor’s petition is accepted, the damage may be too deep to be undone.

Maester Pate

He read the message three times before the message really sank in, “I must speak with the Princess.”

He found Rhaenyra with Jace and Joffrey in the council room, she looked up as he walked in dismissing the boys and their maester. She was smiling as she took the letter Daemon held out for her, but his posture and expression seemed to give way to the grim news hidden in the parchment as her smile quickly fell upon seeing it.

Daemon watched her carefully as she read the letter. Her eyes watered at the report of her husband’s fate, and Daemon remembered that Rhaenyra had urged him to fly to help with the fighting in the Vale after they had received Gerold’s letter. Her expression quickly turned into one of anger and disbelief as she finished reading the letter.

“He means to call into question Luke’s legitimacy.” She scoffed, “And by extension, Jace, and by extension my own claim to the throne.”

“Gunthor cares only about Runestone, and the Royce line. Not about our politics.” Daemon said, hoping the words would bring his niece comfort. He doubted it as the thought did little to comfort him. “Has he made common cause with Otto Hightower yet?”

“Hm this is what I fear.” Rhaenyra frowned, worrying the paper between her fingers as she thought. “I cannot rely on my father, the vipers rule in his name according to Rhaenys. I should write to her, if nothing else she may be able to provide some advice.”

Daemon nodded, he had heard of Corlys injury and Laenor’s death leaving his daughter and Vaemond the only heirs to Driftmark should Corlys not recover from his injury. Last he heard Rhaenys was petitioning the throne pass to her and then to her granddaughters, Daemon’s daughters, upon her Lord husband's death.

“You are going to Kingslanding then?” Daemon asked, and Rhaenyra gave him a questioning look.

“Are you not?” She asked.

“I am flying to Runestone. I will join you as soon as I can.”

Rhaenyra shook her head, “No. I will accompany you.”

Daemon smiled at her, placing a gentle hand on her stomach. Since she had fallen pregnant (Y/N) had been insisting the child would be a girl, and Daemon could only hope his son would live to see her born, and even longer after that. “No. The boys need you, you must go to Kingslanding and protect Luke’s claim.”

“(Y/N) lays dying-”

“He will understand.” Daemon said. “He does not need you, your sons do.”

The look Rhaenyra gave him showed she did not like his words, but she conceded to them anyway, nodding silently. Daemon softly kissed his niece's forehead, “I will inform him of your desire to come, dear niece. Do not fret; (Y/N) is strong. You and your boys will see him again."

Daemon felt sick at the sight of his son’s bloodied body against pale sheets. He would’ve thought (Y/N) already dead if not for the wheezing of his breath and his chest moving painfully slowly. He carefully approached the bed, brushing his son’s (H/C) curls out of his face. He smoothed the sweaty and tangled mess back before pressing a soft kiss to his boy’s forehead.

His eldest son, his only son.

“Fever cannot take you,” Daemon whispered, taking a seat next to the bed. He clutched (Y/N)’s hand, cringing at the dried blood that littered his skin. There was still dirt and blood under his fingernails from the fight. “You are a dragon. This is not how you die.”

There was no indication that (Y/N) heard him, the milk of the poppy keeping him unconscious. Daemon watched silently as his son breathed in and out, he had broken a rib when he hit the ground, Maester Pate informed him. His son was lucky that he was found by the scouts sent after him after he and his group did not return at the scheduled time. If he had been lying on the forest floor for any longer, he would’ve surely died of his wounds.

Daemon cursed the Gods that let this happen to his son. It was bad enough he’d been dragged from his family to deal with a war that the Valemen should’ve been able to stop in less than a moon, but to try and take (Y/N) from him when he’d only truly had him for six years was something he could not forgive them for.

“Kepa.”

Daemon jolted out of his thoughts at the sound of (Y/N)’s raspy voice. He gently shushed him when it looked like he was going to speak again. “You will be alright, just rest.”

(Y/N) smiled, and Daemon’s heart ached. He rubbed his thumb across the top of his son’s hand in hopes of soothing him. He licked his lips, clearing his throat before speaking. “You were right, I should’ve never come back to the Vale.”

“No.” Daemon shook his head. “These are your people and you were only doing what you thought was best. That is never wrong, zaldrītsos.”

“I am not so little anymore.” (Y/N) laughed at the nickname before his face contorted in pain, and he started to cough. Daemon reached for the milk of the poppy the maester had left by his bedside, but (Y/N) stopped him. “No. No more.”

“You are in pain.”

“I am more useful when not addled by milk of the poppy.”

Daemon took his son’s face gently in his hands, “You are most useful alive.”

(Y/N) turned his head as Daemon tried to give him the milk of the poppy, and Daemon frowned at his son’s stubbornness. He placed the cup back on the table when it was clear nothing short of pouring it down (Y/N)’s throat would make him drink it.

“Rhaenyra wished to see you.” Daemon said, trying to move the conversation onto lighter thoughts. “I feared she would take off after me on Syrax as soon as I left. But she’s on her way to Kingslanding with your boys.”

At the mention of Kingslanding (Y/N) caught Daemon’s wrist, hand visibly shaking from the effort. “Gunthor-”

Daemon gently grabbed (Y/N)’s hand, taking it off of his wrist. Daemon placed (Y/N)’s hand back on the bed, covering it with his own. “I know. Maester Pate warned us of his plans.”

(Y/N) shook his head. “You must listen.”

“I am listening.” Daemon assured him, “But you mustn’t worry about Gunthor, leave him to Rhaenyra and I.”

(Y/N) ignored his father’s advice, continuing on as if he hadn’t heard him. “We cannot rely on Viserys for support. Gerold is dead, so if I die-” (Y/N) paused, swallowing before speaking again. “Gunthor is still unmarried and without an heir. Seek out Rhaenys, offer a marriage between my boys and your girls. If Luke is to be wed before Gunthor, he is a more attractive heir to the Lords of the realm.”

“Have you spoken to Rhaenyra about this?” Daemon asked, gently massaging (Y/N)’s still shaking hand.

(Y/N) nodded, “In passing. But we cannot afford to wait anymore.”

“You will live.” Daemon insisted. “You just need rest.”

(Y/N) gave him a sad smile, nodding softly but unconvincingly. His eyes started to droop, and Daemon once again reached for the milk of the poppy, holding it before his son. (Y/N) stopped him, “You must protect them. Do what you need to, just promise me you will protect them.”

“Of course.”

(Y/N)’s face hardened as best it could against the exhaustion plaguing his body. “You don’t understand. Do what you must to protect them.”

Daemon froze, giving (Y/N) a curt nod. “Drink the milk of the poppy.” Satisfied with Daemon’s answer (Y/N) finally accepted the drink. Daemon placed the empty cup back in its place, gently cupping his son’s cheek. He rubbed his thumb against the bruise on his cheek gently. (Y/N)’s cheeks were sunken, and the dark circles under his eyes mingled with the other bruises on his face. (Y/N)’s eyes closed, and Daemon kissed his cheek.

Daemon stood, making to leave, but (Y/N)’s soft voice caught his attention before they could.

“They were noblemen, father.”

Daemon froze, preparing to ask what (Y/N)’s words meant. But when he turned to look at his son he had already fallen back asleep. Daemon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, already feeling the beginnings of a headache beginning to form. He left the room, walking in the opposite direction of where Caraxes was waiting for him and toward the Maester’s chambers for more answers.

The yard was practically empty as Daemon arrived. He stepped carefully out of the carriage, scoffing at the measly introduction given by a Kingsguard.

“All hail Prince Daemon Targaryen.”

He could only hope that Rhaenyra and his grandsons were shown more respect, but he doubted that if the Hightowers were in charge of their welcome. He doubted Viserys was even aware that they were arriving in Kingslanding.

“Welcome, my Prince.” Lord Caswell greeted Daemon. The man was clearly nervous to speak with Daemon, if the mindless fidgeting was anything to go off of.

“Where is Princess Rhaenyra?”

“The Princess is in the King’s chambers.”

Daemon gave him a curt nod in thanks before stalking off into the keep. He scarcely recognized the place he once called home, and the thought that the Hightower’s influence had started to bleed into the very foundations of the keep made him sneer. Almost all the emblems of House Targaryen had been removed from the walls of the keep, replaced instead with symbols of the faith. Daemon wanted to gauge his eyes out on one of the points of the seven-pointed star.

He eventually found his way to his brother’s chambers, opening the door silently at the sound of soft voices within. He was not so quiet as to not alert his niece, who immediately looked up at him and smiled.

“Father, Daemon is here.”

“Daemon?” His brother said, and Daemon walked forward at the sound of his brother’s faint voice. The sight that greeted him turned his stomach and made him freeze. He had thought (Y/N)’s appearance was enough to give him nightmares for moons, but the sight of his brother was going to plague him till he died.

“Daemon.” His brother called out again, and Daemon approached his side cautiously. “Daemon. Help me up.” He placed a pillow behind Viserys, guiding him into a sitting position. His brother gave him a pained smile. “It’s been so long.”

“(Y/N) has taken a grave wound in battle in the Vale.” Daemon saw Rhaenyra cringe at his bluntness from the corner of his eye. He wished he could have eased into the news, but they were not here for reunions, and he’d made his son a promise.

Viserys frowned, “There is no war in the Vale.”

Daemon scowled at his brother’s words, just how far into the dark had the Hightower’s pushed him these past years? “No. The mountain clans have become restless, they have pushed in the boundaries of the Vale houses. There has been fighting for months, brother.”

Viserys’ furrowed brows were the only indication he gave that he had heard Daemon’s words.

“There is a petition to decide upon the succession of Runestone and the heir to the Runestone throne.”

“Petition?” Viserys said, confused, “Alicent and Otto…they see to all that business now.”

“No.” Daemon huffed in frustration, “Brother listen to me. You are to affirm your position for Lucerys to be my son’s successor.”

The door opened behind him as he awaited Viserys response, the soft babbling of his grandsons easing some of his tension.

“Something happened to (Y/N)?” Viserys spoke, and Daemon shut his eyes tight. He shook his head, standing and walking away from his brother.

Rhaenyra walked up to him, placing Aegon in his arms. She took Viserys from the wetnurse next, sitting on the bed in front of Daemon. Daemon pressed his cheek into Aegon’s silver locks, smiling at the sound of the babe’s attempts at words.

“Father, there is someone we wish to introduce you to.” Rhaenyra said, and Viserys looked at Daemon confused.

“Daemon.”

“Brother.” Daemon said, and Viserys looked down at the babe in his arms.

“Who is that?”

Daemon smiled, shifting his hold on Aegon so that he could show their grandson off to his brother.

“Father. This is Aegon.” Rhaenyra smiled, and Daemon brushed his finger down the boy's cheek as he tried to wiggle out of his arms.

“Aegon.” Viserys repeated, before looking at the second babe in the room.

“And this is Viserys.” Rhaenyra bounced the younger child on her hip, and Viserys broke out into a grin.

“Viserys. Now that is a name fit for a king.” Daemon chuckled softly, wondering what his brother would have said if Rhaenyra had conceded to (Y/N)’s choice of name for the babe.

Viserys groaned in pain, and the sound seemed to upset the already fussy babes as they immediately started to break out into whines and cries. Daemon gently shushed Aegon, but the babe would not be comforted by his grandfather’s soft voice. He passed him off to the wet nurse, Rhaenyra, doing the same with a crying Viserys.

“Oh, I'm sorry I-I’m sorry.” Viserys apologized mindlessly as the babes were taken out of the room. “Please. My tea. My tea.”

“This?” Daemon approached the table next to the bed, grabbing the only cup he saw.

Viserys nodded, desperately trying to reach for the cup as Daemon brought it to his lips to drink. “Yes. Yes.”

When he finished Daemon brought the cup up under his nose sniffing it carefully. He frowned at the familiar scent of milk of the poppy, it was clear as Viserys quickly fell asleep that the tea was not for pain but to keep him incapacitated.

Rhaenyra walked away from the bed closer to the doors of the chambers. “How is (Y/N)?”

Daemon sighed, running his hand down in face as he took a seat near Rhaenyra. “He is-” Daemon swallowed. “In pain, the fever has not yet broken.”

“Did you speak with the maester?” Rhaenyra asked, and Daemon nodded.

“Yes, when I got there and before I left.” Daemon took the piece of parchment Maester Pate had given him before he left out of his pocket. “(Y/N) had Pate write this when they discovered Gunthor’s plans.”

He handed the parchment over to Rhaenyra who ran her fingers over the unbroken seal gingerly. “It’s his final decree.” Rhaenyra froze at his words, and Daemon watched as she turned from him to cover up the wetness of her eyes. “It declares Luke as his heir, among other things.”

Daemon considered telling her what (Y/N) had told him as he left and what Maester Pate himself had confirmed before giving Daemon the parchment, but the look on his niece's face as she looked at the parchment in her hands made him keep his mouth shut. He would tell her later, she had too much to worry about already, and if Daemon had his way, Gunthor would be dealt with before Rhaenyra even had his to worry about retribution.

“He does not think he will live?” Rhaenyra said and it was obviously supposed to be a question but the tone in her voice told Daemon she already knew the answer. Daemon did not respond, and Rhaenyra nodded, handing the parchment back to him silently.

“(Y/N) wishes to betroth my daughters to your sons, to strengthen our alliance with the Velayrons.”

Rhaenyra nodded, “I will speak with Rhaenys.” She sighed looking at where her father was laying, still asleep in his bed. “I will also speak with Maester Gerardys. Perhaps if he could see the King he’d suggest a different-”

Rhaenyra paused as the door opened, and they both turned to look as Alicent walked into the room. Alicent gave them a smile, although it didn’t reach her eyes. “Princess Rhaenyra. And Prince Daemon.”

Daemon hummed, not even bothering to give her a smile back.

“It has been so long since we were granted the joy of your presence. Although I do wish it could be under happier circumstances.” Her eyes slid from Rhaenyra to Daemon as she spoke.

“Indeed. Your Grace.”

“Though not long enough to merit a greeting upon our arrivals.” Daemon said, and the way Rhaenyra smirked told him that she too had received a less than warm welcome back home.

“I’m sure the Queen had pressing business, Uncle.” Rhaenyra said, taking a place next to where Daemon was sitting. “What can either of us know of ruling a kingdom?”

“I do not rule as you well know.” Alicent said. “My father and I are mere stewards of the King’s will and wisdom.”

“And how exactly is that wisdom expressed…hm?” Daemon asked, looking at Alicent properly for the first time since she entered the room. “In blinks and wheezes? I’d be surprised if he could remember his own name. Or if you could.”

“King Viserys’ condition had worsened since you saw him last.” Daemon laughed, and Alicent glared. “It subjects him to considerable pain. On the advice of the maesters-”

“Ah, the maesters. Of course.” Rhaenyra barked out a fake laugh. “It is they who keep him addled on milk of the poppy while the Hightowers warm his throne.”

“Rhaenyra if you could see him without it, almost blind with suffering.”

“Oh, Alicent, I have no doubt it was an act of the purest mercy.” Daemon said, voice hard. “But tell me, for the King’s suffering, did the maesters also prescribe the removal of Targaryen heraldry and the installation in its stead of various statues and stars?”

“The emblems of the Seven serve only to guide us on an uncertain path. To remind us of a higher authority.”

“And on the morrow,” Rhaenyra walked toward Alicent, who to Daemon's chagrin stood her ground against his niece’s piercing gaze. “Which authority will sit in judgment of my son’s claim on his own inheritance?”

“That would be mine.” She paused. “And the hand’s.”

Daemon scoffed, bitterly chuckling.

“But be assured the Father is just and commands me to forget the accusations you have hurled in this room today.”

Alicent looked to the Prince and Princess, before giving another of her false smiles and walking out of the room.

Daemon watched as Otto Hightower stood in front of his brother’s throne. Rhaenyra stood beside him, eyes darting between her half-siblings and the Hightowers. Jace stood beside his mother, posture tense and mouth turned down into a frown. The boy was obviously anxious, understanding the gravity of the situation at hand, but his anxiety was nothing compared to his younger brother. Luke had been on edge since Daemon saw him last night, he cared less about the hearing of the petitions and more about his father’s health and it devastated Daemon to be unable to calm his grandson’s worries.

“Though it is the great hope of this court that Prince (Y/N) Royce survives his wounds, we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Runestone. As Hand, I speak with the King’s voice on this and all other matters.” Otto spoke, taking a seat on the Iron Throne, and Daemon frowned at how comfortable he looked there. “The crown will now hear the petitions. Lord Gunthor of House Royce.”

Gunthor Royce stepped out from the crowd, not bothering to look at the boy who’s future he was trying to ruin. He turned to address Alicent and Otto instead. “My Queen. My Lord Hand. House Royce can date their lineage back ten thousand years to the Dawn Age, we were Kings while the Targaryens were still in Old Valyria. We are the blood of the first men, not the dragon, and our blood shall stay that way until the day our house disappears.

“I have spent my entire life in the Vale defending the seat of House Royce, first at the gates of moon and then at Runestone. I am Prince (Y/N)’s closest Vale kin, his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Royce runs through my veins.”

“As it does in my sons, the offspring of (Y/N) Royce. The very spitting image of their Grandmother, Lady Rhea.” Rhaenyra spat, “If you cared so much about your house’s blood, Lord Gunthor, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition.”

“You will have the chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra. Do Lord Gunthor the courtesy of allowing his to be heard.” Alicent focused her gaze toward Rhaenyra and her family, voice tight. Gunthor smirked, finally turning to face Rhaenyra and Daemon.

“What do you know of Royce blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you and you still wouldn’t recognize it. This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours.” Daemon’s eyes narrowed at his tone. “My Queen, my Lord Hand, this is a matter of blood not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my house and my line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my cousin’s successor…the lord of Runestone.”

“Thank you, Lord Gunthor.” Otto spoke. “Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son Lucerys Royce.”

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, taking a step toward the middle of the hall. “If I am to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding the court that nearly twenty years ago, in this very-”

She was cut off by the doors of the Great Hall opening. Everyone turned their attention toward the doors and Daemon’s breath caught in his throat at the sight in front of him.

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of his Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”

Everyone fell silent as they watched Viserys make his way down the hall. The layers of clothes did little to hide his frail figure, sitting loose on his body and making the drastic weight loss obvious to those in the room. He had a gold mask on one side of his face which hid the most gruesome of the damage from the crowd.

His brother paused as he walked by Rhaenyra, he gave her a small nod before turning to address Otto. “I will sit the throne today.”

“Your Grace.”

Viserys made for the steps to the throne, pushing the Kingsgaurd’s accompanying him off to make the climb himself. He only made it two steps before he doubled over, crown falling to the ground with a sharp clatter. Daemon stepped out of the crowd walking past the guards and toward his brother.

“I said I’m fine.” Viserys insisted as Daemon grabbed an arm to steady him. When he realized it was Daemon helping him he paused, face giving away his shock.

“Come on.” Daemon said, under his breath so no one but his brother could hear him. “Steady.”

He gingerly helped his brother up to sit on the throne. When Viserys was settled in his rightful seat Daemon turned, picking up the throne off the steps. Viserys bowed his head and Daemon placed the crown atop the head of his King. He gave his brother a nod, before making his way back to Rhaenyra’s side.

“I must admit my confusion.” Viserys wheezed. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only ones present who might offer keener insight into Prince (Y/N)’s wishes are Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon.”

“Indeed, Your Grace.” Rhaenyra brushed Daemon’s arm in encouragement as he stepped toward the middle. “It was my son’s wish that Runestone pass to his second trueborn son Lucerys.”

Daemon took the parchment out of his pocket, showing off the unbroken seal to the crowd. He paused as he made eye contact with Gunthor, unable to stop the smirk that graced his face at the anger in the Lord’s expression. “I have a decree, seal unbroken, stating that his mind never changed.”

He took a deep breath before his next statement. Rhaenyra had talked to Rhaenys last night, and while the elder Princess had been less than happy with the suddenness of the proposal Rhaenyra had assured him that she’d agreed. Rhaenys held no love for Daemon, only fostering Baela out of her love for his late wife. He made eye contact with Rhaenys before speaking, silently asking her permission before making the official announcement. His cousin gave him a subtle nod, and he spoke.

“As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra has just informed the Princess Rhaenys and I of her and my sons desire to marry their sons Jace and Luke to my daughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which we have heartily agreed.”

“Well, the matter is settled. Again.” Viserys stated, wheezing. “I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Royce as heir to Runestone.”

Daemon could practically feel the relief radiating from his family behind him. He gave his brother a grateful nod and stepped back toward Rhaenyra and his grandsons.

“You break law and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Royce. No. I will not allow it.” Gunthor sneered at Viserys.

“Allow it? Do not forget yourself, Gunthor.”

“That is no true Royce! And certainly no cousin of mine.” At his words Daemon wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword.

“Go to your chambers, you have said enough.” Rhaenyra hissed at Gunthor. She took a step in front of her sons, allowing Daemon to step closer to Gunthor.

“Lucerys is the true-born grandson of Prince Daemon and I. You’re no more than the second son of a second son of Runestone” Viserys said.

“You may run your house as you see fit. But you will not decide the future of mine. House Royce is the blood of the First Men. We are ancient kings, and I will not allow our bloodline to end on account of these dragon-” He paused on his words, and Daemon remembered his son's warning. Gunthor does not care about the rumors spread by Alicent, his hatred for Daemon and (Y/N) drives him.

“Say it like you believe it, Lord Gunthor.” Daemon challenged.

“Her children are dragon bastards!” He yelled, words echoing through the now silent hall. Daemon slipped from his spot next to Rhaenyra unnoticed. “And she is a whore.”

“I will have your tongue for that.” Daemon heard Viserys say as he raised his sword, still unnoticed by everyone in the room.

Do what you must to protect them.

Daemon brought his sword down as his son's plea echoed through his head, and in one clean slice, Gunthor’s head rolled off his body onto the floor, the rest of him hitting the floor with a thud seconds later. Daemon looked at the body, and the hall broke out into yells. The man who had plagued (Y/N) for nearly twenty years, who most likely ordered his death, fell with a single swing of the sword. It was almost laughable how easy it was.

“Disarm him!” Otto yelled, and Daemon held his hands up in surrender.

“No need.” He wiped his sword with a piece of cloth before sheathing it.

Before anyone could respond Viserys collapsed atop the throne. Raised panic voices echoed through the hall as both Rhaenyra and Alicent ran toward Viserys. Daemon turned toward his grandsons, motioning to Jace to leave the room. Jace nodded, taking Luke’s arm and dragging him out of the room. Daemon watched, frozen in place, as the Grand Maester and Alicent helped carry his brother out of the room.

Daemon could feel the absence of (Y/N) by his side like a burn. The empty seat between him and Rhaenyra drew his eye every time he turned his head. Jace and Luke refused to look at it, focusing directly on their newly betrothed. The people around the table sat deliberately in silence as they waited for Viserys to make his way to the dinner, Daemon nursing his cup of wine as Rhaenyra turned her attention to Alicent every so often.

The door opened, and everyone stood as Viserys was carried into the room. He was placed between his daughter and his wife, and as soon as the guards took a step back to take their place by the door everyone took their seats.

“How good it is to see you all tonight.” Daemon grimaced at the strain in his brother’s voice. “Together.”

“Prayer before we begin?” Viserys nodded. “May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Gunthor Royce, may the gods give him rest.”

Daemon gave a bitter chuckle, which drew an amused look from his niece.

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems.” His brother smiled, “My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their aunts, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses. A toast to the young Princes and their betrothed.”

“Hear, hear!” He called out, giving a smile to both his grandsons and his daughter as he raised his cup. He watched as Aegon whispered something to Jace, which caused the boy to frown.

“Let us toast as well Prince Lucerys, the future Lord of Runestone.” Everyone raised their cups again.

Aegon once again turned to Jace to whisper something in his ear, this time Jace responded. His words were too low for Daemon to make out but his face gave away his anger. Viserys interrupted the two men before anyone else could respond.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world yet grown so distant from each other in years past.” His brother stood, breath coming in short gasps as he struggled. He took the gold mask off his face, and Daemon winced at the sight of his rotted face. His right eye was completely gone, and his cheek was rotten and sunken. “My own face is no longer a handsome one if indeed it ever was. But tonight I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king, but your father, your brother, your husband, and your grandsire. Who may not it seems walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly.”

