#and then lost track of each other in said chase

[chamiryokuroi]

TOH fandom tell me someone has written the AU where Raine asks Eda to marry them and Eda is all “Oh I would love to, but technically I am already married” and the gang has to go down to Gravity Falls, Oregon, to get Stanley Pines to sign the divorce papers.

[pathologicalreid]

little duck | s.r.

in which Spencer is too excited about his first Halloween as a dad to remember he's supposed to be celebrating his birthday

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: jareau!reader, birthday party, halloween, dias des los muertos, roslyn talk, this IS my ffofa family but you don't need to read it to read this (just know that reader and jj have beef), mostly wholesome content, babies and having babies, the spencer reid dilf agenda! word count: 1.53k a/n: is this any good? not sure. it's definitely cute though.

Your eyes flickered around the kitchen, trying to spot a familiar mess of brown curls that you’d lost track of about an hour ago. “Hey,” You said to Penelope, putting an arm around her shoulders, “Have you seen my husband anywhere?”

The blonde shook her head, taking the opportunity to glance around the house to see if he was hiding in plain sight, “Haven’t seen him,” she shared a look with Emily, who shrugged, “Did you check outside?”

Shaking your head, you sighed while picking up some trash from the counter and setting it in the trash. “No, thanks though,” you flashed them a small smile before continuing your way around the house, he wasn’t in the office or the library either.

The house was decorated in a hybrid celebration of Spencer’s birthday and Halloween. Décor for the latter had started going up in September, but the fake spider that Spencer put in the guest bathroom still made your heart race. Balloons fluttered in the air while you strode past them, “Hey, there’s the lady of the house,” your head snapped up.

“Hi Dave,” you greeted Rossi with a hug, “How are you enjoying the party?”

He lifted his glass of punch up, “Other than the fact that I’m not sure how you got the punch to turn green, it’s a beautiful party. You’ve outdone yourself.”

Thanking him, you promised to come back and chat once you found Spencer, who was still missing. As for the punch, you were under strict orders not to tell anyone how the punch had turned green, but you knew that Spencer had used spinach as a natural food dye. Personally, you were avoiding the liquid like the plague.

Finally checking outside, the only thing you found was Matt’s older four chasing each other with glow sticks while their father watched on. Kristy was inside with Rosemary, who wasn’t quite old enough to chase her older siblings yet. You smiled at the thought that maybe next year she’d be able to join the big kids.

Henry and Michael were on the playset, the older of the two trying to impress his younger brother by crossing the monkey bars. You waved at Michael on the swing before closing the door behind you, turning around to continue your search in the house, jumping when you found someone behind you. “Oh,” you hung your head in shock, “You scared me.”

Your sister smiled at you, “Sorry, I saw you looked like you were searching for something, I wanted to see if you needed anything.”

JJ made your chest ache. Every time she offered to do something for you or surprised you with a gift, she continued to get into your good graces, but it just reminded you of your broken bond. Shaking your head, you looked around the living room, “I’m just looking for Spencer.”

Recognition flickered in her eyes, “He went upstairs with Amelia about ten minutes ago. I didn’t see him come down.”

You sighed in relief once you knew where your husband and baby were, “Thank you.” Making your way to the stairs, you turned and spoke up again, “And J, take some leftovers home! I really don’t need all of it.”

Hopefully, you could convince everyone to take at least something home. Throwing parties was a curse, there was always too much food. You made your way upstairs, checking the master bedroom before peeking your head into the nursery, finally finding Spencer.

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor with Mila propped up in front of him, still learning how to stand unassisted. You leaned against the door frame, watching Spencer adjust her Halloween costume as she stared at him in wonder.

It was a tradition in your family for your mom to make the costume for Halloween, at least the first one, and Spencer was more than willing to adopt any tradition available to him, especially if it involved Halloween. You gave your mom free rein of the costume idea, so you shouldn’t have been surprised when she showed up before the party today with a baby duck costume in tow.

She was blowing raspberries at him while he brushed some feathers out of her face, “We’ll have to trim some of those, honey,” he spoke to her gently. He had refrained from putting the hood over her head, either because he didn’t want to ruin the tiny ponytail she had sticking up from her head or because he didn’t want her to get too warm, but she seemed more than content to be dressed in the bright yellow outfit.

You were thankful that she’d be comfortable in the costume because the rest of the week would be jam-packed. Tomorrow night was the FBI trunk or treat, then a Halloween party at Rossi’s, then actual Halloween, and then a Dia De Los Muertos party at Penelope’s to round off the week.

Honestly, you weren’t sure who was going to be more exhausted by the end of the week, you or Mila.

Eventually, you caught the gaze of your eight-month-old, who reached out and made grabby hands at you, exposing your location to Spencer, who turned his head to look at you, “Hey,” he said, still holding her upright even though his eyes weren’t on her.

“Hi,” you greeted back, unable to take your eyes off of the baby. More specifically, you were unable to take your eyes off of her costume.

You took a seat on the floor across from Spencer, who helped Mila off of her feet so that she could crawl to you, “Go see mama,” he urged her gently, watching as her tiny arms and legs carried her across the floor.

Once she reached you, she pushed herself up on your leg until you scooped her up, settling her in your lap and raising your eyebrows at him, “You know there’s a party going on downstairs.”

“I had noticed that, yes,” he answered, neatly folding the hood of Amelia’s costume and setting it in a pile.

Adjusting the bow on top of her head, you craned your head down and kissed the side of her head—she gurgled in response. “Did you know that they’re all here for you?”

Spencer smiled slightly, “I knew that too.”

Mila continued to babble while you looked at your husband curiously, “And yet,” you started, “You’re up here, putting her Halloween costume on while you should be at your birthday party.”

“I just wanted to see her in it,” he confessed, eyes flickering down at his daughter in her baby duck costume.

You had to admit, she was heart-achingly cute in the handmade costume. You were so happy when your mom brought up making the costume, not wanting to ask right out for it.

From the day she was born, Amelia was surrounded by family, you and Spencer made sure of it. She was cuddled up in the hospital with a blanket that Penelope crocheted. Even her nickname—Mila—had been granted to her by Derek’s daughter, who couldn’t quite swing the three-syllable name at the time.

There was a pit in your chest that was brought upon you by the symbolism of the costume, you often wondered what life would be like if your eldest sister was still around. You wondered what she’d think of your baby’s middle name—Rose—and if she’d think it was cool. “Hey, Spence?” You whispered, carefully standing up with Amelia in tow.

“Yes, my love?” He responded, following your lead and getting up off the floor, taking the baby from you, and changing her into pajamas.

You hummed behind him, taking the discarded costume and folding it up, placing it on top of the dresser until you needed it tomorrow. “Happy birthday,” you told him for the nth time today.

He smiled at you, resting Mila on his hip before he turned back to you, “Thank you.” Spencer leaned over and kissed you, the action receiving a coo from your daughter.

Laughing softly, you cupped her head tenderly, “It was a pretty good year, huh?”

Spencer pulled you into his side, you being held in one arm, and Mila in the other. “Yeah,” he murmured, “This one was definitely a favorite.”

Becoming a parent with Spencer was a dream come true, there was nothing you could think of that would top this year. Tilting your head back, you looked up at him, “So, what are you going to wish for this year?”

His gaze flittered down to the baby on his hip.

You shook your head immediately, “Pick something else,” you said, giggling at his silent suggestion. To you, it felt much too soon to think about another baby, and you knew Spencer was mostly joking. The two of you had previously decided on waiting.

Spencer sighed in response, looking between you and Mila, “More of this,” he answered, “The three of us, together.”

Raising your eyebrows, “Avoiding a party together.”

“As a family should,” he affirmed, beaming at you.

You were smiling so much that your cheeks ached, and you nodded your head in the direction of the door, “C’mon, there’s a cake downstairs with your name on it. Literally.”  

[lovingksuki]

✰ SECRET ADMIRER pt.2

— highschoolers bakugo x fem!reader

synopsis: an anonymous love letter appears in your locker on valentine's day. surprised, you and your best friend start an investigation to uncover who was that person observing you from afar. meanwhile, a flushed bakugo tries to ruin your plans on the undercover alongside his shitty-haired buddy

cw: sfw; mostly fluff; lil angst; very insecure bakugo; romantic comedy; puberty; silly jokes; little swearing.

an: guyyyyss it's hereeee. i hope you enjoy since i had many people asking for me to continue with this. i hope it is as good as the first part that btw you can read here

wc: 1,3k

the two went on a mission walking around the school and very non-suspiciously investigating whose hand that might be.

"i'm telling you! there's sato, iida and..." counted.

"are they even suspects!?" you mocked. "we have to be coherent about it. i don't even have a major relationship with them..."

"how could you possibly know what goes on inside other's head? i think you're being biased about it."

"what do you mean?"

"i know you want it to be one of the hottest in our class!" smiled diabolically.

"i have no idea what you're talking about." you sweated.

"maybe we should call that double colored guy and just ask a few questions..."

"no way... what are you insinuating?" you almost screamed truly shocked.

"that you have a slight cru-"

"I don't have a crush."

"admit it already."

"I'm not admitting anything. quit pestering."

"you're no fun at all. so... are we talking to Todoroki any soon?"

"no."

"psst, isn't that sero coming this way?" mina whispered looking ahead of the corridor.

the duo telepathically agreed to their next move and mina quickly went in action.

"hey, if isn't our fave tape boy! can I have a high-five?" the pink cheered lifting her hand.

the jet-black haired guy smiled playfully slapping hands with her. watching everything, you caught that glimpse of time needed to take conclusions on the survey.

"what are you two up to? feeling extra energetic today..." sero stated.

absorbed in your own thoughts, you simply couldn't answer any of the questions made, so pinky said in advance: "we're just too excited for the... the-"

"for what?"

"the new movie...! yeah! that one with the clowns. everyone is so hyped to watch it!" mina came up with some excuse.

"oh, so you like 'bloody nightmare' series too? man, me and denki are gathering people to go watch with us." he cheered.

you and mina eyed each other nervously while sero kept rambling about horror films. pinky swiftly poked your side sending the 'make him shut up' signal and you quickly catch the message saying:

"y-yeah! it would be super cool, but we need to... to... go to the 1b room! to dis- discuss the next match-"

"we're discussing the teams for the next training match!" mina rapidly came with an excuse ready to push you up the corridor. "see ya!"

"but guys... their class is towards the other side." sero warned confusedly.

"r-right! it's been months, but we still get lost... hehe!" mina sweated. she spotted a purple voluminous hair meters away. "shinso! wait up!"

and you runned away. sero chuckled observing the girls as another duo approached.

"'sup pal?" kirishima greeted. "it's a important matter so, could you share what are the girls planning? we have business with them."

"it's no use, we're gonna lose sight of them." said the blonde ready to walk away, but his buddy was fast to grab his shirt stopping his tracks.

"be reasonable, it's creepy to chase them around the school." eijiro whispered.

"what are you two up to?" sero crossed arms curious about the situation.

"nothing particularly important. girly borrowed something from bakugo." his heart he thought slightly laughing. "did them say anything about where they're heading?" asked.

"mina said they have something to do with class 1b, and i think they left with shinso." sero explained.

"not that eraserhead wannabe..." katsuki gritted teeth.

"well, no time to lose then! thanks dude." kirishima dragged his best friend away.

when the two males finally found the duo they were shocked to see you holding shinso's hand while walking

kirishima panicked turning to the blonde who watched that scene petrified. it was the second time eijiro saw that expression on his face, the first was when they watched all might last fight. that expression that indicates he started malfunctioning, his thoughts are running wild, and he is about to break.

when he finally inhaled, kirishima's heart skipped a beat thinking bakugo would explode at any moment. he prepared himself to restrain his friend from murdering somebody or start yelling like a psycho, but bakugo just hollowed his lungs right after.

watching deadpanned as you walked away giggling.

that behavior... it was truly concerning coming from him.

"are you totally sure?" mina whispered excited.

"it's a great probability, didn't you see that monstrosity of a hand!?" you whisper-exclaimed. "his grip almost crushed mine!"

"okay, but let's don't get ahead of ourselves, there's other boys to analyze." mina said carefully.

"right, but he's a suspect! and did you notice how he didn't hesitate or felt uneasy to hold my hand?"

"i'm not jumping to conclusions but he seemed too chill! it's almost unnatural coming from a person who wrote a love letter." mina spoke wisely.

"you're right." you pouted.

"what am i suspect about? love letter!?"

"aaaaaack! for fucks sake!" you and mina jolted. "y-you heard us?" you asked shyly.

"were you eavesdropping!?" mina confronted.

the boy leaned in the doorframe crossing his arms unphazed by the pink's attitude. "you're not even whispering... some of 1b even heard about how i have big ass hands and shit." he chuckled.

you looked over shinso's shoulder only to encounter monoma, kendo, shiozaki and komori confusedly observing at some distance. "h-hey guys..." and kendo smiled amused.

"he caught us, mina. what do we do?" you said fidgety.

"there's no other way now that he knows our secret. we must kill you." mina stated creepily serious to shinso, making him falter.

"ha. you almost got me there." he laughed mindlessly. after a couple of seconds staring at each other he came to realization. " you're joking,,, right?"

_

"why did you have to scare him like that? what if he go out telling others?"

"it's quite the opposite. he won't tell anyone if he believes it's confidential information. you can question my methods but not my results!" the pink girl explained confidently.

walking down the corridor in search for another male friend. now that the lunchtime was coming to an end the school was less fuzzy, and the groups concentrated in their usual places.

"uh... mina... you're not actually dangerous, are you?" you blurted.

she looked at you puzzled, as if that question was more complicated than it actually seemed. "why do you ask?"

"it's just because, you're my best friend, and if it were for me to have a psycho so close to me i would want to know..." you reasoned.

"don't be ridiculous!" she laughed. "but like you said, we're best friends, that does mean i would probably hide a body for you."

"wait. what the-"

_

"kirishima it's been thirty minutes." the blonde stated impatiently.

the boys were sitting casually at their class waiting for the others to come grab their keys to the closets. p.e was the next hour.

"just be patient dude, when she arrives, you casually get up and go talk to her. do you remember the three steps?" the red haired pointed.

"don't scream, don't curse and look at her in the eye." bakugo grumbled a little skeptical.

when they heard high pitched voices and footsteps approaching the blonde jolted in his seat.

"there they are." kirishima whispered. "good luck soldier"

katsuki got up with a sigh, heart beating fast, he didn't even notice his feet leading him directly to you and almost fainted when you looked at him with those doe eyes.

"h-hey."

"hey!" you greeted rummaging your backpack.

"i was... i recalled that time last week you shared your notes and... i"

"you came to say thanks? it's alrighty! just gimme a shoutout whenever you need!" you smiled

his ears reddened. "y-yeah. but i was trying to ask if ya wanna grab milkshakes sometimes, my treat for the notes." katsuki managed to spill

"oh! i didn't expect that" you giggled thinking that was a cute way to invite someone to hang out. "sure. i provide the notes, you provide the milkshakes." you extended your hand "deal?"

he smirked satisfied shaking you hand.

"deal."

[jobean12-blog]

Kiss to Kiss

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Word Count: 855

Summary: Joel is grumpier than usual and the only way to make it better is YOU.

Author's Note: This is a completely self-indulgent fic focused on his neck because not unknown to you all I'm obsessed with it and I could spend the rest of forever kissing his neck. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: soft and sweet fluff with LOTS of kisses, especially neck kiss

PS if you're looking for some yummy posts check out @iamasaddie post HERE. She has so many goodies! Thanks for the inspo sweets!

PPS I sprinkled a couple of yummy gifs in there too just bc 🫠

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

When the front door of your small house creaks open and then slams shut with a bang you turn off the oven and brush off your hands.

“Joel?”

The only response you get is in the form of an acknowledging grunt.

He’s standing in the hallway, one hand on his hip and the other rubbing his jaw. He looks lost in thought.

“What happened?” you ask quietly as you approach.

His brown eyes look up and you can see the lines on his forehead soften at the sight of you. He doesn’t answer and just tracks your movement until you reach him and press yourself closer.

Your fingertips lightly trace his jaw as you study his face.

“Come here,” you tell him before grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the couch.

He follows and promptly sits when you give him a little shove. Immediately, his legs spread wide and he places his elbows on his knees, massaging the bridge of his nose.

You stand between his legs and remove his fingers from his face, waiting until he sits back. Then you rest your hands on his broad shoulders and straddle his waist.

“You want to talk about why you’re so grumpy?”

As you ask the question you gently drag your fingers across his cheek and then the outline of his scruffy jaw. His gaze is trained on your face but when you lean in and press your lips to his neck you can feel him let out a deep exhale.

“Who said I’m grumpy?” he grumbles before his eyes close, dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks and his hands slowly slide up your thighs to settle on your waist.

You delicately drag your nose over his skin, stopping just below his ear to press another soft kiss there. Your lips linger on every inch of his neck and he sinks further into the couch, the tension sliding from his shoulders.

Your fingers toy with the already open collar of his shirt, dipping lower until you reach the first closed button. You pop it open and let your fingertips explore his newly exposed skin while keeping your lips on his neck. You find every little beauty mark and kiss it, nuzzling and breathing him in as you go.

He rests his head along the back of the couch and you take the opportunity to kiss along his collarbone and over the hollow of his throat, feeling the deep vibration of his satisfied hum.

When you reach the other side of his neck you start at his pulse point, nipping softly before trailing kisses all the way up to his other ear.

He slips his fingers under your shirt and digs them into your skin, holding you in place. Your lips graze his cheek until you find his mouth and press a feather light kiss there.

“Darlin’,” he murmurs, his eyes still closed. “More.”

You happily oblige and pepper his face with kisses. His forehead, his nose, his eyelids and every patch of gray that lines his cheeks. Without stopping you dip your head to his neck again and drag your mouth along his skin with light kisses.

Each time your lips pass his mouth he chases them.

He flattens his palms and slides his hands along the curve of your back then gently smooths them back down. You shiver from his touch and smile into his neck.

“That feels nice,” you whisper.

He does it again, keeping you close while you continue pressing your lips to the strong column of his neck. When you gently suck on his skin you can feel his hard swallow. His hands still and he moves you back so he can look you in the eyes.

“No more?” you ask.

“I always want more,” he answers.

“Do you want to tell me why you’re upset first?”

He slowly shakes his head no, tilting his face and gliding his hand up to your neck to bring your lips closer. His palm flattens against your cheek and he rubs his calloused thumb across your temple.

“Later,” he whispers against your mouth. “Talk later.”

His kiss is soft but still holds a desperation you’re all too familiar with and when he takes you in his arms and lays you on the couch, you welcome the comfortable and safe weight of him, wrapping you in his warmth and scent.

He cradles your cheek and brushes his lips across yours tenderly.

“I made cookies…” you tell him softly.

“Is that what I smell?”

His lips curve into a small smile and you quickly kiss them.

“Yep. You want some?”

He buries his face in your neck and runs his nose along your skin and when you feel his lips part to speak you answer for him before he has the chance.

“I know…later,” you say.

His gaze finds yours and he smiles again, his eyes closing when your fingers comb through his hair.

Your lips meet with a tug on his curls and he hums contentedly when you melt into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck and forgetting about everything else but him.

@littleseasiren @hiddles-rose @lizette50 @lorilane33 @blackwidownat2814

[ichorai]

balance the scales ; aemond targaryen. (m)

alternatively titled soda. track six of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; aemond targaryen x strong!f!reader

synopsis ; he flinched away when your fingers brushed against his eyepatch. despite this, you reached out once more to pull it off, your touch ever so gentle—and this time, he let you. you whispered that he was beautiful as your lips grazed against the marred skin of his cheek. aemond didn’t believe you, but he let you say it nonetheless.

words ; 40.3k (my longest oneshot!)

themes ; heavy angst, action, smut (minors dni!), mild fluff, enemies to lovers back to enemies trope, slowburn, betrothed au

warnings / includes ; violence/war, several character deaths, descriptions of injury/blood, birth scenes, oral (f recieving), unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, hotd s1 spoilers, reader is fiercely team black, implications of rape (aegon), really really heavy angst, harwin is reader's older brother, helaena is the sweetest ever :( jace and luke are reader's best friends, rhaenyra is practically reader's mother, lots of Emotions in this one, asoiaf politics and references for all of you book nerds

main masterlist. read on ao3!

It was said that you came into the world silent. 

A problem with your lungs, the midwives had solemnly told your father, the Hand of the King, proclaiming you dead not three minutes after. Lyonel Strong was grief-stricken at not only having lost his dear wife to the perilous task of childbirth, but you as well. 

But you were a fighter from the very beginning. At least, that’s what Harwin had told you. Once they’d laid you in your eldest brother’s arms, your airway had miraculously cleared up and you’d let out a hoarse, shrill cry—and the rest was history. 

“I was twenty when you were born, you know,” said Harwin, voice rife with affection, reaching out to brush a lock of hair away from your face. “I was so scared that I’d lose you. Now look at you—eight years of age and healthier than ever. Are you excited to meet the new baby?”

“Yes! The babe gets a dragon egg and everything!” 

You beamed up at your eldest brother, batting away his fretful hands and turning to your friends. Though—they’d always felt more like your brothers than merely friends.

Jacaerys and Lucerys, who bore a striking resemblance to Harwin (and you’d keenly noticed that they shared your smile), were playing with a wooden carving of a dragon, blowing raspberries and running around the spacious chamber. The taller of the two, Jace, was only a few moons older than you, whilst Luke was much younger and looked up to you—quite literally and figuratively. The two young boys roped you into their little game as well, screaming with laughter when you began chasing after them with a snarl, arms outstretched. 

With a slight smile, Harwin watched over the three of you, hands comfortably rested against the hilt of his gilded longsword. Even though he was only but your older brother, he always treated you as if you were his own child—after all, you barely saw your father anyway, seeing as he was always busy serving the King as the Hand. The fact that he was a whole two decades older than you only made him all the more protective of his youngest sibling. 

His attention was pulled away from the three kids clambering on top of each other when the doors creaked open. An exhausted Rhaenyra slowly limped in, Laenor Velaryon right behind her, holding a bundle of red and gold fabric. 

“Mother!” exclaimed Jace, getting onto his feet to greet Rhaenyra. “Look!” 

He scuttled away to pull the cover off of the stone incubator, revealing a scaly dragon egg of dark emerald hue. You and Luke were hot on his trail, peering over his shoulder to marvel at the smoking egg. A large part of you was jealous that Jace and Luke and the new babe each got a dragon egg, and you never did, despite having similar physical attributes to the boys. But they were royal Princes, and you were only the youngest child of the Hand, which really meant little to nothing other than fancy titles and polite honorifics.

“We chose an egg for the baby,” Luke excitedly told his mother, who leaned against a chaise tiredly.

Harwin offered his arm to Rhaenyra, helping her slowly ease down onto the seat. 

“Ah,” she said, the beginnings of a smile to her lips. “That looks like the perfect one.”

“I let Luke choose!” chirped Jace, squaring his shoulders proudly. “But Luke couldn’t decide, so I asked Y/N.”

The purple of Rhaenyra’s eyes gleamed with affection when she looked at you, nearly shrouded behind Jace’s taller stature. “Sweet girl,” she hummed, briefly glancing up at Harwin, before returning her gaze to you. “You chose wonderfully. Thank you.”

Luke reached out to graze his fingers over the egg’s ridges, but flinched back from the heat, sticking them into his mouth. You pulled a grimace but laughed anyway, lightly shoving Luke away from the incubator.

“Not every day an egg leaves the Dragonpit, Princess,” said your brother. “I thought it best to escort the lads. They insisted on Y/N coming along, as well.” 

“Laenor and I thank you, Commander,” replied Rhaenyra, dipping her head with gratitude. 

Harwin’s eyes locked on the babe in Laenor’s arms. “Another boy, I heard,” he said. 

The Princess nodded once, the corner of her lips lifting ever so slightly. 

“Might I?” asked the Commander.

“Ser Harwin wishes to be introduced to Joffrey,” Rhaenyra told her husband, who finally ripped his loving gaze from the babe, and handed him over to Harwin.

With flailing hands, Luke reached out to Harwin, eyes trained on Laenor. “Please, father, may I hold Joffrey?”

“Ah, ah, ah, back to the Dragonpit for you two—before they send out a search party!” ushered Laenor as he led the boys out of the chamber. “Come, Y/N, would you like to join the boys?” he asked kindly, clearly wanting to give Harwin and Rhaenyra some well-earned time alone. 

Excited at the prospect of seeing the boys’ dragons again, you scrambled out the doors after them, squeaking out, “Wait! Wait for me!” 

Once the doors were shut and the kids were gone, Rhaenyra looked upon Harwin bouncing the babe fondly.

“You’re asleep in front of the Commander of the City Watch,” he gently scolded the tiny thing. “Terrible lack of respect.”

“A certain insolence runs in the family, I’m afraid,” commented Rhaenyra, subtly hinting to the baby being of Harwin’s blood, rather than Laenor’s. 

Harwin tried his best to suppress his smile, failing miserably. He looked down at the baby once more, noting with pleased fascination that Joffrey had his nose.

The dungeons of the Dragonpit were dimly lit by sparse, flaming torches hanging by the stone walls. It stank of smoke and ash and stale blood, but you didn’t quite mind the smell. You bounced on the balls of your feet behind Jacaerys, eyes wide with anticipation as the dragonkeepers brought out Vermax.

He was a rather tempestuous beast, snarling at the lot of you as he stalked forward. The pale orange of his wings and the green of his scales warbled beneath the fire’s light. The keepers spoke in their lilting Valyrian tongues to command the dragon—foreign to your ears, but no less interesting. 

Aegon seemed not to share your disposition, however, yawning loudly and rolling his eyes to the side, clearly bored with watching Jacaerys bond with Vermax. Ever since Aegon had won mastery over his own dragon, Sunfyre, his head seemed to swell twice its size and he held no interest in anybody else’s dragon but his own. Both you and Luke glanced up at him with a scowl. The younger of the silver-headed boys kept his gaze trained to the ground, used to his brother’s antics.

You’d always been much more fond of Aemond than Aegon anyway—he was far kinder to you than his brother. Though, compared to Aegon, it was barely a competition. 

Watching on in rapt fascination, you turned your head to see one of the keepers bring out a bleating lamb for Vermax to feast upon.

“Can I say it?” asked Jacaerys, equal parts nervous and excited. He glanced at his uncles, before looking back at you, eyes gleaming. You gave him an encouraging smile. At the keepers’ hum of approval, he turned back to his dragon. “Dracarys, Vermax!” 

With a grateful hiss, Vermax turned and blew a long breath of fire straight at his prey, pupils sharpening. Even from afar, you could feel the heat of the flames kiss your skin.

Vermax happily stalked forward and began biting into the charred flesh of the lamb. The keepers clapped Jacaerys on the shoulder proudly, before heading off to round Vermax further into the darkness of the Dragonpit. 

Just as you were about to tell Jace how amazing that was, Aegon interrupted by cuffing his younger brother on the shoulder.

“Aemond, we have a surprise for you,” he glibly said.

The other two boys glanced at each mischievously. You tilted your head, feeling a bit left out. You weren’t aware of any surprises they had planned for the young Prince.

“What is it?” asked Aemond.

“Something very special!” chimed Lucerys, just before he ran off into the darkness.

Clearing his throat, Aegon continued, “You’re the only one of us without a dragon.”

Aemond frowned. “Indeed.”

“And we felt badly about it, so we found one for you!” exclaimed Aegon.

This came as a surprise to you. To your knowledge, none of the dragons had nested as of late, and there were no new eggs for Aemond to take. 

The same skepticism colored Aemond’s tone. “A dragon? How?”

Aegon didn’t even try hiding his snarky smile. “The gods provide, dear brother.”

And out came Luke from the shadows, tugging along a large, oinking pig. Tufts of dried wheat were tied around the pigs back, made to mimic a dragon’s wings. You felt your lips twist into a frown. What a terrible thing to gift Aemond.

The other boys giggled as they announced, “Behold, the Pink Dread!” 

They snickered in amusement at Aemond’s reaction—or lack thereof. 

“Be sure to mount her carefully,” cackled Aegon, prodding his brother’s side. “First flight’s always rough.” He snorted loudly into Aemond’s ear, who stood still and unflinching. 

Jace and Luke followed suit, making obscene pig noises and giggling. They turned to leave the Dragonpit.

“Come on, Y/N, let’s go see if they have any lemon cakes for supper!” said Luke, grabbing your hand. 

You kept your gaze trained on Aemond, shaking the younger boy off. “I’ll be right there… just give me a minute.”

Shrugging, Luke scampered off with Jace and Aegon, still laughing between his pig-reminiscent oinks.

Uncertain, you stood a couple feet away from Aemond, toying with the fabric of your sleeve. You sympathized with him, really. All your life, you had no dragon of your own, despite always having wanted one. You knew it wasn’t the same because it was his birthright as a Prince to have a dragon—but you could still understand the feeling.

“I’m sorry about them,” you said, moving closer. “That’s a terrible thing to gift you.”

The Prince was silent for a few moments, before rotating on his feet to fix his glare on you. You shuffled back a step.

An amalgamation of anger and embarrassment etching crystal clear across his face, he spat out, “Go away! You’re not even of royal Targaryen blood—you don’t belong here!”

It was clear that he was merely projecting his frustrations onto you—after all, he himself was of Targaryen blood and yet he always felt like an outcast in his own family. 

But you were only eight, and such complicated matters were lost to you. 

Lips twisting in a frown, you blinked at the Prince, hands curling into fists by your side. “I just wanted to help,” you quietly mumbled beneath your breath, before promptly turning on your heel and marching out of the Dragonpit.

Aemond had heard your final words before your departure, feeling a twinge of guilt coil within his stomach. But after casting another look at the pig, his thoughts about you disappeared, replaced only with hot fury. 

With a determined set of his jaw, Aemond trudged on further into the darkness of the Dragonpit. 

“Your feet,” said Harwin, tapping the edge of his sword onto your scuffed boots. “Don’t stand like a pin needle. Keep them apart—steady your stance.”

You did as he told, and he nodded in approval. With your dull, wooden practice lance, you dove forward and struck the hay sewn dummy with quick strikes.

“Good,” your older brother commended, patting your shoulder. “Just remember to move with your feet, alright? Come now, drop the sword.”

“What?” you asked, allowing the wood to go limp in your hand. “Why?”

Kneeling down before you, Harwin brushed your sweaty, damp hair away from your burning skin. “Because this world doesn’t give little girls swords when they need it. They must only rely on their wit and their hands if the situation arises. Drop the sword, darling.”

Frowning, you relinquished your hold, waiting for further instructions.

You’d been doing this with Harwin for a long while now. Every other night for the past three years, he’d been teaching you how to fight, and how to defend yourself. 

“Now, I’m going to pretend to hit you, and you have to do everything in your power to stop me. Do anything you must—hit back, bite, kick, run… just don’t give up. You promise?”

“Okay,” you told him, steeling your nerves. 

He began slowly, motioning to strike your stomach and your sides. You managed to evade those easily, moving back or rolling out of his way. The faster he got, however, the more sloppy you were. One particular jab to your shoulder made you bite back a cry of pain, and you glared up at him.

“Must you be so rough?” you growled, to which Harwin only nodded, face stoic.

“In a fight—a real and true one—do you think they’d go easy on you? No. You must be prepared for it, Y/N. I will not always be there to protect you.” 

His words made you pause. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t you be there?” 

“I’ll always be there for you, little sister,” he said, large hand patting your head. “But if there comes such a time where I won’t be, for some reason unbeknownst to me, you must be ready.”

With a reluctant bob of your head, he commanded you to get into a fighting stance again. 

“Thumb outside the fist,” he gently reminded you. “Feet wider apart, knees bent—yes, that’s it.”

And without warning, he darted forward, using his foot to sweep across your legs, making you stumble back onto your arse, all the breath in your lungs rushing out.

“Harwin!” you yelled out, now fed up with him. “That’s not fair! You’re using your feet!”

“I never said I wasn’t going to use my feet. You will soon come to realize that life is not always fair,” he said, unable to help the small chuckle falling from his lips. “Up you get.”

Rubbing at your sore bottom, you mumbled out, “Why don’t I get to spar with Jace and Luke and Aemond and Aegon? I want to spar with them.” Though, as soon as the words left you, you realized that you’d really rather not spar with Aemond and Aegon. Especially not after that whole pig situation.

Surprised at your question, Harwin halted to lower himself down to your height once again. “Sweet sister… it is safer for me to train you in secret. In a fair and just world, you’d be able to train with whomever you wanted. But you are a young girl, and they are the royal Princes. The court would not find it proper if you were to spar with them.”

Tears welled up in your widened eyes. “But… that’s not fair…”

Harwin thumbed away the wetness on your cheek. “Come now, don’t cry. How about, next time the boys train, you get to watch—and I can teach you the same things they learn later in the evening? How does that sound?”

“O-Okay,” you hiccupped. “Can I have my sword back?”

With a faint smile, Harwin nodded, handing you the wooden stick. 

From the shadows where neither of you could see, Criston Cole watched, eyes narrowed and teeth gritted.

Harwin was a man of his word.

The very next day, you had shot out of your bed like someone had lit a fire beneath you, hurriedly dressing and washing yourself, much to your handmaid's shock, and scampered out to the training yard.

“There you are,” greeted your brother, ruffling your already sleep-mussed hair. “I was afraid you weren’t going to show.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” you replied, bouncing on your toes.

Harwin could only grin down at you, before returning his gaze to the four boys dully smacking their wooden practice swords against the dummies.

Aegon twisted and turned and hit with speed rather than precision, grunts of exertion falling from his lips. Lucerys was clumsy and slow, but for the most part, he hit the targeted regions accurately. Jacaerys was nearly the same as his youngest brother, only a tad faster and more agile on his feet. 

Ser Criston Cole was scrutinizing Aemond, despite him seeming to be doing the best out of the four. Fast, accurate, and strong strokes of his wooden blade thudded repeatedly against the hay.

“Soften your knees,” gruffed Criston, face betraying no expression. “Feet light. Light, Aemond.”

Training with the Dornish man seemed much different than training with your older brother. With your brother, as hard as he was on you sometimes, he was still kind and knew your limits. Cole was cold and rigidly strict, and seemed to care naught for the boys’ boundaries.

You glanced up at your brother, who watched on with a mildly distasteful expression.

Observing from the walkways above, you spotted your father with the King. Lyonel eyed you with a questionable gaze, wondering what on earth his youngest daughter was doing on the training grounds, rather than playing with Princess Helaena, whom you’d grown to be rather fond of, or entertaining Rhaenyra and the new babe, Joffrey. 

You tilted your head when Aegon grew bored of smacking his own dummy, wandering over to Jace and knocking the younger Prince’s sword out of his hands. To none of your surprise, Criston chose to turn a blind eye to the eldest boy.

You will soon come to realize that life is not always fair, you could hear your brother’s words echo in your head. Perhaps he was right. Nonetheless, you could feel anger simmer within your stomach.

“Don’t stand too upright, my Prince, you’ll get knocked down,” commanded Cole.

Aegon halted in his terrorizing as two handmaids passed by, openly gawking at the poor girls as they hurried off with baskets of soiled laundry. Only after they were long gone, did Aegon catch sight of you, tilting his head curiously, as if trying to remember your face.

“Aegon,” Criston called out, pulling Aegon’s attention away from you.

“I’ve won my first bout, Ser Criston,” boasted the white-haired Prince. “My opponent sues for mercy.”

A ghost of a smirk graced Criston’s lips. “Then you shall have a new opponent, then. Let’s see if you can touch me. You and your brother.”

With dejected expressions, Luke and Jace slunk off to the side, watching Aemond and Aegon battle against Criston. It was only then that the two boys took notice of you. Luke waved excitedly, and Jace nodded his head with a smile. You grinned back at them, clasping your hands behind your back, itching to have a practice sword gripped between them.

Criston seemed to make a fool of the Princes, easily parrying away their strikes and sending them sprawling onto the ground several times. 

“Weapons up, boys,” Harwin quietly advised Luke and Jace. “Give your enemies no quarter.”

It seemed as though his words were not quiet enough—Criston certainly overheard what he was saying, and didn’t look too pleased with it.

Your brother narrowed his eyes. “It seems the younger boys could do better with a bit of your attention, Ser Criston.”

Jaw squared, Cole bit out, “You question my method of instruction, Ser?”

“I merely suggest that method be applied to all your pupils,” said Harwin. 

“My pupils? And not… your pupil?” 

This made your brother blanche uneasily. 

“Lady Y/N. Come. I want to see what Ser Harwin has taught you.”

Shocked, you looked up at your brother, lips falling open and shut, unsure of what to say or do. 

Not wanting to disobey the tall, scary man, you timidly stepped forward. From above, your father seemed to want to end this nonsense, shifting his weight from foot to foot—but as the King trusted Ser Criston Cole, he had little he could say to put a stop to this.

“Aemond. You shall spar with the Lady Strong.”

The Prince seemed to want to do anything other than that, but reluctantly ambled forward anyway. Criston roughly shoved a wooden sword against your chest, which lacked any armor whatsoever in comparison to Aemond’s full chestplate and protective metal gloves. 

“Engage.”

Desperately trying to recall what your brother had taught you, you spread your feet further apart and bent your knees, leveling your weight in preparation to move around.

Aemond was the first to attack, diving forward to strike your sides. He got one hit in at first, pain blossoming by your ribs. You winced, staggering back slightly.

By the second strike, you were prepared. Though he was half a foot taller than you, you used that to your advantage. It was little effort to duck away from his arc when he was about to repeat the very same maneuver, smacking the flat of your stick to the back of his left knee, sending him buckling forward. In the short time you had to watch him, you’d noticed that he favored his right side, and often left the other side unguarded. 

The Prince was quick to recover, scrambling back up on his feet and glaring at you with the strength of a thousand suns. This time, he was smarter, waiting for you to attack next. You feigned a jab to his neck, forcing him to parry high up, before you used your feet to kick out against his exposed stomach. It was a dirty move—not a proper one in the least, but it was as your brother said the other night—life was not fair.

Aemond fell back with a muffled oomf, expression suspended into one of disbelief. He couldn’t believe he’d just been bested by a girl. Teeth clenched, you placed the tip of your sword against his chest, locking eyes with him. He stared at you with nothing but pure hatred within the deep purple of his irises. After a second, you moved it away, holding out your hand to help him up. You were willing to overlook what happened down at the Dragonpit the other day—after all, you still sympathized with him and didn't hate him in the very least. Especially not compared to his wretched older brother. 

The Prince didn’t take your hand. He shoved it away with a grumble, standing up on his own and slinking off to the side. It was embarrassing. More than that—he was angry at himself, at you, at Cole. Tears pricked the corner of Aemond’s eyes, but he willfully staved them away.

Frowning, you made your way back to Harwin, who fondly cupped your face with one large palm, patting your cheek thrice. “Well done, Y/N. I’m so proud of you.”

You smiled wearily, though it didn’t reach your eyes.

Criston’s nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath, clearly unhappy with Harwin’s pupil beating his own. His gaze flitted downward to lock with yours for a brief moment, before looking at the crown Prince. “Alright. Jacaerys. You spar with Aegon. Eldest son against eldest son.”

Giving the boy no warning, Cole seized the front of Jace’s armor and all but dragged him to the center of the training yard. Helplessly, Jace looked to you and Harwin.

This was by no means a fair fight, but you had to remind yourself—life is not always fair.

As if reading your thoughts, Harwin called out, “It’s hardly a fair match.”

“I know you’ve never seen true battle, Ser, but when steel is drawn, a fair match isn’t something anyone should expect.” Criston’s seething words made you shift uncomfortably. How dare he speak to your brother like that?

You glanced back up at your father and the King, still watching over. You wondered if he could hear what Criston was saying. If he cared.

“Engage,” said Cole.

And with that, Aegon roared, raining down attack after attack upon Jace. He shoved him down onto the ground, dried leaves fluttering upwards with his fall. Satisfied with himself, Aegon turned his back to Jace, bowing to you with a smirk and chuckling at his early win.

Jacaerys, however, was quick to get on his feet and charged forward with a snarl, wildly arcing the practice sword at his uncle.

In an attempt to get him to stop, Aegon shoved a dummy onto Jace, which prompted Harwin to step forward and say, “Foul play!”

“I’ll deal with him,” barked Criston, before stepping towards Aegon. “Plant your feet. You have a height advantage. Use it!”

It was becoming more and more clear that this spar was no longer an eldest son against an eldest son. It was between your brother, Commander of the City Watch, and the Queen’s kingsguard.

Whilst Criston roughly barked instructions to Aegon, Harwin moved to Jace, gripping the young boy’s chin in his palm and gently gave him advice and words of encouragement—not unsimilar to what he did with you during your training.

Once they were done, Aegon furiously stormed back to Jacaerys. “You!” he screamed, red-faced and furious at his nephew for having embarrassed him in such a way. The Prince was not at all used to not winning.

“Close with him!” yelled Criston when Aegon surged forward and hit him repeatedly. “Press him backward! Stay on the attack! Use your feet!” 

With that, Aegon placed his heel squarely against Jace’s chestplate, kicking him back onto the dirt. 

“Don’t let him get up. Stay on the attack!” 

You watched on in concern as Aegon whacked the wooden sword over and over onto Jace—to the point where you panicked and frantically tugged on Harwin’s armor, afraid he was going to do some serious damage on your friend. 

Deciding to put an end to this once and for all, Harwin finally stepped forward and ripped Aegon away from Jace. 

“Enough!” he bellowed, so loud that his voice seemed to echo back against the stone walls. 

This seemed to enrage Aegon all the more as he screeched out, “You dare put your hands on me?”

“Aegon!” yelled the King from above.

Nobody listened. 