Viserys took a seat, body trembling with the effort of standing for so long. Rhaenyra shifted uncomfortably in her seat, before grabbing her cup and standing. She looked around before clearing her throat and beginning to speak, “I wish to raise my cup to her grace the Queen. I love my father, but I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that she has my gratitude and my apology.”

“Your graciousness moves me deeply, princess. We are both mother’s, and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow.” Alicent stood, cup in hand. “I raise my cup to you and to your house. You will make a fine queen.”

Alicent took a seat, and Daemon picked his cup up to take a drink of the wine. He was interrupted by Jace standing quickly, giving Aegon a dirty look as he did. Aemond followed his league, gaze trained on Jace. Daemon watched the three men stare at each other, grip on his cup tightening.

Finally Jace spoke, picking up his cup. “To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s health, dear uncles.”

“To you as well.” Aegon said, clearly unhappy with the result of his relentless teasing.

Haelena stood next, smiling as if the tensions of the evening were completely lost on her. “I would like to toast Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad, mostly he just ignores you. Except sometimes when he’s drunk.”

He barked out a sudden laugh, covering it up with his hand. His brother asked for music, and the tensions dissipated from the room. Jace stood from his seat, offering his hand to his aunt Haelena and taking her to the middle of the room, where they began to dance. Daemon smiled softly at the sight, turning to catch Rhaenyra’s eye. She, too, was staring at the sight, and Daemon could tell it reminded her of her own similar dance with (Y/N) nearly twenty years ago.

Rhaenyra caught his eye and blushed.

“You miss him.” Daemon stated, and Rhaenyra nodded. She ran her fingertips along the edge of her cup, smiling softly to herself as she did. Daemon reached across, pointedly ignoring the empty chair, to rest his hand on his niece’s arm. “A fever will not take him from you, he is too stubborn for that.”

Rhaenyra laughed, “He is his father’s son.”

She touched Daemon’s hand in gratitude, she looked to where Luke was speaking to Rhaena. Daemon followed her gaze, smiling fondly at the sight. “I fear I may be made a grandsire again soon.”

Rhaenyra’s hand fell to her stomach, “Let us hope it will be a few years. There are too many babes in this family already.”

Daemon chuckled, but his amusement quickly died as he watched the guards take his brother out of the room. Everyone paused their activities watching the King silently as he was carried out. Servants entered the room shortly after placing more food on the table, but the mood was too damaged to return to its previous lightness. Daemon startled slightly as Aemond stood, table clinking under the weight of his hands landing on top of it.

“Final tribute.” He looked around the room, raising his cup. “To the health of my nephews, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…strong.”

“Aemond.” Alicent warned, but Aemond ignored her.

“Come let us drain our cups to these three…strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again.” Jace challenged, and Rhaenyra tensed next to Daemon.

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?” Aemond approached Jace, who rounded quickly on his uncle throwing a punch. He missed as Aemond dodged the first and soon all the children were out of the seat. Aegon had Luke pinned to the table and Aemond had pushed Jace to the floor. The guards separated the boys as Daemon stood and watched the action. Alicent had grabbed Aemond, harshly whispering in his ear.

Aemond spoke up halfway through his response to his mother. “-though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs, perhaps if they had their father’s eyes-”

Jace tried to break the guards hold on him, but Daemon took a step between the families before he could. “Wait! Wait!”

“Go to quarters. All of you go, now.” Rhaenyra ordered her sons. They mumbled under their breath, shooting glares at their uncles, but they turned and allowed themselves to be escorted out. Daemon leveled a glare at Aemond, raising an eyebrow in challenge at the young man. Aemond huffed, shaking his head as he followed his nephews out.

“It’s best I think if we go back to Dragonstone.” Rhaenyra said, and Alicent took his hand in hers. Daemon raised an eyebrow at the sight.

“You’ve only just arrived,” Alicent said, finger rubbing along the scar she herself gave to Rhaenyra as she spoke.

“Let me see the children home, and I’ll return on dragon back.” Rhaenyra said softly, “I have to fly to Runestone anyway.”

“The king and I would both like that.”

“My Prince you should not-”

(Y/N) waved the maester off, continuing to limp slowly down the steps; cane held so tightly his knuckles were white with the strain. He had practically leaped, as much a man in his condition could, when he saw the ships approach the shore of Dragonstone, signaling the return of his family.

Maester Pate had almost wrung his neck when (Y/N) informed him of his plans to return to Dragonstone on Vermithor when his fever finally broke. He probably would have if (Y/N) was not the Lord of Runestone, but he allowed the Prince to leave Runestone. (Y/N) had all but collapsed from the pain when he landed on Dragonstone, his last thought before he hit the ground was that Maester Pate would be laughing if he could see the Prince now. When he woke, the maesters of Dragonstone told him he was a fool for trying to fly while his injuries were still healing, but (Y/N) had just brushed them off and asked for something to alleviate the pain.

He watched now as his family made their way up the beach. His sons caught sight of him first, the eldest three breaking into a run toward him. Jace grabbed Joffrey and lifted him into his arms before the young boy could run straight into his father. (Y/N) gave him a grateful nod, and Jace smiled.

“Father,” Jace said. “Mother said you were at Runestone with a fever.”

“I got better.” Luke leaned into his side, careful not to aggravate his father’s wounds. He did not speak, but (Y/N) could see the events of the past weeks were weighing heavily on the boy. He ran his fingers through the boy’s hair, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “I will meet you inside after I speak with your mother.”

His sons made their way inside, but not before (Y/N) pressed a kiss to Joffrey and Jace’s cheeks. The maids carrying his youngest sons were next, and the two babbled and grabbed at their father as they walked by. He pressed soft kisses into their soft white hair before allowing the maids to carry them inside as well.

Daemon rushed him, bringing him in tight and (Y/N) grunted in pain as his wounds pressed into his father. At the sound of his son in pain his father released him, worrying painting his face. He grabbed (Y/N)’s face, “Are you alright?”

“I am better.” (Y/N) smiled, allowing his father to press a kiss to the top of his head. “I heard what you did, and I thank you. For protecting them, father.”

“You do not need to thank me.” Daemon said into his hair. “I told you once I would provide you with anything you needed and I meant it.”

Daemon pulled back, taking (Y/N)’s appearance in completely. “Did you fly here?” He sighed at (Y/N)’s guilty look, “Remember that you are not seven and ten anymore, my boy. You cannot afford to be so reckless with your life.”

“Uncle.” Rhaenyra cleared her throat behind Daemon. “May I have a moment with my husband.”

Daemon gave (Y/N) a smile, pressing one last kiss to his cheek before leaving. Rhaenyra looked downright murderous at the sight of her husband, and (Y/N) sighed. “I have been lectured enough these past days, Rhaenyra. I am aware I should not have flown so soon after-”

(Y/N) was cut off by Rhaenyra grabbing him and crushing their lips together. She pressed their foreheads together, breathing heavily when they broke apart. “I thought I would never see you again.”

“It is not yet my time to join my ancestors.” Rhaenyra laughed wetly, running her thumbs across his cheeks.

“We have much to talk about.” Rhaenyra said softly. “Your cousin is dead, and Luke’s position is secure.”

(Y/N) nodded, “I am glad.”

“Daemon did not tell me much at Kingslanding. I think he feared whispers being heard by the wrong ears.”

(Y/N) nodded, offering the hand not holding his cane to his wife. She smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, before taking his hand. “Come, I will tell you everything over dinner.”

---

Translations -

Kepa - Father

Zaldrītsos - Little Dragon

#edited and rewrote this so many times #and I still kinda hate it #x male reader #house of the dragon #x reader #x y/n #house of the dragon x male reader #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon x y/n #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen x male reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader

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silicacid · 3 months ago

Text

I want to share Dr. Moath Abu Samra's gfm (#85 on Operation Olive Branch)

as of Sept 3, 2024: $21,761 USD raised of $50,000 goal

the latest update:

Salam everyone, I apologize for the lack of updates over the last several months. I was busy taking the bar exam, so I haven't made time to update. I am still in contact with Dr. Moath Abu Samra almost daily and he is doing as well as could be expected for someone in his position.

Moath and his mother are still in Cairo, Egypt with Basim. Sadly their visas are set to expire and Egypt will not renew them. So, last month, Moath used some of the funds to apply for a visa to the Sultanate of Oman where he has some contacts. It is unclear how long this process could take. At this time, he has sent in the application. I am also doing research to see which American visa would be most efficient for he and his mother to apply for.

In the meantime, his brothers Yousef, Ahmed, and their father are still trapped in Gaza. We are praying everyday for their safety and that they are able to evacuate soon. We have purchased a Nomad eSim for them in the hopes that they can at least stay connected with the rest of their family. If you would like to donate an eSim to their family, please contact me directly through a private message.

Thank you to all for the collective efforts and the continued donations. It is my sincere hope that the rest of Moath's family will be able to evacuate Gaza soon. 11 months of torture is 11 months too much. Thank you again! ❤️

#moath abu samra #dr moath abu samra #free palestine #palestine #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #gaza #gaza genocide #palestinian doctors

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m1ckeyb3rry · 5 months ago

Note

hii!! First of all ur theme is so aesthetically pleasing and I love all the nagi. I like binge read all of your event works and *chefs kiss*. Could I request a piece for karasu with the theme of like academic rivals/classmates? No worries if not, hoping ur doing well and taking care of urself!

On an unrelated note I saw that post about rude comments and im so sorry that’s happening to you! I honestly don’t know what drives ppl to bother leaving nasty comments esp when it’s not like they’re being forced to read anything T-T Hoping to send you a bit of love to counter those trolls!

── FIVE WAYS TO KILL A CROW

Synopsis: Crows are clingy birds, and Tabito Karasu’s feelings are hurt easier than you realize. (part two here!) (part three here!)

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Karasu x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 9.1k

Content Warnings: academic rivals to lovers, karasu is an asshole, reader is also an asshole, jealous karasu 😍, hiori randomly pulls up at one point for some reason??, yukimiya requests to follow one (1) person and accidentally causes the most dramatic pseudo breakup ever

A/N: anon i used to pray for times like these 😭😩 LMAOAO karasu is my fav (behind nagi ofc) but i’ve never gotten around to writing him so getting this request made me SO excited HAHA. i haven’t done anything rivals/enemies to lovers before so fingers crossed this doesn’t feel too awkward or unrealistic or rushed anything!! and yayyy i love my little nagi theme (and also nagi in general) i’m glad you like it too!! and my writing too, you’re so sweet 🥹 there will always be jerks unfortunately but lovely people like you make it all worth it 💖 thank you again and i hope this is kind of what you were looking for 🫶🏻

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

ONE: POISON IT

You could hardly contain your smile as you sauntered up to Tabito Karasu’s desk, your exam held behind your back. He was sitting by himself — his seat partner was sick this week, from what you had heard, so he had taken the chance to spread out his things and stretch his legs. When he noticed you, he raised his eyebrows, mouth tugging into a frown at your amusement.

“What?” he said. You brandished the paper in front of you, irises sparkling as you leaned over to rest your forearms on the desk.

“I got full marks on the last Chemistry exam,” you said. Karasu made a face at you, snatching the test from your hands and scrunching his face up as he inspected it.

“Seriously?” he said.

“Seriously,” you said. “What did you get?”

He crossed his arms and looked away. “Not telling.”

“You definitely failed!” you said in delight, taking back the exam and laughing at him. “How embarrassing. You failed the easiest test of the year, and yet you consider Chemistry to be one of your best subjects? I can’t wait to see how badly you do during finals week.”

“I did not fail,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I got a ninety-eight.”

“Ninety-eight! That’s even worse than outright failure,” you said. “You were so close to perfection, and yet in the end, you fell short. It must sting for things to work out like that.”

“Yes, I’m positively wounded,” he said dryly before batting his eyelashes at you. From anyone else, the rapid switch in demeanor would’ve left you reeling, but the shifting mood was to be expected from him. “Will you give me a kiss and make it better?”

You rolled up your test and smacked him on the head with it. “No.”

“Anyways, my overall grade in the class is still higher than yours, because rankings were updated today and I’m still number one, so I’m not sure what cause you have to be boasting,” he said.

“Hm, but did you notice who’s number one in Modern Literature?” you said, pulling out your phone and opening the school’s app, which listed each class’s rankings in every subject. “Yup, that’s right, me.”

“Good job, Y/N!” he said, clapping mockingly. “Shall we have a party? It’s a big occasion — the mediocre number two has finally done something of such note that she’s number one for the first time in her life.”

“I’ve been number one plenty of other times!” you snapped. “For your information, I’ve been first in the class in mathematics and history every year since middle school, so who are you to be acting like this is a first? If anyone’s mediocre, it’s you!”

He raised his hands in the air innocently, his trademark smirk gracing his features once more now that he had succeeded in irritating you, as was his typical goal.

“Alright, alright, no need to be upset,” he said. “It’s not good for you. Clouds your judgment.”

“In what way?” you said.

“I mean, somehow, you got the two of us confused,” he said. “And we’re nothing alike.”

“I did no such thing,” you said.

“Well, I seem to recall you calling me mediocre, but between the two of us, the subpar one is obviously you,” he said, flicking your forehead. You slapped his hand away.

“You — the bell is going to ring, so I’m going to go back to my seat, but just so you know, you’re way more mediocre than me, Mr. Two-Percent-Short!” you said.

“Stellar comeback!” he called out. “My ego is bruised beyond healing!”

“Good!” you called back, ignoring the sarcasm. “Maybe it’ll return to a more normal size. Your head has grown too big, it’s almost as ridiculous as that hair of yours!”

“Leave the hair alone!”

During your free period, you decided to go to the library for some peace and quiet to work on your homework and find some of the sources you needed for your next research project. For belonging to a high school, the library was surprisingly extensive, and you had managed to find relevant information for every other project you had ever done in it, so you had high hopes. Unfortunately, it seemed this latest assignment was more obscure than anything you had completed before, so on your second lap of the shelves where the books, if they existed, would be located, you resigned yourself to giving up.

Just then, a volume caught your eye. The cover was shiny and pristine, the spine still unbent with newness. Crouching, you pulled it out, and when you saw the title emblazoned across the cover in bright yellow lettering, you began to laugh, making a beeline to the checkout counter with it tucked under your arm.

“Hey, Y/N! How was your morning?” your best friend said as you set your things down next to her in the cafeteria. You hummed in agreement, searching the room for a familiar head of dark hair. “You good? Looking for someone? Let me guess: your secret boyfriend that you’re keeping from the rest of us.”

“Yeah, I’m looking for Karasu,” you said before the rest of her words registered. “No!”

“You’re finally coming out and saying it?” she said, holding her hands to her heart and pretending to swoon. “I’ve been waiting for you to confess.”

“He’s not my secret boyfriend that I’m keeping from everyone, I’m just looking for him!” you said.

“Could’ve fooled me,” she said. “What do you need him for, anyways?”

“I got a book for him in the library,” you said.

“Right, and this is the guy you hate? Your ‘mortal enemy’ or whatever?” she checked.

“Yes,” you said.

“But you…got a book for him from the library, and now you’re looking for him so that you can give it to him?” she said. You scoffed.

“When you put it like that, it sounds different than it really is,” you said. “Trust me, this isn’t a nice gesture or anything. You can consider it revenge.”

“When are you going to get over this stupid rivalry?” she said. “He’s not even that bad, you know.”

“Not even that bad? Not even that bad? Are we talking about the same Karasu here? I’m referring to Tabito, not his older sister,” you said.

“Ah, I think so? He’s a nice guy,” she said.

“He is the spawn of the devil! And he’s the one who started it, so I’ll stop hating him once he apologizes and means it,” you said.

“Do you think he even remembers that?” she said. “It was in middle school.”

You glared at her. “I remember it. If he doesn’t, well, that’s just more of a reason for me to dislike him on principle.”

“Okay, okay, whatever you say,” she said. “Sorry for complimenting him. He’s awful and rude and mean. I think he’s sitting outside with some of his soccer friends, if you still want to find him.”

“Thank you!” you said, instantly forgetting that you were upset with her for taking Karasu’s side instead of yours. “Watch my stuff, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“See you soon,” she said. “Have fun. Actually, maybe it’s more realistic for me to just tell you not do anything that’ll get you expelled.”

You waved her off as you marched out to the courtyard where Karasu and his friends were lounging, their chairs positioned in the shade so that they did not overheat while they ate. None of them noticed you approaching until you were tapping Karasu on the shoulder and smiling at him sweetly.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” he said, sounding oddly flustered. One of his friends snorted, and more than a few chuckled, but you ignored all of them in favor of setting your bag on the armrest of Karasu’s chair.

“Hi, Karasu. I was in the library earlier and I saw this book that reminded me of you, so I took the liberty of checking it out,” you said.

“Oh,” he said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re so considerate, Y/N!” one of his friends said.

“We’re all so jealous of Karasu here,” another friend, the one who you believed had snorted, said. “You’re way too pretty for him.”

“Shut up,” Karasu said, sticking up his middle finger at his friend, though none of the group paid him much mind. In fact, it seemed to egg them on more, as they continued to hurl jabs at Karasu while simultaneously incessantly complimenting you.

You didn’t respond to any of them, instead pulling out the book and handing it to Karasu, interlacing your fingers and waiting for his reaction. At first he seemed confused, and then dismay dawned upon his features as he realized what he was holding in his hands: a copy of Chemistry for Dummies.

“What the fuck?” he said. You patted him on the shoulder.

“It’s only suitable,” you said. Suddenly, his expression cleared, and he beamed at you, which caused unease to brew in your stomach. You knew for a fact that he was about to say something infuriating, and you mentally prepared yourself to respond.

“What a roundabout way of telling me you need tutoring! Of course, I’m happy to help you anytime you want,” he said, tilting back in his chair so that he could cross his arms over his chest arrogantly.

“Why would I want tutoring from someone who does worse than me in the class?” you shot back, crossing your own arms in retaliation.

One of his friends whistled. “She got you there, Tabito.”

“Enough out of you,” Karasu said through gritted teeth. His friend winked at you and mouthed ‘nice one.’

“Look, man, all I’m saying is that if you want to ask out such a beautiful girl, you’ve gotta have a little more finesse than that!” he said.

“He can have all the finesse in the world, but I’d still say no,” you said. His friends hollered with raucous laughter, which caused Karasu’s face to turn red, but you only pressed the book into his hands. “It’s due in two weeks. That should be long enough, right? Make sure you return it on time, please, I don’t want late fines.“

“I hope you go into debt because of this stupid book,” he said.

“Aww,” you cooed. “You’ll be the one paying it off, so it doesn’t matter to me. See you around, Karasu — or, hopefully not.”

TWO: SHOOT IT

You and Karasu had met in middle school. The two of you had been assigned to work on a presentation together, and he had told you during your first meeting that because you were a dunce, you should just listen to him and do whatever he said. Ever since that day, you had done everything you could to show him how much better than him you were; for his part, he found great joy in getting on your nerves and so took part in every argument with pleasure.

You had long ago proved his middle school self wrong, by anyone’s standards, but at this point it was a habit for you to hate Tabito Karasu as well as a habit for him to hate you back. And of course, habits were hard to form but harder to break, so you would probably continue in that manner until the day you graduated and left him behind for good.

It was just the two of you who did not get along. Your friends were cordial with him and his ilk, and you did not really mind his little group all that much, crude though they sometimes were. After all, it was just in the manner of teenage boys, and when they were not taking advantage of your presence to make fun of Karasu, they were actually a pretty agreeable sort.

In fact, your friend groups tended to coexist most of the time, even having lunch together every now and again — though they were always careful to ensure that you and Karasu were kept entirely separate, or else you both were guaranteed to ruin the cheerful camaraderie with your sharp tongues and quick tempers. The measures they took were admirable, but unfortunately, they were not always enough. After all, what were precautions when compared with inevitabilities?

“Oh my god!” you squealed. “Guys! Oh my god, oh my god, I can’t believe this is happening?”

“Can’t believe what’s happening?” your best friend said, speaking for everyone at the table. They were all tuned in to you now, wondering what the big news might be that would bring about such a reaction from you, given how put-together you tended to be.

“Do you remember that one model I happened to meet while I was out last weekend? Kenyu Yukimiya? He just requested to follow me on social media!” you said.

“No way!” your best friend said.

“Way!” you said. The only warning you got was an arm pressing against your back, and then your phone was abruptly snatched from your hands. You gasped, spinning in your seat and scowling when you realized that the culprit was none other than that scavenging crow, Tabito Karasu.

“What the hell? He’s average at best, why are you so excited?” he said, scrolling through Yukimiya’s profile, his eyes narrowed critically. “Y/N, don’t you have any standards?”

“You’re probably the only person in the entire country who doesn’t find him gorgeous,” you said, exhaling dreamily as you took your phone back from him and stared at the artful manner Yukimiya was posing in for his profile photo. “He was even better looking in person. And sonice, too! They don’t make men like that often.”

Karasu frowned and swiped at your phone again. You held it out of his reach, reaching across the bench to press your foot against his chest, effectively holding him back from further attempts at thievery.

“Let me look at him again!” he said.

“Um, no,” you said. “I don’t need you making more fun of him. I know you’re jealous, but expressing it like this only makes you uglier, just so you know.”

“Looks like they’re back at it again,” one of your friends said, massaging her temples.

“Yup,” one of Karasu’s teammates said.

“Ugly? Ugly? You’re calling me ugly? Have you looked in a mirror recently? Also, get your gross shoe off of my shirt!” Karasu said.

“I have looked in a mirror recently, actually, and incidentally I’ve also been keeping an eye on my follow requests. Guess what? I’m obviously good looking, since a legitimate model wants to follow me! How many celebrities request to follow you, huh? I bet the answer is zero!” you said, though you did do him the favor of swinging your leg back, allowing him to brush himself off in disdain.

“Lots of soccer players want to follow me,” he said. “I’m quite good, you know.”

“That doesn’t count,” you said. “It has nothing to do with how you look. They’d request to follow you no matter how hideous and poorly styled you and your hair are.”

“Are they seriously arguing about which of them is worse looking?” Karasu’s teammate said.

“I suppose so,” your friend said. “They’re both really hot, though, so I don’t know what the big deal is…”

“Geez, they’ll take any excuse to go at it, huh?” Karasu’s teammate said.

“Pretty much,” your friend said.

“Guess all of that tension has to go somewhere,” his teammate said.

“Exactly,” your friend said, shaking her head as she finished up her lunch.

“That model probably only works for horror magazines!” Karasu said. “It barely even counts!”

“He was in Vogue Japan,” you said smugly. “Look it up, stupid.”

“So what?” he said.

“So he’s handsome,” you said. “Like I said, it’s okay if you’re envious of him, as long as you accept it instead of doing this whole weird denial thing. I don’t blame you for it — in fact, I thought you would be. You don’t have much going for you overall, do you? In all honesty, it’s only natural for you to feel like this when faced with what you lack.”

Karasu’s eyes widened, and then he stood abruptly, picking up his bag with one arm and haphazardly pulling it onto his back. “Goodbye.”

“Bye,” you said, not really caring one way or another what he did with himself. Actually, you would prefer it if he wasn’t there, interrupting your meal and your daydreaming about your impending romance with Kenyu Yukimiya.

“Wow, Y/N,” your best friend said once Karasu was gone. “You’re kind of dumb, you know that?”

“What are you talking about?” you said.

“It’s not her fault,” another one of Karasu’s teammates said. “He’s not much better.”

“Huh?” you said.

“Never mind,” your best friend said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I have a migraine now.”

“Want some ibuprofen?” Karasu’s teammate said. She accepted it gratefully, and nothing more was said on the subject. The rest of lunch passed in a peaceful manner, though strangely, Karasu did not return.

It should’ve made you happy. You wondered, then, why it felt so odd without him there, like there was a gaping maw sitting in the place that should’ve been occupied by him.

THREE: DROWN IT

Ever since the day that Yukimiya had requested to follow you, you and Karasu hadn’t spoken. He refused to make eye contact with you in the few classes the two of you had together, keeping his gaze lowered to his work and his shoulders hunched away from you. You didn’t even try to talk to him; something told you that it would not be well-received, and you weren’t anywhere near confrontational enough to bring up his odd behavior, so the time without him dragged on and on, seemingly without end.

At first, you were happy, and you told your friends as much. It was a much-needed break from the constant aggravation he brought you, and you found your classes without your competition to be almost boring in their simplicity.

“The more you say you’re happy that you and Karasu aren’t talking, the less it sounds believable,” your best friend said, taking a sip from her juice box.

“Believe it! This is what I’ve been wanting since middle school,” you said.

“Is it?” she said. “It sounds like you’re kind of upset.”

“Am not!” you said. She shrugged.

“Sure,” she said, drawing out the word. “Definitely not.”

“Why would I be upset?” you said.

“You tell me,” she said.

“I’m telling you that I’m not upset. You’re the one with the theory, so give me some evidence to substantiate it,” you said.

“Fine,” she said. “You talk about him all of the time, even when you guys are getting along — or, at least, your twisted little version of being friendly, which isn’t friendly by anyone else’s standards but it seems to work for you two, so I won’t comment further. You keep telling us that you’re so delighted he’s leaving you alone, but you do this thing with your face when you say it that makes it super obvious you’re not. It’s not the kind of behavior you’d display when discussing someone you hate as much as you claim to hate him. Finally, there’s a reason half the school thinks you guys are dating, and it’s not just the obvious aesthetic appeal of that match.”

“What? I thought you were just trying to bother me when you brought that up!” you said. She shook her head.

“No, it’s a common misconception. It’s why no one’s ever asked you out. They all think you’re already taken. Actually, the other day, a guy asked me if I thought he might have a chance with you now that you and Karasu had broken up,” she said.

“What’d you say?” you said, half in horror, half in fascination.

“I told him probably not, and that you and Karasu hadn’t broken up, because you were never together in the first place,” she said.

“Oh, okay,” you said.

“Should I have said something else?” she said. You shook your head.

“No,” you said. “What else would you have said?”

“Dunno,” she said. “Look, you need to cheer up. I’m sure that if you just try to talk to him, things will go back to normal in an instant. Then you can return to complaining about him like usual.”

“Talk to him? About what?” you said. She gave you an incredulous look.

“You were pretty mean to him the other day, Y/N,” she said.

“It wasn’t any meaner than what he says to me on the regular,” you said. “And what I say to him in return. I don’t see why he’d be more or less offended.”

“I think it was a little worse than what you typically say,” she said. “Plus, the context was different.”

“How so?” you said. She shook her head.

“That’s for him to explain, not me,” she said. “Come on, don’t be stubborn. Work things out with him. I miss hanging out with the guys.”

“Ah, so that’s why it matters to you,” you said. “Sorry to say it, but I don’t have any plans at attempting conversation with him anytime soon. Like I said, things are finally calm and stress-free for me. He’s the one being immature, as always, so why’s it up to me to make things better?”

“Immature?” your best friend said. “You’ve held a grudge against him since middle school.”

“And?” you said. She squinted at you before pursing her lips.

“Well, I guess the two of you really are made for one another,” she said.

“What?”

The next week would mark the beginning of the swimming unit in PE class, which you were actually looking forward to. You loved to swim, you had ever since you were a child and your parents had brought you into the water for the first time, and the thought of getting to earn a good grade for something you liked doing in the first place was an agreeable on.

In preparation, you decided to stop by the pool after classes were over so that you could acclimate yourself to the motions of the strokes once again. The swim team’s practice had been canceled, and no one else ever used the pool, so you would have the place to yourself, which was just about the closest thing to heaven you could imagine while still living on Earth.

Changing into your school-issued bathing suit and putting your things into a locker, you tied your hair back so that it was out of the way and stepped into the steaming indoor pool deck. The water was a bright cerulean shade, the lanes split by lane-lines which alternated colors to match your school’s emblem. When you dipped your toe into the deep end, you found it was warm, not cold like you had feared. The school didn’t splurge on heating the water of the rarely-used pool, so usually, it was all but freezing. You supposed that they must’ve had complaints from last year’s PE classes, so they had restarted the heaters in order to ensure that no one had any cause to whine about the temperature this year.

For a moment, you just sat on the tiled edge, your legs swishing about in the water, the heels of your palms pressing against the lip of the pool as you closed your eyes and luxuriated in the tangy scent of chlorine. So lost were you that you almost didn’t notice the door swinging open, but the clang of it shutting was unmistakable. Thinking it must’ve been a confused swim team member showing up to a practice that wasn’t happening, you opened your eyes, your lips parting to issue a reprimand that died before it could take shape.

It wasn’t a swim team member. It was Tabito Karasu, wearing a pair of swim trunks and nothing else, his jaw taut and his fists clenched as he inched towards the water. He hadn’t even noticed you, and you didn’t feel inclined to announce yourself, so you let your elbows dig into your thighs, your chin resting in your hands as you observed him.

You had known that he played soccer almost as long as you had known his name. It was the entire reason he was so popular and well-regarded in the school, and an inextricable part of his identity, but until now, you hadn’t quite considered what that actually meant. After all, you only ever saw him in the loose, modest clothing of the school’s uniform, so why would you jump to the conclusion that he was so — so — well, you were loath to admit it, but he had a striking body, and, now that he wasn’t being all cocky and maddening, you could appreciate that even his face was of a similar quality.

Blinking, you cocked your head as he extended a graceful foot towards the first stair leading into the shallow end. Water splashed against it, and he yanked it back like he had been scalded. You could not help yourself from giggling as he did this once and then twice again. On the third attempt, you forgot that the two of you weren’t acknowledging one another and cupped your hands around your mouth to amplify your voice.

“What are you doing?” you said.

“Who — Y/N? I didn’t realize anyone else was in here!” he said, stepping back from the pool and straightening his shorts, though there was nothing wrong with them that required straightening. You sprang to your feet and walked over to him, leaving wet footprints in your wake as you peered at him curiously.

“I was just going to do some laps to ensure that I’m at my best for the swimming unit next week. Did you have the same idea?” you said.

“Something like that,” he said.

“What’s with that whole ritual, though?” you said. “It’s not that cold. You should just get in.”

“Definitely not,” he said. You furrowed your brow.

“Okay,” you said. “Why are you at the pool, then, if you don’t want to go in the water?”

“It’s nothing you need to be concerned with!” he said. “Why are you so nosy? Just go away.”

“I was here first,” you said.

“Fine,” he said, spinning on his heel. “I’ll go, then.”

“Wait! Karasu, wait,” you said, grabbing onto his wrist as he made to leave. “Look, we don’t have to talk to one another or anything. We’re experienced enough at ignoring each other, so there’s not an issue in both of us being here.”

“Is that what you want?” he said.

“Yeah, sure,” you said. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, and you thought he would say something, but he only nodded curtly.

“Fine,” he said. You gave him an expectant look, but he did not move from the spot he was rooted in, so you thought that you might as well take the initiative. Looping around to the deep end, you inhaled and then dove into the water headfirst, staying under for as long as you could before finally surfacing and allowing yourself to settle into the familiar undulations that came with swimming.

After a few laps, you took a break, peeking up over the concrete to look at Karasu, who was still standing stubbornly in place, his nose wrinkling whenever he glanced at the pool.

“Hey,” you said. “Are you scared of the water or something?”

He froze. “Who told you that?”

“No one?” you said. “It’s pretty easy to tell as an onlooker. Were you planning on trying to get over your fear by coming to swim when no one was here? That’s dangerous if you don’t know how. You could drown.”

“I’m not scared of the water,” he said.

“Really? Then why’re you just standing there?” you said. His mouth opened and closed a few times, and then finally he hung his head in reluctant defeat.

“Whatever,” he said. Judging by the way he tensed immediately after the confession, he was expecting you to say something cruel, but you only boosted yourself out of the water and tapped him on the shoulder.

“I can help you, if you’d like,” you said. “I’m good at swimming.”

“Why would I want your help? And why would you even offer it in the first place? This is just one more subject you can beat me in, and that’s all you care about, so save it,” he said. “Congratulations, Y/N. You get to be number one this time.”

He looped a dry towel around his neck and left you standing alone, shivering and dripping pool water, a puddle forming around your feet as you gazed at the door he had vanished through.

The class rankings updated again after the swimming unit was over. You were in first place. Karasu didn’t even make it to the top ten. You wanted to celebrate the victory — it was the first time you had beaten him so thoroughly, after all — but for some reason, it didn’t really feel like something worth celebrating.

FOUR: STONE IT

School without Karasu was lonelier than you thought it would be. You hadn’t realized just how much you relied on him until he wasn’t there anymore. Without him, there wasn’t anyone you could exchange looks with across the room when somebody said something ridiculous in class. There wasn’t anyone who you could talk to in the minutes before the period began. There wasn’t anyone who made you push yourself to be better. What was the point of being first if Karasu wasn’t on your heels, ensuring that you stayed on the top for fear of losing to him? It was boring and lonely to try if he wasn’t doing the same.

You and he were still one and two, but it didn’t matter much anymore. The rankings were just numbers. They didn’t mean anything when Karasu still refused to even exchange pleasantries with you. Why would you want to compete when the other party didn’t share your interest? Now, if you managed to pull out ahead of him, it felt more like you had kicked a dog that was already down than if you had actually won anything. When he got first over you, it didn’t fuel your ambition any. You just wished he would come over and gloat instead of sitting there so solemnly, like none of it had ever mattered to him in the first place.

You couldn’t understand why he was so angry. What had you said that was so egregious? You hardly remembered the conversation you had had with him, it was that thoughtlessly done. You really hadn’t meant much if anything by it. One second, the two of you had been squabbling as you were prone to doing, and the next, he was so furious that he couldn’t bear to interact with you even still.

The day you were ambushed was nondescript. It was just like any other Wednesday, and you were walking back home from school when you were forced to stop in your tracks. A tall man — no, he was a boy, probably a year or two younger than you based on his soft and innocent expression — was barring your way, his arms outstretched and feet planted firmly in the ground to prove the depth of his conviction. He had pale hair and sky-colored eyes framed by the longest eyelashes you had ever seen on anyone, man or woman, with a small mouth pinched into an expression of discontent and lines like tire tracks between his eyebrows.

“Who are you?” you said warily, reaching for your phone, though you hardly knew who you would call. The setting was wrong for this to be a mugging, as it was sunny out and you were on a well-traveled street, but you didn’t really know what else to expect from the stranger, who could certainly outmuscle you if it came to it despite his lovely appearance.

“Yo Hiori,” he said. “I play on Bambi Osaka with Karasu. You’re Y/N L/N, correct?”

“Oh, one of the soccer guys?” you said. “Uh, hey. Yes, that’s me. Is something the matter? I’ve never seen you before. How do you even know who I am?”

“I’ve been watching Karasu for a while,” Hiori said with the utmost of seriousness, his hands dropping to his sides now that he was sure you weren’t going to run past him. “He’s a pretty fascinating person.”

“I’m sure,” you said, thinking to yourself that this Hiori kid was more than a little weird. Did Karasu know that he had acquired such a shadow? You supposed he must’ve. He had always been the observant type, so there was no way someone like Hiori would’ve escaped his keen notice.

“He’s been kind of down in the dumps recently, though. Even our coach noticed it. His playing hasn’t suffered too dramatically, but he’s the captain of the team, so he’s the guy everyone relies on for a funny pep talk or a word of advice when things are going south. Nowadays, however, when he’s off the field, he just sulks,” Hiori explained.

“I see,” you said. “That’s terrible.”

You meant it, too. Karasu without his asshole quips and ready jokes was a different person entirely. A person who you missed more than you could let on, even to yourself.

“It is,” Hiori said. “I took it upon myself to do some digging, and I’ve come to the conclusion that the reason is you.”

He was definitely a freak. You vowed to bring it up with Karasu, if he ever talked to you again. Even if he was already aware, it felt like a moral or civic duty of yours to ensure that he was fully informed about the extent that this child was inquiring into his life.

“What kind of, uh, digging do you mean?” you said, neatly avoiding the second thing he had said.

“It was pretty simple,” Hiori said. “One of the guys asked Karasu if he was acting off because he broke up with his girlfriend or something, and he got so mad that he left practice early. I opened up social media as soon as I got home and saw that you’re the only girl he follows, so by process of elimination, I figured the two of you were having some trouble in your relationship.”

“Relationship? I think you’re misunderstanding,” you said. “There’s no relationship. You could hardly even consider us friends.”

“Oh!” Hiori said. “I’m sorry. He’s mentioned you once or twice, so I just thought — and given what he said — and his reaction and all — no, I really am just sorry. It was wrong of me to make that assumption in the first place.”

“It’s alright,” you said. “I’m told it’s a relatively common misconception, so I can’t blame you. At least, it used to be. We haven’t really spoken in a while, so I guess everything thinks that it’s over, even though it never began in the first place.”

“You haven’t spoken in a while?” Hiori said. “Why not?”

“I think I said something that offended him, and we haven’t been on good terms since. Not that we ever really were in the first place,” you said.

“You did? He’s a pretty rational person, so it must’ve been something terrible for him to still be angry about it,” Hiori said.

“Maybe, but I don’t remember saying anything like that,” you said.

“What if you tell me how your last conversation went? Maybe I can help you,” he said.

“Sure, since you’re apparently the resident Karasu expert,” you said. “Wanna walk with me? I was heading home, but we can go to the convenience store and get some snacks or something instead. I don’t want to get in trouble for standing around in front of some random person’s house for too long.”

“Sounds good,” Hiori said. “There’s one a couple of minutes away, so we can head in that direction and keep talking as we go.”

“Great,” you said. “Okay, so the last time we talked…I think it was when Kenyu Yukimiya requested to follow me.”

“Who’s that?” Hiori said.

“He’s this model I met while I was shopping one day. Absolutely breathtaking,” you said. “Just really a stand-up guy. We’ve hung out a few times since then, he introduced me to the girlfriend I did not know he had, the works.“

“Yikes, unrequited love?” Hiori said with a wince.

“It was more of a celebrity crush. His girlfriend is super sweet, though, so I can’t complain. Anyways, I would consider them both casual acquaintances. The type you call to have a coffee with, but not the ones that help you move into a new apartment, you know?” you said.

“Uh, sure,” Hiori said in a tone which suggested he had no idea what you were talking about but was too scared to inquire further.

“Moving on, Yukimiya requested to follow me, and of course this was at the peak of my celebrity crush, so I started fawning over him, which prompted Karasu to take my phone and start insulting him,” you said.

“Interesting,” Hiori said.

“Then I called him ugly, and he called me ugly — that’s pretty standard for the two of us, so don’t look so shocked! After that, I said something about how I had expected him to be jealous of Yukimiya, since he didn’t have much going for him overall, so it made sense,” you said. “That’s when he left and things got weird.”

“Okay, I think I get it,” Hiori said. You waited for him to explain further. He smiled at you pleasantly.

“Right, so are you going to share with the class or am I meant to read your mind?” you said after a moment.

“I don’t want to give anything away that I shouldn’t,” he said. “But it’s a pretty simple issue to fix. Try thinking about what you said from his perspective.”

“He has a dumbass perspective. It’s impossible for me to think that way,” you said automatically.

“Do you think that he dislikes you?” Hiori said, taking two bottles of Yakult down from the shelf, handing one to you and keeping the other for himself.

“I’m not really sure how he feels about me, to tell you the truth,” you said.

“I don’t think he does,” Hiori said. “So, try thinking about someone you like and then imagine them saying to you what you said to them. Would you be inclined to be nice to them after that?”

“Well…” Your tongue was heavy and leaden in your mouth, and you ducked your head as you searched through your wallet for money. “No, not at all. I’d probably hate them for a really long time. Maybe forever.”

“That’s possible,” he said.

“Do you think he’ll hate me forever?” you said.

“Most likely not. Like I said earlier, he’s a rational person. I think that if you say sorry and sincerely mean it, he’ll forgive you. There’s a chance he won’t, though; you’ll have to listen to what he says and accept it,” Hiori said.

“But when? I hardly have the chance to see him in school. He just avoids me, and the building’s so big that it’s all but impossible to track him down!” you said.

“We have a soccer game in the evening today,” Hiori said. “I’m heading over there in a bit. Wanna come? You can talk to him once it’s over.”

“Am I allowed to?” you said.

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Hiori said. “If anyone says anything, just tell them I invited you. Here, I’ll give you the address and time now, and you can decide if you want to show up.”

“Okay,” you said, typing out his instructions in your notes app. “Thanks a lot for your help, Hiori.”

“Anytime!” he said. “Hope to see you at the game!”

“Even if I don’t go, I’d still like to meet you again. You’re a pretty cool kid,” you said, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Kind of weird, if I’m being fully honest, but cool nonetheless. Karasu’s lucky to have a teammate like you.”

He grinned, and it was a tender, shy thing, as if he was earnestly seeking your praise or approval — like how a cat would bring a dead rat to its master or a child would show their parents a treasured drawing. “Thank you. Even if you don’t try to talk to Karasu…maybe you can still come anyways?”

“Alright, then,” you said. “Since you asked so nicely, I guess I have to. I’ll be there.”

FIVE: TAME IT

The sun was nearing the horizon, but it still had not officially begun to set by the time you settled in the bleachers on Bambi Osaka’s side. Besides a couple of women your mother’s age and an elderly man who must’ve been someone’s grandfather, there weren’t any other spectators. Hiori had mentioned that this wasn’t a particularly serious game, as they didn’t even need to beat the team to make it to Nationals, so it was more like a friendly exhibition game than anything — hence the low turnout.

“Hello, dear,” a woman said when she noticed you sitting by yourself. “Are you friends with one of the players?”

“Yes. Um, Tabito Karasu? I’m his classmate,” you said. Technically, you were there on Hiori’s goodwill, not Karasu’s, but for you to not mention Karasu would be like a betrayal. You weren’t sure if it was him or yourself that you’d be betraying, but either way you did not want to chance it.

“You’re one of Karasu’s friends? Lucky you, then,” she said. “He’s a delightful boy, or so I’ve heard. This is my son’s first year on the team, and he was really nervous to join such a prestigious organization, but ever since his first day, all he can talk about is how amazing his captain is. Karasu’s tough on all of the players, but he really works hard to make all of them feel welcomed, too.”

Bambi Osaka’s team took the field, and you smiled when you saw Karasu in the front, his name across the back of his jersey, a pair of black gloves covering his large hands, an insolent leer on his face as he greeted the other team’s captain. He had not noticed you yet, and you were not sure if this was for the better or worse, because you wanted him to see you, but you didn’t want him to be distracted and play poorly as a result.

“He’s a wonderful person,” you agreed. “He’s the only one in the entire school who can keep up with me, academically or otherwise. I didn’t realize until recently how much I admire him for that.”

The woman’s eyes crinkled around the corners with the ease that came from a lifetime of happiness. For some reason, you thought that she knew something you did not, or could not, but it wasn’t uncomfortable that she did. It seemed to you that being left in the dark was just your lot this time around, and you found that oddly enough, it felt acceptable.

“Is this your first time coming to watch him?” she said.

“Yes, it is,” you said.

“You know, he has this habit before every match of scanning the stands, like he’s looking for someone. I thought it might be his parents, but at the last match, just about his entire family showed up, and he still seemed disappointed,” she said.

“That’s a shame,” you said noncommittally, not sure what else you should say. The woman shrugged.

“Well, I wonder what it’ll be like today,” she said. “There he goes.”

True to her words, Karasu was craning his neck towards the Bambi Osaka side, his eyes darting from person to person until they settled on you. You raised your hand hesitantly, waving at him, knowing that he probably wouldn’t reciprocate.

He turned away almost immediately, but not before you saw him fight back a smile — not the smug type he generally donned, but one you had only ever seen on him once or twice. It was one that made him seem charming and boyish and sweet, that made you want to take back every negative word you had ever said about him. Only now could you understand that it showed who he really was, that at his heart Karasu was that kind of person, not anything like the facade you were so accustomed to, which he showed you for the sole reason that it was what you unconsciously demanded of him.

You had judged him to be horrible, and so he became the bane of your existence. You had told him he was good for nothing, so he disappeared like he really was just that. Everything you said, Karasu went along with gamely, and you wished you could’ve known that earlier, so you would’ve spent less time hating him and more time comprehending these intricacies, which entranced you in the way a spider’s web entranced a butterfly.

“Looks like I don’t need to worry about that child any more,” the woman said as the referee blew the whistle to signal the start of the game.

“Pardon?” you said. “Were you talking to me?”

“No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I was just musing to myself. Ignore me. Let’s watch the game; I have a feeling that some of our players are going to go all out today.”

Bambi Osaka completely annihilated the other team. Maybe the match didn’t matter, but none of them played that way; instead, they were aggressive and focused, with Karasu at the forefront of every goal they made, commending his teammates and deriding his opposition in the same breath.

That was something you had not expected — he had a massively foul mouth when he played soccer. You had thought that he was rude when he spoke to you, but the things you overheard from him whenever he ran by within earshot made your conversations seem tame. You couldn’t help but pity the poor defenders that he shoved past and spat barbed-wire abuse at.

He was merciless and beautiful and you could probably spend a dozen more hours watching him play without even a trace of boredom, but by the time the sky had turned gold and the sun had dipped towards the ground, the game was over and the members of Bambi Osaka were packing up their things to leave for the night after yet another landslide win.

You snuck onto the field once you were extremely assured that nobody would be upset with you for it, making your way over to where Karasu was chugging a bottle of water.

“Hi,” you said when he was finished, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and tossing the now-empty bottle into his bag. “You played really well.”

“Thanks,” he said. There was impatience but also longing in his voice, like he wanted you to say something so badly but he knew you would not, would never, and so he would rather get the conversation over with and move on with the business of his life than stick around and waste time with you.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“What?” he said.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Karasu, I’m really sorry. I don’t think that you have nothing going for you. I don’t know why I said that. Well, I do, it’s because I wanted to have the last word like I always do, but I don’t mind if I don’t have it this time. Or any other time. Or ever again.”

“What?” he repeated, as though he had been rendered dumb by your confession.

“I miss you,” you admitted. “I didn’t believe I could, but apparently, I can, and I do. A lot. I know that I’m unpleasant and disparaging and haughty when it comes to you, but I won’t be that way anymore if you forgive me for my vices one last time. If it means you’ll talk to me, I’ll be a fool. I’ll be in second place. I’ll be an idiot. But please, please forgive me.”

He took a deep breath. You handed him the bottle of kombucha that you had bought on your way to the game because you saw him drink it so frequently that you figured he must like it. He accepted it gingerly, holding it with the delicacy of a newborn, unscrewing the lid and sipping on it pensively.

“Alright,” he said.

“Alright?” you said.

“I’ll forgive you,” he said. “But on one condition.”

“Anything,” you said.

“You better not do anything as dumb as trying to be mediocre on purpose because you think it’ll make me feel better. What the hell is that proposition, huh? It’ll make me feel worse if anything! I like you because you’re unpleasant and disparaging and haughty and whatever else you said, not in spite of those qualities. I’m sure you heard me while I was playing…anyone who isn’t you would probably be terrified of me when I’m like that,” he said. “Just, y’know, I’m a person with feelings, too, so keep that in mind if you can. Oh, and don’t wait so long to say sorry next time, because it’s seriously annoying for me to feel all out-of-sorts for ages!” he said.

“That’s it?” you said.

“That’s it,” he said. “Hug?”

Ordinarily, you would’ve said no, but you were so weepy at the reconciliation that you nodded and let him embrace you, his arms caging you against his chest, holding you to him so that you could not escape.

“Ew!” you shouted when you registered what he was trying to do, shoving him off of you as he cackled and released you without much of a fight. “Gross, Karasu, you’re disgusting! Get away from me! I can’t believe you did that!”

“I can’t believe you fell for it!” he said as you frantically tried to wipe yourself off, though it was largely in vain. In your emotional state, you had forgotten that he was still drenched with sweat from the game, and you were now reaping the consequences of your poor decision making.

“You’re a bad person,” you said.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Whatever you say.”

“I probably deserved that one, though, so I won’t hold it against you,” you said.

“Smart decision,” he said. “Wait. Unrelated, but whatever ended up happening between you and that model dude? What was his name again?”