“You forget yourself, Strong,” said Cole, voice dripping with venom. It didn’t slip by your notice that he’d dropped the honorifics with your brother. “That is the Prince.”

“This is what you teach, Cole? Cruelty to the weaker opponent?” seethed Harwin. 

Tone eerily level, Cole glibly commented, “Your interest in the princeling’s training is quite unusual, Commander. Most men would only have that kind of devotion toward a cousin… or a brother… or a son.”

With that, Harwin surged forward and planted a clean punch against Criston’s face. 

Criston made no attempts to fight back. Not with the second hit, or the third, or the fourth. By the fifth, he was bleeding from the side of his temple, and red ran down a stream from his split lips.

Your hands had flown over your mouth, and you staggered back, against Jace. Luke’s small hand curled into the fabric of your tunic. A son… Criston had said. And it all made sense to you now—why Harwin loved the boys so dearly, why they looked so much like your brother, why you shared the same smile as them. 

They were your nephews. 

This only had you protectively stepping in front of them, shielding them from the sight of their true father beating up a knight.

Over and over and over again, your eldest brother struck Cole, until his own knuckles glimmered with dark ichor—belonging to both him and the man beneath him. Two gold cloaks had to rush forward and haul Harwin away from Criston.

“Say it again!” bellowed Harwin. “Say it again!”

Despite the beating he’d just undertook, Criston laughed through his blood-saturated spittle. “Thought as much,” he choked out, turning to his side to hack out a wad of red onto the dirt. 

Your father was furious. 

At you, yes, but the anger he felt towards Harwin a thousand times moreso. So much so that he had ordered Harwin be stripped of his title as Commander of the City Watch, and taken back home to Harrenhal as his heir. Though, it wasn’t a home to you, seeing as you’d never even stepped foot in the place.

Your father had also tried to resign as Hand to the King, feeling immense pressure and shame from the court. But the King insisted he stay, and to your relief, that meant that you could stay, as well.

However, that also entailed that you had to say goodbye to your beloved brother. 

When he first told you, you scoffed and retorted, “A funny joke, Harwin, but I’m not in the laughing mood.” And when his expression remained solemnly unchanged, you could feel your heart sinking to your stomach. “No… no, you can’t be serious. Harwin, you can’t leave! No! What am I to do here without you? What of our training?”

The following hour consisted of you crying your little eyes out, sobbing into Harwin’s armor, begging him not to leave. He had little to say, afraid that if he opened his mouth, he’d join you in your crying. But he stroked your hair and assured you that he’d write as often as he could to you.

Father was to be joining him to drop him off at Harrenhal and ensure everything was going smoothly for the first fortnight, before he was due to return to King's Landing. You wouldn’t be missing him too much—at least he was coming back. You hadn’t a clue when the next time you’d see your brother might be.

And there was the other unspoken elephant in the room—Rhaenyra’s sons. Your best friends—and, as you’d recently found out, your nephews.

“Be good to your mother, lads,” said Harwin, kneeling by Luke. “I’ll visit when I can. But that may be some time.”

He turned to Jace, who stood tall beside his mother, rocking Joffrey back and forth in his arms. 

“I will return,” your brother told his eldest son, lifting his chin up with the tips of his fingers. “I promise.”

Harwin and Rhaenyra locked eyes for a brief moment. Hers watered. Harwin’s softened. He bent down to press a loving kiss to the babe’s forehead. 

“I will be a stranger when we meet again,” he whispered to Joffrey, but a part of it was directed to Rhaenyra herself.

You awaited by the door for him, wiping your tears furiously with the back of your hand. 

Harwin’s final goodbye was saved for you. So much to say, with so little time. He cupped your face and kissed your forehead, nose slotted against your hairline. His first and final tear fell from his misty eyes.

“Remember what I told you. I’ll always be there for you, sweet sister. Always. Maybe not physically here,” he said, before pressing a thumb just above your duly beating heart. “But in here.” 

Much to your frustration, you began to cry again, chest thundering with sobs. 

“Goodbye, brother,” you whispered, voice cracking.

“Oh, no, don’t cry over me, darling. I want you to keep your head high, hm? By the time I see you again, you might be even stronger than me.” 

Harwin pressed another kiss to your cheek, before swiping your tears away with the pads of his thumbs, and stood up again. 

You watched as he pushed the door open and strode down the hall, disappearing from your sight. Jacaerys came to your side, threading his hand with yours in an effort to comfort you. You squeezed gratefully, releasing a shuddering breath.

“We will exchange letters by raven,” placated Rhaenyra, trying her best to alleviate both of your sorrows. “Won’t that be fun?”

Bluntly, Jace turned to look at his mother and asked, “Is Harwin Strong my father? Am I a bastard?”

Shock colored Rhaenyra’s expression. 

“You are a Targaryen,” she affirmed after recovering from her initial surprise, stroking Jace’s hair away from his face. “That’s all that matters.”

She hadn’t answered his question, but both you and Jace knew the truth.

News of your brother and father’s death spread like wildfire. It was said to be an accident—a tragic product of Harrenhal’s Curse. There were rumors flying around, however, that it was no accident.

Rumors of Daemon Targaryen wanting to rid his niece of her lover. Rumors of Corlys Velaryon exacting revenge for Harwin cuckolding his son. Rumors of your last remaining brother, Larys Strong, murdering his own blood to claim his inheritance.

You paid no mind to the rumors. It was an accident, and that was that.

Life is not fair, you could hear your brother’s voice say to you. He was right—nothing was fair. 

After their deaths, you spent days weeping in your chambers. Jacaerys and Lucerys often dropped by to check in on you, offering to take you down to the Dragonpits in hopes of cheering you up. You’d sniffled and shook your head, curling up in the center of your bed. Rhaenyra, who saw you more like a daughter than anything, took the liberty of bringing food to your chambers, urging you to eat something.

“It’s okay to cry, sweet girl,” she told you, sitting by the edge of your bed and stroking the hair away from your face. When you began to quietly sob, she wound her arms around your small frame, and held you close to her chest.

The fortnight after their deaths, everyone treated you as if you were hewn from glass. They spoke slowly and cautiously, treading on eggshells around you. Even Jace and Luke seemed hesitant to play with you anymore, afraid you’d burst into hysterical tears any second.

What made it worse was when Rhaenyra announced that she was leaving King’s Landing with her children for Dragonstone. It was devastating news—for she and her sons were the closest thing you had left to a family. 

Jace hugged you goodbye, eyes teary and nose red. Little Luke clung to your legs and begged you to come with them. Even Rhaenyra had offered you a place on the ship to join them on their journey, her voice kind but so very tired.

“You will always have a place with us, sweet girl,” she had told you, lips pressing a gentle kiss to your hairline. The Princess considered you the daughter she never had—always fiercely protective of you. With Harwin gone, that feeling only increased thricefold. You were practically her family by now.

But you couldn’t leave King’s Landing with Rhaenyra and the boys. Not with Larys Strong anchoring you to the Red Keep—and certainly not with Alicent breathing down both of your necks.

And so you watched them sail away, face drenched with your tears and hands clenched into fists by your side.

You abhorred it all, wishing everything could just go back to how they were before.

Out of all the other children at court, Princess Helaena was the only one who treated you the same as she did before, all misty-eyed and odd-of-tongue. Because of this, you found yourself glued to her side, desperate for a sense of normalcy, which you ironically found in the strangest of girls. She was a fascinating person, far more intelligent than first meets the eye—with a peculiar interest in critters and insects lurking in the shadows.

She was rather fond of you as well, though not at all used to having friends, much less other girls who took her fixations seriously and didn’t think her gross for it. Queen Alicent was mortified at having a Strong girl befriend her daughter, and yet was simultaneously relieved that she finally had someone to call a friend. Besides, having you on her side was more of an advantage than anything—especially with Larys Strong backed in her corner, as well.

“The butterfly has two large, black spots on the bottom of its wings,” said Helaena as she crouched down beside you, holding her palms up to brandish the small insect. “They are to trick the larger animals into thinking they are eyes. It is a defense tactic. The butterfly is not who the rest thinks she is.”

You smiled at her, raising a finger to touch the little insect, only for it to flutter away before you could get too close, hurrying back to the gardens. 

“They’re beautiful,” you said, watching it disappear amongst the flowers. “Masters of trickery, though.”

“Yes,” surmised Helaena, though her gaze was fixed on you. “Beautiful. Deceitful. Both equally true.”

It had been three weeks since your brother and father passed.

And yet, here you were, at someone else’s funeral in Driftmark. Laena Velaryon—the late wife to Prince Daemon Targaryen.

You’d pleaded with Larys, begged him to allow you to go back to Harrenhal to mourn your family—but he only supplied you with a crooked smile and told you that you belonged in King’s Landing. With Larys being your only kin left standing, adamant with his refusal to return home to properly grieve over Harwin and Lyonel, it seemed that you were stuck with him.

You were never very fond of Larys to begin with.

At Laena’s funeral, you made it your job to avoid him as much as you could, following behind Jacaerys and Lucerys. It was strange and pleasant under the worst circumstances seeing them again so soon after such an emotional farewell.

Rhaenyra wove through the crowd, bowing her head to you with soft eyes, before fixing her gaze on her eldest son.

“Your little cousins have lost their mother,” she said. “They could use a kind word.”

Jacaerys looked to you, then back up to his mother. “We have an equal claim to sympathy.”

Brows furrowing, Rhaenyra looked around to make sure none of the lords and ladies were listening in. “Jace—”

“We should be at Harrenhal, mourning Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin. It is not fair to Y/N,” he stressed, jaw clenched. Tears warbled over your irises, but you quickly blinked them away.

“You’re right—it’s not fair. But it would not be appropriate. The Velaryons are our kin and the Strongs are not. Look at me, Jace. Do you understand?”

Bearing a sour face, Jacaerys nodded, before trudging off to give his condolences to his little cousins. 

You watched him go, looking up at Rhaenyra with wide eyes. “Nothing in life is fair.”

The silver-haired Princess shot you a questioning look, but you turned and made your way into the shadows, where you knew her half-sister, Helaena was playing.

“Hand turns loom, spool of green, spool of black, dragons of flesh, weaving dragons of thread,” she chimed, repeating the words over and over again, cradling a spider in her palms. 

When she caught sight of you, she didn’t stop her mantra, but dipped her head in greeting. She offered you the spider, but you shook your head with a kind smile, allowing her to keep playing around with the spindly arachnid. 

From about a meter away, Aemond and Aegon watched the two of you.

“We have nothing in common,” the elder of the two bemoaned, slurping wine from a golden chalice. He was referring to the fact that he was betrothed to his sister now, something that neither of them seemed particularly pleased about.

Aemond pursed his lips. “She’s our sister.”

“You marry her, then,” Aegon shot back.

“I would perform my duty, if mother had only betrothed us.” He watched curiously as you tossed your head back with a laugh when Helaena whispered something about collecting spider webs in a jar. Come to think of it, Aemond couldn’t remember ever hearing you laugh before. Memories of you besting him in combat flashed before his eyes. 

“If only,” snorted Aegon.

“It would strengthen the family. Keep our Valyrian blood pure.” 

Pulling a disgusted face, Aegon looked to his brother. ��She’s an idiot!”

“She’s your future queen,” spat Aemond.

“I’d rather take the one beside her,” said Aegon, eyes glued to you. “She is growing to be a fine girl… considering how she beat your arse to the ground.”

Aemond supplied him with no answer. He was no stranger to Aegon’s lustful ramblings.

“Actually, we do have one thing in common—we both fancy creatures with long legs!” chortled the older prince, before sauntering away, off to hunt down a maid for another cup of wine. “Wench! Another!”

This left Aemond to shake his head with revolt, observing his brother go. 

He spotted his nephew, Jacaerys, not too far. A part of him wanted to say something, offer his sympathies or apologies—but when Jace lifted his head and stared straight at him, Aemond could feel the words lodging in his throat, and he turned to walk away.

You observed the interaction from afar. Aemond caught your eye, merely for a brief moment, but it felt like an eternity.

And, much to your surprise, he made his way to you.

“I offer my condolences, Lady Strong,” he said, rigidly formal. “It is tragic what happened to your brother and father.”

You bowed your head, lips trembling. Though the two of you have certainly had your differences, Aemond was not heartless. He knew you were suffering a great loss.

“Thank you, my Prince,” you croaked. 

The two of you stood in silence.

“I… I’m sorry. For snapping at you in the Dragonpit.”

Your head shot up in surprise. There was little you could think of saying, so you gave him a small smile—one that he mirrored after a moment’s hesitation.

Somewhere in the distance, the pained roar of Vhagar echoed over the seas.

It was the dead of night.

You were already sound asleep when Luke burst into your chambers, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you awake.

“Y/N, wake up, wake up!” he whisper-yelled.

Groaning, you peered open an eye and sat up. “What?” you mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Someone stole Vhagar!” he said, tugging you off the bed and ushering your bleary form along. Jacaerys, Baela, and Rhaena were already rushing out to see who had taken the old beast of a dragon.

Not at all sleepy anymore, your eyes widened upon seeing Aemond clamber off the dragon.

“It’s him!” gasped Baela.

Aemond cocked his head. “It’s me.”

Face contorting with rage, Baela gritted out, “Vhagar is my mother’s dragon!”

“Your mother’s dead,” said Aemond. Briefly, his gaze flicked to you, before looking back at the two Targaryen girls. “Vhagar has a new rider now.”

“She was mine to claim!” Rhaena gruffed.

“Then you should’ve claimed her,” retorted Aemond. “Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride. It would suit you.”

A soft gasp lodged in your throat when Rhaena strode forward with a growl, aiming a loose punch at Aemond’s face. He easily dodged, grabbing her shoulders and shoving her off to the side. Baela rushed towards him next, landing a good punch to his face. He yelled out and struck her back, a bilious crack of his fist against her skin ringing out against the stone walls.

“Come at me again and I’ll feed you to my dragon!” threatened Aemond. 

His words made Jace yell out and jump forward, driving Luke to attack, as well. Aemond made quick work of the boys, kicking Jace back and punching Luke so hard in the face that his nose cracked beneath the pressure.

You were hesitant to fight Aemond, you really were—especially when the two of you seemed to have just gotten over your grievances with one another. 

But he’d hurt your friends, and you wouldn’t stand for that. Harwin certainly wouldn’t have.

“Stop this!” you told him, protectively standing between Luke and Aemond. When he only set his jaw, you gave him a hard shove back. The conflict that danced within the purple of his irises was tangible—you could see it.

He didn’t want to fight you.

Your push took him by surprise, sending him sprawling onto the hard ground. Baela, Rhaena, and Jace took advantage of this, jumping forward to rain punch after hit after kick on the young Prince. He was bleeding now—red leaking from his nose, his lips, his fists.

“Stop! Stop!” you screamed at them, grabbing at Rhaena’s hand and trying to pull her back, to no avail. “Jace, stop!”

Luke pushed away from you to join the skirmish. 

To your horror, Aemond grabbed a large rock that had come loose from the cobblestone walls, curling his bloodied fingers around it. The other hand shot out to wrap around Lucerys’ throat.

“You will die screaming in flames, just as your father did! Bastards!” spat Aemond into Luke’s face. The words seemed to have fallen from his lips without thought, as if completely forgetting that you were there.

But what he said had struck a chord within you. How dare he speak of your brother in such a way? You wished to move, to hit Aemond until he was nothing but a bloodied pile of flesh and bone—but he still held Luke in his grasp, and the looming threat of the rock in his other hand. 

Confused, little Luke choked out, “My father’s still alive!”

“He doesn’t know, does he?” Aemond looked to Jace then to you, then back to Jace. “Lord Strong?”

Furious, Jace unsheathed a small dagger. 

No. 

No, if Jace were to kill Aemond… it would only make matters all the worse.

“Jace, no—!” you began, but your warning fell upon deaf ears.

Jacaerys dove forward with the dagger, but Aemond knocked him down with the rock thudding against his cheek, the blade flying. to the other side of the corridor. Aemond let go of the younger Velaryon in his haste. 

This was a mistake.

Luke crawled about in the sand, grabbing the hilt of the dagger Jace had dropped. Working in tandem, the elder brother threw sand in Aemond’s eyes, momentarily blinding him, and Luke stood up, slashing the sharp metal straight across the side of Aemond’s face with a sickening squelch. Blade slicing flesh.

Blood splattered everywhere. All over Luke’s hands, over the dagger, over the sand.

A scream erupted from Aemond’s lungs as he clutched his maimed face with his hands, falling to his knees.

Drip, drip, drip. The blood dripped through the cracks between his fingers.

You rushed forward to the Prince out of pure instinct, grabbing his shoulders and cupping the uninjured side of his face, your breathing staggered and rapid. All the hatred you’d felt for him—all the anger, the rage, the frustration—flew right out the window at the sight of him hurt so badly.

“Aemond!” you cried. The blood was too much—pouring down his tunic, onto your own sleepwear, staining your skin.

“Cease this at once!” bellowed a voice from behind you. “Get away!” 

Criston Cole ripped you away from Aemond, under the impression that you were the one that was hurting him, kneeling beside the Prince.

You began to hyperventilate, scrambling back until you hit the wall. Blood on your hands, under your nails, dampening your clothes—

Someone, you weren’t quite sure who, hauled you up, dragging you through the castle, Jace and Luke in tow.

Everyone was gathered into a large room. A maester was stitching up Aemond’s wound by the fireplace, Alicent knelt by her beloved son’s side. You stood by Jace and Luke, trembling viciously and eyes warbling with unshed tears.

“How could you allow such a thing to happen?” King Viserys asked the guards, voice cross and brows furrowed.

“The princes were supposed to be abed. Prince Aemond was attacked by his own cousins, Your Grace,” replied Criston.

With a snarl, Viserys hobbled onto his feet, leaning his weight onto a cane. “You swore oaths to protect and defend my blood!” 

“The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from princes—” began Criston.

“That is no answer!” yelled the King.

Worriedly, Alicent asked, “It will heal, will it not, maester?”

Hesitant, the maester pursed his lips. “The flesh will heal. But the eye is lost, Your Grace.”

Alicent’s expression seemed to fall at his words. She rounded to her eldest son, who stood behind her, not caring nearly enough for his brother who’d just lost his eye.

“And where were you?” screeched Alicent, rising to her feet.

“Me?” said Aegon, flabbergasted at the attention suddenly being on him.

A smack rang loud and true throughout the room as Alicent struck him across the face. 

Crying out, Aegon shrunk away from his mother. “Ow! What was that for?”

“That was nothing compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool!” she hissed. 

Just then, the doors swung open, and Corlys Velaryon strode into the room, his wife Rhaenys just behind him.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked, voice booming. 

“Baela, Rhaena!” gasped Rhaenys. “What happened?”

The girls rushed to their grandmother.

Rhaenyra hastily came through a different set of doors, Daemon hot on her heels. Upon seeing her sons, she hurried towards them, immediately kneeling down beside Luke.

“Show me,” she told him, gently prying his hand away from his nose to inspect the damage.

A tear slipped down your cheek. The Velaryon girls had their grandparents. Jace and Luke had their mother. Aemond had his mother, as well as his siblings.

You… who did you have to comfort you? Harwin was gone. Your mother was gone. Your father was gone.

Your lips trembled. Never before had you wished to just disappear from the face of the world. 

“Who did this?” barked Rhaenyra. 

“They attacked me!” said Aemond.

“He attacked Baela!”

“He broke Luke’s nose!”

“He stole my mother’s dragon!”

The kids all began throwing accusations, their combined voices drowning each other out. Your head began to throb with their volume. You glanced at your dear friend Helaena, who put her hands over her ears to block out the noise.

“Enough,” ordered the King.

Nobody listened.

“He was gonna kill Jace!”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Enough!” said the King.

Again, nobody listened.

“It should be my son telling the tale!” Alicent yelled.

“He was choking me!”

“He called us—!”

“SILENCE!” bellowed Viserys, knocking his cane against the ground repeatedly. The crowd fell into a lulled murmur. “Aemond. I will have the truth of what happened. Now.”

Brows furrowed, Alicent shook her head, auburn curls flying every which way. “What else is there to hear? Your son has been maimed. Her son is responsible.”

Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched. “It was a regrettable accident.”

“Accident?” scoffed Alicent. “The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush. He meant to kill my son!”

Voice raising, Rhaenyra defended, “It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves. Vile insults were levied against them!” 

Viserys tilted his head. “What insults?”

A beat of silence. 

Rhaenyra gripped Luke’s hand in hers. “The legitimacy of my sons’ birth was put loudly to question.”

“He called us bastards,” Jacaerys said.

“My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, Your Grace,” Rhaenyra told her father. “This is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders.”

Alicent’s fists clenched by her side. “Over an insult? My son has lost an eye.”

Viserys leaned down closer to Aemond. “You tell me, boy. Where did you hear this lie?” 

Desperate to place the blame away from her son, Alicent cut in, “The insult was training yard bluster, nothing more—”

“Aemond,” Viserys sharply said, ignoring his wife. “I asked you a question.”

Aemond remained silent.

“Where is Ser Laenor, I wonder? The boys’ father?” asked Alicent. “Perhaps he might have something to say in the matter.”

Rhaenyra’s jaw twitched with muted anger. “I do not know, Your Grace. I… could not find sleep. I had gone out to walk.”

Alicent huffed. “Entertaining his young squires, I would venture.”

Criston cracked an amused smile at her words.

“Aemond,” said Viserys. “Look at me. Your King demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?”

The young Prince swallowed heavily. “It was Aegon,” he reluctantly said.

“Me?” parroted Aegon.

“Where did you hear such calumnies?” snarled Viserys to his eldest son. When Aegon refused to answer, he yelled out loud enough for you to flinch, “AEGON! Tell me the truth of it!”

The silver-haired prince refused to meet the King’s eyes. 

“We know, father,” he said. “Everyone knows. Just look at them.”

A tense silence folded over the crowd, only stifled by the flames of the hearth crackling. You shifted uncomfortably, stuck in the middle between Rhaenyra’s side—the side that you grew up with, the side you loved so dearly—and Alicent’s side—the side of the sweet Princess Helaena, and the Prince Aemond who’d just lost his eye. The side of your only brother left, Larys Strong. You felt stretched thin—uncertain of what to think of yourself.

“This interminable infighting must cease!” bellowed Viserys. “All of you! We are family! Now make your apologies and show good will to each other. Your father, your grandsire, your king demands it!” 

Thinking the matter over and done with, Viserys began to hobble away.

Alicent’s words stopped him in his tracks.

“That is insufficient,” she said. A thin film of tears reflected the golden light of the torches hanging on the walls. “Aemond has been damaged permanently, My King. Good will cannot make him whole.”

“I know, Alicent,” Viserys placated, “but I cannot restore his eye.”

“No, because it’s been taken!”

Viserys shook his head. “What would you have me do?”

Alicent casted her gaze to Rhaenyra. “There is a debt to be paid. I shall have one of her son’s eyes in return.” 

Gasps murmured through the crowd. You drew in a shaky breath, shuffling closer to Rhaenyra and her sons, until you practically stood in front of Luke. He was your friend—your kin—and you would be damned if you were to let anyone touch him.

“My dear wife…” began Viserys.

“He is your son, Viserys!” Alicent pleaded, her voice thick with emotion. “Your blood.”

“Do not allow your temper to guide your judgement,” he warned. 

Frustrated beyond relief, Alicent gnashed her teeth together and said, “If the King will not see justice, the Queen will. Ser Criston… bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.”

Scared, Luke grabbed onto the back of your sleeping shift, looking up at his mother with frightened eyes.

“He can choose which eye to keep, a privilege he did not grant my son!” she gritted out.

“You will do no such thing!” hissed Rhaenyra.

Turning to Criston, Viserys ordered, “Stay your hand!”

“No, you are sworn to me!” asserted Alicent. 

Cole’s eyes darted from the Queen, to the King, to Rhaenyra. “As your protector, My Queen,” he softly said.

“Alicent, this matter is finished,” Viserys said, voice heavy with finality. “Do you understand?”

A tear fell from Alicent’s cold eyes. 

“Let it be known,” the King began, addressing the entire crowd this time, “anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra’s sons should have it removed.”

Blowing out a relieved exhale, Rhaenyra dipped her head. “Thank you, father.”

With sudden movements, Alicent unsheathed Viserys’ dagger from his belt and marched towards Rhaenyra and her sons.

Instinctively, you grabbed Luke and dragged him further back, shielding his body with your own. Luke began screaming out of fear when Alicent brought down the blade onto his mother, only barely held back by Rhaenyra’s hand wrapping around her wrist. 

The crowd erupted in pandemonium, with guards frantically pushing each other back, not knowing who to defend. The king’s wife, or the king’s daughter and heir? Daemon came forward to stop Criston in his tracks. You tightly held onto Luke, eyes wide and heart beating frantically.

“You’ve gone too far!” Rhaenyra told the Queen.

“I?” Alicent’s voice trembled. The blade was held between them, shaking and glowing with the reflections of the hearth’s fire. “What have I done but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law! While you flout all to do as you please!”

“Alicent, let her go!” commanded Viserys.

They both ignored him. 

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?” cried Alicent. “It’s trampled under your pretty foot again!”

For the first time since everyone was gathered, her father, Otto Hightower, the new King’s Hand, said, “Release the blade, Alicent.”

“And now you take my son’s eye, and to even that, you feel entitled!” said Alicent.

“Exhausting, wasn’t it?” replied Rhaenyra. “Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness! But now they see you as you are.” 

With a yell, Alicent brought down her blade and staggered back. Its sharp edge had cut through the fabric of Rhaenyra’s sleeve, carving a deep gash across the inside of her forearm.

Blood. Dripping. Thick. Red.

Luke gripped your hand tightly. The dagger in Alicent’s palm fell to the ground.

Rising from the chair, you got a good look at Aemond's wound for the first time since you entered.

It was swollen and red, the stitches extending from the top of his forehead to the side of his ear. Your heart ached—whether it was for Aemond, for Jace and Luke, or for Rhaenyra, you couldn’t at all tell.

“Do not mourn me, mother,” said Aemond. “It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye… but I gained a dragon.”

Viserys blew out a shaking breath. He was tired, and his body grew weary. “This proceeding is at an end.”

With that, the crowd began to disperse. You let Luke go, and he went rushing forth to his mother. 

You watched as Aemond leaned his head on his mother’s chest. 

A guard began ushering you out of the room and back to your chambers before you had the chance to tell him that you were sorry.

Barely a moon after Laena Velaryon’s funeral, Aegon and Helaena were getting married. It was held in haste, most likely to distract the court from the incident at Driftmark—give them something else to talk about for a change.

You sat in Helaena’s chambers as her ladies fussed over her, pulling the strings of her ivory dress, tying her hair into intricate knots, and applying rouge to her cheeks and lips. It was a much more elaborate process than what your own lady-in-waiting had done to you—all you had was a simple, ocean-hued dress with intricate patterns of deep green running down the length of the fabric. Your hair was pinned away from your face and a chain of silver pearls rested against your sternum. Though it was nice to wear such pretty things, you couldn’t help but feel as if you were just playing dress up—as if these clothes didn’t actually belong to you, like you were donning a charade for the night.

Whilst you were only nine, your name day having passed quietly a few moons ago, Helaena was at the ripe age of ten-and-three—she was barely of age to be married off—to her vile older brother, no less, but Alicent had insisted.

The young Princess’ eyes were clouded over, as if her mind was far, far away. She might’ve been here with you physically, but her thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

“Three silver eggs, twisting, twisting, twisting… the blood curdles, the milk dries,” she murmured as the handmaidens finished with their final touches. Once they were done, they bowed their heads and left Helaena’s chambers. 

You moved closer to her, your fingers grazing over her the smooth green-gold cloth on her shoulder. 

“Helaena,” you whispered, heart aching for her. “I’m sorry. I wish I could whisk you away, keep you from the abomination that is your brother. If only I had a large dragon of my own to carry you off onto.”

“You will have a dragon,” she said absentmindedly. It didn’t slip your notice that she had completely disregarded the mention of her wedding, as if pushing it far and distant into the back of her mind. Perhaps if she didn’t think about it, the pain wouldn’t sting as much. 

Helaena was not one to jest, but you waved away her words as if she had.

“If… if you need me to do something—anything, Helaena, I can’t just stand by and watch you suffer. It is not honorable. You deserve someone kind and loving… Aegon is not capable of granting you such luxuries.” It was as if you were pleading with her to say something—to try and stop this accursed union. In truth, you knew that you were powerless against the might of Alicent and her loyal subjects.

You were nobody. You were well aware of that fact.

But as of that very second, you would’ve gone to the ends of the earth for the sweet, cloudy-eyed Princess.

She fixed you with a fond gaze, though still far away. 

“A dragon cannot hide the same way a butterfly can,” she whispered.

The corner of your eyes pricked with tears. “Princess, please—”

Before you could continue, the door to Helaena’s chambers swung open, and Alicent swiftly hurried in. You stepped away from your friend to give the Queen space to fuss over her. 

It was time for the wedding.

The ceremony started with the septon reciting prayers, so lengthy and repetitive that your eyes drooped with the silent threat of sleep. Aegon stood beside the septon, shoulders slumped and muffling yawns every other minute. 

Once the septon had finally wrapped up, the grand doors of the Sept swung open, and King Viserys walked in with Helaena on his left side. He parted with a gentle kiss to his second daughter’s forehead. It was no secret that Viserys very obviously favored his eldest child, Rhaenyra, but out of the four others, he had a certain muted soft spot for Helaena and her strange mysticism. You would’ve been surprised if he even remembered Aemond and Daeron’s names.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” The septon’s voice rang clear and true, echoing loudly in your head.

Looking none too pleased, Aegon all but threw the cloak over Helaena’s smaller frame, the Targaryen sigil seeming distorted from where you were standing.

“My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of the gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

Now and forever.

Your heart fell lower to your stomach.

The septon tied a knot with red ribbon around their joined hands—Aegon angrily holding onto her palm while hers was limp in his grasp.  

“Let it be known that Aegon Targaryen, second of his name, and Helaena Targaryen, are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.”

With one tug, the red ribbon between them unraveled. 

The Princess bore no emotion as she began to speak in unison with Aegon, “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger… I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

A lie. Aegon would never be Helaena’s.

You let your gaze travel to Alicent at the side, wiping a tear from her eyes. Anger bubbled within your chest. Right beside her was Aemond, a leather eyepatch fixed over his injury. His face betrayed no expression.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” Aegon said emotionlessly, as if he were reading from an invisible script. He held Helaena’s face and planted a quick kiss on her lips. The two turned to the audience, who burst into raucous applause.

You did not clap.

The wedding feast following the ceremony was, expectedly, large and extravagant. Lords and ladies from all over the realm milled about as they ate and chattered and danced to the music. 

Helaena sat beside Aegon on the longtable, refusing to eat any of her pigeon pie, repeatedly poking holes through the chunks of meat with the prongs of the fork. Her brother—now husband—had refused to lead the first dance with her, instead choosing to crossly slump into his chair and knock back chalice after chalice of spiced wine. 

With little appetite to eat, you had taken to ghost around the expansive room, head abuzz with thoughts of Rhaenyra, Jace and Luke. A few lords had halted you in your tracks, asking for a dance, but you’d politely declined them all. You hardly paid attention during dancing lessons with the Septa and you were sure you’d trip over your own feet and make a fool of yourself. That, and you were in no mood to dance with lords thrice your age.

During your fourth cycle around the large room, bored out of your mind, you felt someone’s stare burning a hole into the back of your neck.

Aemond Targaryen. 

He was looking straight at you, unabashedly.

Memories of his blood on your hands flashed through your mind. You ripped your gaze away. 

Suddenly feeling sick, you hurriedly wove through the packed room, murmuring apologies when you accidentally trod over a few unsuspecting feet, and rushed out of the hall, just about fleeing to your chambers.

As soon as you shut the doors behind you, you began to sob uncontrollably, sliding down the wood and burying your tearful face between your knees.

The next morning, you felt terrible for leaving the feast early, and consequently, Helaena alone, as she suffered through the trauma of the bedding ceremony. The ladies of the court gossipped between bouts of laughter as they recounted Helaena’s fearful face when men began tearing at her clothes and carrying her off to Aegon’s chambers.

It was said that Helaena’s pained cries could be heard echoing across the Keep for the first few minutes, until she fell utterly silent. The creaking of the bed, however, didn’t cease for the rest of the night.

The gardens smelled of fresh morning dew and sweet clementines. You walked alongside Helaena, her hand softly resting in the crook of your arm as she dreamily chattered about how she once found a ladybug with no spots eating a small spider in under five minutes. It’d been nearly two weeks since she was wed, and she often hastily changed the subject to something else whenever you tried to bring the matter up.

“The poor spider,” you said, stopping to admire a bush of white roses. “But I suppose a ladybug must eat.”

“Yes,” Helaena hummed in agreement. 

The rest of your walk was comfortably silent when you led her to a shaded spot beneath the fruit trees, where you had a blanket laid out beforehand. 

A small millipede crawled out from the grass onto the blanket, and Helaena smiled at the critter, holding her hands out to let it climb onto her awaiting palms. The princess watched it snake along her skin with her earnest purple eyes.

“People often confuse millipedes with centipedes,” she explained. “Centipedes have one pair of legs for each body segment. Millipedes have two.”

The millipede scuttled down her fingers as she set it back down on the ground.

You blew out a pleased sigh, turning your head up to the sky and shutting your eyes, letting yourself bask in the warmth of the late morning sun. 

“You are a fascinating person indeed, Helaena,” you told her, a laugh to your tone. “No other in the entirety of Westeros can speak of bug legs and make it interesting.”

The princess smiled, all wide and toothy. It fell the next moment when she began speaking again.

“I am with child, I think,” she whispered.

Startled at the sudden confession, you snapped your head her way, eyes wide, searching her face for any sign of insincerity. But again, Helaena was never one to jest.

You gathered her hands between yours. “Are you certain, my Princess?”

Grey seemed to cloud over her vision. “Quite. I saw it in my dreams. Two pairs of legs for each body segment.”

Your brows furrowed. Was she speaking of babies or of millipedes?

Blinking in confusion, you shook your head, allowing for a small, fond smile to replace your miffed expression. “You will make a wonderful mother, Helaena. I’m sure of it. I will be there for you every step of the way.” 

Wary that she wasn’t too keen on prolonged physical touch, you loosely tugged her into an embrace. She smelled of honey cakes and rich soil. Her cheek rested against your shoulder and she shut her eyes, grateful for your friendship. 

“Two pairs of legs for each body segment,” she mumbled again, voice low. “A millipede regrows limbs that are cut off. A dragon cannot.”

Training without Harwin proved to be a challenge on its own—but you were nothing if not determined. 

You often snuck out to a secluded part of the yard when the pale moon was high in the sky and the sun had hours until it was due to rise. At first, you weren’t entirely sure how to go about teaching yourself how to fight. But you worked on honing the same skills Harwin had taught you for three years. Speed, agility, accuracy, strength—all were important. Though, not as important as keeping a sharp mind. 

You frequented the library often, reading voluminous tomes on the history of blades and the art of battle. The faded words on the parchment told you secrets to fighting that you had a feeling not even the most seasoned of knights knew. One that had certainly caught your attention was the fact that there were certain points in a man’s body you could strike that would render them temporarily paralyzed. You wished you had an excess of detestable men lying around to practice your newfound knowledge on.

As Aegon and Aemond continued their sparring with Ser Criston Cole, you watched from the shadows, observing their technique and creating mental notes on their habitual weaknesses. Ever since Aemond had lost his eye, he worked twice as hard to better himself. He wasn’t going to let the loss of an eye hinder him from becoming a warrior.

But that didn’t make him invincible. Aemond was still greatly disadvantaged with such a large part of his peripheral vision gone.

It wasn’t until a few moons later, when you were ten and Aemond was twelve, did he confront you again. 

You were testing the accuracy of your knife-throwing, two small blades you had nicked from the armory gripped in your hands. Pulling your hand back, you narrowed your eyes at the target, and let it fly forward. It sank into the ringed wood with a dull thud, but had veered slightly off course when you released, resulting in a less-than-satisfactory result. 

With a frustrated huff, you tried again, this time changing the way you had thrown it. 

The blade whistled as it carved through the air, but strayed even farther from the center. 

Before you could react to your disappointing performance, a voice resounded from right beside you, making you let out a small shriek and flinch away with surprise.

It was the Prince. 

“You’re holding the knife wrong,” he said, voice not unkind, single eye observing your defensive stance. In three strides, he tugged the blades out of the wood, making his way back to you. “You use your thumb to neutralize the blade’s rotation. Like this.”

He demonstrated, and you watched in silence. 

When he returned the blades back to you, you attempted to mimic what he had shown, glancing up at him for approval.

“Move your grip lower,” he said, lifting his hands to gently shift the knife in your palm. His touch was cold, but you didn’t quite mind. 

“Thank you, my Prince.” Your voice was but a hoarse whisper. Aemond nodded once, stepping back to give you space to try again.

This time, when you flung it to the target, it was far closer to the center, only barely grazing the white marker of the inner circle.

You grinned, proud of the drastic improvement. 

“I’ve seen you sneak out to train nearly every night by now. Why?” the silver-haired boy asked, almost suspiciously. He didn’t forget the way you had shoved him just before he lost his eye. 

The memory of Harwin telling you that you had to be prepared for a real fight briefly flashed in the back of your mind. You swallowed down the lump in your throat.

“I want to be ready,” you replied, pointedly avoiding his burning stare. You thought back to Helaena’s wedding, when he hadn’t taken his gaze off of you the entire night. 

“What are you readying yourself for?”

Squaring your jaw and straightening your posture, you quietly told the one-eyed prince, “Life is unfair, Aemond. I am merely preparing to balance the scales.”

Before he could think of a response to your cryptic words, a rivulet of electrifying pain struck his empty eye socket behind the patch, ricocheting into waves throughout the rest of his skull. Aemond let out a soft cry as he doubled over in agony, hands flying to his face. It reminded you eerily of when Luke had first slashed the eye out, a memory that haunted your nightmares far more often than it should have. 

Panicked, you shuffled closer to him, one of your hands grazing his back, unsure of what to do.

“Aemond! Are you alright? Should I summon the maester?” you hurriedly queried, feet already moving away, getting ready to dash off as you waited for his answer. 

“No,” he gritted out through the pain, glancing up at you with his features twisted with misery. It was humiliating—Aemond felt ashamed of himself for showing his pain, for revealing a crack through his usually stoic demeanor. He felt ugly. He felt vile. He felt weak. 

A restless protest was on the tip of your tongue. “My Prince, you’re clearly hurting, please—”

“No!” he repeated himself, a sharp edge of finality to his tone. “They’ll just give me more milk of the poppy—!” 

Again, he doubled over, a muted roar rumbling within his chest. Not knowing what else to do, you clutched his shoulders, eyes frantically searching his single one. 

After a second, Aemond seemed to snap back into his senses, flinching from your touch and just about ripping himself away from you. Mortification flooded his quickly-paling features. He turned on his heel and ran off without another word.

Plumes of dust flew up from the covers of the heavy book when you set it down on a table. Grimacing and waving a hand in front of your face, you flipped the tome open. It was an old, lengthy volume on medicinal alchemy—a genre that you seldom read and knew little to nothing about. 

But for Aemond, you supposed you’d give it a shot.

The chapter you began to read was on remedies for severe wounds, such as fallen limbs or shattered bones. You were learning far too much about the grotesque nature of the human body than you had initially bargained for. Illustrations of cauterizations, sanitizations, and all sorts of diagrams of nude men filled the large pages. For your young eyes, you couldn’t quite comprehend most of what you were seeing. 

However, once you fell upon the optics chapter, you perked up, reading through the small text word by word. You were hoping that by reading more about problems with the eye, you’d be able to help Aemond out with his pain in some way. If there even was a way.

And as you read on, you found a small section on the near-magical works of a plant native to Dorne—a Sabar root. It was said to be all-curing and was often used to heal outer wounds. The footnote even detailed historical accounts of the root’s juices restoring the vision of those born blind. Though you doubted that to be true, you couldn’t help but hold onto the hope that it could help Aemond with the pain, even just a little bit.

You scampered out of the library with the thick book clutched to your chest, hurrying down the Red Keep’s stairs, scrambling towards the rookery, where they kept the messenger ravens. Beneath the rookery was where the Grand Maester resided.

You were but a small thing compared to the large wooden slab of a door. Knocking thrice, the door creaked open not two seconds later, revealing Maester Mellos, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Lady Strong…? What are you doing here? The hour is late, child, you should be in bed!” he scolded, fixing you with a narrowed gaze.

You shoved the book up into his face, a pleading expression on your face. “Maester Mellos, I have found something that might help Aemond’s condition!”

“Condition…?” he began, looking startled. It was late at night, and a ten year old was at his doorstep proposing a remedy to an issue he hadn’t even known existed. To his knowledge, Prince Aemond was healing just fine and had little to no complications since he had taken the stitches out. “Forgive me, my Lady, but I am rather busy at the moment and would really prefer to have this conversation with you when the sun rises. Sleep well, Lady Strong.”

Before you could get another word in, the large door croaked shut in your face, and you were left staring at the dark wood. With a dejected huff, you turned and marched straight back into the Keep. Up the stairs you climbed, arms growing weary with how long you’d been lugging around the heavy tome. 

You came to a stop in front of Aemond’s chambers, right beside Princess Helaena’s old bedroom from before she was married to Aegon. A room you used to frequent to visit your dear friend, which resulted in several awkward, and silent passes with the Prince.

It didn’t occur to you just how improper this was—knocking on the door of the Prince in the dead of night when you should’ve been in your own chambers, fast asleep. But this was important, and you needed to let Aemond know since the Maester wouldn’t listen to a word you said.