“Yukimiya? He has a girlfriend,” you said. “Oh, well. What can you do, right? I’m not upset about it. Besides, everyone and their mother thinks I have a boyfriend already, so it’s probably for the best that it worked out like this. I wouldn’t want his modeling career to be ruined by home-wrecking allegations or anything.”

“It must be a pretty serious not-relationship you’ve got there, if it’s the career-ending type,” he said.

“I’d say it’s pretty serious, yes,” you said. “He’s an awesome guy. You’d like him.”

“I’ll respect it, then,” he said. “But…if you ever find yourself not-breaking up with him, then, uh, let me know. I’ll take you on a date somewhere. We can argue and reminisce about the day we met over dinner or something. It’ll be super romantic.”

He said it casually, but you were more familiar with him than either of you ever could’ve predicted you’d be. He was secretly nervous about how big of a risk he had taken, fiddling with the zipper of his soccer bag, avoiding your eyes while he waited for your response. You let the silence stretch on for a minute, just to make him squirm, and then you poked him in the ribs.

“Karasu,” you said.

“What’s up?” he said, and he must’ve been trying very hard to keep his cool, but his anxiety transmitted through the endearing crack of his voice.

“I have to tell you something,” you said.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“I’m not-single now,” you said. “So. Will you take me on a date this weekend?”

He lit up, so bright that you were all but blinded by the brilliance of his joy. Then he cleared his throat and pretended to check the non-existent watch on his wrist.

“You’re in luck,” he said. “That works for me. I’ll pick you up on Saturday for dinner.”

“Great,” you said. “I look forward to it.”

“Hold on, don’t go just yet,” he said. You paused, about to ask him what else he needed when he stooped over and pressed his lips to your cheek. “Thanks for coming to my game. I’m not really sure how you knew I was playing, but I’m glad you could make it either way.”

“Um — uh — Hiori told me, he told me you were playing, and, er, where to go and what time and all,” you stammered, trying to wrap your head around what had just happened, replaying it in your mind over and over.

“Hiori? I should’ve known he’d be the type to meddle like that,” he said. “I’m not even going to ask how you know each other. The answer will probably make me feel vaguely discomfited, so I’ll abide by an ‘ignorance is bliss’ policy.”

“That’s probably for the best,” you said, composing yourself, though internally, you were imagining what it would be like if you had turned your head, if instead of your cheek his lips had landed somewhere else. “Okay, I should go now. See you on Saturday?”

“One last thing. You’re pretty transparent, you know,” he said, grasping your chin in his left hand and leaning in. Your eyelashes fluttered shut as he grew closer and closer, but right when his mouth was a hair’s breadth from yourself, he chuckled. “Also, pretty gullible.”

Instead of kissing you like you had anticipated he would, he tackled you in another hug. You squealed in protest, but he held fast, his body rumbling with laughter as you simultaneously struggled to escape and clung onto him as tightly as you could.

“I hate you,” you said when your half-hearted efforts proved to be entirely futile.

“Sure you do,” he said.

“You’re the worst,” you said.

“Absolutely,” he said.

“I’m being serious here. You smell!” you said.

“Well, that’s plain rude of you to say,” he said, messing up your hair in what you were sure he deemed to be a punishment, as if being crushed against his sweaty form wasn’t punishment enough.

“Let go of me, you idiot crow!” you said.

“No can do,” he said. “Crows are clingy birds, you know. Even the idiotic ones. Ask me again in twenty years and maybe we can revisit the issue.”

“Karasu!”

#karasu x reader #karasu x y/n #karasu x you #karasu tabito #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #academic rivals to lovers #reader insert #m1ckeyb3rry milestone #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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itsmrshamilton · 5 months ago

Note

If you can take a request for a Lewis Hamilton falling in love at first site for a fan he just met at a GP and eventually saw her again during the summer break she was taking a Europe solo trip & they kik it off #fluff

First Sight | LH44

a/n: Never been on holiday so my imagination worked overtime to get this right.

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Lewis Hamilton had not slept a wink. It was 4:59 a.m., and his alarm was about to go off, and he had not slept all night. This wasn't like him. Yes, he had nights when he felt too anxious to sleep well, but never had he laid in bed and still been awake more than 6 hours later. His eyes were burning, and his limbs felt very heavy each time he turned over to get into a new position. The bed was too hot but his room was too cold. The discomfort was slowly driving him insane.

The phone alarm rang loudly but failed to do its job of waking its owner up because he was already wide awake. Sighing in great annoyance, Lewis grabbed the device off the nightstand and silenced the blaring noise. Upon unlocking his screen he saw messages from his assistant updating him on his schedule for the day. He swiped the blocks then hesitated as he stared at his wallpaper - a recent picture of Roscoe lying on Lewis' chest as they rested on his bed. Roscoe's sweet face rolls were squashed upwards by the force of his big grin exposing his silly tongue. Lewis smiled softly as he looked at his best friend and made a mental note to video call home later and check in on Roscoe.

Peeking at the time, he sat up and began the process of getting ready for the day. He hadn't been looking forward to this race for a long time. His last qualifying race for the season in his second year with Ferarri. Things weren't going as well as he had hoped. Fred, his engineers and the car were all great but Lewis still hadn't won his 8th world champion title despite pushing weekly and winning more than a handful of the races. Despite his performance improvement from Mercedes, Lewis still had Max Verstappen breathing down his neck, chasing him down at every corner. The races were exhilirating for Lewis because this was what he loved, but the stress was creeping up on him. The Ferarri car was great, the strategies were another story.

When he was done preparing and packing, Lewis left for the car outside. Slipping on his sunglasses to try hide his dark eyebags, he prayed to his God that the day would go in his favour.

The screams and noise could surely be heard from the next town over. Yet they somehow increased in volume when Lewis stepped out of his vehicle at the track parking lot. He was exhausted and slightly grumpy but he knew that many fans had travelled from far to meet the drivers so he trudged over to the metal barriers to sign and pose for photos. Papers, magazines, helmets, caps and phones were shoved at his face by arms waving frantically. He smiled, complimented and signed. Colourful beaded bracelets were slipped onto his wrists, artists handed over their creations and photographers snapped away at his every movement. Overwhelming was an understatement but Lewis was incredibly grateful to have a fan base as supportive as his. The move from Ferarri was not easy but it had enjoyable moments created by those who wore the number 44 with pride every weekend. For these people, he would smile til his cheeks hurt and his teeth fell out.

"Thank you all for being here. I appreciate you all!" He shouted as he waved and retreated to the paddock entrance. Cameramen tripped over themselves as they made to move with him. Lewis Hamilton Fashion Week was still going on. Their flashes illuminated his soft sleeveless yellow cardigan, his sheer yellow tracksuit pants and his white sneakers. The irony only he could laugh at was the meaning of the colours against his current feelings.

Having had enough of the cameras, he turned right into a passage and began weaving his way between buildings to get to his destination. The photographers took the hint and disappeared but Lewis kept using the passages and gaps. Getting closer to the Ferarri building, he took a sharp left round a corner and walked right into someone who was looking down at their phone, completely unaware of their surroundings.

"Oof, excuse me. Apologies!" She exclaimed as both their phones went tumbling onto the paved ground. Lewis winced at the sound of his phone screen hitting the floor. He bent down to pick it up at the same time as she bent to get hers.

Lewis noticed that they had the same covers but as he straightened up to mention this, their heads knocked together. This time she winced at the sound it made.

"Oh, jeez. Ouch. Are you okay?" Lewis asked her when she yelped. He rubbed the side of his head tenderly. He took the time to look at her.

"Ow! Im sorry! Omg, this can't get worse. I'm okay. Are you-" She stopped when she looked at his face. She had the most beautiful eyes Lewis had ever seen on anyone. Her lashes framed them perfectly, making him want to stand there all day and study them intently til he could draw them from memory. Not that he needed all day, just these 10 seconds were enough to ensure that he would never forget her face.

Her braids were falling out of the high ponytail she had them in, and her necklace sat askew at the base of her long neck on her exposed bronze collarbones. He felt a little light headed at the sight of them. Her small mouth was downturned in a pout which made him slighlty upset that he was the cause of it. He took the time to eye the rest of her. She was all limbs. Tall, bronzed goddess in a yellow and red Ferarri top, jean shorts and sneakers. He couldn't remember where he was or what he was supposed to do today.

"Oh wow, you're Lewis Hamilton." She muttered to herself.

He snapped out of it and managed to send her small smile. He was still trying to remember how to use his mouth to produce coherent words. At his damn age he was standing there like a fool.

"I'm sorry about that. I didn't know where to go and felt a little embarrassed, so I stepped here to gather myself and contact Sheila, but my phone's acting up - my phone!" At that, she dropped down to pick up her phone but hesitated when she realised that both devices looked the same. Picking up both, she turned them over and grimaced at the sight of the cracked screens. She turned them on to differentiate by wallpapers. The one in her left hand had a picture of a cute dog.

"Uh, that's Roscoe. My dog." Lewis stated as he finally figured out how to work his tongue. He reached out to receive it from her.

"He's very cute." She smiled at him. He stared back. She raised her dark brows at him in slight amusement. "I'm sorry about your screen."

"Oh, uh, don't worry about that. Its always cracked. I'm sorry about yours."

"It's okay, mine is always cracked too." She laughed softly and looked down at it. Lewis noticed that the wallpaper was of her and another woman around the same age taking a selfie.

"Uh, you, uh, you mentioned being lost?" He cleared his throat. He didn't know why he was still standing here talking when he had somewhere to be for something very important. But to be honest, nothing felt more important than being here now, with her, whoever she was. It felt right.

"Yeah," she frowned. "I came here today with my friend Sheila but we got separated in a crowd and I stepped into this passage to call her but my phone is freezing up. I dont know where to go." She sighed in frustration.

Lewis hated seeing her upset. He questioned why he felt like he could move the moon and stars just to make her smile again again. His stomach was tingling in an uncomfortable way. He had spoken to many women in his lifetime so why was he finding it hard to function normally around her?

"You can use my phone." He offered it to her. "Or I can take you to the garage, and we could send out a broadcast for her to find you there? Might be easier that way." He smiled sheepishly and hoped she would take the invitation. He really wanted to spend just a bit more time with her.

Her gorgeous eyes lit up and put him in a trance once more. "The Ferarri garage?! With you! Oh my gosh, I would love that." She handed back his phone and his fingers brushed hers. His knees nearly buckled. He leaned on the wall next to them to seem cool and poised but really he was trying to regain stability after a bolt of electricity shot through him. He noticed that she jumped back slightly as well after contact.

"Cool, so we'll head there then? I'm sorry, I never got your name..." He said softly.

"Y/n L/n. Pleasure to meet you." She stuck her right hand out to shake. If he had looked away from her eyes for a second, he would have noticed that it was trembling softly. His big calloused hand grasped her small one and he shook it but held on afterwards, rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand.

"The pleasure is all mine." He murmured as his eyelids lowered sexily. His eyes darkened as another jolt of energy ran through him. The air around them in that narrow passage way crackled with electricity and the noise of the paddock vanished. In that moment it was just the two of them. Her eyes held his gaze but her smirking full lips put up a great fight to draw his attention away. He was mesmerised, enchanchted, gobsmacked. Utterly and completely in love with this Y/n L/n.

"Y/n? Y/n! Is that you? Hun, I've been looking all over! Where have been hidi- oh my lord." Another woman entered the thin area they were in and interrupted the moment. Lewis painfully dragged his eyes off of Y/n to look at her and recognised her as the lady in the wallpaper. Who he now assumed was Sheila, her friend.

"Y/n. Jesus, what are you doing...omg. Is this Lewis Hamilton??! What are you doing with Lewis Hamilton!?" She whisper-shouted at Y/n who had now released herself from Lewis' grasp and turned around. Sheila's eyes were huge with shock.

Y/n took her hands and shushed her quickly. "Sheila, this is Lewis. Lewis, this is Sheila." She pointed from the one to the other. "Lewis was going to help me find you but now that you're here, we can go. Can't waste these paddock passes anymore than I accidentally have." She laughed from embarrassment.

Lewis wanted to reassure her and promise to buy all the paddock passes to every race she wanted to attend. Instead he smiled at her and tried to think of something cool to say. "Hello Sheila." He greeted and received a squeak in reply. He opened his mouth once more but was interrupted.

"Thank you for the offer. I really do appreciate it. I'll see you up on the podium, yeah? Bye!" Y/n gathered her shocked Sheila and they walked quickly out of the narrow space and into a crowd. She looked back once to wave at him before they disappeared. Lewis stood there dazed.

There was a slight ache in his chest now that she was gone. And he rubbed his forehead when he realised that he didnt get any of her contact details. He would have to find her somehow, she had to be on at least one social media platform. He nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone rang loudly. Answering it, he was greeted by his assistant's voice questioning where he was. Lewis answered that he'd be there in a minute then began to make his way. He kept his head high so he could look for Y/n's hair. Unfortunately he didnt see her for the rest of the weekend despite asking around as well.

His grievances with Ferarri from that morning were forgotten. He ended up on the podium that Sunday, 1st place and did his best to squint into the crowd in hopes of recognising her face. Nothing.

It was with a very heavy heart that he accepted that he would never see her again.

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The humidity in the air was going to kill you. It felt like it was forcing its way into your windpipe and filling it to the brim so you couldn't breathe in any useful oxygen. You were being extremely dramatic but you couldn't help it. It was difficult to be in a good and optimistic mood when your hair had shrunk to tiny curls on your head. All that effort to blowdry an afro, gone.

"Sheila, I don't know where to go. It's so hot every where!" You whined into your phone.

Your best friend clicked her tongue at you in annoyance. You had been complaining since the first flight got delayed and had been 6 hours since.

"Y/n if you whine about one more thing, I promise you I will block your number. You are on vacation! Enjoy it!"

You sighed in mock annoyance. "I'm alone, though. Travelling isn't that fun without you."

"Uh uh. We are not doing this. You've been planning this solo trip for weeks, okay. You said it yourself that you need to experience solo living to better yourself. It's easier to grow without the influence of others. Remember, I tried to tag along, but you insisted!" Her reminder was gentle, but you felt like reaching into the phone and pinching her.

"I hate that you're right. I'm a big girl, I can do this." You said mainly to yourself.

"Atta girl! Now go find some hunky european natives and enjoy 3 weeks of bliss! I love you!" She squealed. You laughed at her nonsense and repeated the phrase back before ending the call.

She was right. You had gotten a job straight out of university and worked your ass off daily. The excitement of doing what you loved for a living was overwhelming, and it carried you through the first 6 years of work. But the excitement ran out, and you found yourself struggling to get out of bed due to burnout. Considering a change of career and lifestyle, you planned a solo trip to cleanse yourself of the stress. And now, here you were. Ready for 4 day stays in 5 gorgeous countries.

You arrived at your first destination about 2 hours ago, checked into your first hotel and unpacked already. The afternoon sun was blistering, which was surprising to you because, well, it was europe, but you guessed that the temperatures might be due to a heatwave. Of course, it was your luck to plan a 3 week stay during a heatwave.

Your stomach gurgled loudly. "That's a sign to get out of here and go eat." You mumbled to yourself.

After packing a beach bag and attempting to resuscitate your afro, you made your way downstairs to get directions to any nearby restaurants. The receptionists were very helpful, so you found yourself seated at a table under a large umbrella with a gorgeous view of the blue waves. Your beef with the stifling humidity was forgotten as you took it all in while having big bites of your meal. Life was good, and you didn't believe it could get any better than this. You ordered a drink to go and then made your way to the beach, which was slowly starting to empty out as the day went on.

Glass of sweet juice in one hand and your shoes in the other, you took your time walking the length of the beach to find a spot. The sea smelt divine, the sand between your toes was soothing, and the cool breeze that was picking up dried the moisture off your dark skin as well as your hair. Once you found your spot in a clear area, you began to unpack your colourful bag. Bending over to unroll your beach towel, you heard shouting before someone bumped into you, and you went tumbling face first into the sand.

"Oi! What is-" You were wiping sand off your face.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry about. I didn't see yo..." The familiar voice trailed off. "You! It's you!"

You cleared your your vision and opened your eyes to a shirtless Lewis Hamilton crouching before you. His hair was tied up, allowing you to stare straight into his honey brown eyes. His beautiful face was one of surprise, and his big smile was so contagious that you found yourself beginning to smile despite your previous frustration.

"I can't believe it! I searched everywhere for you after the grand prix. It's Y/n, right?" He offered you his tattooed hand as he stood up. You hesitated for a moment, trying to remember how your limbs worked before taking it and letting him pull you. It's like you weighed nothing to him.

"Yeah, it's Y/n." You confirmed breathlessly. His tattoos up close were delicious.

"That's great because I thought I was typing the wrong name into every social media app I know about." He laughed in embarrassment, and you couldn't help but keep glancing at his pearly whites, which were decorated with gold jewelry.

"Oh, I don't have social media anymore. It became too much at one point, so I deleted it. I rely on my friend to update me." You tried not to talk too much. His brows met for a second.

"Sheila, right? Yeah, I found hers, but you weren't even featured on her feed. Im sorry, by the way, for bumping into you -"

"Again." You inputed. Making him grin and chuckle softly.

"Yeah, again. We really should stop meeting like this."

"I don't mind it." You hadn't really thought of him much since meeting at the grand prix because you thought you'd never see him again. Sheila had nearly picked you up and thrown you into a trash can when she found out you didn't exchange details with him. If you closed your eyes, you could still perfectly see her flabbergasted expression.

The air crackled between the two of you, and the humidity that you thought you had gotten away from was suddenly back again. Sweat dripped slowly down your neck and into your cropped top. You could feel dampness on your palms. One of which was still firmly in his grasp.

There was a shout in the air.

He turned around briefly to investigate, and that's when you took notice of the american football in his other hand as well as a group of people waiting on the beach.

"Oh gosh, I'm sorry. I didn't realise I was keeping you away from the game. I'll move my stuff, and you can get back to it." You didn't really mean that, but you thought that if you moved to a better spot, you could watch him play without being caught ogling him.

"No, don't do that. Come join us." His thumb began that thing of rubbing circles against the back of your hand. You felt your knees buckle a bit.

"I don't understand the rules of the game. But I can sit and watch?" You offered. His brows met in the middle once more before he shook his head and turned around.

"Yo, Miles!" He threw Miles the ball. "Carry on with the game, I'm out." Miles smirked as he caught the ball and nodded.

"We have a fire going nearby. It's going to get cold soon." He suggested. You tried your best to fight your smile and play hard to get. Which was unserious of you because Lewis was the man of your dreams currently.

"Is that how you ask a girl out, Lewis?" You raised an eyebrow and dropped his hand.

"Uh, no, I- um. I was trying to be casual with it? I wasn't sure if you wanted to have dinner with me. Ahem, I- I'm usually so much better at this." He scratched his neck, and you giggled at his flustered state. The Lewis Hamilton was stumbling over his words while trying to ask you out. He took a deep breath.

"Y/n, would you like to go to dinner with me later?" He looked nervous.

"I'd love that. Let me get my stuff, and we can leave." You smiled.

He crouched and picked up your bag as you rolled your towel and grabbed your shoes. He gently took the towel and shoes out of your hands and led the way to the fire his group had set up. You felt giddy with excitement and fought the urge to skip behind him.

Sitting side-by-side at the fire, you felt his eyes on you. The sun had set, the stars were bright, and the air was becoming colder around you. His friends had settled around the fire as well. There was soft chatter and laughter in the air. Lewis had arranged a blanket for the two of you so you sat wrapped up in it. You had chatted for a while about work, family, and friends, then fell into a comfortable silence. He was easy to talk to, and you found yourself laughing louder than you should have. You laughed even harder when he laughed at your laugh because his laugh was so contagious. Never in a thousand years did you think you'd be at a beach, cozied up with one of the greatest motorsport athletes of your time. You weren't a big F1 fan, but you sometimes watched races and read articles about it, so you knew enough to pick a team to support and drivers to cheer on. Lewis was one of those drivers, so the urge to fangirl violently when you first met was there, but now, after a mere hour or two, it felt like you'd known him all your life. There was a strange buzz in the air just like the one in that narrow passageway. You felt drawn to him. And safe.

"Earlier, you mentioned that you were looking for me?" You asked softly, turning to meet his gaze.

"You're really beautiful. I couldn't get you out of my mind that weekend. I had been struggling with the sport for a while, but after meeting you, things suddenly started to go right. I won every race after that, I'm on track for another championship. It's like my life turned completely around. Like you were the catalyst. Like you're meant to be in my life, like I was meant to meet you." He laughed humourlessly. "I may sound crazy but I feel alive around you. There's something here between us."

You were cuddled up so close that you could feel his heart pounding in his chest. "I feel it too." You whispered.

"I'd really like to figure out what it is. Find out what life with you could be like." He slotted his hand into yours. You couldn't hold back your grin anymore.

"I'd like that too." You leaned in and pressed your lips against his. He reciprocated immediately and pulled you closer. You felt fireworks go off inside your head. Your whole body was tingling.

He pulled back slowly but pecked your lips again. "Are you ready for dinner?" You grinned in response.

Sheila was going to be so proud that you had bagged THE ultimate european hunk.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Whew! This one took a while. Can you tell I've never been to the beach, lol. Take note that Y/n did not swim in this fic! Cause I hate the thought of swimming in an ocean, lol. I struggled to write the last part👎but its done now so be nice. Dont forget to suggest a song!!

Thanks for reading! Please interact before you leave. Don't alter, translate, or repost onto another platform.

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton x black reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fluff #lh44 #f1 #f1 x reader #austrian gp 2024

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yanderemommabean · 7 months ago

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Hey beans! Bit of an update-

This post will include mentions of abuse so, please, don't read if that will harm you in any way!

Sorry for the lack of posts lately! With how weird my school is with testing and clinicals, I've had hardly any real time to feel like I could sleep AND create. On top of that, I am still in the unfortunate position of living with my abuser, along with the rest of my family who seem to be going downhill.

While I'm hoping I can get a job to save up to move out of this state, that's going to take time, and its time I fear I don't have some nights as just the other night while bringing home groceries, I was met with my step dads gun directly in my face, and him being mad I was "Coming home late at ten at night" when it was, in fact, only 9:15 and I made myself known as I walked up the stairs.

My grandma is also a big issue, she's draining as usual but its taking more of a toll on me by the day. I no longer get food stamps either which is a reason she wants to start in on me every day I walk out of my room. The verbal abuse is one thing but she's threatening again and if I stand up for myself I'm seen as the bad guy.

My mom who used to be a person I thought I could turn to is now down a rabbit hole about "Woke" culture and now sees anyone in the LGBTQ community as brainwashers, yet when I remind her I am bisexual, she seems to backtrack a bit and say "Well no, not you, you're a good one"

She's also back into worshipping the Christian God, which I have absolutely no issue with, but she's telling me that I cant have my tarot cards or my own craft in my room like I'm some 15 year old who doesn't understand religions, and not 24 and choosing my own way in life. She keeps insisting that I pray, that I thank God, that I'm a sinner, anything to make her feel like she's scaring me into "Changing". I keep telling her she's driving a wedge between us, but it seems to be for nothing.

Every day I feel like my support net is crumbling, and I feel like this trip to save up is going to be fruitless as I don't have my own car, I have to find a way to get the doctors I need if I even get to the state I'm moving to, and so on and so on.

Any who, I'm going through a lot and can't seem to catch a break but I love you beans! I hope you're all doing good and having a wonderful day!

-Mommabean

#Personal #mommabean #tw abuse #abuse mention #ok to interact #ok to say stuff

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aryxchse · 7 months ago

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talking to you about you. / percy jackson x female! reader.

a / n : i cute little blurb i came up with, thx to the bf asmrs

warnings : i mentioned getting wet like once

you groaned to your pillow.

it was hard to breath, and the position you were in was not the most comfortable way to lay in bed. but you were so.. frustrated with your feelings that you had to throw up to someone about it.

"hey baby," percy called as he entered your room, immediatly laughing the moment he sees you. "hey, what're you doing pretty?"

you groaned again. he just has to make you feel all mushy-gushy inside, doesn't he?

unfortunately, with a boyfriend like percy, there's no personal space. he flips you to your back with a simple motion, smiling at you. he fixed the hair you messed up with your pillow, and his other hand helded your waist. "hi."