The door barely opened, revealing only a small sliver of space, where Aemond peered through to check who it was. In his hand was a dagger he kept beneath his pillow in case of emergencies. His grip slackened when he saw you behind the door, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes fiery with determination. He opened the door slightly wider, both curious and confused as to what you were doing in front of his chambers at such a late time.

“Prince Aemond,” you breathlessly said. His gaze drew down to the large book you held, nearly larger than your small, ten-year-old form. “I found something that might help your pain. It’s a plant root that only grows in Dorne, you see, but I’m sure they can have some imported to King’s Landing upon your request. I believe it can be used to relieve you of your suffering.”

Shock dawned upon his features. You’d done all this research… for him? For an issue that he never spoke of to anyone? Even after he had rudely scampered away from you with his tail between his legs like a wounded hound? 

He struggled to find the right words. Should he thank you? Tell you he was sorry?

Instead, Aemond found himself saying, “Why are you doing this?”

A moment of silence. Outside the Keep, the winds howled with the threat of a coming storm.

“I told you,” you whispered to the Prince, features softening. “I’m balancing the scales.”

The months passed by in a blur. You corresponded with Jace and Luke in the form of letters via raven quite often, always visiting the rookery with a bright smile and an excited bounce to your step at the prospect of learning about the boys’ stay at Dragonstone. It seemed that Jacaerys was struggling with learning Valyrian, and little Luke was growing like a beanstalk. Princess Rhaenyra had already birthed two new sons on Dragonstone with her uncle-husband, Daemon—respectively named Aegon the Younger and Viserys, after the King. In his writings, Luke took care to detail that both babes had silver hair and purple eyes, traits that he and his elder brother both lacked. It was his way of saying that he knew you were his kin—his true blood.

They always signed off with a promise of visiting soon. 

Soon truly couldn’t come soon enough.

Your training continued as normal, and more often than not, Aemond would be there with you, offering tips and gentle words of advice. He was not strict in the way that Criston Cole was, leaving you the choice of whether to listen or not, taking no offense if you decided to forgo his teachings. The two of you sparsely spoke outside of that, but you sometimes caught his eye during mealtimes, in which you’d offer him a small, grateful smile. He didn’t return them, but would dip his head in acknowledgement instead.

Helaena’s belly grew large—larger than most pregnancies—and the maesters had concluded that she was bearing twins. It was shocking news, one that elated Alicent and Helaena to no end. This only sent you into a spiral of worry, however, knowing that births were but the gods’ dangerous gambles. Having twins only doubled the risk of complications during the labor.

Thankfully, when the time came around for Helaena to give birth, everything had gone smoothly with very few bumps in the road. She had begged you to stay by her side the entire time, and you were more than happy to comply. It filled you with a sense of pride that she asked you to be there with her over her own Queen mother. 

The first twin to come out was a screaming boy with tufts of silvery hair and large purple eyes. He was the spitting image of his father, and you could only pray that he wouldn’t turn out like him in the future. More interestingly, however, the little boy had six toes on each foot and six fingers on his left hand. The midwives had shrieked in partial-surprise, partial-disgust upon their discovery, but you had swept the boy into your awaiting arms, gently rocking him up and down with a wide grin. 

The second twin, a girl, came out mute. Your heart lurched in your chest—you had come out silent when you were a babe, as well. She was noticeably much smaller, and bore the same hair and eye color as her twin. Her features, however, matched that of Helaena’s, to your delight. The small girl was eased into Helaena’s arms, seeming perfectly healthy, other than the fact that she was strangely quiet. 

“You did so well, Helaena,” you told her, kneeling down by the birthing bed to show her her son. Your dear friend grinned tiredly, murmuring a quiet hello to her eldest child. “They’re beautiful.”

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, their names were. You could already feel a protective love blossom inside of you, swearing to guard them with every fiber of your being. It occurred to you that this was what Harwin must’ve felt when you were born, though you were far younger than he had been.

The thought only had you clutching the wailing babe closer to your chest.

Helaena’s children grew at an exponential rate. The twins had quickly become your favorite part of the day—it was a rare sight to see you without one of the children clinging to your legs, or you without the Princess by your side. 

Little Jaehaerys was loud and boisterous, being the first to crawl, to speak, and to run. He was a strong little boy, but often cried when not given what he wanted. His sister, on the other hand, was always quiet and much less active. She often took to staring aimlessly at random points of the chambers instead of playing with her brother, purple eyes scarcely blinking. You loved both of them despite their drastically different personalities.

You were well into your eighteenth year when the babes had their eighth nameday. During the later half of those eight years, Helaena had fallen pregnant again, and had a third child—a son named Maelor. He was a large baby, with a head of pale white hair and eyes a darker shade of mauve than his older siblings.

“Jaehaerys, don’t be so rough with your brother!” you lightly scolded when the boy began yanking at his baby brother’s cheeks with no restrain. A laugh slipped past your lips as you held Maelor out of his reach, which made Jaehaerys whine, as if you had taken away his most favorite playtoy. Helaena, sitting on the chaise on the other side of the room, glanced away from her embroidery to smile at her children, before returning her gaze back down to the needle and thread. Jaehaera sat beside her mother, staring into the fire with her lips parted.

Both you and Jaehaerys began playing a game of chase, where he was a fierce and mighty dragon whilst you enacted the role of a helpless knight. You had set down Maelor into his crib, where he suckled on a milk-soaked cloth.

The little boy roared, his face scrunching up with the action, before sprinting after you with outstretched hands. You were fast on your feet as you scampered away from him, but decided to slow down and let the little boy catch up to you, knowing he’d burst into tears if the game had gone on for too long without him winning. You shrieked in surprise when he grabbed at the ends of your tunic, yanking hard and yelling, “Dracarys, dracarys! I got you!”

“Indeed, you have,” you told the little boy, bending down to sweep him up into your arms with a grin.

From afar, Aemond lurked in the shadows, watching you play with his sister’s children. He watched the way you smiled with them, the way you laughed, the way you pressed chaste kisses into their chubby cheeks. It surprised him to find an inkling of jealousy for his nephews—how they had so freely enraptured your affections, whilst he was offered very little of them. No bother—all things came with due time. Besides, Aemond was not yet ready to admit his growing feelings with you.

The two of you had become considerably close over the past few years. You often frequented the library with him, the two of you sitting in comfortable silence as you read together. You trained together, dined together, and took walks together. Hardly a day ever passed by without you spending some time with the young prince.

Aemond would scarcely speak when he was with you, preferring to listen to you instead. The times he did speak, it was quiet and thoughtful and rife with endearment. It was no secret that Aemond was growing quite fond of the youngest Strong. 

A tourney was held in honor of the twins’ eighth nameday.

You sat beside Helaena in the high platforms on the elongated arena, hands twisting in your lap. Tourneys usually bored you to no end—watching men hurt themselves over little else than theatrical show and bragging rights was not something you were very keen on. It felt like a waste of time to you—you’d much rather be reading, or writing to Luke and Jace, or playing with the twins. To your other side was Prince Aemond, looking equally disinterested in the event. You couldn’t help but notice his long fingers tapping impatiently against his knee, as if he were itching to leave. His older brother Aegon was nowhere to be seen, most likely somewhere in the bowels of the Street of Silk. 

Round after round of jousting went by, until Harley Piper—a young, handsome lord with soft ginger curls and bright green eyes and freckled, sun-kissed skin, urged his horse closer to the platform, gaze trained on you. Draped over his armor were the colors of House Piper—gentle pink and silken white against a striking shade of blue.

“Might I be honored with your favor, my lady?” he asked, voice sweet and mellifluous.

At first, you’d thought that he had been speaking to Princess Helaena, finding it rather odd for him to ask a married woman for her favor. But when she made no move to hand him a favor, it dawned on you that he was asking you. Flustered, having never really received any sort of romantic attention before, you rose to your feet and dropped a crown of woven flowers down his long jousting lance.

You noted with muted curiosity that Aemond’s tapping fingers had curled into a tight fist.

Off Harley Piper went with your favor swaying by the lance’s handle, the metal grating of his helmet pulled down over his grinning features. You found yourself holding your breath as his joust began against another knight you couldn’t care to know the name of, eyes intently following his movements. 

The crowd burst into raucous applause when the nameless knight easily unseated the young man—Harley flew off his horse with a grunt. They proceeded into hand-to-hand combat, where the larger knight leapt off his horse, grabbed a mace and swung it straight at Harley. A gasp lodged in your throat when the young man was struck cleanly in the back with a sickening thud, and he crumpled to the ground.

“I yield!” relented Harley, raising a hand.

From beside you, a ghost of a leering smile appeared on Aemond’s lips.

It disappeared when Harley struggled back onto his feet, clapping his opponent on the shoulder good-naturedly, and began limping back to your direction. You subconsciously straightened your spine, which made Helaena hide a knowing grin behind her hand.

“I’ve dishonored you, my lady,” winced the man with a head of flames. “A beauty such as yours deserves much better than I.”

“Nonsense, Lord Piper,” you replied, finding his humility rather endearing. “You are more than enough.”

Aemond’s shoulders tensed and his jaw clenched at your words. You didn’t spare him a glance.

Harley Piper beamed, as bright as the sun, bowing his head before you. “I shall take my leave, Lady Strong. Perhaps I’ll see you at supper?”

Before you could reply, Aemond coldly spat out, “I’m afraid Lady Strong will be dining with me tonight, Lord Piper. Take your leave.”

Shocked at his sudden hostility, you swung an incredulous, confused glare at the prince. Harley, equally bewildered, glanced between the two of you with narrowed lids, before bowing his head and striding away. 

“Aemond, what the seven hells was that about?” you hissed, hand reaching out to grasp his forearm. His one eye darted between your touch and your furious expression—how you managed to become even more beautiful whilst angry was beyond him. “I liked him.”

The prince scoffed. “You have poor taste.”

“I thought he was sweet!”

“He lost his joust in a matter of minutes.”

“Losing a joust is nothing but a temporary blemish to one’s ego. Perhaps you could do with losing something, for a change,” you retorted, nose wrinkling at him.

The purple of his eye seemed to darken. “Mind your tongue, Strong,” he murmured, voice low. It didn’t slip your notice when he briefly glanced at your lips, parted and raw-bitten.

“Or what?” you shot back, leaning closer to him until your nose was but a hair’s breadth from his. “Will you take it from me? Will you take my tongue, My Prince?”

Before he could reply, Helaena cleared her throat, announcing that she would like to retire to her chambers. The noise was starting to get overwhelming for her. You practically ripped yourself out of your chair, eager to put some well-needed distance between yourself and the one-eyed prince. The skin on your cheeks and neck burned with heat—whether it was from Harley’s unadulterated attention, or from Aemond’s prickly behavior, you couldn’t quite tell.

His gaze burned into the back of your head as you left the arena to return into the Red Keep.

Larys Strong’s cane knocked against the uneven stone floor with each lurching step he took. The Master of Whisperers hobbled up to the Queen’s side, where she stood in front of the Weirwood tree, reminiscing her now long-ago childhood with Rhaenyra.

Hearing the echoing stamps of his cane, Alicent dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Lord Strong. Any word of Rhaenyra?”

There was an eerie smile to Larys’ face that didn’t quite reach his dark irises. “My sources tell me she has fallen pregnant again. Her third child with Daemon.”

A scowl flitted across Alicent’s wary features. “Certainly hasn’t wasted any time, I see.”

Larys spared her no response, merely humming thoughtfully.

The Queen gave him a sidelong glance, hastily deciding to change the subject. “Word has it your sister has taken an interest in the young Piper boy during a tourney.”

This time, it was Larys’ turn to frown. “Y/N is young and impressionable. She will take a liking to anyone who spares her an inkling of attention.”

Alicent tilted her head. “My children are rather fond of her—for reasons unbeknownst to me.”

“Hm. Indeed.” The Queen’s words seemed to get the cogs in Larys’ brain churning. “I am the Lord of Harrenhal—and I will sire no children. Harrenhal will go to Y/N once I have passed. Marriages are of political currency, these days, Your Grace.”

Eyebrows cinched, Alicent turned to fully face the man. “What is it you are speaking of, Larys?”

“I am suggesting… a marriage of alliance. Between my young sister and your second son, Aemond. They are already quite fond of each other, as you have mentioned before. This will do good for not only them, but the both of us and our houses, as well. Once I pass, Harrenhal will go to Y/N and Aemond and any of their children they have together. If a civil war breaks out… Harrenhal would be sworn to Aemond—and thereby you, as well, Your Grace. Not Rhaenyra.”

Shock colored the Queen’s expression. For years, she had been trying to figure out the entire picture behind Larys Strong, and his true intentions. He hated Rhaenyra so much for dishonoring his house that he had murdered his own family for it to gain inheritance of Harrenhal. And now he was willing to bargain away his young sister, practically Rhaenyra’s daughter, to Alicent’s son.

A sick feeling twisted within Alicent’s gut.

She considered the thought of Aemond marrying you. The two of you were together more often than not, anyway, and you were her daughter’s best and only friend. Not only that, but the political advantage of having Harrenhal truly backed to her family’s side was something she just couldn’t pass up, no matter how vile it made her feel.

“That is a splendid proposal, Lord Strong. I shall inform the King and my son with haste,” she told him, lips pursed.

A twisted grin etched into the corner of his mouth. “And I will break the wonderful news to my sweet sister. Good night, My Queen. I shall see you on the morrow.”

Alicent watched as Larys began limping away. It was only until his figure disappeared into the Keep’s walls that she buried her tired face into her hands.

When you were younger, Larys was but a scarce figure in your life. You practically only knew of him by word of mouth—he was only your family in blood and name—he certainly didn’t feel like your brother. Not in the same way that Harwin did, at least. 

As you grew older, however, you began to notice Larys always lurking in the shadows, watching your every move like a vulture would a rotting carcass. Your second brother bore no love for you, that was glaringly obvious. Instead, he saw you as a pawn in his little game of thrones—a piece of the board he owned and was free to move around as he wished.

The Clubfoot leaned his weight on his cane as he studied you reshelving around half a dozen books you had borrowed from the library.

“Sweet sister,” he crooned, roping your attention away from the fraying spines of the tomes.

A disgusted shiver spidered down your form.

“What is it, Larys?” you sighed, already wanting the conversation to be over and done with. Later that night, you had planned to take the twins stargazing from the Keep's highest tower with Helaena, and you were hoping to squeeze in a quick bath before doing so. “I’m busy.”

“As you often are,” your older brother glibly murmured. “Forgive me for being so brazen… I couldn’t help but notice how close you and the young Prince Aemond have become.”

You blinked, the sudden mention of Aemond taking you by surprise. A pregnant silence fell over the both of you, heavy and tense. You were stiff as you waited for him to continue, but Larys was as relaxed as ever, a coy grin playing at the corner of his lips.

“You are ten-and-eight years old. Prince Aemond is twenty. Both of you have been of age to marry for quite some time. I have arranged a betrothal for you, Y/N.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach.

“What?” you whispered, taking half a step back. “Larys… what did you do?”

The shelves seemed too close together, and you found the air within your throat thinning away. You fixed your brother with an incredulous glare, heated with the fire of a thousand summers. 

“The Queen has agreed to this—you will be wed to Aemond Targaryen. The Strong bloodline will continue on through you and the Prince.”

“No…” you whispered, a sharp, betrayed edge to your tone. “How dare you? How dare you do this to me?” 

The calm, nonchalant expression on your brother’s features remained unchanged. “I am helping you, dear sister. You are fond of Aemond—you cannot deny this, for it would be a plain lie. He is a prince—this is the best sort of marriage you can possibly get.”

“I am no sister of yours,” you spat, lurching forward to shove him back, caught up in a fit of rage. All you could see was red. Larys stumbled into a bookshelf, yet still appeared unfazed. “You took away my choice to marry whomever I wished. My freedom. When I asked—no, I begged—to return to Harrenhal to mourn Harwin and father, you simply brushed me to the side as if I were dirt on your shoe! All these years, and you’ve hardly acknowledged me as a person, much less your family! And now you… you use me for your political gain—to appease the Queen you are so desperate for, to further drive me away from Rhaenyra… you are vile, Larys. You are everything Harwin is not. Your very existence is a filthy stain on the memory of our family… of House Strong!”

The space between the two of you crackled as you stared at him, chest rising and falling in staggered motions from your anger-fueled tirade. 

“Aemond will treat you well,” was all Larys said, completely disregarding your harsh words with not a care in the world. “The Queen has informed him of the arrangement… along with the King. There is no going back now, sister-mine.”

Rage clawed through your chest, scratching down your ribs and twisting within your lungs. With not another word, you stormed past him, your shoulder roughly knocking into his on your way out of the library.

You had been so angry that night, you completely forgot about your promise to Helaena and the twins, and they were left waiting in the towers for you for hours on end. Little Jaehaerys didn’t mind, occupying his time by chasing a moth and tripping over the edges of carpets, with his little sister staring at him with her large, unblinking gaze. 

The sky was starless that night.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

You spun around the hay-sewn dummy, driving your sword into its motionless form over and over again in rapid succession, until the dried wheat began to cave in beneath the force of your hits. The poor dummy was taking the brunt of your frustrations—with Larys, with the arranged marriage, with Aemond. Grunts of exertion rumbled from your lungs and cold beads of sweat dotted your hairline.

Sure, it could be worse, you had initially thought, trying your best to see the silver linings. But the more you thought about it—the idea of being tied down against your will to a Prince, almost permanently anchoring you to your wretched brother’s side…

That was no future for you. You deserved better than that.

Just as you lifted your sword to strike the dummy again, you could feel a familiar, infuriating stare burn into your skin. With precise movements, you pivoted on your heel and swung your sword around, slanting the sharp blade right up against Aemond’s throat. The cold metal kissed his skin, but didn’t press deep enough to draw blood. It was a threat of sorts. You’d been training for more than a decade of your life by now—and you were more than capable of knocking him onto his arse, just as you had all those years ago during your first spar with him.

The silver-haired prince cocked his head, single purple eye blazing with an unreadable intensity you couldn’t exactly place. Ever so slow, he raised both hands. 

A beat of silence. Somewhere in the distance, a raven cawed.

You lowered your sword. 

“Go away, Aemond,” you spat, tone heavy with betrayal.

Sensing this, he stayed rooted to his spot. “It is not I who arranged the marriage,” he whispered, in an almost conciliating manner. It hadn’t yet occurred to you that Aemond might’ve been just as upset as you were—after all, the choice had been taken away from him, as well.

You spared him no response, turning your back to him and raising your sword to stab the dummy once more.

His next words made you freeze. “I know not why you are so upset about this. Am I that detestable, Lady Strong? Or is it because you’ve already fallen in love with that oaf from House Piper? You do know that their sigil is one of a naked maiden, do you not? It is no wonder he lost his tourney so quickly.” 

With a choked yell, you rounded to face him again, lifting your sword and bringing it down with staggering speed. Aemond, however, had anticipated this, easily rolling to the side and grabbing a discarded sword from the yard’s ground, parrying away with ease. Unrelenting, you pulled back to land another blow on him. His sword met yours halfway, the blades singing against one another. You gritted your teeth, practically snarling at your betrothed. 

The hostility was quick to wane away the longer you stared at him. He was your friend—the boy you had grown so fond of over the course of the last half a decade. Your vision began to blur with unshed tears as you started to physically shake. A hot droplet meandered down your cheek. You let the sword fall limp in your grasp. 

Furious with yourself and embarrassed beyond relief, you swiped away the tears with the back of your palm, lifting your gaze to meet Aemond’s.

Something had changed within his features. It had softened considerably, pale and glowing beneath the moonlight. His lips were parted, as if deliberating between words and action.

He chose action.

With no warning, Prince Aemond surged forward, sword clattering to his feet as his hands came forth to cradle your face within his palms. His fingers were cold against the sweltering skin of your face, but neither of you cared. His nose bumped against yours, foreheads knocking into one another. Your eyes locked with his, intense and tumultuous and molten with yearning. His lips were but a hair’s breadth from yours—tantalizingly close. 

When you made no move to pull away, he kissed you. 

It was a desperate embrace, needy and clawing and furious. It made your heart lurch within your chest, your breath crystallized to the sides of your throat, your eyes wrenching shut. Aemond stepped even closer, chest pressed up against yours, his knee slotting between your legs in a way that made your neck flush with heat. The grip he had on your face tightened, as if he were ensuring that you were real.

This was real.

You just about melted into his touch, one of your hands lifting to hold onto his bicep, the other still clutching onto your sword, not daring to let go. 

It was only when his lips left yours for a second of air, did your eyes snap open, and the trance you had so easily fallen into began to thin away. 

You placed both palms on his chest and shoved the prince away, breathing heavily and eyes wild. Frustrated and so very conflicted about how you felt for him, you wiped the back of your mouth with your hand and shot him an offended look, before storming away angrily.

The sword clattered to the ground with your departure. Aemond found himself staring at his own warped reflection within the blade. He loathed what stared back at him—a taunting of his own tarnished image, and wrenched his gaze away.

He would talk to you on the morrow, he decided. For now, he would let you go, knowing full and well that he would not be able to find you even if he tried.

After all, a dragon cannot hide the same way a butterfly can.

Aemond didn’t talk to you the next day, or the day after that. The two of you didn’t speak to one another for weeks on end. You were quite good at hiding from him, always turning the corner and hurrying away when you could feel his attentive stare begin to blaze into you, or relocating your training to the darkest nooks and crannies of the Keep just so he wouldn’t be able to find you. Even Helaena and her three lovely children you adored so much had barely seen you as of late, because you knew that being around her would make it easier for Aemond to come and speak to you.

You hadn’t meant to avoid him for this long, you really hadn’t. By now, you’d expected the two of you to talk things out, clear the air between you, and return back to how the way things were before. But the more you waited, the more conflicted you became about the kiss and your own feelings for him, thus prolonging your inevitable confrontation with the Prince. 

The two of you had keenly noticed that the longer this game of silence had drawn out, the less it became one of true avoidance, and the more it grew to be like a round of cat-and-mouse. Sometimes, you’d even find yourself waiting in places you knew the prince would pass by, only to scurry away just as soon as he came. Aemond himself was enjoying watching you dance away from his grasp, just as much as he was frustrated with it. He’d get you eventually, he oft told himself. You’d come around.

Alicent had pushed back anything related to their wedding the sicker King Viserys grew—wanting to prioritize her husband’s health first and foremost above all else. It was yet another example of Aemond being pushed to the side in favor of another. 

Around you, however, he never felt second. Sure, you also loved Helaena and her children, but he did not feel as if they were competition for your affections. It was why he enjoyed drawing out this game of chase with you so much—having your attention constantly devoted entirely to him made his pride swell and a fire kindle within his lower abdomen. He wanted you more than ever before.

It was why the news of his nephews and his half-sister returning to King’s Landing to rebuttal the challenge to the heir of Driftmark soured his mood so badly. 

Upon their arrival, your game of chase had come to an end—effectively stealing away any and all of your addictive attention. He saw you far more often than before, but you hardly ever paid any mind to him, instead focusing on the plain-featured boys. 

It’d been nearly a decade since you last saw them. 

You were the only one to greet them when they arrived at King's Landing. It was a rather sad affair, with no one to welcome Rhaenyra and her sons but a young Strong—practically a nobody in a den of dragons. It was an insult on Alicent’s part—as if she were indirectly saying she had more important matters to attend to than Rhaenyra.

You didn’t quite care for their little rivalry—all you really wanted was to see your nephews. 

The boys had grown so big. It startled you to see that Jace was practically a man grown now, with a sharp face and eyes exactly the same as your late older brother, brown hair straight and neatly groomed. Luke, on the other hand, had softer features like that of Rhaenyra, but bore his true father’s nose and mouth, with a head of dark, messy curls. 

You ran forward to greet them, excitedly shouting their names with a permanent smile etched over your lips. Little Luke—you made a mental note not to call him that anymore, seeing as he was no longer little—was the first to embrace you, yelling your name and barreling forward to squeeze you into a hug so tight that all the air was pushed from your lungs. Jace was gentler with his approach, but you gripped onto him tightly all the same, pressing kisses to both of your nephew’s foreheads. Then, you kneeled down and took little Joffrey’s hand within yours, kissing his palm, and his chubby little cheeks. The little boy looked mildly confused as to who you were, since they’d left for Dragonstone when he was only but a tiny little baby. You stood back up to face the three of them.

“My, how you’ve grown,” you told the boys, patting Jace and Luke’s cheeks affectionately. “Feels like just yesterday we were little children together. I haven’t seen you since…”

Since Aemond lost his eye.

“You haven’t changed one bit,” commented Luke, a wide smile to his face. “It’s nice to see you, Y/N. We’ve missed you dearly on Dragonstone. Exchanging letters just isn’t the same.”

“It really isn’t,” you hummed in agreement. “But you’re here now—and I couldn’t be more happy.”

It was then that Rhaenyra and Daemon joined you, each holding a white-haired babe in their arms. They must’ve been Aegon and Viserys. Lips parting, you dipped your head in greeting, a bright, watery smile painting your complexion golden.

“Princess Rhaenyra,” you said.

“Oh, sweet girl,” she murmured, shaking her head and using her free hand to rope you into an embrace. “You’ve grown into a beautiful woman. My only regret is that I wasn’t able to watch you flourish into one.” Tears welled up in your eyes when she leaned forward and whispered into your ear, “Your brother Harwin would be so very proud of you.”

Your breath caught within your throat. “Thank you,” you told her, voice cracking with emotion. The purple of her eyes gleamed with gentle affection. You glanced, down eyes widening upon seeing her swollen belly. “Congratulations, Your Grace. Let’s hope the next one is a girl. You’ve had enough sons as it is.”

Your words made Rhaenyra huff out an amused laugh. “Yes, a daughter would be lovely. Though, you’ve filled that position for long enough, I would be happy with yet another son.”

A bright beam pulled your lips impossibly wider. After a few more minutes of exchanging pleasantries and catching up, you said hello to little Aegon and Viserys, before urging them into the Keep, not wanting to keep them waiting after such a long journey. Luke had talked your ear off about how he had puked thrice over the side of the ship from his relentless seasickness. 

The entire time, you pointedly avoided making any mention of your betrothal to Aemond, wanting to remain in blissful ignorance for just a bit longer.

The Red Keep was almost unrecognizable to the young boys. As the years passed without Rhaenyra there to watch over the kingdom in Viserys’ stead, the Targaryen heraldry was taken down, slowly replaced by symbols of the Seven in the form of erected stone statues and carvings of seven-pointed stars. The change had been so gradual that you’d barely noticed, but to Jace and Luke, it was a shock to see their home completely different to how it used to be.

You took them on a guide throughout the expansive castle, exchanging stories of their times throughout the years. They asked you how you’ve fared here, and you hesitated to tell them about everything going on with Larys, with Harley Piper, with… with Aemond…

Instead, you chirped on about Helaena and her children, and how they were always the brightest part of your day. 

“Have you still been training on your own?” Jacaerys asked just as you rounded the corner to lead them to the training yard. 

You paused, thinking back to all the late nights you spent clashing swords with Aemond.

“Yes,” you replied cautiously. “My brother Harwin would’ve wanted me to keep honing my skills, even after he’s passed.”

A grim look passed over the two boys’ faces.

Once they began descending the stone stairwell to the yard, Luke’s nose wrinkled in disdain. The court was full of training men, a cacophony of steel against steel, of thuds against dummies, and exerted grunts all echoing across the expansive grounds.

“It’s much smaller than I remember,” said Luke.

You spared the younger Velaryon a sweet smile. “Perhaps that’s only because you’ve grown much larger since last you were here.”

“It looks exactly the same to me,” Jace said, bounding down the last few steps to hurry to the rack of weapons. “Come on!” 

Though Jace was willfully oblivious to the stares of the guards and the handmaids and all the rest that were in the yard, keeping his head held up high, Luke was aware of everybody’s eyes on him. Glaring, judging, and piercing every which way. He shifted uncomfortably beside you.

Jacaerys patted one of the large dents in a while, a wide grin to his handsome features. “See? I told you this would still be here! And you thought you could swing Criston’s morningstar. You almost took your own head off!”

Luke gave him a half-hearted grin, but it was quick to melt away when he whispered beneath his breath, “Everyone’s staring at us.”

The older brother pulled a sword from the rack and playfully lowered down into an attack position, Lucerys’ words largely going ignored.

“Of course they’re staring,” you stated matter-of-factly. “You are the Princess’ sons.”

Luke shook his head, dark curls flying about his forehead. “That is not why they’re staring, and you know it. No one would question me being heir to Driftmark if… if I looked more like Ser Laenor Velaryon than Ser Harwin Strong.”

Releasing a deep sigh, Jacaerys hung his head. “It doesn’t matter what they think, little brother,” he asserted. 

You watched as Luke turned to you, as if silently asking you to back him. “Oh, Luke,” you murmured, unsure of what to say. “As I said before, you are Rhaenyra’s son, first and foremost—”

Before you could finish your sentence, a crowd from across the yard burst into raucous applause. Curious, Jace grabbed your hand, dragging you along to see what was going on.

It was Aemond—sparring against Criston.

Your heart sunk into your stomach. You hadn’t prepared yourself nearly enough to face him just yet.

At the sight of their uncle, Luke and Jace visibly tensed beside you.

He was beautiful—spinning around with ease and grace. Criston swung his morningstar at the prince, only for Aemond to duck, blocking the heavy weapon with a wooden shield. It splintered beneath the force, and he shirked it away to the side. Aemond used his speed to his advantage, dancing away from each of Criston’s swings, tactfully tiring him out. Seeing his opportunity when Criston’s arm dropped for but a millisecond, Aemond skidded around the ball-and-chain, pointing the tip of his sword right at his mentor’s throat.

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding slowly slipped from your lungs just as the audience began clapping again. 

“Well done, my Prince,” said Criston, setting down his weapon to yield. “You’ll be winning tourneys in no time.”

The purple of Aemond’s eye blazed as he turned his head away from Cole to face you. “I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” he murmured, taking great pleasure in the way you physically stepped back. “Lady Strong, my sweet betrothed… have you come to train?”

Heat snaked up the skin of your neck and seeped into your cheeks at his words. My sweet betrothed. Jace and Luke both sent you deeply puzzled, almost affronted looks.

“Aemond, no, I—” you began, but he strode forward in no more than three steps, grabbing your forearm and pulling you to the center of the circle, much to Jace and Luke’s dismay.

The Prince paid no mind to your protests. “Criston. Give her a sword.”

The knight, none too fond of you ever since the first incident when you were only a child, thrusted a dull blade into your arms. 

With your jaw set, you huffed out a curse beneath your breath, and stabilized yourself into a defensive position. If a fight was what Aemond wanted, then a fight was what he was going to get.

He struck first, darting forward to arc his sword into your side. You took half a step back and parried, guiding his arm up over your head and ducking beneath his swing. Using this to your advantage, you kicked at the back of his knee, sending him buckling down to the ground. A growl rumbled within his chest. Aemond was quick to react, twisting around to sweep his sword between your legs, knocking you back as well.

Winded and caught off guard, you desperately parried away his continuous strikes, the tip of his sword getting closer and closer and closer to your face. You scrambled to get back up on your feet, but Aemond was unrelenting, pressing on with no restraint. Aemond was practically on top of you at this point, his knee pressing nearly painfully into your thigh. 

“Yield,” he hissed, breath hot against your ear.

You glared up at him. Briefly, you allowed your eyes to slip past Aemond, to the two young boys behind him, worryingly watching you.

Humiliated, you huffed out a shaking breath, wishing to just end this here and now. “I yield.”

The crowd began clapping for Aemond again, though, this time much more hesitant and sparse. Scandalous murmurs rippled through the audience. From the side, Criston smirked at your defeat.

Satisfied, Aemond stepped back, offering you his hand. You let him help you up, dusting your trousers off with a huff. 

He briefly let go of your hand to wind his arm about your waist, tugging you closer. An internal part of you screamed in embarrassment, not wanting him to behave in such a way when Jace and Luke were right there—watching the two of you with bewilderment. He smelled of smoke and steel and leather, and you couldn’t bring it in yourself to push away. “You are skilled, Lady Strong—but your arrogance betrays you.”

“Arrogance?” you whispered back, eyes roaming over his expressionless features, your brows knitting together. “I let you win. Release me, Aemond. People are watching.”

The prince’s eye momentarily flitted down to your parted lips, then back up to meet your tumultuous gaze. He hummed in thought, before relinquishing his hold on you completely, swiftly turning to Jace and Luke.

“Nephews… have you come to train, as well?” he asked them, straightening himself, practically oozing with intimidation.

Jace’s mouth parted, still stupefied. 

Before anyone could utter another word, a guard bellowed out, “Open the gates!”

The large metal gratings groaned as they were pulled open. Velaryon banners filled the training yard—and in the center of all of them, stood Vaemond Velaryon. Corlys’ brother, and, according to him, the rightful heir to Driftmark.

You swallowed down the bile that rose in your throat.

Fear splattered clear as day over Luke’s features. Aemond only grinned at that.

The gardens were much more intimidating in the nighttime. Large statues of the Seven hid behind the rose bushes in a menacing fashion, and the fountain bore a seven-pointed star in the center that looked sharp enough to cut. You never frequented the place after sunset, deliberately taking Helaena and the children out on walks when it was still light out.

Nonetheless, it was one of the only few quiet places in the Keep where you could be sure curious ears wouldn’t be able to hear your whispers over the gushing of the water fountain. Though, you couldn’t be too certain that your brother wasn’t lurking somewhere in the shadows. 

Jace and Luke were standing across from you, both of their arms crossed expectedly.

The older of the two seemed disappointed, as if he’d expected better from you. Luke, on the other hand, looked crestfallen, feeling as if you’d betrayed him.

“I’m sorry for not telling the two of you earlier,” you quietly said. “I couldn’t find a way to break the news.” 

The silence stretched thin between the three of you.

“I don’t want it,” you said, wringing your hands nervously. “My brother, Larys, and the Queen are forcing this upon me. I had no choice in the matter. Aemond is my friend, as much as I know you two mislike him… he’s my friend. He had no say in the matter, either. I don’t know—perhaps I should just be grateful I’m betrothed to him rather than a pure stranger. He would not hurt me, I’m sure of it.”

Jacaerys’ expression seemed to soften upon your confession. It was no wonder you were so afraid to tell them. You must’ve been so confused and scared. Silent, the taller boy reached out to pull you into a hug, gently patting your back. Tears of relief began to well in your eyes—you’d truly been expecting them to turn their back on you.

“I… I feel as though my control of my own life is slipping right through the cracks between my fingers,” you whispered, voice crumbling with emotion. 

You began to softly cry into Jacaerys’ shoulder. Luke joined in the embrace, wrapping his arms around you from behind. 

The three of you stood in the eerie garden, each of you equally upset and uncertain for the future to come.

“Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds…” Otto Hightower began, descending an instantaneous hush upon the throng of lords and ladies in front of the Iron Throne, “we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark. As Hand, I speak with the King’s voice in this—and all other matters.”

Otto’s last sentence made bile climb up your throat. Not too long ago, your own father held the position as Hand, and held it in a just, and unbiased manner. You were afraid you couldn’t say the same for Otto Hightower.

You stood a couple steps away from Rhaenyra and her sons, hands tightly clasped behind your back. To the right of the Iron Throne was Alicent and her children—Aegon with rumpled hair as if he had just rolled out of bed, Aemond with his gaze flickering back and forth between his nephew and his betrothed, and Helaena, who was staring at the warbling light of the torches on the wall. All you wanted to do was get this over and done with—the succession of Driftmark was not a subject you cared for, seeing as you strongly believed it should go to Luke. Bastard or not, it mattered little to you—he was Laenor’s son regardless of blood and deserved his own inheritance. 

“The crown will now hear the petitions. Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon.”

The man stepped forward, head held high. 

“My Queen. My Lord Hand. The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies… House Velaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell on Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind. Our forebears came to this new land, knowing that were they to fail, it would mean the end to their bloodlines and their name. I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my brother’s seat. I am Lord Corlys’ closest kin—his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins.”

Tongue as sharp as ever, Rhaenyra interjected, “As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon. If you cared so much about your house’s blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No—you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition.”

Looking down at the Princess, Alicent raised her brows. “You will have a chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra. Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing him to be heard.”

From the side, Aegon hid a snicker behind his palm.

Vaemond turned to Rhaenyra. “What do you know of Velaryon 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.” Luke took a small shuffle back when Vaemond rounded his scalding glare on the younger boy. “My Queen, Lord Hand. This is a matter of blood. Not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my house and my line above it all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother’s successor—the Lord of Driftmark, and Lord of the Tides.”

Satisfied, Otto nodded once. “Thank you, Ser Vaemond.”

Smug and confident he had swayed the decision in his favor, Vaemond stepped back to his respective side.

“Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son, Lucerys Velaryon.”

The white-haired woman took three steps to the center, one hand holding her large, pregnant belly. 

“If I am to grace this farce with some sort of answer,” she began, already exhausted of the entire ordeal, “I will start by reminding the court that nearly twenty years ago, in this very—”

Before she could finish, the doors swung open. Everybody turned their heads back. Your breath caught in your throat.

It was King Viserys. 

The last time you’d seen him… was most probably longer than a year ago. 

And how the tall and mighty fall from such grace. He was practically rotting away, skin patched and peeling, teeth gnarled and black, figure fragile and bent. The white of his hair fell in but sparse strands from his scalp where the crown sat, lopsided but gleaming nonetheless. A gilded mask was placed on one half of his face, hiding the decaying flesh on right cheek, and the pulsing cavern where his eye used to be. He hobbled forth on his cane, one of his feet dragging along behind him, not unlike your brother Larys, shoulders heavy with his cloak. He was in a great deal of pain—that was made abundantly clear with his wincing and groaning. But he pushed forth nonetheless, determined to voice his support for his daughter, Rhaenyra.

The guard by the door announced his presence: “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.”

Shock fell upon the court at the sight of the King up and out of his chambers, much less walking on his own. It did not slip past you when Vaemond and Otto exchanged concerned looks. You bowed your head as Viserys passed by, biting down on your tongue. 

The royal family seemed to have different reactions to the King’s presence. Rhaenyra was stunned into silence, which was quick to meld into one of subtle gratitude. Rhaenys turned her head away at the sight of her brother in such a pained state. Helaena smiled faintly, though you weren’t quite sure what she was smiling for. And Alicent appeared the most conflicted out of all.

“I will sit the throne today,” he told his Hand. Otto looked none too pleased, but dipped his head, stepping away to the side for Viserys to pass.

He began to lose his breath as he climbed up the steps, leaning forth on his cane. The crown slid from his head and clattered onto the stone floor. Prince Daemon—his brother—was the one to pick it up for him, and patiently helped him up the rest of the steps to his seat. He gently placed the crown back on Viserys’ head, before stepping back down to stand beside his wife.

“I must… admit… my confusion,” said Viserys, breathless. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys’ wishes, is the Princess Rhaenys.”

His older sister lifted her head. “Indeed, Your Grace.” With cautious strides, she made her way forward. “It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son… Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys’ granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.”

Your lips parted in surprise. The two boys… betrothed? Just two minutes ago they were both barely tall enough to reach for supper in the middle of the dining table, and now they were already going to get married? Though, you supposed you were speaking rather hypocritical, as you had just gotten betrothed not too long ago yourself.

Muted frustration befell Alicent’s expression.

“Well… the matter is settled. Again.” The King blew out a sigh. “I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.”

Clear disdain painted itself green across Vaemond’s face. 

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

Confused, Viserys’ brows drew together. “Allow it?” he echoed. “Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.”

Suddenly raising his voice, Vaemond turned and jabbed a finger straight in Luke’s direction. “That is no true Velaryon! And certainly no nephew of mine.”

Desperate to keep the accusations at bay, Rhaenyra pushed Luke behind her. “Go to your chambers, boys. Vaemond, you have said enough!”

Taking great offense to his words, the King said, “Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you… are no more than the second son of Driftmark.”

The man shook his head. “You… may run your house as you see fit… but you will not decide the future of mine.”

Gasps rang out across the court. What Vaemond had just said to the King was treason.

Despite this, on Vaemond continued, “My house survived the Doom—and a thousand tribulations more! And gods be damned… I will not see it ended on the account of this…”

Prince Daemon cocked his head, challenging, “Say it.”

“Her children… are…” said Vaemond. “BASTARDS!”

The audience murmured scandalously. Your brows raised in shock, gaze wildly swinging from Luke to the King.

Vaemond was not yet done, having one final blow to serve. “And she… is… a whore.”

Disgust coiled within your stomach. It made you even angrier to see a smirk toy with the corners of Aemond’s lips.

Viserys angrily limped onto his feet, unsheathing his dagger. “I… will have your tongue for that!”

In a blur of black and red, Daemon swung his sword as quick as a bolt of lightning, cleaving it clean through Vaemond’s head. A sick squelch of flesh and blood and steel rang across the court, quickly blending into the startled shrieks of Lords and Ladies. You had flinched back, hands raising to cover your mouth. 

Helaena had gasped the loudest, her hands flying to rest over her ears and hurriedly turning her face away from the grotesque sight. From all the years you had been her dearest friend, you knew blood was one of the few things she could not handle.

Right beside her, Aemond had stepped back, hand defensively falling to his sword. His purple eye was wide and trained onto the body, but quickly flicked up to look at you, as if ensuring that you were alright. 

Though you couldn’t see Luke’s expression, you could see the way his shoulders flinched and his feet began to panickedly shuffle away.

Vaemond’s body fell to the ground, dark red blood dripping over the stones and meandering into the cracks and crevices. 

Satisfied, Daemon observed the blood begin to graze the bottom of his shoe. “He can keep his tongue,” he commented nonchalantly.