"i hate you." you said, looking at him with a straight face. percy kept his smirk, knowing this is how you say i love you.

"good to see you too, lovely." he said, giving a peck to your nose. "gonna tell me what's going on?"

you tried to hide your face in your palms, but percy kept your hands under his hold. "no hidin' now, pretty."

you sighed, knowing there's no escape. so you faced the fate and fixed the expression on your face. which he thought, you were gonna cry.

"i love you, so much that i need to yap about you to someone but i don't like sharing our personal life you know? like i don't wanna go to piper and say 'oh my gods i am soo in love with percy, did i tell you what he did yesterday', like no i don't want that because it's my special memory and i kinda don't want to share you with anyone else and-"

"breath baby." percy stopped you, smiling like a little boy. he had an understanding expression and he never once judged as you rambled. and you did what he said—you took a deep breath and continued.

"if you were my crush, it would've been much easier because i would get to yap about my delusions to my girlfriends easier since none of it is official, but when it comes to our relationship, i don't want to share but i need to talk about it like a little girl. you know what i mean? no of course you don't, im not making any senc-"

"y/n." he stopped you once again, letting out a low chuckle. which, you added to your 'think later and scream about it.' list. "i do understand you baby, i always do."

you pouted. "can you do something about it?" your voice camed out like a pray, wanting to end the overwhelming feeling inside you. percy thought for a good two minutes before smiling.

"how about you yap to me about me?" he asked. you tilted your head to the side, a questioning look on your face.

"like, i could pretend to be someone else," he begin to explain. "then you could talk to me about me. how's that sound?"

this boy was smart when he wanted to.

"promise you don't think i'm some teenager in love?" you raised an eyebrow.

"baby we are teenagers in love," he giggled and you hit his arm playfully. "you know what i mean, perce."

"okay okay, i promise." he sat straight and pulled you on his lap. "but it will be my turn after this okay?"

"deal." you said with a smile. before you started talking, percy closed his face with his palms and opened them again after a couple of seconds.

"girl you need to UPDATE ME with percy likee-" he couldn't continue because of your laughter and his own giggles. but you liked it so much that you stopped yourself and waited for him to finish with your quiet giggles.

he speaked in such a girly voice and expression that someone would think he geniunely acted like this in his normal life. "i know that boy is treatin' you well and i need to hear EVERYTHING."

you giggled once again before shaking yourself, immediatly getting into the role. "okay so, last night we were sleeping together on the bed okay?"

he nodded with the most serious expression, and you smiled. "and i tried to get up to you know, start my day and whatever and you know what he said to me?"

"girlll, what?"

"don't. go." he gasped and putted a hand on his mouth, screaming with you silently.

"honey this boy KNOWS what he's doing like, boy shut up you tryin' to make me wet or somethin'?" you laughed at this way too much for your own liking that you forgot what you were talking about. and he just sat there, watched you with his own giggles.

later he made you continue and took a mental note of everything you said, making sure to do these more often.

#this is shitty but the idea is cute!!#like wdym i have to stop abt my boyfriend once i have him #WDYM MY GIRLFRIENDS DONT WANT TO KNOW ABT MY RELATIONSHIP #who am i going to yap abt???#percy jackson #perseus jackson x you #percy x you #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the heroes of olympus #percy jackson series #pjo hoo toa #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson headcanon #pjo show

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secretsofdbz · 9 months ago

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So I finally caught some sleep (I woke up at 4 am, 20 minutes after the announcement, and slept a bit more after my last post announcing his passing).

First of all, this is going to be my panel: "See ya later guys, when you die we'll meet again!"

The hematoma that's mentioned in the statement announced in his passing implies a head injury (so perhaps he fell, perhaps something fell on his head, and the internal wound may have not be noticed)

The last artwork he did that was published was this new Sandland one to celebrate the upcoming series. It was revealed on March 4th, so after his passing. We don't know if it's the last artwork he did (he may have drawn this earlier and it was revealed later, who knows.

I'd also like to share some other statements, in no particular order:

Toyotaro's:

Masako Nozawa (Goku's VA) statement:

「コメントできる状況にございません」 -> "I am not in a position to comment."

(aka she was too shaken)

Nozawa update:

「信じたくない。考えたくないという気持ちで頭の中が空っぽです。それでも、お会いするたびに鳥山先生がおっしゃってくださった『悟空をお願いしますね』というお言葉を思い出すと、『私の命が尽きるまで悟空のそばにいよう』と気持ちを保つことが出来ます。先生、空から私たちを見守っていてください。どうか安らかな旅立ちでありますように。」 I don't want to believe. My mind is empty because I don't want to think about it. Still, every time we met, Toriyama-sensei said to me, "I'll take care of Goku for you, won't I?" When I remember your words, 'I will stay by Goku's side until my life is over,' I can keep my mind on it. Sensei, please watch over us from the sky. May you have a peaceful departure.

(Mayumi Tanaka, the voice of Krillin who was requested by Tori super early on will probably say something at some point too).

Oda (One Piece author) statement:

It is too early. The hole is too big. Sadness washes over me when I think that I will never see him again. I have admired him so much since I was a child, so I remember the day he called me by name for the first time. On the way home from the day you used the word "friend" for me and Kishimoto, I remember being overjoyed with Kishimoto. I also remember the last conversation we had. I was one of those who took the baton from the days when reading manga made you a fool, and he also created an era when both adults and children could enjoy reading manga. He showed us the dream that manga can go worldwide. It was like watching a hero going forward. For not only mangakas but also creators in various industries, the excitement and emotion of the time of Dragon Ball serialization must have taken root in their childhood. His existence is like a big tree. For the manga artists of our generation who stood on the same stage, Toriyama's works became more and more important to me as I got closer to the same stage. I even felt being scary. But I am just happy to see the aloof man himself again. Because we love him on a blood level. With respect and gratitude for the creative world he has left behind. I pray for his soulful rest in peace. May heaven be the joyous world he envisioned.

And Kishimoto's statement (the autho of Naruto)

To be honest, I don’t know what to write or how to write it. But right now, I want to tell Mr. Toriyama the things I always wanted to ask him and my feelings. I grew up with Mr. Toriyama’s manga, Dr. Slump in elementary school and Dragon Ball in high school. It was natural for me to have Mr. Toriyama’s manga next to me as a part of my life. Even when I was feeling down, the weekly Dragon Ball always made me forget about it. It was a salvation for me, a country boy with nothing to do. That’s how much I enjoyed Dragon Ball! When I was a college student, Dragon Ball, which had been a part of my life for so long, suddenly ended. I was overwhelmed by a tremendous sense of loss and didn’t know what to look forward to. But at the same time, it was an opportunity for me to realize from the bottom of my heart the greatness of Mr. Toriyama, who created Dragon Ball. I want to create a work like Mr. Toriyama’s! I want to be like Mr. Toriyama! As I chased after Mr. Toriyama, the sense of loss gradually disappeared. Because it was fun to create manga. By chasing after Mr. Toriyama, I was able to find new joy. Mr. Toriyama was always my compass. He was my inspiration. I may be bothering Mr. Toriyama, but I am grateful to him without permission. To me, he was a savior and a god of manga. When I first met him, I was so nervous that I couldn’t say a word. But as I met him more and more at the Tezuka Osamu Cultural Prize jury meeting, I was able to talk to him. I will never forget the time when I talked to him about how much fun Dragon Ball was, like a child with Oda-san, as Dragon Ball children, and how he smiled a little shyly. I just received the news of Mr. Toriyama’s death. I am overwhelmed by a tremendous sense of loss, even greater than when Dragon Ball ended… I don’t know how to deal with this hole in my heart yet. I can’t read my favorite Dragon Ball right now. I don’t even feel like I’m writing this text properly to Mr. Toriyama. Everyone in the world was still looking forward to Mr. Toriyama’s work. If one Dragon Ball wish really comes true… I’m sorry… It may be selfish, but I’m sad, Mr. Toriyama. Thank you, Mr. Akira Toriyama, for 45 years of wonderful work. And thank you very much for your hard work. To the bereaved family, I pray that you will find peace and comfort in the midst of your grief. I pray for the peaceful repose of the soul of Mr. Akira Toriyama.

And finally one of Toriyama's close friends Masakazu Katsura (Video Girl AI author) also had this to say:

I feel drained and unmotivated. I don’t want to write a comment like this. But I’ll write something. Once I start writing, I’ll have so much to say that it will probably turn into a long text, but I’ll try to keep it as short as possible. I apologize for the rambling, as my thoughts are still not in order. Looking back, all I have are fond memories of the times we spent together – whether it was visiting your house, having you stay over at mine, or going out on trips. Every time we talked on the phone, we would laugh so hard that we would get tired. You were a funny person. You were perverted, cute, sharp-tongued, and humble. We collaborated on some manga projects, which were also a lot of fun. But 99% of the time, we never talked about manga. As a manga artist, the gap between the way we saw things and our level of skill was too great, and I never really felt your greatness. I know it now. But when I was with you, I never felt it at all. That’s just the kind of person you were. That’s why I still can’t think of you as anything other than a friend, even though you were a great manga artist. Last summer, before I had surgery, you heard about it somewhere and sent me an email. It was really rare for you to send an email, and it was so full of concern for my health. We’ve been friends for 40 years, but that might have been the first time I felt such kindness from you. I thought it was going to snow. You know, you usually only talk about jokes or nonsense. What the hell, you shouldn’t be worried about other people, right? I called you a little before that, and I was feeling sick all over, so I said, “I’ll probably go first, so have a farewell party for me, Toriyama! And make sure you give a speech, because it’ll make me look good!” But you didn’t keep your promise. I really regret not calling you after you emailed me. I just can’t believe that I can’t talk to you on the phone for hours anymore. There are so many things I want to talk to you about. There are so many things I want to say. Even if you don’t care about what I have to say, you can just zone out like you always do. I just want to talk to you again. The last thing you said to me was “OK” in response to my email asking you to contact me again. That’s just not good enough. I’m so sad.

And the Dragon Quest LEGEND, Yuji Horii, too...

I am still filled with disbelief at the sudden news of Mr. Toriyama’s passing. I have known Mr. Toriyama since I was a writer for Weekly Shonen Jump. At the recommendation of my editor, Torishima-san, I decided to ask him to draw the illustrations for the game Dragon Quest when we were launching it. For over 37 years since then, he has drawn countless charming characters, including character designs and monster designs. The history of Dragon Quest is one that has been intertwined with Mr. Toriyama’s character designs. Mr. Toriyama and the late Mr. Sugiyama were longtime collaborators on Dragon Quest. I can’t believe they’re gone… I can’t find the words to express my sorrow. This is truly, truly a tragedy.

Torishima, his "evil editor" (the one the Mashirito from Dr Slump is inspired by), also put out a statement:

"The last time we worked together was on the book we published last year, 'Dr. Mashirito's Strongest Manga Technique.' In that book, 'Torishima and Toriyama Back Then' was the last manga we made together. 45 years, thank you very much. Mr. Toriyama, you were the best manga artist I have ever known."

(this is what he's talking about)

Jackie Chan statement:

"Akira Toriyama-sensei, thank you for creating so many classics, they will always be with the world, farewell 🙏"

French president Emmanuel Macron:

the tweet reads "To Akira Toriyama and his millions of fans who grew up with him",

The authograph says "for Ma-ku-ro-n president" (to President Macron); the hand-drawn parts are the little Goku and the dragon balls surrounding him, alongside the autograph. It was drawn over a printed paper (as per custom when getting an autograph)

The date indicates it was given to him during the Olympic Games in Tokyo.

Yabuki Kentaro (To Love Ru's author) (link to the tweet)

Takao Koyama (screen writer for 90% of the episodes and the movies) says Toriyama was sick for over a year at this point. He himself is pretty badly sick as well.

Hiroki Takahashi (Makafushigi Adventure, first DB opening)

Hironobu Kageyama (Chala Head Chala and everything else)

"Singing 'CHA-LA HEAD-CHA-LA!' is the biggest medal in my life! The loss of the sun is too much to bear But the power of Toriyama-sensei's works Will continue to be a strong light And may it illuminate people all over the world. May you rest in peace."

(some more of the Editorial department of Jump can be found here, with a good browser extension you should be able to get the gist of it)

Feel free to reblog with your favorite manga panels, interviews, trivias, and let's pay a homage to his life and work, alright??

#akira toriyama #dragon ball #dr slump #death #cw death #mourning #dragon quest #db #dbz

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oneknightstand-if · 15 days ago

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Percy Soulmate Comments

All right, here are all the comments from the Percy Soulmate help post found here. Too many to do the normal screencap thing. Hopefully this will help for all those seeking to become Percy's soulmate (or declare they are) at first sight!

Thanks to everyone who commented.

unhell-of-the-unwise

You must be more than a cuckoo, you also need other required stats, such as pure (atleast 3), will (atleast 7), and as far as I recall, you must have 100% Sweet either on the personality you showcase outside or the one you hide.

unhell-of-the-unwise

-The pure stat can be gained by choosing “innocent” actions, if I’m right. Options can be when having a crush (obvious or hidden) on Adrian and choosing the song options in the Apocalypse topic when you talk with him during club time. One song option will have romantic lyrics, you must choose the innocent option to gain purity. Another option can be when asking Merlin in the latest update if they need to feed during the drive at the abandoned warehouse. Avoid potty mouthed responses and lustful choices, or the Lust sin. -Will is mostly options that oppose Denial, such as “I’ve always wanted to go on a apocalyptic trip!”, it also helps that some of these options also raise cuckoo levels. -The Sweet stat is easier to mesure, given that it’s visible. Obviously, choose positive responses so that it’s 100%, or if you fail to do so, choose 100% Sweet as your hidden persona.

Basically, the PC must be some sort of modern Percival. Forgot to mention, but you also must not be corrupted/possessed, the whole “pure” thing, you know.

unhell-of-the-unwise

Oh, and don’t be a coward, it’s tied to Will options so I won’t further elaborate.

unhell-of-the-unwise

According to the code, there is a hero stat, so I suppose picking the most..positive option when having the react to your backstory helps.

unhell-of-the-unwise

I bid thee farewell as I cease my mindless rambling.

unbiquitousloser

@unhell-of-the-unwise Some corrections as I've 'ctrl+f'd through the code and you're mostly right. Pure is gained by: OBVIOUS SPOILERS INCOMING: Never swearing. This should actually score you enough points for the soulmate flag on its own, so long as you don't lose points. However, if you still want to curse in every language known to man, as swearing does not subtract points on its own, there are just enough points to scrounge up to still trigger the flag. In the polo route, you have to Instinctively save Pippa, and not back down even if you fail. In the the fencing route, you can get a point for giving the panhandler your spare change and by not saving Zain but by then applying pressure to the wound. After club, if you are not a Greed MC or panicking, you must go back to Help Merlin after they first appear. Next point appears during 20 questions; when the topic of God and Angels come up, you have to Believe (do not pray). If you are kidnapped by the call, trying to help your burning apartment building is another point. (There's another point opportunity sandwiched in here, but it's by vowing off all swearing, but swearing is fun!) If you don't go into the gas station, questioning whether Merlin paid for everything is a point; if you do go in, simply not taking anything is a point. If you have three points, you have enough. It's lost by being a filthy, self-centered blackguard! No stealing (names are okay)! No harming people to get ahead (don't even think about it) and 1000 poxes on you murderers out there!

unbiquitousloser

@unhell-of-the-unwise u_hero is specifically raised in three points atm, you can commit to saving Pippa (you get the point even if you fail), passing the stat check to save Zain, or standing between Adrian and the hellhound after club. You only need one of these flags.

unhell-of-the-unwise

@unbiquitousloser Ah, I see. Thank you for the corrections.

unbiquitousloser

@unhell-of-the-unwise Happy to help (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

nekoteus

@unhell-of-the-unwise The hero stat seems to be linked to succesfully saving people in club. So either chase down Pippa or knockaway the sword fragments in fencing club

randomguysayshello

Will>=7, cuckoo>=30,no corruption, don't be a coward, 1 or higher hero stat(the easy way is to rescue your clubmate), have 100 sweetness or your inner mind is sweet, have a pure stat greater than 3 (no serial killers, no pottymouths)

Quick purity guide

Polo club:- chase after enchanter moon(+1 purity), but will be removed by choice:-

★Actually, what the hell am I doing? I drop back to a sensible pace and leg Adrian attemp the rescue instead. (-1 purity)

Fence club:- choice:-

★I pause to give my loose change to a panhandler at the next intersection(+1 purity)

★ Remove my bully fencing glove and apply pressure to the area directly below the artery.(+1 purity)

★Remove my glove and clamp my hands around his neck(+1 purity)

Removed by:- ★Still i remain silent (-1 purity)

If you choose to do nothing, specifically:-

★Still I can do nothing more but stare at all this happening, If you are a cop(-1 purity)

Your Ultimate Secret:- ★Serial Killer(-1000 purity)

Hellhound chase:-

★I wonder if I can trip Adrian without slowing too much?(-1 purity)

★"Adrian we need to help M_pronoun" I,ve no idea what's going on, but feathers or not that M_man can't possibly take on that beast by M_pronounself(+1 purity)

The Tentacle Incident:- If you get molested by those disgusting tentacles, ★"Let go and save yourself!"(+1 purity)

Merlin Loredump:- If you ask a question about gods ★Still I want to believe in them (+1 purity)

Kidnapped:- (I think atleast)

★ "Isn't there anything more we can do about helping now?"(+1 purity)

★Atleast I'm not in the building (-1 purity)

★I stand up in detemination, intent on leaving this RV and returning to help at the apartment complex(+1 purity)

★Oh well. At least iw wasn't me(-1 purity)

★Perhaps this is my true nature after all. (-1 purity)

One option for killer but you are already negative purity(-1000) so what's one more

randomguysayshello

·Opinion on Merlin:- (Total -1 purity) First option:- ★My true opinion doesn't matter. Fully intend to take advantage of this situation. (No change, but unlocks the following choice):- ★I will play nice on the surface and try to manipulate Merlin(-1 purity)

·Opinion of Adrian:- (Total -1 purity) First choice:- ★My true opinion of Adrian doesn't matter. In circumstances like this, it's best to play nice to someone's face for one's own benefit.(No change but unlocks following choice):- ★That's right, I fully intend to manipulate Adrian for my own benefit

·Elevator scene(if the magic dance is still active):-

★I MC_motion my MC_weapon and wave it menacingly in the interloper's general direction(-1 purity)

Security guard scene(if magic dance is still active):-

★I MC_motion my MC_weapon and point it straight at the approaching security guard.(-1 purity)

·In the RV:-

★ I shrug and sit back down on the sofa. In the end, it has nothing to do with me.(-1 purity)

«If you haven't cursed and have a zero pothymouth variable you will get +1 purity»

randomguysayshello

@randomguysayshello ·Dream sequence, specifically the fight with Lancelot:- ★Never mind, fair play and the rules of engagement, I charge straight at him before the match has properly begun.(-1 purity, only if you are a lucid dreamer)

·After waking up, you decide what do with cursing in the apocalypse(at gas station):-

♦IF you haven't cursed ever (zero pottymouth):- ★As usual my mind remain pure and free of any swear words that might fit this exact situation.(+2 purity) •Every other option that indicates you will now start to curse more often reduces purity by 1 point

♦ELSE:-

•Trying to not curse entirely increases purity by 1 point.

·If you stay at the RV:-

★One never knows until they try. I attempt to hot-wire the motorhome(-1 purity)

At the end of the gas station, if you didn't go to shop or had too much fear and ran back to the RV:- ★"You paid for all this stuff right?"(+1 purity)

♦Killer option to reduce purity doesn't really matter

♠If you decide to ransack the whole store:- If purity is greater than one, Purity is set to zero, otherwise -1 purity.

♠If you take zero itmes whilst shopping(+1 purity)

♦If the RV has been sabotaged then, You will get a option to visit a shop:-

★I head off into the small attached shop to see if there's anything intresting in there(no change) ♦Pick a item or all items ★No skaes clerk.No security camera.No problem with me walking out the door with this MC_Purchase(-1 purity)

♣There's the guide done♣

randomguysayshello

@randomguysayshello You only need 3 purity points for one of the requirements for being Percy's soulmate, and according to the code you can still be a pottymouth and have atleast 3 purity.

#oks-replies #oks-info #oks-Percy

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riniworld · 10 months ago

Text

i didn't plan it that way

YANDERE!mafia boss oc x f!reader

warnings// obsession,yandere themes,mention of tutoring,killing and blood,violence,guns,not proofread

refrence// you,mention of girl one time,y/n

looking at nothing drowning in his thoughts.

one of orson's men was telling him the last updates and if he had any meeting to attend.

but orson wasn't listening,he was like that for three days,spacing out at any time,sometimes even talks to himself.

his men was concerned,he didn't act like that in his whole life

"uhm,boss?"

"..."

it was so awkward,the man start feeling uncomfortable and he didn't know if he should go or stay

suddenly someone knocked in the door

orson snap from his thoughts but the one who knocked the door didn't wait untill his permission.

"surprise!" the man opened the door aggressively.

orson looked at him in disguise,"go out" he said to the other man who was reporting to him,he get out as soon as those words leavs orson's mouth.

"eh you didn't change anything,still so "orson style" "the man said as he was looking all over the office

"what got you here,max?" orson said in a cold tone

max leaned on orson office with a big smile "I'm here to visit my friend,isn't it obvious?"

"mhm i believed you"

max laugh loudly and put an arm around orson's shoulder "oh come on why would i be here in your opinion?"

"...because you got your ass in a big mess?"

"yeah,trust issues" he rolled his eyes and walked back to sit in front of orson "won't you treat me to something?"

"no."

"rude!"

"now seriously what are you here for?"

"nothing" max smiled awkwardly

"...."

"fine,you know the one who calls himself "the black angel"?"

"don't tell me.."

"not my fault he challenged me!"

orson sighs "and now you want to protect yourself in my base?"

"you're too clever my frie-"

"no"

"...huh"

"I'm not your father to come to me whenever you're in a trouble,max.you're an adult."

max crossed his arms and let a "hmph".

"...unless there's a benefit you'll give me?"

"I'll help you with the technologies things!" he answered so quickly like he expected orson's answer

"...i already have someone in this position"

"i knew you'd-wait what??...since when??"

"none of your business"

"whatever,but will you really just throw me to danger?"

"yes."

".....pretty pleaseee"

"why would i hide you here and get everyone in danger?"

"because I'm your very very very dear friend?"

"not enough"

"atleast you didn't deny it" max murmured. "come oooonn let me here just for three days?"

".....just this once"

"you're the best!"

you were sitting on the cold floor,like the first time you were here but the difference is that you're now all alone in a dark room.

you don't know how you're still alive untill now,or even sane.

orson wasn't easy with you,if you fought he'll hurt you,if you told him to kill you he'll hurt you,if you didn't do anything he'll say some harsh words and go,what did he want??

he was tutoring you physically and mentally and you can't handle this anymore.

you flinch when the door open,no one cime to you other than orson.

you gather yourself together in the corner as he was going down the stairs slowly.

he stops a few meters away from you,staring at your soul.

you tried to not look afraid but you couldn't,you're don't even know if you're shivering from the cold or fear.

orson walks to you untill he's in front of you,he sat down to your level.

he moved his hand to your face,you closed your eyes praying for whoever can hear you that he wouldn't hit you.

to your surprise he just put his hand gently on your cheek

"...your cold" he said in whisper,As if he didn't know he was the one who put you out in this dark,cold room.

he stayed silent after that just looking at you,when you open your eyes he was looking at you with wired eyes,they wasn't as cold and emotionless,they were...soft?

his breath quicken as he bring his face closer to yours,you couldn't do any sudden movement because of fear.

he was too close that you can feel his breath tickles your lips

when he was about to finally cut the distance between you

loud sound comes from above, as if something has broken,orson stopped,he mutter something under his breath and left.

what just happen? was he about to..? why would he?

you were confused and shocked at the same time,is this the same cold violent person you know?

....wait he didn't lock the door! should you escape?

can you anyway? in a place filled with his men it's impossible to run away....isn't it?

you don't know how to feel about that.

"WHAT'S HAPPENING HERE??" orson yells

there was some men who where running after max who was holding some documents

when they hear orson's the men stood in a respect,expect max.