“DISARM HIM!” screamed Otto. Half a dozen guards drew out their swords, pointing it straight at Daemon.

“No need,” said the Prince, cleaning his sword with the bottom of his shirt, uncaring of Vaemond’s blood getting all over him. He sheathed the steel and backed away with a small, victorious grin.

It was then that Viserys collapsed back onto the throne, groaning in pain.

“Call the maesters!” Alicent yelled, rushing up the steps to her husband. “Please, my love, you must take something for the pain!”

“I will not cloud my mind…” said the King. “I must… put things right…”

The King commanded a supper—with all of his family to attend, as this was the first time they were all gathered in the Keep since nearly a decade ago. Seeing as you were now betrothed to his second son, you supposed you were officially considered part of the family now. Though, you had considered yourself one of Rhaenyra’s daughters ever since childhood. 

Your handmaidens had washed you in a tub full of flower petals, the warm water heaven to your tense muscles. They scrubbed you with soap that smelled of honey and milk, a sweet scent that pleasantly burrowed beneath your skin. 

Afterwards, they laid out a dress for you. It was a beautiful, dark green garment with golden linings, no doubt a gift from Queen Alicent. The dress fit you perfectly, falling over your form like a stream of water over a stony bank. The collar was modest enough, but dipped down just beneath your clavicle bone, where a necklace of gleaming silver pearls rested against your sternum. As you stared at your reflection in the mirror, you couldn’t help but notice that the dress looked nearly black in certain lighting.

It was strange to be so dressed up—you weren’t quite fond of skirts and dresses in the first place, finding it much easier and practical to don trousers for everyday use, uncaring of its impropriety. People of the court often joked that House Strong no longer had a Lady, as you were often seen doing traditionally male activities, such as sparring and educating yourself. You paid them no mind—fighting and reading made you no less of a Lady than all the other women in court. 

There was a knock to your door just as the handmaidens finished with pinning up your hair. They rushed to swing it open, Princess Helaena stepping in with a mild grin to her lips, though it was not enough to mask the sadness in her face.

“Helaena,” you said, surprised at her sudden visit, grasping her hands within yours. “It’s lovely to see you. It feels as if we’ve hardly spoken as of late.”

The memory of Vaemond’s blood and Helaena’s distraught flashed at the forefront of your mind. If only you had the chance to speak with her afterwards—but Alicent was adamant on sending her daughter straight to her chambers that instant.

“Are you… are you alright?” you gently asked, not wanting to pry. “After all that happened earlier today… I know how much you mislike blood.”

“I’ll be fine,” the Princess wispily replied, carefully sidestepping the subject that made her queasy. “I miss you. The children miss you.”

A lump formed in your throat. “Oh, how are the little terrors? I promise to take them out on a promenade soon.”

“They are well. Jaehaerys never ceases asking about you,” she replied, before allowing her gaze to roam over your attire. “You look wonderful, Y/N. It is surely a rare sight to see you so dressed up.”

A laugh bubbled in your throat. “Well, I’ve certainly never had to go to a supper as important as this one. I’ve hardly ever had a reason to dress up in such a way before. Thank you, though. You’re looking radiant as ever, as well.”

Helaena smiled at you, wide and genuine. It disappeared after a brief moment, and her plum-hued eyes seemed to mist over.

“A storm is on the horizon,” she murmured. “A dance of dragons. They will keep dancing, even once the music has stopped. They care naught for when their feet begin to bleed.”

The Princess’ strange words echoed in your head for the next few hours. What had she meant by that? Before you had the chance to ask her what she was talking about, Helaena had excused herself to go check on the kids before dinnertime, floating out of your room as if she hadn’t just spoken the most mystifying words to you.

Overwhelmed and desperate for fresh air, you made your way back out into the gardens. The sun was just barely beginning to set, spilling soft clementine and dark tangerine hues across the canvas of the sky. 

You stood in front of the water fountain, watching the clear water burble over the stone and fall into the pool below. 

It was not long until your betrothed came to join you, his hands neatly clasped behind his back. 

“Lady Strong,” he greeted with a dip of his head. “You are more beautiful than ever before, which says much as you were already beguiling enough to begin with.”

Firmly, you shook your head. You were still angry at him for humiliating you in front of Jace and Luke earlier that day. “Stop it, Aemond. Do not speak your sweet lies to me. I have no taste for your saccharine words.”

“Tis not a lie, Y/N,” he whispered your name, all soft and heavenly on his tongue. “You are beautiful.”

You blew out a frustrated breath. The two of you stood in a precarious silence for a moment longer.

The muttering of your question shattered the quiet between you. “Are you not upset, Aemond? About the betrothal?”

The Prince hummed, and took a few seconds to consider what you were asking. Finally, he replied, keeping his eye trained on the fountain. “I’m glad it’s you,” he simply said.

Your breath hitched within your throat.

Rotating on his heel, Aemond was now fully facing you, lifting his hands up. Cold fingers grazed over your jaw, before he cradled your face in its entirety, the pads of his thumbs smoothing over your flushed cheekbones. It was not unlike the first time he had kissed you—but there was something softer about this atmosphere.

Acceptance. Affection. Yearning.

His purple iris darkened, the orange light of the setting sun bathing him in a warm glow. Shadows arched over his face, only highlighting his most handsome, sharp features. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander to his lips, curled with fondness, lax with temptation.

Aemond could see the conflict dance about your visage. 

He dipped forward to press a kiss to your forehead, lips grazing against your hairline. 

“I shall see you at supper,” he whispered into your skin.

With that, he stepped back, dipping his head respectfully, and left you in the garden, completely alone with only your tumultuous thoughts to accompany you.

Candles were lit everywhere, the flames warbling in the air, melted wax dripping down the sides. The servants were still placing down dozens upon dozens of dishes—ranging from grilled cod, to seared mutton chops, to creamed potatoes, to various platters of fresh fruits and cheeses. Chalices of wine and honeyed cider were passed around, all full to the brim.

You were seated with Helaena to your right, and Aemond to your left, at the end of the table. From across the room, Rhaenyra had flickered her gaze from you to your betrothed. She had only received the news from her sons moments ago, and was still processing the shock of it all.

From the center of the expansive feast, Viserys began to speak. “How good it is… to see you all tonight… together.”

“Prayer before we begin?” asked Alicent, ever the religious figure.

Viserys agreed, nodding his head weakly.

“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 Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest.”

Daemon rolled his eyes in exasperation at the Queen’s last sentence. You clasped your hands together as she prayed, but kept your eyes open. Luke mirrored you, shooting you a look as if to say, “Do you do this every day?” 

With small movements you shook your head, and the younger boy could only suppress a smile in response. Aemond kept his head down and his eyes closed as he listened to his mother’s prayers. He’d always been the more devoted out of the two of you.

Once Alicent was done, Viserys said, “This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons… Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena. The daughter of my former Hand, Y/N Strong… will marry my second son, Aemond. These marriages will further strengthen the bond between our great houses. A toast to the young princes… and their betrothed.”

Chalices raised, everybody took a sip. You exchanged a look with Aemond, offering him a small smile as you drank from your cup. Tentative, you reached beneath the table to take his hand—a truce of sorts. It was your silent way of telling him that you were willing to move forth with the marriage—that you were glad it was him, as well. Aemond showed little reaction, other than a small twitch of the corner of his lips, nearly reminiscent to that of a grin. 

“Well done, Jace. You’ll finally get to lie with a woman,” said Aegon to the dark-haired prince, somehow already quite drunk. Jacaerys set his jaw but paid him no mind other than that.

Again, King Viserys spoke, “Let us toast as well Prince Lucerys. The future Lord of the Tides.”

Luke’s betrothed, Rhaena, clinked her cup against his. “You’ll be great,” she told him kindly, eyes gleaming with warmth.

Unrelenting, Aegon bent to the side to lean closer to Jacaerys. “You do know how the act is done, I assume? At least in principle? Where to put your cock and all that…”

With a sharp tongue, Baela whispered, “Let it be, cousin.”

Jace scowled. “You can play the jester if you wish, but hold your tongue before my betrothed.”

Aegon rolled his eyes, grabbing another cup of wine and knocking it back in no less than a few seconds. “Aemond is well versed in the art of bedding—are you not, brother?” Before giving him a chance to respond, Aegon continued on with his rambling. “I took him to the Streets of Silk when he came of age. Didn’t even see him come out! Must have been enjoying himself. At least Y/N will be in good hands… though I am always willing to show him the ropes lest he forgets how to man the ship.”

The eldest prince’s words made your skin flare with heat. Aemond’s grip grew tighter around his own cup, but he remained silent as ever. You were only grateful that the adults at the other side of the table were too busy chattering amongst themselves to hear the obscenities the children were speaking of.

With great difficulty, Viserys made to stand up. He nearly buckled under his own weight, but a gnarled hand shot out to rest against the table, steadying himself before he could fall forward into a bowl of soup. The mask that was tied to the rotten side of his face gleamed with the warped reflections of the candlelight.

“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 the years past.” With trembling fingers, the King began to untie his mask, revealing the decaying flesh in all its glory for everyone to see. His empty eye socket was sunken and dry. “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 amongst you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. 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.”

Tired, the King settled back down into his seat with the help of his wife. Alicent’s eyes were pained and misted over with unshed tears.

With pursed lips, Rhaenyra suddenly stood up, holding her chalice up high. “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.”

As if wounded, Alicent reared back slightly and blinked away her tears. She refused to meet Rhaenyra’s eyes. “Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers… and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow.” Surprising you, Alicent stood up, holding her goblet in her hand. “I raise my cup to you and to your house. You will make a fine Queen.”

The rest of you drank to the toasts, an amicable atmosphere settling over the family. 

Always one to ruin the mood, Aegon stood up, making his way over to Baela, pouring himself another glass of wine. He leaned down close to her, murmuring, “I, uhm… I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

At his limit, Jacaerys slammed his fists against the table, rising to his feet and glaring at Aegon. The white-haired Prince slunk back to his seat, a salacious grin toying at his mouth. Startled by the sudden noise, Alicent and Rhaenyra looked to Jace, who was now awkwardly standing up. 

It surprised you when Aemond let go of your hand to stand up himself, as if challenging Jace, his single eye blazing with an unreadable expression. Your gaze bounced back and forth between the two, unsure of what was going to transpire between them.

Jacaerys pursed his lips, patting Aegon on the shoulder, with a bit more force than necessary. “To Princes Aegon and Aemond, and the Lady Strong. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. To my uncles, as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles.” 

Aegon cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the formalities thrust upon him. “To you as well,” he begrudgingly grunted out once his mother shot him a warning glare.

Reluctant, Aemond sat back down, and reached underneath the table to take your hand once again. He sought your touch to console the bitter green wildfire that roared within his chest. 

“Beware the beast beneath the boards,” muttered Helaena as she fidgeted with a wooden carving of a cockroach. Suddenly, the Princess stood up, a dazed glimmer to her expression. “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.” With a sweet smile, she sank back down into her seat. The rest of the table glanced at each other awkwardly, whilst Aegon just pulled at his face in exasperation.

In an effort to save the atmosphere, you stood up with your chalice in hand. “There have been many toasts this evening,” you murmured, a bit intimidated. It suddenly occurred to you that this was the first time you had the King’s undivided attention. “But I’d like to direct one to Princesses Rhaenyra and Helaena. The former, I owe the deepest of my gratitudes for treating me with kindness throughout my childhood, and taking me in as if I were her own. The latter, sweet Helaena, for being my dearest friend for years, and hopefully for many more to come. As I am to be married to Aemond soon, I look forward to being both of your sister-by-laws.”

Rhaenyra smiled at you kindly, raising her glass to drink to your toast. Helaena did the same, beaming into the rim of her chalice. The Queen, however, was far more reluctant to touch her goblet at your toast—which had pointedly avoided any mention of her. 

“Good,” said the King, weakly nodding at you. “Let us have some music. Please, eat, everyone.”

A soft symphony of strings and bells and drums began chiming away, and you contentedly began digging into your food, nearly ravenous after all that waiting.

A few minutes into the feast, Jacaerys bent towards his betrothed, murmuring a polite, “Excuse me.”

He then made his way around Aegon, to Helaena, offering his hand for a dance. Surprised, the Princess took his arm and Jace led her away to the dance floor. You watched with a warm smile gracing your expression, happy that your friends from opposite sides seemed to be mending bridges together. 

The table began engaging in amicable chatter—Luke and Rhaena were excitedly speaking about dragons and their eating habits, Rhaenyra and her husband began quietly laughing at how he already managed to splatter crab sauce all over his tunic, and Alicent spoke with her father about the gradual changes in weather. 

“You and my brother will make a fine pair,” slurred Aegon, his eyes fixed on you as he lounged back on his chair. “He’s had his gaze set on you ever since childhood.”

“Is that so?” you responded, casting a fond gaze to Aemond, who only shook his head with amusement. “I can’t say I wasn’t the same. After all, how could I take my eyes off the handsome Prince who rode the largest dragon in the world?” 

A ghost of a smile graced Aemond’s face. He was never one to take compliments well—for they were sparsely ever given to him.

Aegon, always one to spoil the mood, quipped, “I heard rumors that red-headed Piper idiot stole your maidenhood.”

Aemond’s head snapped towards his brother. You gritted your teeth, narrowing your eyes at him. “Lord Harley Piper was a friend. There was no romance between us, sexual or otherwise,” you hissed, lowering your voice to a whisper.

“Really? And here I thought my brother was marrying a whore,” snorted Aegon. 

Before either you or Aemond could react, Helaena flounced back to the table with a joyful beam, taking your arm. “Come dance with us, Y/N!” she exclaimed, breathless and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Jace stood behind her, grin equally wide and hands clasped behind his back.

You shot a look at Aemond, as if telling him not to lash out at his brother during such an important supper, and stood up to join Helaena and Jace in their dance.

None of you were really that good—you hadn’t danced in years—but it was great fun, nonetheless. You twirled Helaena in your arms until she grew delightfully dizzy, and Jacaerys accidentally trod on your feet thrice, but you only laughed harder each time, cuffing his shoulder affectionately.

Amidst your dance, Alicent called for the guards to take the King away, for he was tired and aching. He departed the room with one last look to his family—all united, together as one. 

It was surely a beautiful, rare sight to behold.

One that was destined not to last.

The dance came to an abrupt halt when Aemond suddenly slammed his fists against the table, so hard that the platters of food clattered with the sudden force. The music suddenly stopped, and all the conversations ceased. You turned your head away from your dance partners to see what was going on.

Oh. 

In front of Aemond was a roasted pig, still sizzling with oil. And all the way across the table, Luke was not-so-discreetly hiding a laugh behind his palm.

Oh, no.

“Final tribute,” said your betrothed, lifting his glass. There was a dangerous fire to his eye. “To the health of my nephews. Jace… Luke… and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…”

No, Aemond, you silently begged. The Prince kept his gaze trained on Luke, refusing to meet your desperate stare.

“... Strong,” he finished, after an extensive pause.

“Aemond—” Alicent began.

“Come,” her son quickly said, cutting her off. “Let us drain our cups to these three Strong boys.”

From right next to you, Jace gnashed his teeth together. “I dare you to say that again.”

“Why?” asked Aemond, feigning innocence, pushing away from the table to step closer to Jace. “‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?”

A gasp lodged in your throat when Jacaerys dove forward, landing a punch right into Aemond’s face. 

“Jace!” yelled Rhaenyra.

It did little effect on the taller man, and Aemond’s head merely snapped to the side but his body remained rooted to the same position. A smug smile etched across his features. Simultaneously, Aegon rose to his feet and grabbed Luke by the scruff of his collar, shoving his face straight into a searing hot platter of fish. 

“A gift for the new Lord of the Tides!” Aegon cackled with glee, indulging in the chaos.

“THAT IS ENOUGH!” commanded Alicent to her sons, but neither of them listened to her.

Scrambling forward, you tried to stop Aemond from retaliating, but he shoved Jace so hard the younger boy went sprawling against the dance floor. Jace was quick to get back up on his feet, an angry growl erupting from his throat. Before he could reach Aemond, two guards sprung forward and held him back, another pulling Luke away from Aegon as well.

You found yourself torn between the two sides, resulting in an indecisive dance between Jace and Luke struggling against the guards, and your betrothed smiling into his cups.

Queen Alicent got to him before you could, grabbing her son’s arms roughly. “Why would you say such a thing before these people?” she hissed.

“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother. Mmh, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs. It wounds me so, seeing as my sweet betrothed is soon to be my family, as well,” said Aemond, ripping his hand away from Alicent. 

Breaking free of the guard’s hold, Jace made a charge at Aemond again.

“Wait,” Daemon ordered his stepson, striding in between the two boys before they could bash heads with one another once again. Jacaerys immediately halted in his motions, though not without great restraint. 

Stern, Rhaenyra turned to her sons. “Go to your quarters. All of you, go. Now.”

The two boys were reluctantly led away by the guards, shoulders drooping with both embarrassment and anger.

Daemon released a sigh, fixing his gaze upon Aemond. They stared at each other for a moment longer, before Aemond huffed out a small, discontented hum, and began walking away.

“I’m sorry, Rhaenyra,” you told the Princess, so very tired of the ceaseless fighting and the constant torn feeling within you. 

The stern expression she held softened when she looked at you. Her hand came away from her pregnant belly to rest gentle upon your cheek. “It is not your fault, sweet girl. Go on… get some rest. I shall have the servants send up food to your chambers since you didn’t get to finish your supper.”

With a grateful bow of your head, you took your leave, bidding Helaena and the Queen a quiet good night, before hastening out of the dining hall, and up the stairs to your chambers.

Your feet ached and your head pounded with stress. What a day it’s been.

Imagine your utter shock when you gently opened the doors to your bedroom, and slowly shut them behind you—only to turn and see your betrothed standing by your desk, scattered with quills and stained bottles of charcoal ink and stacks upon stacks of unopened letters you had yet to read or send off.

“Aemond,” you whispered, brows furrowing. “What are you doing here?” 

The Prince remained silent, watching you keenly as you strode forward, until you were nearly nose-to-nose with him.

“What is wrong with you?” you murmured. Just moments ago, you were ready to forgive him, move on with all your grievances and accept your betrothal with not another thought. And he went and ruined it—all because his hatred for Jace and Luke were greater than his affections for you. “Are Rhaenyra’s sons that much of a bane that you must go out of your way to insult them?”

“And why do you care so much for them? For two little boys that you knew a lifetime ago? It is I who stayed by your side your entire life. It is my sister Helaena who never strayed from you. They have done nothing but leave you in their dust, retreating to Dragonstone with their tails tucked between their legs at the first sign of danger,” murmured Aemond, hands coming forth to grip your forearms, drawing you nearer to him. 

“Because they are family,” you choked out. “And I love them. They are like brothers to me.”

A tantalizing hum fell from Aemond’s lips. He dipped forward, running the tip of his nose along the curve of your exposed neck, inhaling the addictive honey-lavender scent wafting from your skin. “Oh, but they are not your brothers, are they? Say it, my love. They are not only my nephews… they are yours, as well.”

“No…” you said, breathless when he began laying kisses along your heated skin. You couldn’t resist his deliberately light touches, melting against him for more. It was humiliating, how easily you caved for him. “What you are saying is treason, my Prince. Please, just think about what you—”

“There is no one else in the room but us,” he murmured, gently biting into the junction between your shoulder and neck. “Just us, jorrāelagon. You need not hide your true thoughts from me.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you shook your head. “I can’t. I just can’t. Aemond, please… put this to rest. They are Rhaenyra’s sons, without question. That is all that matters.” You lifted a hand to grip his chin, forcing him to look straight at you. “If you have but a shred of affection for me… you will stop this relentless fighting. Do it for me, Aemond. It pains me that the most important people in my life are constantly at odds with one another.”

A beat of silence stretched thin between you. He dipped his head once more.

“Yes, my love,” he whispered, leaning forward until his nose was slotted against yours. “For you.”

For that moment, you let yourself believe him. And you allowed yourself to love him, unconditionally and without restraint—for it was only you and him in your chambers, and no other was there to waver your opinion.

You released your hold on his chin to wind your arms around his neck instead, tugging him close and melding his lips over yours. A soft sigh fell from your lungs. He tasted of fresh fruit and earthy smoke, something you wished to drown yourself into. 

You began blindly walking in the general direction of your bed with Aemond’s guidance, falling against the feather-stuffed mattress once it hit the back of your knees. The entire time, you refused to separate from his kiss, willing to suffocate from lack of air if it meant you got to continue kissing him.

It briefly occurred to you how improper this was—you were not yet married to Aemond, after all. But you couldn’t find it within yourself to care, and neither did Aemond. He wanted you now—and judging by the look in your eye, he knew you craved him equally so.

He began reaching behind you, unlacing your dress and yanking the dark green fabric off your shoulders, shoving it down your chest and abdomen and hips, kicking the nuisance material away once it bunched to the bottom of your legs. As he began to expertly undo your shift beneath it, you hurriedly tugged his tunic off, a button ripping loose in your haste. Aemond could only smile at your desperation. You swallowed heavily upon seeing his toned chest, seasoned with training.