"ah,hello again dude" max said with a big smile

"what are you doing for god sake?!"

"eh why so angry? i just wanted to take a look at these documents"

orson snatch them from him "don't play with my work"

"whao whao chill,it's not like I'll steal it or something"

orson looked at max with furious then he left to his office

he slammed the document on the table and sat down with his head between his hands.

"what's wrong with me"

was all he could think about.

max was doing a tour in the base,looking for something to entertain him

untill he come across a metal door.

what was there?

max open the door slowly.

you freeze,you were just about to go out,what a luck.

you return to your place thinking it's orson,if he saw you trying to go out you won't be okay.(it's not like you are now)

when the door opened completely,there stood someone....he wasn't orson?!

when he saw you he's eyes growing wide

"who are you?" was the first thing he said

was that your chance to escape?

you tried to talk but you start crying and the gasps were breaking your voice "please-*sob* help me"

max looked behind him before he rush to you

you held into his arms repeating "help me" over and over again

"oh you poor thing" max said in empathy.

but as much as he wanted to get you out of here he didn't know if it's a good idea.

he knew orson for a long time to know that if he did that the consequences will be dire.

max hugged you "you're freezing,how could he do this to a fragile girl"

you looked up to him "please help me,i-i don't want to stay here anymore"

"i-"

clap clap clap "What a scene"

you're heartbeat stopped,as the footsteps gets closer and closer

"what did i say about to not play with my work,max?"

you and max looked at orson with horror

"o-orson i didn't-"

"i knew it was wrong to trust you" orson started to pull his gun out.

max stood up in defense "whao there calm down i didn't do anything!"

"yet,and i'm going to stop you before you do"

bang

you let a scream as you watched max fall in front of you.

orson didn't stop there he kept shooting and shooting,there was this eeri smile on his face.

he wasn't going to stop anytime soon.

"STOP PLEASE STOP!!" you shouted as loud as you can.

and there orson stoped,he looked at you with the same cold eyes.

he throw his gun away and took you by your hand,he didn't care if others saw you alive anymore.

he throw you at the back seat of his car then he sat in the driver's seat.

he start driving fast and kept saying things like "it's your fault/you're the one who made me do that/why would you do that to me second time?!"

you couldn't get the image of max out of your head,you couldn't even cry,his blood was all over you,like you're the one who killed him

after not long you arrived at a big luxurious house,orson opened the door and demanded "get out" in a harsh tone.

you wasn't in a state to question anything,you just follow.

then you arrived in front of a door he opened the door and get you in.

he left you alone,like always but atleast the room was furnished and warm.

but you couldn't care,you just wanted to take the blood off of you,it's driving you insane.

after like five hour the door opened again.

and of course it was orson,but he was more calm now.

you didn't even look at him,just kept your head down,you don't want to see him anymore.

he sighed and walk closer to you.

when you didn't move he sat beside you,you flinch,as much as you try you can't not be afraid from him.

he kept silent for sometime then he speaks

"i hate it....i hate when i see the fear in your eyes,like you're looking at a monster."

you looked away

"i know I'm a monster...but not for you"

he took your hand and you jump.

he bring it to his mouth and kissed it.

"i don't like hurting you,do you think i do?...i don't like hearing you cry or scream but i can't control myself"

"y/n..."

he start getting closer and closer untill he's nearly on top of you

"i really love you,i didn't plan on loving you this much but my feelings for you are obsolutely insane"

"...your insane"

"yes! yes,for you i am,I'm not even regreting killing my childhood friend,I'll kill anyone if he was about to take you away"

you don't know what to say,just looking at him with disbelief

he's truly crazy.

there's a hint of the future in the document incident;)

and a similar line max and orson has said can you guess?

i didn't know if i should finish it now or not but there it is!

i literally just left every idea in my notes and wrote a new one lol

how's the development of his character? i feel like that's better than the one that was in my head

have a good day/night♡

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere oc #yandere x y/n #yandere oc x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc x you #yandere oc x y/n #yandere mafia x reader

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reidmarieprentiss · 4 months ago

Text

Bridges to Belonging

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

Summary: Y/N lives through the worst day of her life (in this world), will her and Spencer make it out the other side together?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, crime, smut, fluff

Warnings/Includes: hostage, guns, shooting, injury, danger, angst, crying, having mom and dad, meeting the parents, good relationship with parents, smut (18+) more warnings under the cut

Word count: 14.9k

a/n: hi!! i took a different turn with this than originally intended, believe it or not this is far less angsty than it was going to be

main masterlist

Additional warnings: PiV (unprotected not explicitly mentioned), fingering

Y/N was at work, discussing a patient’s progress with a physician assistant in the brightly lit corridor. The day had been routine, a comforting monotony of chart updates and consultations. She was in the middle of a detailed explanation when suddenly, the air was pierced by the sound of shouting and screaming from down the hall.

Y/N’s heart leapt into her throat as she turned around, her eyes widening in horror. A gunman stood at the entrance of the pediatric ward, his wild eyes scanning the room. He was heavily armed, the cold glint of the weapon sending chills down her spine.

The hospital’s sterile, safe atmosphere shattered in an instant, replaced by raw fear. Y/N’s instincts kicked in, and she reached out to protect the children nearby, pulling them close and trying to shield them as best she could. Her mind raced, but she forced herself to stay calm for the kids’ sake.

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, her voice shaking as she tried to comfort the children huddled around her. “Stay quiet and stay close to me.”

The gunman’s voice echoed through the ward, barking orders to his team who were spreading out, searching the rooms methodically. “Find Alex!” he screamed. “We don’t leave until we have him!”

Y/N’s heart pounded louder with each passing second. She had no idea who they were looking for, but the desperation and menace in their actions made it clear they were willing to do anything to find their target.

She locked eyes with the physician assistant, both of them understanding the gravity of the situation. They had to protect the children, keep them safe from this nightmare that had invaded their sanctuary.

The gunman’s gaze swept across the room and landed on Y/N, his eyes narrowing. “You!” he barked, pointing the gun at her. “Get over here!”

Y/N’s legs felt like jelly, but she forced herself to stand, her hands trembling. She stepped forward, trying to keep her voice steady. “Please, there are children here. Let them go.”

The gunman sneered, tightening his grip on the weapon. “You’re in no position to negotiate. Move!”

Y/N complied, her mind racing with fear and uncertainty. She had to stay strong, had to find a way to protect the children and survive this ordeal. As she moved closer to the gunman, she glanced back at the kids, giving them a reassuring nod.

“Stay calm,” she mouthed, praying that help would come soon. Her thoughts flickered to Spencer, hoping against hope that he would somehow sense something was wrong.

—

Spencer was at his desk, surrounded by stacks of case files and reference books. The familiar hum of the BAU office was a comforting backdrop as he immersed himself in the latest research. He had just made a particularly interesting connection when the door to Hotch's office flew open, and JJ came rushing in, her face pale and urgent.

Hotch emerged a moment later, his expression grave. He called out to the team, his voice cutting through the usual office noise. "Everyone, into the meeting room. Now."

Spencer felt a knot of anxiety tighten in his stomach. He quickly followed the others, his mind racing with possibilities. As they gathered around the table, Hotch wasted no time.

"We have a hostage situation at a hospital," Hotch began, his tone serious and focused. "St. Agnes Hospital. An armed group has taken control of the pediatric wing. They’re looking for a specific patient, presumed to be someone’s son."

Spencer felt his heart stop. St. Agnes. That’s where Y/N works. His mind immediately flashed to her, and a wave of panic surged through him. He tried to keep his breathing steady, but the fear gnawed at him, threatening to overwhelm his composure.

Hotch continued, "We don’t have all the details yet, but we know the gunmen are heavily armed and have made it clear they won’t leave without the patient. The situation is extremely volatile."

Spencer’s hands clenched into fists under the table. He forced himself to focus on Hotch’s words, knowing that staying calm and collected was the only way to help Y/N and the children she was likely with. The pediatric wing. Of course, she would be there, comforting and protecting the kids as best she could.

Morgan noticed the tension radiating from Spencer and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We’ll get them out, Reid. We’ll get Y/N and those kids out of there."

Spencer nodded, swallowing hard. "What’s our plan?" he asked, his voice barely steady.

Hotch looked around the room, meeting each team member's eyes. "We’ll coordinate with local law enforcement and the hospital security team. JJ, start gathering intel on the gunmen. Prentiss, work with Garcia to get the hospital's layout and any surveillance footage we can use. Morgan, I want you and Rossi to start strategizing entry points and containment. Spencer, we’ll need your expertise on profiling the gunmen. They’re looking for someone specific, which means they have a motive we need to understand quickly."

Spencer nodded again, forcing himself to focus. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, but he knew he had to compartmentalize, to use his fear as fuel to bring Y/N and the children to safety.

As the team dispersed to their tasks, Spencer took a deep breath, steeling himself for the challenge ahead. He wouldn’t let his fear control him. He would use it to drive him, to ensure that Y/N and every single child in that hospital made it out safely.

—

Y/N stood rigidly in front of the gunmen, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and defiance. The children huddled across from her, behind the PA, their small faces pale with terror. The leader of the gunmen, a tall, menacing figure with cold eyes, stepped closer, his gun trained on her.

"Where is Alex Bartel?" he demanded, his voice sharp and unforgiving.

Y/N's heart raced, but she kept her lips pressed tightly together, refusing to give them any information. She couldn't betray the child, no matter what they threatened.

The gunman’s patience was thin. He grabbed her by the arm and shook her. "I asked you a question. Where is Alex Bartel?"

Y/N remained silent, her eyes meeting his with unwavering determination. She knew that giving up Alex would mean certain doom for the child. Her silence was her shield, her only weapon against these monsters.

The gunman’s face twisted in anger. He struck her across the face, the force of the blow sending her reeling. "Talk!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the hall.

Y/N’s vision blurred, but she shook her head, biting back the pain. She wouldn’t break. Not for them. Not ever.

"Fine," the gunman hissed, a cruel smile spreading across his face. He turned his attention to the children. "If you won’t talk, maybe they will."

He reached out to grab one of the kids, a little girl who had been clutching the PA’s leg, tears streaming down her face. Panic surged through Y/N. She couldn’t let them hurt the children. She had to do something.

"No!" Y/N screamed, lunging forward to block the gunman’s path. "Don’t touch her!"

In the chaos, another gunman reacted instinctively to her sudden movement. A shot rang out, echoing through the hall. Y/N felt a searing pain in her shoulder, the force of the impact sending her to the ground.

To everyone watching, the shot seemed fatal, aimed at her heart. The children screamed, the sound mingling with the shouts of the gunmen. Y/N’s vision darkened, her body slumping as the pain overwhelmed her.

Y/N lay motionless on the cold floor, every nerve in her body screaming with pain. The searing wound in her shoulder throbbed with every heartbeat, but she knew better than to move. She couldn’t give away the fact that she was still alive. If the gunmen realized their mistake, they would surely shoot her again to finish the job.

Her breath came in shallow, controlled gasps, each one a battle against the agony that threatened to overwhelm her. She could hear the gunmen barking orders, their voices a harsh backdrop to the terrified sobs of the children.

Y/N's mind raced, trying to stay focused. She had to keep still, had to play dead convincingly. Any movement, any sign of life, and the gunmen would be back. She needed to survive for the children, for Spencer, for herself.

The sounds around her blurred into a distant cacophony as she concentrated on remaining perfectly still. She willed herself to ignore the pain, to ignore the fear coursing through her veins. She imagined Spencer’s face, his comforting presence, his strength. It gave her something to hold onto, a reason to endure.

Minutes felt like hours as she lay there, every second a test of her willpower. She could feel the warmth of her blood pooling beneath her, the scent of it mingling with the sterile hospital air. But she didn't move, didn't even flinch.

The gunmen continued their search, their footsteps echoing as they moved through the hospital. Y/N's ears strained to pick up any sign that help was coming, any indication that the nightmare might soon be over.

As the commotion grew more distant, Y/N allowed herself a tiny sliver of hope. She could hear the faint sound of sirens in the distance, a promise that help was on the way. She just had to hold on a little longer.

In the back of her mind, she clung to the thought of Spencer. He would come. He would find her. She just had to survive until then. And with that thought, she found the strength to keep still, to keep pretending, to keep fighting.

Y/N's resolve was strong, but the unrelenting pain in her shoulder grew more intense with each passing moment. She could feel her strength waning, her body struggling to maintain the façade of lifelessness. The room spun around her, and her vision started to blur, darkening at the edges.

The children’s cries became a distant echo, their voices blending with the harsh commands of the gunmen. Every heartbeat sent a fresh wave of agony through her body, and she could feel herself slipping, her grip on consciousness loosening despite her desperate fight to stay awake.

The blood loss was taking its toll, making her lightheaded and dizzy. She tried to focus on the sounds around her, hoping to catch any sign that help was near, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. Her mind drifted, thoughts of Spencer and the children mingling in a haze of pain and fear.

Finally, the pain became too much to bear. Y/N's body, pushed to its limits, began to shut down. Her eyelids fluttered, and she felt herself falling into the dark abyss of unconsciousness. The last thing she remembered was the faint, distant sound of sirens, a small beacon of hope in the overwhelming darkness.

As she passed out, her body remained still, the illusion of death convincing enough to keep the gunmen at bay. The children, still huddled together, continued to cry, unaware that Y/N's unconscious state was a result of her heroic efforts to protect them.

In the midst of chaos, Y/N's mind finally succumbed to the darkness, her body limp and motionless on the cold hospital floor.

—

Aaron Hotchner stood with the tactical team, coordinating the next steps of their entry strategy. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he stepped aside to take the call, the tension evident in his posture.

"Hotchner," he answered, his voice steady.

"Sir, we have a report of a casualty inside the hospital. An adult, no ID yet," came the voice on the other end.

Hotch's heart sank. Y/N wasn't just Spencer's girlfriend; she was family to him. He'd known her for years, watching her grow from a compassionate, driven student into a dedicated child psychologist. She had been there for Jack during some of the hardest times in his life, and her presence had been a source of comfort and stability. He didn't want to jump to conclusions, but he couldn't ignore the gnawing fear that it could be Y/N.

He knew Spencer was already on edge, and the last thing he wanted was to add to his anxiety without concrete information. It could not be Y/N. The thought of her being in danger hit him hard, but he had to stay focused for the sake of the mission and everyone involved.

"Understood. Keep me updated," Hotch replied, his tone firm. He turned back to the team, his mind racing. They needed to move quickly and efficiently to minimize further casualties and end the standoff.

Hotch gathered Derek Morgan, David Rossi, and the law enforcement team, finalizing their plan. They would enter through multiple access points, coordinate with the hospital security, and neutralize the gunmen as swiftly as possible.

"We move on my signal," Hotch instructed, his voice carrying the authority and calm needed to lead the team through the chaos.

With a nod, the team moved into position. Hotch, Derek, and Rossi led the charge, their movements precise and controlled. The hospital corridors, usually a place of healing and care, were now battlegrounds filled with tension and fear.

As they breached the pediatric wing, the sound of their approach startled the gunmen. Derek and Rossi quickly subdued the nearest threats, their training and instincts taking over. Hotch moved methodically, his focus unyielding.

"FBI! Drop your weapons!" Hotch's voice echoed through the halls, a command that brooked no argument. The gunmen, caught off guard, began to surrender under the overwhelming presence of the tactical team.

In the midst of securing the area, Derek's keen eyes scanned the rooms for any sign of Y/N. He moved swiftly, his heart pounding with the urgency to find her safe. As he entered one of the rooms, he saw her—lying motionless on the floor, blood pooling beneath her shoulder.

"Y/N!" Derek shouted, rushing to her side. He checked for a pulse, relief washing over him when he felt the faint but steady beat. "Medic! We need a medic here, now!"

Derek gently cradled Y/N's head, his voice soothing despite the chaos around them. "Hang in there, Y/N. You're going to be okay. Help is on the way."

As the medics arrived and began to take her, Derek's thoughts were with Spencer. He knew his friend would be devastated to see Y/N like this, but he also knew that Spencer needed to know the truth.

"Hotch, we found her," Derek reported through his earpiece. "She's alive, but she needs medical attention immediately."

Hotch received Derek's message with a mix of relief and dread. He had to tell Spencer, but he needed to do it in a way that wouldn't distract him from the mission. As the team secured the remaining gunmen and ensured the safety of the children, Hotch made his way back to a quiet area where he could call Spencer.

The weight of what he had to say pressed heavily on his chest. Hotch knew how deeply Spencer cared for Y/N, and the thought of her being hurt was like a knife to his own heart. He took a deep breath and dialed Spencer's number, steeling himself for the conversation ahead.

"Spencer," Hotch said, his voice gentle yet firm when Spencer answered. "We found Y/N. She's alive, but she's injured. Derek and the medics are with her now."

There was a beat of silence on the other end, then a sharp intake of breath. Spencer's eyes widened, a mixture of fear and relief flooding his features. "I need to see her," he said, his voice trembling with emotion, barely holding back the panic threatening to overtake him.

"You will, Spencer," Hotch assured him, his own voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "But we need to make sure the area is completely secure first. Stay focused, and stay where you are. We'll get you to her as soon as it's safe."

Spencer nodded, though Hotch couldn't see it. "Okay," he whispered, his mind racing with images of Y/N lying injured, of the moments they had shared, of the fear that he might lose her. "Please... please hurry."

Hotch could hear the anguish in Spencer's voice, and it tore at him. "We will, Spencer. I promise."

Spencer hung up the phone, his hands shaking. He felt utterly helpless, a sensation he rarely experienced. The logical part of his brain fought to maintain control, to focus on the facts and the tasks at hand, but his heart was in turmoil. Y/N was hurt, and he wasn't there to protect her.

He paced the small room, his mind replaying every moment he had spent with Y/N, every laugh, every touch, every word. The thought of her in pain, of her possibly slipping away from him, was unbearable. He felt a tear escape, and he angrily wiped it away, determined to stay strong for her.

"You'll be okay, Y/N," he whispered to himself, his voice cracking. "You have to be okay."

Back inside the hospital, the team worked with precise urgency. Derek, Rossi, and the law enforcement officers moved through the corridors, securing the gunmen and ensuring the children's safety. Derek's thoughts kept drifting back to Y/N, lying there injured but alive. He pushed himself harder, knowing they needed to get Spencer to her as soon as possible.

Finally, with the immediate threat neutralized and the hostages safe, Derek made his way back to the entrance, where Spencer was waiting, his eyes searching desperately for any sign of Y/N. When Derek saw him, he felt a surge of empathy. Spencer looked like a man on the edge, barely holding himself together.

"Reid," Derek called out, his voice breaking the silence.

Spencer turned, his eyes filled with desperation. "Where is she? Is she okay?"

"She's in the medical bay," Derek said, his voice gentle. "She's stable, but we need to get her to a hospital for surgery."

Spencer didn't wait for Morgan to say anything else. He ran towards the medical bay, his heart pounding in his chest. When he reached it, he saw a flurry of activity, medics moving quickly and urgently around a stretcher. He strained to see through the chaos, his heart in his throat, desperate to catch a glimpse of Y/N.

"Where is she?" he shouted, his voice breaking. "I need to see her!"

A medic stepped in front of him, gently but firmly placing a hand on his shoulder. "Spencer, you can't go in there right now. She's in critical condition and has lost a lot of blood. They're doing everything they can to stabilize her."

Spencer felt like the ground had been pulled out from under him. He swayed slightly, his vision blurring with tears. "No, I need to see her. She needs to know I'm here."

The medic's eyes softened with understanding. "I know this is hard, but the best thing you can do right now is let them work. As soon as she's stable, you'll be the first to know."

Spencer nodded numbly, his heart aching with helplessness. He stepped back, his eyes never leaving the flurry of activity around the stretcher. Every second felt like an eternity as he stood there, silently willing her to hold on.

"I love you, Y/N," he whispered to himself, his voice filled with anguish. "Please hold on. Please be okay."

Finally, the medics began to move, preparing to transport Y/N to the hospital for surgery. Spencer followed as closely as he could, his heart breaking with every step. He couldn't be by her side right now, but he would be there the moment they let him. They had faced a nightmare, but he refused to believe this was the end. They had survived, and he would make sure they had many more days together, no matter what it took.

—

Spencer made his way to the waiting room, his steps heavy with worry. Approaching the receptionist, he tried to steady his voice. "Excuse me, could you please notify me when Y/N L/N is out of surgery?"

The receptionist looked up from her computer and asked, "And who are you in relation to her?"

"I'm her boyfriend," Spencer replied, his voice trembling with the effort to stay calm. “Spencer Reid.”

The receptionist frowned slightly and checked the records. "I'm sorry, but you're not listed as her emergency contact. We'll have to ask her once she's awake if she wants you to be notified."

Frustration surged through Spencer, and he clenched his fists. "You don't understand, she's... she will want me there. I need to know if she's okay. I need to see her."

Luckily, Hotch appeared at his side, placing a calming hand on Spencer's shoulder. "Spencer, it's okay. We'll figure this out."

Hotch turned to the receptionist. "I'm Aaron Hotchner, and Y/N's emergency contacts are myself and my wife, Haley Hotchner. Could you please update us on her status and inform us when she's out of surgery?"

The receptionist nodded, recognizing Hotch. "Of course, Agent Hotchner. We'll make sure you're informed."

As they sat in the waiting room, a storm of emotions churned within Spencer. The initial shock of hearing Y/N was injured had given way to a simmering frustration, which now threatened to boil over. He couldn't understand why he wasn't listed as her emergency contact. After everything they'd been through, after all the moments they had shared, why was he still on the periphery of her life?

Hotch's presence, usually a calming force, now felt like a reminder of his own inadequacy. Spencer tried to remind himself that Y/N had known the Hotchners much longer, and logically it made sense for them to be her contacts. But logic was a poor balm for his wounded pride and anxiety.

"Why am I not her emergency contact?" Spencer muttered under his breath, the words escaping before he could stop them. "We've been together for months. I've been there for her just as much as anyone else."

Hotch, overhearing, placed a hand on Spencer's shoulder. "Spencer, it's not about that. Y/N trusts you. This is just a formality."

"But it doesn’t feel like just a formality," Spencer shot back, his voice rising slightly. "It feels like... like I'm not as important to her as I thought I was."

Hotch met his gaze with steady eyes. "You're not thinking clearly right now. This isn't about who's more important. It's about who could get to her parents the fastest, who’s already in the system. We can update it later, but right now, focus on the fact that she's stable and going to be okay."

Spencer took a deep breath, trying to let Hotch's words sink in. But the knot of frustration in his chest wouldn't fully dissolve. He felt sidelined, helpless, and it was tearing him apart.

He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to keep his composure. "I just... I need to see her. I need to know she's okay."

"You will," Hotch promised, his voice firm. "We're going to see her as soon as they let us. She's going to need you, Spencer. So stay strong for her."

Spencer nodded, his heart aching with a mix of love and frustration. He wanted to be the one Y/N relied on, the one she turned to in her darkest moments. And perhaps, once she was awake and well, they could have that conversation. For now, he had to focus on being there for her, no matter what.

"Spencer, she's in good hands. The doctors are doing everything they can. Let's just focus on being here for her when she wakes up."

Spencer nodded, trying to take comfort in Hotch's words. He knew Hotch cared deeply for Y/N, almost like a sister, and seeing him so calm helped Spencer find some semblance of control.

Meanwhile, Haley was on the phone with Y/N's parents, explaining the situation. "M/N, D/N, Y/N's been hurt, but she's in surgery now. Aaron and I are here with her. I thought you should know. You might want to come as soon as you can."

Her parents, understandably distraught, promised to catch the next flight. "We'll be there as soon as we can, Haley. Thank you for letting us know."

With Y/N's parents on their way, Haley relieved Aaron to go home with Jack and kept Spencer company in the waiting room. She sat next to Spencer, offering him a supportive smile. "She'll pull through, Spencer. She's strong. Just hold on a little longer."

Spencer nodded, trying to take comfort in her words. He appreciated Haley's presence, even though his mind was a whirlwind of worry and frustration. The waiting was agonizing, each passing second dragging on interminably. Every time a doctor or nurse walked by, his heart would leap into his throat, hoping for news.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a surgeon approached them, his expression serious but not grim. Spencer stood up, his pulse quickening.

"Y/N L/N is out of surgery," the surgeon said, and Spencer's breath caught. "The bullet missed any major organs, but she lost a lot of blood. She's stable now and will be moved to the ICU shortly. You can see her once she's settled."

Relief flooded Spencer, and he nodded, tears of gratitude welling up in his eyes. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Haley squeezed his shoulder again, a silent reminder of the support surrounding him. "I’m going to go see her," she said softly. “I’ll tell her you’re here, ask about having you come back.”

Spencer watched as Haley walked towards the ICU, his mind a tumult of emotions. He was relieved beyond measure, but the ordeal had taken a toll on him. He sank back into his chair, trying to steady his breathing, to calm the frantic beating of his heart.

Minutes later, which felt like hours, Haley returned, her expression gentle but firm. "She’s still groggy, but she’s awake. She wants to see you."

Spencer's heart leapt. He stood up, his legs feeling unsteady, and followed Haley to the ICU. As they walked through the sterile corridors, his thoughts raced. He felt a mixture of overwhelming relief and lingering fear, the adrenaline of the past hours still coursing through his veins.

They reached Y/N's room, and Haley gently opened the door. Spencer stepped inside, his eyes immediately finding Y/N on the bed. She looked pale and fragile, but her eyes were open, and a faint smile played on her lips when she saw him.

"Spence," she whispered, her voice weak but filled with emotion.

Spencer crossed the room in a few quick strides and took her hand, careful not to jostle her. "I'm here," he said, his voice breaking. "I'm right here."

Y/N's fingers tightened around his. "I knew you'd come," she murmured. "I knew you'd be here."

Spencer leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I love you, Y/N. So much."

"I love you too," she whispered back, her eyes closing again as exhaustion overtook her.

Y/N felt the overwhelming relief of seeing Spencer by her side, his presence a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. As his hand enveloped hers, a sense of safety and comfort washed over her. The pain and fear that had gripped her began to ebb away, replaced by the warmth of his touch and the love in his eyes. With Spencer there, holding her hand and whispering words of love and comfort, she finally felt safe enough to rest. The rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his presence—it was all she needed to drift into a peaceful sleep, knowing she was not alone.

Spencer stayed by her side, his heart aching with love and relief. He watched her breathe, the rise and fall of her chest a soothing rhythm that calmed his frayed nerves. He knew the road to recovery would be long, but they were together, and that was all that mattered.

Haley stood by the door, giving them a moment of privacy before she quietly left to update the others. Spencer barely noticed, his entire focus on Y/N. He held her hand, whispering words of love and reassurance, promising to be there for her every step of the way.

When Y/N woke up, the room was filled with a soft morning light filtering through the blinds. Her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim glow, and she immediately felt the presence of her parents. Her father stood at the foot of the bed, his usually stoic demeanor cracking under the weight of worry for his daughter's health. As a healthcare worker himself, he understood the gravity of her condition, and it showed in the deep lines of concern etched on his face.

Her mother, always kind but with a slightly cold detachment due to her autism, was silently crying. She leaned over, gently kissing Y/N’s forehead, a rare display of emotion and physical contact that spoke volumes about her love and fear.

Both parents were so focused on Y/N that they barely noticed the man asleep next to her bed, or barely cared. Spencer was slumped over in the hospital chair, his hand still entwined with Y/N’s, his face resting on the edge of the bed. The uncomfortable position had left him sore, but he had refused to leave her side.

As Y/N stirred, her father finally noticed Spencer. He glanced at his wife, silently acknowledging the presence of the young man who had stayed with their daughter through the night. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a recognition of Spencer's dedication and love for Y/N.

Spencer woke up with a start, the realization of new faces in the room jolting him upright. His body ached from the awkward position, but his concern for Y/N overrode any discomfort. He quickly assessed the situation, his gaze moving from Y/N's parents to her, checking to see how she was feeling.

Y/N's father stepped forward, extending a hand. "You must be Spencer. I'm Dr. L/N, Y/N's father. Thank you for being here with her."

Spencer stood up, shaking the offered hand. "Yes, sir. Spencer Reid. I'm... I'm her boyfriend," he said, a bit flustered but determined to show his respect.

Her mother, still holding Y/N’s hand, gave Spencer a nod of acknowledgment. "Thank you for staying with her," she said, her voice soft but sincere.

Y/N squeezed Spencer's hand, offering him a reassuring smile despite her own fatigue. "Spence, these are my parents," she introduced gently. "Dad, Mom, this is Spencer."

Spencer nodded, looking at Y/N’s parents with a mix of gratitude and determination. "I wouldn't be anywhere else. I love her."

Dr. L/N gave a small, approving nod, while Y/N's mother gently squeezed her daughter's hand, her tears finally stopping as she found some solace in the love surrounding her child.

The room was filled with a palpable sense of relief and unity. Despite the fear and pain of the past hours, there was a shared understanding that together, they would support Y/N through her recovery, each drawing strength from the presence of the others.

As the days passed, Y/N remained in the hospital, her body gradually healing from the surgery. The sterile environment that had once felt like a sanctuary of healing now felt like a constant reminder of the trauma she had endured. Each day, she was faced with the decision that weighed heavily on her mind: should she stay at her current job, where she no longer felt safe, or should she take her parents up on their offer to move in with them and start anew at her father's hospital?

During her recovery, Y/N spent a lot of time alone with her thoughts, the hospital room both a place of healing and a crucible for her inner turmoil. She looked out the window, watching the world go by, feeling disconnected from it all. The decision felt like a crossroads, each path holding its own set of challenges and uncertainties.

In the quiet moments, she replayed the day she was shot over and over in her mind. The fear, the helplessness, the pain—it all came rushing back. Could she really return to the place where she had almost lost her life? She loved her job and the children she worked with, but the thought of walking through those halls again filled her with dread.

On the other hand, the idea of moving back in with her parents felt like a step backward. She had worked so hard to build her own life and establish her independence. Yet, the safety and comfort of her parents' home and the opportunity to work alongside her father at his hospital seemed appealing. It would provide her with a fresh start, away from the memories of the trauma, and a chance to heal both physically and emotionally.

Y/N's parents visited her often, bringing warmth and reassurance. Her father, with his calm demeanor, spoke about the new position at his hospital, emphasizing how much they needed someone with her skills and compassion. Her mother, despite her usual reserved nature, expressed how much she wanted Y/N to be safe and close to them. Their love and concern were evident, and it tugged at Y/N's heartstrings.

Spencer was a constant presence, too. He stayed with her as much as possible, bringing books to read together and engaging in gentle, comforting conversations. He was her rock, his quiet strength a source of solace. But she knew that staying with him meant staying in the city, where the memories of the shooting would linger.

—

As Y/N finally left the hospital, she decided to celebrate her recovery with a special dinner for her parents and Spencer. She chose a cozy, intimate restaurant where they could all relax and enjoy a pleasant evening together. The soft lighting and warm atmosphere provided the perfect setting for the occasion.

As they sat down at their table, Y/N smiled at the three people who meant the most to her. She felt a deep sense of gratitude for their support and love throughout her recovery. The conversation flowed easily, with laughter and shared stories.

"Spencer, did you know my dad is a doctor too?" Y/N said, glancing between Spencer and her father. "It's one of the reasons I chose to work in healthcare."

Spencer nodded, smiling at her father. "Yes, Y/N mentioned it. What field are you in, Mr. L/N?"

"I'm in internal medicine," her father replied, his eyes twinkling with pride. "Y/N has always had a passion for helping others. I'm glad she's found her own path in the medical field."

Y/N's mother chimed in, her voice warm but slightly detached, "And we hear you're a doctor too, Spencer. That's quite impressive."

Spencer blushed slightly, feeling the weight of their admiration. "Yes, I'm a profiler with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. It's a bit different from traditional medicine, but it's incredibly rewarding."

The conversation continued pleasantly, with everyone enjoying the meal and each other's company. However, the topic soon turned to the decision that had been weighing heavily on Y/N's mind.

"So, Y/N, have you made a decision?" her father asked gently, his tone filled with concern.

Spencer looked puzzled, glancing between Y/N and her parents. "What decision are you talking about?"

Y/N hesitated, her heart racing. Before she could respond, her mother, oblivious to the tension, answered, "Oh, the decision about whether Y/N will stay here or move back home with us to work at her father's hospital. We think it would be best for her to be closer to family, especially after what happened."

Spencer's face fell, a mix of shock and hurt washing over him. He looked at Y/N, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions. "Y/N, you never mentioned this to me," he said quietly, his voice trembling.

Y/N reached out to him, her eyes pleading. "Spence, I was going to talk to you about it. I just... I needed more time to figure things out."

But Spencer was already standing, his chair scraping against the floor. "I need some air," he muttered, turning and walking out of the restaurant before anyone could stop him.

Y/N watched him go, her heart breaking. She turned back to her parents, her eyes filled with tears. "I need to go after him," she said, her voice choked with emotion.

Her father nodded, understanding. "Go, Y/N. We'll be here when you get back."

Y/N hurried out of the restaurant, searching for Spencer. She found him outside, leaning against a lamppost, his shoulders hunched. She approached him slowly, her heart aching for the pain she saw in his eyes.

"Spence," she whispered, reaching out to touch his arm. "I'm so sorry. I was going to tell you."

Spencer looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and anguish. "Why didn't you, Y/N? Why didn't you trust me enough to share this with me?"

Y/N's tears flowed freely now, her voice trembling. "I was scared, Spence. Scared of losing you, scared of making the wrong decision. I didn't want to burden you with my doubts."

Spencer took a deep breath, his expression softening slightly. "Y/N, you're not a burden. I love you, and I want to be there for you, no matter what. But we can't keep secrets from each other. We have to face these challenges together."

As they stood in the dim light outside the restaurant, Spencer stepped back slightly, searching Y/N’s eyes for answers. His voice was soft but tinged with hurt and confusion. "Y/N, why are you even considering leaving? Is it because of me?"

Y/N's eyes widened in shock, she stepped forward and brought her hands up to cradle his face. "No, Spencer, it's not because of you. It's not about you at all."

"Then why?" he asked, his voice cracking. "Why are you thinking about moving back home?"

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "It's because of what happened, Spence. After getting shot, I don't feel safe at the hospital anymore. I thought I could handle it, but every time I walk through those doors, I relive that moment. My parents offered me a job at my dad's hospital, and it feels like a safe place to heal and recover."

Spencer looked down, his heart heavy with the weight of her words. "I just thought... I thought we were building something here, together. I didn't realize you were struggling so much."

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner," Y/N whispered, tears streaming down her face. "I didn't want to worry you, and I didn't know how to bring it up. But please believe me, Spencer, you're the reason I want to stay. You're my anchor, my safe place. I love you so much."

Spencer's eyes, instead of softening, hardened with a mix of confusion and frustration. "Why didn't you tell me, Y/N? How could you keep something this big from me?" His voice was louder now, the pain and anger evident.

"I didn't know how, Spencer! I was scared and confused," Y/N cried, her voice cracking. "I didn't want to burden you with my fears."

"Burden me?" Spencer repeated incredulously. "Y/N, we're supposed to share our burdens, not hide them from each other! Do you have any idea how it feels to find out like this, from your parents, not from you?"

Y/N flinched at his words, the guilt gnawing at her. "I know, and I'm sorry. But this isn't easy for me either! I don't feel safe there anymore, and my parents offered me a way out."

"A way out? So you're just going to run away?" Spencer snapped, the anger he rarely showed now surfacing. "What about us? What about what we're doing here?"

"Don't you think I want to stay?" Y/N shot back, her own anger flaring. "Don't you think I want to be with you? But I can't keep pretending everything's okay when it's not!"

Spencer ran a hand through his hair, pacing in frustration. "I thought we were in this together. But it feels like you're making decisions without me."

"I'm trying to figure things out, Spencer! I'm scared, and I don't know what to do," Y/N shouted, her voice breaking. "But that doesn't mean I don't love you."

Spencer stopped pacing and turned to face her, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and hurt. "Then why does it feel like you're already leaving?"

Y/N took a deep breath, her voice trembling as she replied, "I think we both know the answer to that."

Spencer's face fell, a look of devastation crossing his features. "Y/N, don't... please."

She shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Spence, I love you, but I can't stay here feeling like this. I'm scared all the time, and I can't keep pretending that everything's okay. It’s not fair to either of us."

"But we can work through this," Spencer argued, his voice desperate. "We can find a way."

Y/N's voice broke as she continued, "I wish it were that simple. But every time I walk into that hospital, I relive that day. I can't breathe, I can't function. I can't keep living like this."

Spencer's eyes filled with tears, his voice barely a whisper. "So, what does this mean for us?"

Y/N's heart ached as she looked at him, her voice raw with pain. "It means I need to go home, to heal. I need time, and space, and I can't do that here. And you... you need to be here, doing what you do best. It's not fair to ask you to leave everything for me."

Spencer shook his head, his tears falling freely now. "I don't care about that. I care about you. I can't lose you."

Y/N stepped closer, her hand gently cupping his cheek. "You won't lose me. But we both need to take this time to figure things out. Maybe one day, when we're both ready, we can find our way back to each other."

Spencer closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. "I don't want to wait. I want you now."

Y/N's heart shattered at his words, but she knew what needed to be done. "I know, Spence. But right now, I need to do this for me. And you need to let me."

Spencer opened his eyes, the pain evident in his gaze. "I don't know if I can."

Y/N's voice was soft but firm. "You can. You're stronger than you think. And so am I. We'll get through this, somehow."

Spencer took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I love you, Y/N. More than anything."

"I love you too, Spence," she whispered, her voice breaking. "That's why this hurts so much."

—

Y/N stumbled down the street, tears streaming down her face. She didn’t care that she had abandoned her parents at the restaurant or that she probably looked crazy. She couldn’t bear the weight of the conversation with Spencer any longer. Her heart ached with the realization of how deeply she had hurt him, and now she felt lost, not knowing what to do next. She needed someone to talk to, someone who could offer her guidance. Without much thought, she found herself walking toward the Hotchner household, seeking out Haley.

When she arrived, Haley opened the door, her face filled with concern upon seeing Y/N’s tear-streaked face. She immediately welcomed her inside, guiding her to the living room and offering her a comforting hug.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? What happened?” Haley asked gently, leading her to the couch.

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. “I don’t know what to do, Haley. Spencer and I… we just had a huge fight. He’s so hurt, and I feel like everything is my fault. My parents want me to go back home with them, but I don’t know if that’s the right thing to do. I love Spencer so much, but I don’t want to keep hurting him. But… I’m also hurting so bad right now. I don’t know if I can go back to my normal life.”

Haley nodded, listening intently. “Relationships are hard, Y/N. They’re ever-changing, and you have to grow together each year. It’s not always easy, but if you really love someone, you find a way to make it work.”

Y/N looked up at Haley, her eyes searching for reassurance. “Do you really think Spencer and I can get through this? Do you think we’re right for each other?”

Haley smiled softly. “I haven’t seen two people so perfect for each other in a long time. Aaron and I have talked about it, and we both agree that we’ve never seen Spencer glow like he does when he talks about you. He’s happier, more at ease. Aaron even noticed that he picks at his fingers less, doesn’t get as many migraines, and talks to his mom more since you came into his life. You’ve made a huge impact on him.”

Y/N’s heart swelled with emotion, but doubt still lingered. “But what if I can’t fix this? What if he never forgives me?”

Haley squeezed her hand reassuringly. “You have to try, Y/N. Relationships aren’t about being perfect; they’re about loving each other through the imperfections. Spencer loves you, and you love him. That’s a strong foundation to build on. It’s going to take time and effort, but if you both want it, you can make it work.”

Y/N wiped away her tears, feeling a glimmer of hope. “Thank you, Haley. I needed to hear that.”

Haley smiled warmly. “Anytime, Y/N. Just remember, it’s okay to ask for help and lean on the people who care about you. You don't have to be alone in this.”

Y/N nodded, “Haley, I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I’ve already hurt him so much. What if he doesn’t want to give us another chance?”

Haley took a deep breath, her expression serious yet compassionate. “Y/N, Spencer loves you. That kind of love doesn’t just disappear. Yes, he’s hurt, and it might take time for him to heal. But he’s also strong and capable of forgiveness. The key is showing him that you’re committed to making things right.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes filled with uncertainty. “But how do I do that? How do I prove to him that I’m not going to run away again?”

Haley leaned forward, her gaze intense. “You have to be honest with him, Y/N. About everything. Tell him why you’re thinking about leaving, what you are feeling, and what you want for the future. He needs to understand that your decision to leave isn’t because you don’t love him, but because you are scared and confused.”

Y/N wiped away another tear, her heart heavy with regret. “I should have talked to him instead of running away. I see that now. But I was so afraid that he wouldn’t understand, that he would see me as weak.”

Haley’s expression softened, and she reached out to gently squeeze Y/N’s hand. “We all have moments of weakness, Y/N. It’s part of being human. But it’s how we deal with those moments that define us. Spencer doesn’t see you as weak; he sees you as someone he loves deeply. And if you’re willing to fight for your relationship, he will see that too.”

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to steady her emotions. “Do you really think he’ll give me another chance?”

Haley smiled, her eyes filled with reassurance. “I do. But you have to be patient. And from what I’ve seen, you and Spencer have something truly special.”

Y/N clung to Haley, grateful for her support and guidance. She knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but with Haley’s words echoing in her mind, she felt ready to face the challenges and fight for the love she and Spencer shared.

She still had a big decision to make.

—

Spencer, his face streaked with tears, knocked on Emily's apartment door with a heavy heart. He didn't know where else to turn. Emily had always been like a big sister to him, someone who could offer the comfort and perspective he desperately needed. And he didn’t want Derek to see him cry.

Emily opened the door, her concern evident the moment she saw him. "Spencer, what happened?" she asked, stepping aside to let him in.

Without a word, Spencer walked in and collapsed onto her couch, his body wracked with sobs. Emily sat beside him, offering a comforting presence. Sergio, her cat, sensed the tension and padded over, nuzzling against Spencer's leg.

Spencer reached down to stroke Sergio, the gentle purring providing a small, welcome distraction from his overwhelming emotions. After a few moments, he began to speak, his voice choked with grief. "Emily, I don't understand. She’s thinking about leaving. She didn't even tell me she was considering it. I thought we were working things out."

Emily's eyes widened in surprise. "Who’s thinking about leaving? Y/N? Y/N's thinking about leaving? What do you mean, Spencer? I had no idea she was even considering it."

Spencer looked up, his eyes red and swollen. "She’s been talking to her parents about moving back home with them. She’s so hurt, Emily. She doesn’t feel safe here anymore. And now, she’s thinking about going back because she thinks it’s the only way to heal."

Emily listened intently, her heart aching for her friend. "Spencer, I know this is incredibly hard for you. But you have to remember, Y/N's situation is different. She went through something traumatic. It's not like facing unsubs for us."

Spencer looked up, his eyes red and swollen. "But why didn't she talk to me? Why didn't she trust me enough to share her fears? I've faced danger too, and I never thought about leaving."

Emily reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Spencer, what we do for a living isn't normal. We’re trained to handle these situations. Y/N isn’t. Her job was about helping people, not facing life-threatening dangers every day. It’s not about her not trusting you. It’s about her needing to feel safe and in control of her own life again."

Spencer nodded, trying to understand, but the pain was still raw. "I just... I feel so helpless. I love her so much, and I can't stand the thought of losing her. It feels like she's giving up on us."

Emily sighed, pulling him into a gentle hug. "Spencer, she's not giving up on you. She's trying to heal in the only way she knows how. It doesn't mean she doesn't love you. She just needs time and space to figure things out."

Sergio climbed onto Spencer's lap, curling up and purring louder. Spencer stroked the cat absentmindedly, finding a small measure of comfort in the simple act. "I just wish I could understand her better. I want to support her, but I don't know how."

Emily gave him a reassuring smile. "You already are supporting her by trying to understand. Give her time, and give yourself time too. Healing isn't a straight path, and it's okay to feel lost right now."

Spencer nodded, the tears still flowing but his heart a little lighter.

After leaving Emily's apartment, Spencer found himself wandering through the quiet streets, his thoughts a tangled mess of emotions. The night air was cool, but it did little to calm the storm raging inside him. Emily's words had brought some clarity, but the pain and confusion remained.

As he walked, Spencer's mind kept returning to Y/N. Her smile, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about something she loved, the comfort he felt in her presence – all of it played on a loop in his mind. He couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal, but underneath that was a deeper, more painful emotion: fear. Fear of losing her, fear of being alone again, fear of never finding that same connection with anyone else.

He thought about the nights they spent together, talking about everything and nothing, the way she made him feel understood in a way no one else ever had. She had become his safe place, his anchor in a world that often felt overwhelming. The idea of her leaving, of not having her in his life, was unbearable.

Spencer stopped by a park bench and sat down, burying his face in his hands. He felt tears welling up again, and he let them fall freely. Why can't I fix this? he thought. Why can't I make her see that she doesn't have to run away to heal?

He remembered their early days together, how effortlessly they had clicked, how natural it had felt to be with her. They had shared so many dreams and hopes for the future, and now it all seemed to be slipping away. He couldn't understand why she hadn't come to him, why she had kept her fears and plans hidden until now. It felt like a betrayal, but he also knew that she was hurting in ways he couldn't fully comprehend.

Maybe I'm not enough for her, he thought, the doubt creeping in. Maybe she needs more than I can give. The idea of her moving back home, starting a new life without him, was a knife to his heart. But he couldn't force her to stay, couldn't make her see things his way. All he could do was be there for her, support her in whatever decision she made, even if it meant letting her go.

He wiped his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I love you, Y/N," he whispered into the night. "And I will always love you, no matter what happens. I just wish you could see how much I need you, how much we need each other."

The thought of her leaving still tore him apart, but he knew he had to respect her choices, even if it broke his heart. As he stood up to head home, he made a silent vow to himself: to be the best partner he could be, to support her through her pain, and to hope that, in time, they could find their way back to each other.

—

The BAU team was exhausted as they stepped off the jet, the weight of their latest case still heavy on their shoulders. It had been a grueling two weeks, filled with sleepless nights and relentless days. Yet, for Spencer Reid, the exhaustion went beyond the physical. His heartache was evident to everyone, casting a shadow over the team's usual camaraderie.

Spencer barely acknowledged anyone as they made their way to their desks. His eyes were sunken, dark circles prominent under them, and his shoulders slumped with an invisible weight. The team exchanged worried glances, their concern for him palpable. Spencer’s usual spark was missing, replaced by a haunting emptiness.

Hotch noticed Spencer's avoidance and knew why. He himself had struggled with the knowledge of Y/N's final decision. The unspoken tension between them was thick, neither willing to confront the painful truth just yet.

Emily watched Spencer with a heavy heart. She had seen him hurt before, but this was different. The loss of Y/N had gutted him in a way that no other personal tragedy had. She approached him gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Spence, you holding up?" she asked softly.

Spencer forced a small, tired smile. "Yeah, I'm fine," he lied, his voice hollow. "Just tired."

Derek, sitting nearby, shook his head. "We’re all tired, man, but this isn’t just about the case, is it?" His voice was filled with a mix of concern and frustration. "You don't have to pretend with us."

Spencer glanced around, his eyes briefly meeting each of theirs. He knew they cared, knew they wanted to help, but the pain was too raw, too personal. "I just need some time," he said quietly, his gaze dropping to his desk. "I'll be okay."

JJ, standing by Hotch's office, crossed her arms and frowned. "Spence, we’re your family. Lean on us. We’re here for you, no matter what."

Hotch, who had been silently observing, stepped forward. "Take some time off, Spencer. Go home, rest. We’ve got things covered here."

Spencer nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He grabbed his bag and made his way out, feeling the weight of their concern following him. As he exited the building, he couldn't shake the image of Y/N from his mind, wondering if she was still in Quantico or if she had already left for good.

Back inside, the team watched him go, their hearts heavy with worry. Emily turned to Hotch. "Do you know if she’s still here?" she asked softly.

Hotch sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t know. She was supposed to make a decision while we were gone. I haven’t heard from her."

Penelope, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke up, her voice trembling. "I tried calling her, but she never answered. I didn’t want to invade her privacy by tracking her down, but... I’m so worried about both of them."

Rossi, leaning against his desk, shook his head. "Sometimes, love isn’t enough. They both have to want to fight for it. And right now, it seems like they’re both too hurt to see clearly."

The team nodded, knowing Rossi was right but still hoping for a miracle. They had seen Spencer at his best and his worst, and they weren’t ready to give up on him—or Y/N.

Meanwhile, Spencer wandered through the streets of Quantico, his mind a whirlwind of memories and emotions. He missed Y/N with every fiber of his being, but the fear of hearing she had left was paralyzing. He wanted to reach out to her, to beg her to stay, but he didn’t know if he could handle another rejection.

As he walked, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, his heart skipping a beat when he saw a message from Hotch.

Spencer, I know you’re struggling. If you need to talk, I’m here. Don’t shut us out.

Spencer stared at the message, feeling a surge of emotion. He typed a quick response, Thanks, Hotch. I’ll be okay, before shoving his phone back in his pocket. He wasn’t ready to talk yet, but the offer of support meant more than he could express.

Spencer walked the entire way home, his mind a tangled web of thoughts and emotions. He needed the time to process everything that had happened over the past few weeks, to try and make sense of his feelings. As he approached his apartment building, he noticed a figure slumped against the wall near his door. His heart rate quickened with alarm, but as he drew closer, he saw the familiar green Converse sneakers and his breath caught in his throat.

It was Y/N.

She was sitting on the ground, her arms wrapped around her shins, her head resting on her knees. The sight of her there, vulnerable and broken, stirred a whirlwind of emotions within him. He felt an overwhelming surge of love and relief, but also a gnawing fear of reopening old wounds.

Spencer stood frozen for a moment, his mind racing. Should he approach her? What would he say? Would she welcome him or push him away? He felt a wave of doubt and uncertainty, but then he saw her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, and the decision was made for him.

Slowly, hesitantly, he walked toward her, his footsteps almost silent. He knelt down beside her, his hand trembling as he reached out to touch her shoulder. The moment his fingers brushed against her, she looked up, her tear-filled eyes meeting his. For a split second, time seemed to stand still, and all the hurt and confusion of the past weeks melted away, leaving only the profound connection between them.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

"Spence," she choked out, her voice cracking as fresh tears welled up in her eyes.

Spencer felt his heart swell with a mix of love and sorrow. Without another word, he gently helped her to her feet, their eyes never breaking contact. He could see the depth of her pain, the regret etched on her face, and it mirrored his own.

As they stood there, the night air cool around them, Spencer realized that he couldn't turn away from her. He couldn't let his fear and anger keep him from the person he loved most in the world. He took a deep breath, his resolve strengthening.

"Come inside," he said softly, guiding her towards the door. "Let's talk."

Y/N nodded, her fingers clutching his hand as if afraid he might disappear. They walked into the apartment in silence, the familiar surroundings bringing a sense of comfort and security. Spencer led her to the couch, where they both sat down, the tension between them palpable.

Spencer got up briefly to get them each a glass of water, hoping it would help calm their nerves. When he returned, he sat at one end of the couch, Y/N at the other. The distance between them felt like a chasm, a stark contrast to the closeness they once shared.

Y/N took a sip of her water, her hands shaking slightly. Finally, she broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't leave."

Spencer's eyes softened, his own heart aching with the weight of their shared pain. "You couldn't or you wouldn't?"

Y/N's gaze met his, filled with unshed tears. "I couldn't. I couldn't leave you."

Spencer set his glass down and moved a little closer, the emotional distance still lingering between them. "I was so scared, Y/N. Scared that you were leaving because I wasn’t enough, because I couldn’t protect you. I didn’t understand why you would go through something like that alone."

Y/N shook her head, her voice trembling as she spoke. "I thought I was protecting you, Spence. I thought leaving would make things easier for both of us, but I was wrong. I see that now."

Spencer's eyes held a mix of frustration and hurt. "You broke my trust, Y/N. You left without a word, without giving us a chance to face it together. Do you have any idea what that did to me?"

Y/N's tears spilled over, her voice breaking. "I know, and I'm so sorry. I was scared and confused, but that doesn’t excuse what I did. I thought I could handle it on my own, but I need you, Spencer. I need us."

Spencer took a deep breath, the pain in his chest easing slightly as he saw the sincerity in her eyes. He moved a little closer, closing some of the distance between them. "I want to believe you, Y/N. I really do. But it’s going to take time. I need to see that you mean what you say."

Y/N nodded, her heart heavy with regret but also filled with hope. "I understand, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. I love you, Spencer. More than anything."

Spencer looked at her, his own tears threatening to fall. "I love you too, Y/N. Let's take this one step at a time."

Y/N smiled through her tears, the first genuine smile she had felt in weeks. "One step at a time."

As they sat there, the weight of their emotions hanging in the air, they both felt a glimmer of hope. It wouldn't be easy, but they were willing to try. And in that moment, it was enough.

—

Spencer arrived at his desk, his mind still a whirlwind of emotions from the encounter with Y/N. He noticed an envelope sitting there, his name clearly scrawled in Y/N's familiar handwriting. His heart skipped a beat as he picked it up, fingers trembling slightly as he opened it.

Inside, he found a handwritten note from Y/N. Taking a deep breath, he began to read.

Spencer,

I know I’ve apologized before, but I need to do it again. I’m truly sorry for the pain I caused you, for breaking your trust and your heart. I can’t change the past, but I want to make things right. I want to start over, to rebuild what we had, if you’re willing to give me that chance.

I’m inviting you to a second first date. Just you and me, getting to know each other again. No pressure, no expectations, just a chance to see if we can find our way back to each other. Meet me at the park by the fountain at 6 PM on Saturday. If you don’t come, I’ll understand, but I hope you do.

Yours always,

Y/N

Spencer's heart raced as he read the note, his mind a mix of hope, fear, and uncertainty. As he sat there, contemplating what to do, he knew that he couldn’t let fear hold him back. This was a chance to rebuild, to see if the love they once shared could be rekindled. And for that, he was willing to take the risk.

Carefully folding the note, he placed it back in the envelope and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

Spencer looked up from the note, momentarily startled by Derek's voice. He quickly tried to compose himself, but Derek had already caught the slight flush of color in Spencer's cheeks.

"What ya got there, pretty boy?" Derek asked, leaning against the edge of Spencer's desk with a teasing grin.

Spencer hesitated for a moment, his fingers still holding the envelope. He glanced down at it, then back up at Derek, deciding that honesty might be the best approach. "It's a note from Y/N," he said quietly, his voice betraying a mix of emotions.

Derek raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "A note from Y/N, huh? What does it say?"

Spencer sighed, feeling a bit vulnerable. "She apologized again and... she invited me to a second first date," he admitted, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite the turmoil inside.

Derek's grin widened. "A second first date? Sounds like she's really trying to make things right. How do you feel about that?"

Spencer glanced back at the note, his mind racing with thoughts and emotions. "I don't know, Derek. Part of me is still hurt and angry, but another part of me... I want to give it another chance. I miss her."

Derek nodded, his expression turning serious. "You’ve been through a lot, man. It's okay to be cautious, but it’s also okay to follow your heart. If you think there’s a chance to rebuild, then go for it. But do what feels right for you."

Spencer took a deep breath, appreciating Derek's support. "Thanks, Derek. I think I’ll give it a shot and see what happens."

Derek clapped him on the shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze. "Good for you, pretty boy."

—

Y/N glanced at her watch again, her heart sinking as the minutes ticked by. It was 6:05 pm, and Spencer still hadn't shown up. She tried to keep her hope alive, but the longer she waited, the harder it became. She could already feel her heart breaking, the familiar ache of disappointment setting in.

Just as she was about to give up and call it a night, she heard the sound of hurried footsteps. She looked up to see Spencer jogging towards her, his face flushed and slightly out of breath. Relief and a flicker of hope filled her heart as he reached her, panting lightly.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," Spencer said between breaths, his eyes wide with sincerity and regret. "I couldn't decide if I wanted to come. But I’m here now."

Y/N's eyes softened, a mix of emotions swirling within her. "You came," she said, her voice a little shaky. "That's what matters."

Spencer took a deep breath, finally catching his breath. "I know I’ve been a mess, and I’ve struggled with everything that happened. But I couldn’t ignore this chance, Y/N. I couldn't let you slip away without trying."

Y/N nodded, feeling a tear escape and roll down her cheek. "I’m glad you’re here, Spencer."

Spencer stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "I miss you, Y/N. I miss us. Can we try to find our way back to each other?"

Y/N's heart swelled with hope and determination. "Yes, Spencer. We can try. We can start with this second first date and see where it takes us."

They stood there for a moment, the tension easing as they both felt the possibility of a fresh start. Spencer smiled, his nerves settling a bit. "Shall we?" he asked, offering her his arm.

Y/N smiled back, linking her arm with his. "Yes, let's."

Spencer looked at her curiously. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see," she replied with a mysterious smile.

After a short walk, they arrived at a newly opened Thai restaurant. Spencer's eyes widened in surprise. "The Thai place! I've been wanting to try this for weeks. How did you know?"

Y/N smiled warmly. "I remember you mentioning it a while ago. I thought it would be a nice surprise."

Spencer's face lit up with a blend of joy and disbelief. "You remembered that?"

She chuckled, feeling a warm flutter in her chest. "I pay attention to the things you say, Spencer. You matter to me."

Once seated, Spencer noticed Y/N reaching into her bag. She pulled out a book and placed it on the table between them. It was a rare Russian literature book he had been searching for but couldn't find.

Spencer's jaw dropped. "How did you…? This book is almost impossible to find!"

Y/N grinned. "I have my ways."

Spencer felt his heart swell with emotion. "Y/N, this means so much to me. Thank you."

They ordered their food, and as they waited, they held hands over the table, their fingers intertwined. The nervousness of their first date mingled with the comfort of their familiar bond, creating a blend of excitement and warmth.

Spencer smiled, a touch of mischief in his eyes. "Remember our first date? I was so nervous, I almost spilled coffee all over myself."

Y/N laughed softly, squeezing his hand. "I remember. You were adorable. Still are, actually."

Spencer blushed, his gaze never leaving hers. "You make me feel like the luckiest guy in the world."

Their conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and shared memories. They talked about their favorite moments together, their hopes for the future, and the joy of reconnecting. Every glance, every touch, was a reaffirmation of their love.

"So, what else do you have planned for tonight?" Spencer asked, his voice playful.

Y/N smirked, leaning in closer. "You'll have to wait and see. But I promise, it’s something you'll love."

Spencer raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You always know how to keep me on my toes."

When their food arrived, they eagerly dug in, sharing bites and savoring the flavors. The meal was delicious, and the ambiance was perfect. They were in their own little world, surrounded by the buzz of the restaurant but completely focused on each other.

Y/N took a sip of her drink and looked at Spencer with a teasing glint in her eye. "You know, I think this date is going pretty well. What do you think, Dr. Reid?"

Spencer grinned, playing along. "I think it's going exceptionally well, Dr. L/N. You certainly know how to impress. I can't believe you did all this for me. You've made tonight unforgettable," he said, his voice filled with emotion.

Y/N squeezed his hand. "I wanted to show you how much you mean to me, Spencer. I wanted to make things right."

Spencer leaned across the table and kissed her gently. "You have, Y/N. More than you know."

As Spencer and Y/N left the restaurant, the cool night air wrapped around them like a comforting blanket. They walked side by side, their hands naturally finding each other, fingers intertwining as if they had never been apart. The gentle pressure of their clasped hands sent a wave of warmth through Spencer, a silent reassurance that they were on the path to healing.

Y/N glanced up at him, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Do you remember the first time we walked home together?" she asked, her voice filled with nostalgia.

Spencer chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I do. I was so nervous, I kept stumbling over my words."

Y/N laughed softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "I thought it was cute how flustered you got. I was secretly hoping you'd ask me to hold your hand, just like this."

Spencer blushed, shaking his head with a grin. "I was terrified I’d say something stupid and ruin everything. You were just so pretty, I couldn’t form a single coherent thought."

"Oh, I was pretty, was I? What am I now, then?" Y/N teased, her eyes sparkling as she looked up at him.

Spencer's smile widened, and he leaned in a little closer, his eyes locking with hers. "Now? Now you're absolutely breathtaking," he replied softly, his tone filled with sincerity.

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words. "Breathtaking, huh? You really do know how to make a girl feel special."

Spencer chuckled, his hand gently squeezing hers. "Well, it’s the truth. Every time I see you, I’m reminded of how lucky I am."

Y/N's cheeks flushed, and she playfully nudged him. "You always were the charmer, Spencer Reid."

Spencer grinned, feeling more confident with each passing moment. "Only for you, Y/N. Only for you."

Spencer leaned in completely, his eyes never leaving Y/N’s. He hesitated for just a moment, as if seeking her silent permission, and then closed the distance between them. His lips met hers in a gentle, tender kiss, filled with all the emotions they had both been holding back. It was a kiss of longing, of apology, and of hope.

Y/N’s heart soared as she kissed him back, her hands resting on his chest. The world around them seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of them in this perfect moment. She felt the warmth of his love and the sincerity of his feelings in every soft movement of his lips.

When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathless. Spencer rested his forehead against hers, a small, contented smile playing on his lips. "I’ve missed you too, Y/N. More than you can imagine."

"Hmm, no, I think I have a pretty good idea." Y/N said softly.

They continued walking, their conversation filled with lighthearted banter and shared memories. Spencer looked down at Y/N, admiring the way her hair shimmered under the streetlights.

"You know, you look absolutely stunning tonight," he said, his voice sincere.

Y/N laughed, her cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. "You’re just saying that because I’m wearing your favorite dress."

Spencer shook his head, his smile tender. "The dress doesn’t hurt, but it's you that takes my breath away."

Y/N grinned, placing her fingers on his wrist in a mock serious manner. "Hmm, seems like you might be in love, Dr. Reid. It’s a common side effect of spending time with me."

Spencer laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "I think I might need a second opinion."

"Pretty sure I’m the best in the business," Y/N teased back, her eyes twinkling. "But if you insist on another opinion, you might have to wait until Monday."

"Then I’ll just have to trust your diagnosis, Doctor," Spencer said, pulling her a little closer as they walked. "I must admit, I like the symptoms."

"Good," Y/N replied, feeling her heart swell with happiness. "Because I plan on being your personal physician for a very long time."

Their walk continued in comfortable silence, punctuated by the occasional shared glance and squeeze of hands. The night was peaceful, and they both felt a sense of rightness, as if the universe had finally aligned in their favor.

As they neared Y/N's doorstep, she looked up at Spencer, her heart racing with anticipation and hope. "Spence… you can say no, but do you want to come in?" she asked, her voice soft and hopeful.

Spencer looked into her eyes, his own filled with a mix of love and anticipation. “More than anything,” he replied, a gentle smile spreading across his face.

Y/N's heart fluttered as she unlocked the door and led him inside. The warmth of her apartment enveloped them, and she felt a sense of rightness wash over her. They stood in the entryway for a moment, the air between them charged with unspoken emotions.

Spencer leaned in, his lips capturing Y/N’s in a deep, sensual kiss. The intensity of his touch made Y/N’s heart race. She responded eagerly, her hands sliding up to his shoulders, pulling him closer. Spencer’s hands found their way to her waist, holding her firmly yet tenderly.

The kiss deepened, becoming more passionate. Spencer’s fingers traced the curve of her spine, sending shivers down her back. Y/N’s hands moved to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as she pressed herself against him.

“Y/N,” Spencer murmured against her lips, his voice filled with desire.

“Yes, Spence?” she whispered back, her breath hitching as his lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

“I want you,” he confessed, his voice raw with emotion.

“I want you too,” Y/N replied, her voice trembling with anticipation.

They moved together, their bodies speaking the unspoken words between them. Y/N’s hands roamed over Spencer’s chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. Spencer’s hands slid over her ass, his touch gentle yet insistent.

As their lips met again in a fervent kiss, Spencer pulled her, tugging her to the couch. He pushed her down gently, their kisses never breaking. Y/N’s hands explored his back, her nails lightly grazing his skin, eliciting a soft groan from him.

Spencer’s mouth found its way to her throat, and he gently bit down, making Y/N moan. Her breath quickened, and she arched into his touch, wanting more. Spencer’s other hand slid up her thigh, his touch both teasing and electrifying.

“Please, Spence,” Y/N gasped, her body aching for his touch.

Spencer responded by brushing his fingers along the seam of her tights, his touch sending waves of pleasure through her. Y/N’s fingers dug into his shoulders, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Wait, wait, Spencer,” Y/N panted as she pushed him back slightly, her breath ragged.

Spencer’s eyes widened, panic flashing across his features. “Are you…are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, baby,” Y/N quickly reassured him, cupping his face in her hands. “I just want to make sure you’re really ready for this.”

Relief washed over Spencer’s face, but he still looked uncertain. “I’m really ready, Y/N, but…I need you to show me what to do.”

Y/N smiled gently, her fingers tracing his jawline. “We’ll take it slow, okay? We’ll go at your pace.”

Spencer nodded, his eyes locked onto hers. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.

Y/N guided his hands to the waistband of her tights, helping him pull them off. Spencer left light sucking kisses down Y/N’s exposed thighs as he pulled her tights off. Y/N squirmed where she lied on the couch, so overwhelmed by having Spencer’s beautiful mouth on her.

Spencer looked up at Y/N with begging eyes, not knowing where to go next. She took his hand, showing him how to touch her over her panties, where to rub her clit and how much pressure to apply. She whispered encouragement, her own excitement building as Spencer gained confidence. His touch grew surer, more deliberate, each movement guided by her soft instructions and their mutual desire.

“Like this?” Spencer asked, his voice low and filled with awe as he rubbed her clit with intense focus.

“Yes, exactly like that,” Y/N moaned softly, her body responding to his touch.

Spencer’s fingers moved to the waistband of her panties, pulling them off as well. His lips followed her whispered directions of sucking on the skin behind her ear. Y/N’s clit throbbed with the lack of touch, her body thrumming and arching against his. Spencer’s eyes darkened with passion, his love for her driving him to learn quickly.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his concern evident even in his desire. Spencer’s eyes glimmered in excitement. “Can I touch you again?”

“God, yes please, Spence,” Y/N responded, her voice full of anticipation and desperation.

“Oh, oh my god, you’re so wet. Is this just from me?” Spencer’s tone was a blend of amazement and disbelief, his fingers trembling slightly.

“Yes, all from you, for you,” Y/N confirmed, her own breath catching at the intensity of his touch. “Only you.”

Spencer’s hands moved with newfound confidence, fingers finding Y/N’s clit again, this time without the barrier of her panties. Y/N cries out at the feeling of his rough fingers rubbing her sensitive bud with the dexterity of someone who has done this a million times.

Y/N sits up slightly, alarming Spencer, but before he can pull away or ask if she’s okay, she whips her dress over her head. Baring her chest to Spencer, she looks at him with a mixture of vulnerability and boldness. Spencer's eyes widen, his cock hardening in desire.

Spencer's breath hitched as he took in the sight of her. She was beautiful, and the intimacy of the moment left him awestruck. His hands moved with a newfound confidence, tracing the curves of her body with reverence. The warmth of her skin against his palms sent shivers down his spine.

"Y/N," he breathes out, his voice thick with emotion. "You’re… even more beautiful than I remember."

She smiles, her confidence bolstered by his reaction. "I want you to feel comfortable with me, Spence. No more holding back."

Spencer's hands gently glide over her breast, his touch reverent and filled with awe. "I’ve never seen anything so perfect."

Y/N's heart swells with love and desire. "We’re perfect together, Spencer."

With a deep feeling of love and comfort, Spencer removes his shirt as well. He may still be a virgin, but Y/N has never made him feel pressured or like something was wrong with him. He pulls back completely, stands to remove both his pants and his briefs, feeling vulnerable yet confident in their connection. Now matching Y/N, he takes a deep breath, his eyes filled with desire.

As he stands there bare, Spencer feels a whirlwind of emotions. His heart races with anticipation, his nerves tingling with excitement and apprehension. The room feels charged with electricity, each moment stretching into infinity. He looks at Y/N, seeing her beauty and the depth of her love reflected in her eyes, and he feels a surge of gratitude and affection.

"Let's move to the bedroom," he suggests, his voice gentle yet demanding.

Spencer gently guided Y/N to her bedroom, the dim light casting soft shadows across the room. The bed, covered in a quilt Y/N had made herself, felt inviting and warm. The scent of lavender lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of their favorite Thai dishes from dinner. As they stood by the bed, the sounds of their breathing filled the room, heavy with anticipation and desire.

Spencer's heart pounded in his chest, a mix of nervousness and excitement coursing through him. This was his first time, and the weight of the moment was not lost on him. His mind raced with thoughts, but the overwhelming sense of connection with Y/N anchored him, guiding his actions with love and sincerity.

Y/N's eyes locked with his, a reassuring smile playing on her lips. She reached up, brushing her fingers through his hair, her touch calming his nerves. "Spence," she whispered, her voice soft and filled with affection, "it's just us. There's no rush. Let's just be together."

Spencer nodded, his eyes reflecting the depth of his emotions. "I want this to be perfect for you," he confessed, his voice trembling slightly.

Y/N's smile widened, her heart swelling with love for him. "It already is, I love you so much."

"I love you too, Y/N," he replies, his voice thick with emotion. "I've never felt this way before. You've shown me what it means to truly be loved."

“Oh, Spence,” Y/N’s lip trembled, her eyes filled with a hint of tears. The depth of emotion between them was palpable, a beautiful blend of tenderness and desire.

Finally, Spencer brought his body back to Y/N’s, his eyes locked onto hers as he entered his fingers inside her with a mix of anticipation and tenderness. Y/N's eyes fluttered closed, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she felt Spencer's movement.

She could sense his nervousness, his eagerness to make this moment perfect for both of them. "You're doing so well, Spence," she whispered, her voice filled with love and reassurance. “Fuck your fingers feel so good, so long,” she whines.

Spencer's heart swelled at her words, a rush of blood flooding his cock. He knew he wouldn’t last long once he was inside Y/N, but he felt himself care less and less as she proved her devotion and care for him.

“I’m ready, baby, I’m so ready, I need to feel you,” Y/N murmured, her voice thick with desire.

“Okay, okay, shit, me too,” Spencer replied, his heart pounding in his chest. He could hardly believe this was happening. Every nerve in his body was alive with sensation, and his mind was a whirlwind of emotions—anticipation, fear, love. As he moved closer to Y/N, he felt a surge of gratitude for her patience and understanding. This moment was more than physical; it was a profound expression of their bond, a step towards healing and rebuilding trust.

As Spencer slowly entered his cock inside of Y/N, he knew he was done for. No one and nothing would ever compare.

They moved together so fluidly, like lovers who would find each other in every lifetime. Her gentle encouragement and the way she responded to his touch filled him with a sense of confidence and belonging. He knew he was exactly where he was meant to be, with the person who understood and cherished him completely.

Their movements became more synchronized, their breaths mingling in the space between them. Spencer's nerves began to melt away, replaced by a growing sense of connection and intimacy. Each touch, each whispered word, was a reassurance, a reminder of the deep bond they shared.

Y/N's soft moans and the way she held him close only fueled Spencer's determination to make this moment special. He marveled at the way their bodies fit together, how her warmth and softness seemed to envelop him, grounding him in the reality of their love.

Finally, as they reached their peak together, Spencer held Y/N tightly, their bodies trembling in unison. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in the afterglow of their shared experience.

Y/N looked up at Spencer, her eyes shining with tears of happiness. “I love you so much,” she whispered, her voice filled with emotion.

Spencer gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, his heart swelling with adoration. “I love you too,” he replied, his voice tender. “This was perfect.”

They lay together, their bodies entwined, basking in the warmth and love that surrounded them. In that moment, they knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, stronger and more connected than ever before.

The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of them in this cocoon of intimacy. Spencer's senses were heightened, every touch and sensation amplified by the intensity of their connection. He felt a profound sense of gratitude and love, knowing that Y/N was sharing this moment with him, making him feel whole and complete.

a/n: N is for New Years by @spencereidluver is what inspired me to write more smut for this story! their work is amazing, check it out!!

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