“It is a shame,” he gruffed once he finally got your thin shift off, admiring you in all of your nude glory, shamelessly allowing his eyes to roam over your breasts and arched back. “The dress looks so much prettier on your floor.”

You groaned at his words, yanking him back down to meet him for another kiss. It grew more frantic as more time lapsed—all tongue and teeth and bites and moans. A throbbing ache flowered between your legs—not a foreign sensation, but certainly the first time it was to be vanquished by something other than your own hand.

“Aemond, please,” you pleaded, unsure of what you were asking for. “I need you, please.”

“My sweet betrothed,” said the Prince, hands wandering up and down your sides, occasionally moving to squeeze your breasts and pinch your stiffened nipples, before moving further down, purposefully avoiding the sensitive parts between your thighs. “I’ll give you everything.”

With one final kiss to your lips, Aemond shifted himself further down your body, trailing his hot tongue along your skin in his wake. He met your gaze once he gently pried your legs open, his pretty hands gripping your thighs tightly. 

The sight he was met with made his cock twitch angrily within his briefs. Your cunt was drenched and glistening with your arousal—and it was all for him. A greedy sense of possessiveness consumed him whole. You were his, and his alone.

He blew a stream of cold air right against your clit, which made you suck in a sharp breath, unconsciously bucking your hips closer to his face in a desperate seek for relief.

A pleasured cry—verging on a sob—tumbled from your lungs when Aemond surged forward, lips wrapping around your sensitive button, his tongue curling in the most devilish of ways over the bundle of nerves. Wailing his name, you fisted the sheets beneath you, unsure of what to do with yourself. Aemond just about moaned into you, one hand letting go of your thigh to prod your slick hole, slowly pushing in two fingers.

“Oh, please—Aemond!” you groaned, simultaneously trying to pull away from his touch and pushing yourself closer to his face. 

“My good girl,” he praised, the vibrations of his words against your cunt making you keen with undulated pleasure, as he began pumping his fingers in and out of you. “You taste heavenly, jorrāelagon.”

A gasp hitched within your throat once Aemond yanked your hips closer, practically burying himself within your thighs. 

“Aemond, my darling,” you sobbed, one hand falling into his hair, tugging at the long, pale strands, and the other squeezing your breast. “I’m going to…”

“Cum for me,” your betrothed said, unrelenting as he circled his wicked tongue along your clit.

And who were you to disobey the Prince?

With a breathy shout, you were pushed over the edge, clenching viciously around his still-thrusting fingers. Your orgasm slammed into you like a tidal wave, leaving you winded with green stars dancing about your vision. 

“That’s it,” murmured Aemond, gently pulling away once you came down from your high, the lower half of his face gleaming with your arousal. He crawled back up your form, shirking his trousers off, leaving him just as nude as you, save for his leather eyepatch still fixed over his scar. His cock—long and hard and angrily weeping with pearly beads of precum, slapped against his lower abdomen.

You pulled him down again, kissing him with wild abandon, sighing when you realized that you were tasting yourself on his tongue.

He flinched away when your fingers brushed against his eyepatch. Despite this, you reached out once more to pull it off, your touch ever so gentle—and this time, he let you. You whispered that he was beautiful as your lips grazed against the marred skin of his cheek. Aemond didn’t believe you, but he let you say it nonetheless.

He was a monster—and no amount of sweet talk would be able to change his mind from such a cemented fact. Not even from you, whose opinion he valued the most in the world.

“I love you,” he whispered, nose brushing down your jaw, still appreciative of your efforts nonetheless. “You are my everything. My heart, my soul, my life. I only wish for nothing but your happiness.”

You wrapped your legs around him, his throbbing cock pressed right against your fluttering cunt, clenching around nothing in anticipation. Lowering your voice to a whisper, you gently bit at the outer shell of his ear. “And I love you, my darling Aemond. All I wish for right now… is your cock inside me.”

Your lewd words made his length throb impossibly harder. “Your wish is my command,” he softly replied.

And with that, he eased himself inside of you. Your warm, pulsating cunt was gripping him like a vice, a shuddering groan choked out from his lungs. You mirrored his reaction, squeezing your eyes shut and holding onto him for dear life as he began to rock into you. 

With each snap of his hips into yours, you found yourself murmuring his name like a mantra, pressing sloppy kisses to his bare shoulder. One particularly hard thrust had you scratching angry red lines down the expanse of his back. Aemond didn’t seem to mind—in fact, this only seemed to spur him on further, as he growled an obscenity, grabbing your ankle to throw over his shoulder and slamming his length back into you with no abandon.

Your eyes rolled in the back of your head once he snaked one of hands down to thumb at your clit, eliciting a lewd moan from your kiss-swollen lips.

“So good, Aemond,” you cried, cunt spasming around his cock once the beginnings of your second orgasm began creeping up on you. “Cum inside… oh—make me yours, darling, please!”

A near animalistic noise tore through Aemond’s chest and he began to pound his cock deeper into you, the thought of you growing round with his child filling his thoughts as he desperately sought his own release. You tightened around him one last time when your orgasm surged forth, so hard that it had Aemond’s quick rhythm faltering. With a broken groan and a mutter of your name, he spilled his seed into you, thick spurts of white coating your slick walls.

A content hum danced between you once you kissed him again, easing into a wince when he slowly pulled out of your overstimulated cunt. He drew back to watch his seed drip out of you, hot and thick and so very arousing, it nearly made his cock hard all over again.

“You did so well for me,” Aemond murmured into your sweaty skin, freckling kisses over the bridge of your nose and over your eyelids, hooded with exhaust. “Are you alright?”

“Quite,” you replied, smiling at him kindly. “I suppose Aegon was right. I certainly am in good hands.”

The Prince hung his head, shaking it fondly, mildly embarrassed by your praise. “Do not speak of my brother while we are in bed, dear betrothed. It is unseemly,” he said, though his words lacked any true bite.

“Forgive me, Aemond. I seem to forget my manners when I am with you,” you said, a laugh dancing alongside your words. “You make for a grand distraction.”

“Mmh, do I, now? I am glad to be of service.” Your betrothed gathered you in his arms, easing you down amongst your pillows and brushing away loose strands of hair that stuck to your damp skin. “Rest, my love.”

You let yourself acquiesce to his words, sinking into the comfort of your bed. 

“Stay,” you whispered sleepily, pressing a light kiss to the back of his palm. “Stay with me.”

And Aemond did so, with little protest. His eye was soft and his touch was loving as he laid down beside you, holding you close to his chest, nose buried within your hair.

You fell asleep hopeful that night. Hopeful that your soon-to-be husband loved you more than he hated your nephews. Hopeful that perhaps marrying Aemond was the best thing for you. Hopeful that things would be alright, eventually.

Hopeful that a war was not on the horizon.

There was a cold stillness to the air the next day. Jace and Luke left early in the morning back to Dragonstone before the sun had a chance to rise, with solemn goodbyes and grim faces. You knew not when you were going to see them again.

It weighed heavy on your shoulders as you sat beside Helaena, sharpening one of your daggers with a small whetstone. There was a certain uncomfortable feeling twisting about your stomach—but you couldn’t quite tell what was wrong.

You had tried distracting yourself by playing with the twins, gifting them new wooden dragons you had bought from a carver in town, but it was not enough to take your mind off of the unsettled feeling within you. When the twins hadn’t worked, you thought about Aemond, and the time you shared last night… along with the early morning following, with his touch sweltering and his voice gruff from slumber.

It still didn’t work. Perhaps you were just having an off day.

“It is our fate, I think, to crave always what is given to another,” said Helaena, working on her embroidery of a spindly black spider with a red abdomen, seeming impervious to your nervous state. “If one possesses a thing, the other will take it away.”

“Balancing the scales,” you murmured. The princess hummed in agreement. 

All of a sudden, Alicent burst into the room, strides quick and fists clenched into the fabric of her emerald-hued dress. Otto was hot on her heels, though his expression did not betray nearly as much as that of his daughter’s. 

“Where is Aegon?” she asked, eyes wild. 

The two of you exchanged worried, yet curious glances. Lifting her shoulders, Helaena stoically replied, “Not here.”

“He’s not in his room?” clarified Otto, as if angry at the two of you for not having kept an eye on the Prince.

You had to fight the scowl threatening to make an appearance across your face. Helaena dipped her head to avoid eye contact with her grandfather, but you held his gaze with a squared jaw. 

Gnashing his teeth together, Otto turned on his heel and marched right out of the room. 

“Father—” Alicent said, but he was already long gone.

The Queen glanced at the twins—Jaehaerys, babbling his father’s name and clapping his hands together, whilst Jaehaera only tightened her small grip around the wooden dragon you gave her. 

“What has happened?” whispered Helaena, addressing her mother directly, something she sparsely ever did.

A morose expression folded over her features. Alicent sat beside Helaena, a film of tears misting over her eyes.

“Your father…”

Helaena’s usually calm features twisted into one of anger. Viserys was hardly a father to her. “There is a beast beneath the boards,” she hissed, repeating her whispered words from yesterday’s dinner. 

Alicent’s conflicted eyes searched her daughter’s distraught form. “Oh, my dearest love…” She reached out to hold Helaena, but the Princess frantically flinched closer to you, smacking the Queen’s palms away.

“No, no,” she whispered, crossing her arms across her chest, as if to shield herself from her mother. 

Crestfallen, the Queen shifted her stare onto you, her fists clenching even harder around her dress. It did not escape your notice when her pupils darted down to glance at the freshly-sharpened dagger in your lap.

“What has happened to the King, Your Grace?” you asked, tone cautious and wary not to overstep any bounds.

Before she could reply, Aemond stepped from the shadows out of seemingly nowhere, a jaded, nearly haunted look of realization befalling his features.

The King was dead.

Aemond’s hand tightly clasped yours as you sat in front of the crackling fire pit. The dagger you had sharpened was clutched in your other palm, having not left your side for even a second. These were dangerous times—the scales had never been this lopsided before.

Alicent paced in front of the chairs a few feet away, murmuring incoherently under her breath at the puzzling disappearance of her eldest son.

Not too long after, Ser Criston Cole made his way into the chambers, shutting the door behind him. “Prince Aegon is not to be found within the castle walls, Your Grace. Your father has sent Ser Erryk into the city to find him.”

The Queen hung her head. “Ser Erryk knows Aegon… he has the advantage.”

Both your and Aemond’s heads turned at her words. There were treasonous schemes brewing within the Keep, that was made abundantly clear. If Alicent was not the one who sent Erryk after Aegon… it must’ve been Otto Hightower. Known to show little remorse, you could only guess that the Hand wanted his own grandson on the Iron Throne rather than Princess Rhaenyra. A sinking feeling twisted your guts upon realizing that he not only intended to usurp Rhaenyra with Aegon, but to be rid of her entirely, knowing full and well the Princess would never bend the knee to her younger brother. 

Criston glanced at you with an obvious disdainful suspicion painted crystal clear over his face. For once, however, you were on Alicent’s side on finding Aegon before Ser Erryk did. You would rather Aegon be crowned King than Rhaenyra be executed.

“I trust again to you, Ser Criston, and to your loyalty. Aegon must be found, and he must be brought to me. The very fate of the Seven Kingdoms depends on it.” She stepped closer to the knight, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Everything you feel for me… as your Queen.” 

The Dornish man bowed his head. “I will not fail you.”

Surprising you, Aemond declared, “We shall come with you.”

Head snapping towards the two of you, Alicent strode away from Criston to her son. Aemond’s hand fell away from yours to hold his mother’s forearms in a placating fashion. 

“That would not be my desire, Aemond. If anything has happened—”

“Cole needs us, Mother. Ser Erryk isn’t the only one who knows Aegon’s doings. Y/N has spent many a night prowling the streets outside the Keep. She knows much about the nooks and crannies Aegon might be hiding within.”

It was no secret that you often used to sneak out of the castle during your childhood, eager to see King’s Landing outside of the Red Keep. The habit continued on during your teenage years, where you would often explore trade markets and smithies. By now, you knew the town as if it were the back of your hand. 

Though reluctant, Criston bobbed his head in agreement. A quiet sigh slipped past Alicent’s lips, and she let go of her son. You brushed past her, following after your betrothed straight out the door.

You may have hated Aegon, but you’d do anything to keep him away from Otto and his treasonous hands. 

As Helaena had mystically informed you yesterday—a storm was on the horizon. A dance of dragons.

“Aegon brought me to the Street of Silk on my thirteenth name day,” said the Prince, dark grey cowl pulled over his long, silver hair. You and Criston both had matching cloaks draped over your shoulders. The cobbled steps of King’s Landing were uneven and often damp with an unknown substance. People milled about, chattering loudly and without care. None of them had a clue that war was upon them. “It was his duty as my brother, he said, to ensure I was as educated as he was. At least that’s what I understood him to mean.”

“How pleasant,” you replied, voice dripping with contempt for his older brother, and your soon to be brother-in-law.

“I don’t follow,” Criston said, brows furrowing.

The Prince leaned forward. “He said, time to get it wet.”

Criston recoiled ever so slightly in disgust. “Every woman is an image of the Mother, to be spoken of with reverence.”

You scoffed at that, rolling your eyes to the side. 

Humming, Aemond tilted his head. “He paid half a dozen whores and thrust them upon me, then left the room. Two of the girls there were younger than I, barely ten years of age and trembling like leaves… never before had I been more revolted by my brother. I crawled out of the window and ran back to the Keep.”

You glanced appreciatively to your betrothed, finding yourself once again glad that it was him you were to be married to. 

Leading the two men in front of a wooden door, you gestured for them to knock, stepping back to give them space. It was a pleasure house—one of the most popular in all of King’s Landing. Aemond’s single eye roamed the building, a spark of recognition dancing within the mauve of his iris. This was where Aegon had taken him all those years ago.

The door creaked open, revealing a woman draped in a sheer assortment of yellow silks and dozens upon dozens of golden jewelry littered across her skin. She narrowed her kohl-lined eyes at Ser Criston, glancing at you and Aemond right behind him.

“Sometime last night, we… misplaced our drinking companion,” said the knight. “Knowing that he has been, in the past, a patron of your fine establishment, we thought to inquire here as to his whereabouts.”

“Describe him,” replied the woman, bracelets clinking loudly against one another with every small movement. 

Cole shifted his weight from foot to foot, before quieting his voice to a mere whisper, nearly lost to the crowd. “That is… a delicate matter. You see, the man we seek is the young Prince Aegon. I may trust, I hope, in the discretion of your trade.”

The woman let out an amused chuckle. “The Prince is not here,” she told him. 

“Has he been here as of late?” you asked.

Curious, she laid her eyes upon you, roaming over your cloaked form. “Not as of late. Years ago, yes.”

“But more recently?” pressed Criston.

She shook her head. “He does not frequent the Street of Silk any longer. His tastes are known to be… less discriminating.”

“Meaning what?” Criston queried.

The woman smiled, wisely keeping her cards close to her chest. “I wish you luck, good Ser. And my best to your friend.” She swiveled her intense gaze to Aemond, who had bowed his head. “How you’ve grown,” she told him.

Aemond’s jaw clenched. With a hum, he took your hand, and began leading you away from the whorehouse, Criston in tow.

“It seems you were mistaken to Aegon’s habits,” said the knight. 

“He could be in the hands of mercenaries, on a ship to Yi Ti. He could be dead, for all we know,” Aemond replied, nonchalantly speaking of his brother’s death as if he were discussing tomorrow’s dinner. 

You allowed a hollow, humorless laugh to bubble within your throat. “It would be a cause for celebration, would it not?”

Criston sent you a sharp glare. “Let us hope, for your Queen mother’s sake, that is not the case.”

On you strode, twisting and turning through the narrow streets. The further into King’s Landing you walked, the dirtier the roads became, and the more poor, homeless folk were seen scrounging through trash for food and drinking out of barrels of muddy water. The air was humid and stank of rotten flesh. 

“Here I am, trawling the city, ever the good soldier in search of a wastrel who’s never taken half an interest in his birthright,” spat Aemond, growing frustrated at the fruitless search for his wretched brother. “‘Tis I, the younger brother who studies history and philosophy, it is I who trains with the sword, and I who rides the largest dragon in the world. It is I who should be…”

Aemond bit down on the inside of his cheek, effectively stopping himself from continuing his sentence. 

It upset you that he was behaving this way—just yesterday he had whispered his promise into your ear that he would halt his treacherous tongue. Had his words meant nothing to him? The death of his father had surely spun his mind into one of frantic chaos, despite his calm outer demeanor.

Pursing your lips, you could only gently reply, “There is no doubt that you are the better brother, Aemond. It does not deter the fact that we have to find him—lest your half-sister, Princess Rhaenyra, be murdered by his command under the influence of the Hand.” 

Your betrothed parted his lips, as if he wanted to say something, but wisely kept his thoughts to himself. 

“I know what it is to toil for what others are freely given,” Criston told Aemond, stepping closer to the younger man.

Aemond quietly grunted in frustration. “We can’t find him, Cole. You are a decent man with no taste for depravity. His secrets are his own, and he’s welcome to them. I’m next in line to the throne—should they come looking for me… I intend to be found.”

Your lips trembled as you staved away the burning within your nose, threatening tears pricking the corners of your eyes. It seemed that Aemond was truly far gone in his thirst for revenge, for power—you were a fool to believe his promise, even for a short second. 

It was growing more and more dangerous for you to stay in King’s Landing, surrounded by venomous Greens. You had to hold your Black-biased tongue, for it could now result in treason of the highest orders, and, consequently, your death. You were to pose as a Green now, for the sake of your own safety.

Helaena’s words from all those years ago rang in your head. “They are to trick the larger animals into thinking they are eyes. It is a defense tactic. The butterfly is not who the rest thinks she is.” Masters of trickery—beautiful and deceitful, both equally true.

The Prince could feel the slightest of regrets once you pulled away from him, surging several feet ahead with angry steps. Your loyalty to Rhaenyra and her sons knew no bounds, and Aemond was well aware that if it came down to it, you would've chosen them over him. He loved you, truly, more than anything in the world—but his deep-rooted hatred for the Blacks had festered strong for the majority of his life. That was something that not even you could remedy, no matter how much you tried.

It was by pure luck the three of you happened upon Sers Erryk and Arryk, along with Otto Hightower, speaking to the infamous White Worm by a spice market. You followed the twins in front of a great Sept—where Mysaria had hidden away Aegon for safekeeping. 

Not five minutes later, a familiar voice began shouting out obscenities and colorful curses to his captor, Ser Arryk. Criston brandished his sword, and you unsheathed your dagger beneath the protection of your cloak.

“I do regret this, friend,” said Cole, blocking their path. 

Seeing this as a chance to flee, Aegon kicked at Arryk’s foot and sprinted away, down the Sept’s wide stairwell. Criston engaged Arryk in combat while you and Aemond darted away to chase after Aegon.

Quick on your feet, you were the first to tackle Aegon to the ground, shoving the Prince’s face into the uneven stone of the ground. He choked out a yell, flailing about beneath you like a fish out of water. 

“No! Stop, you wretched woman! Stop!” he cried once you grabbed his arm to yank him up. Aemond came to the other side of his brother, helping you drag him up. The older Prince began to laugh maniacally when he punched you across the face, sending you reeling back with stars dancing about your vision.

A growl caught in Aemond’s throat and he grabbed at the lapels of his brother’s tunic, hauling him closer. “I was hoping you disappeared,” he said, voice dripping with venom.

Purple eyes gleaming, Aegon asked, “Is our father truly dead?”

“Yes,” replied Aemond, “and they’re going to make you King.”

A sick feeling twisted within your stomach. 

Equally angry at his brother’s words, Aegon spat a thick glob of saliva right into Aemond’s only eye, trying his best to escape the two of you, to no avail.

“Let me go!” he screamed when the both of you grabbed his arms. “Let me go! Brother! I have no wish to rule! No taste for duty—I’m not suited!”

Aemond barked out a dry laugh. “You’ll get no argument from me.”

With surprising strength, Aegon shoved you away, gripping his brother’s face in his filthy hands. “You let me go—and I will find a ship and sail away.”

His proposal was most certainly a tempting one—even Aemond had given pause to his words, freezing in place. If Aegon were to be presumed dead… he would be crowned King, and you would be his Queen.

“The Queen awaits,” said Criston, pulling Aegon away from Aemond, having bested Ser Arryk in combat. 

You let out a soft sigh of relief. At least, with Aegon by his mother’s side, there was no way he would order the execution of Rhaenyra. The battle has been won, but the war was still lost. 

Aegon was still to be crowned King.

Once you returned to the Keep, you had locked yourself in your chambers, refusing supper. You had little appetite, and hadn’t the heart to face any of the Greens. Aemond had stopped by to check on you, knocking on your door.

You opened it reluctantly, face streaked with reflective tear tracks and eyes red-rimmed. 

“Aemond, my love,” you whispered, allowing him to step into your chambers. “I fear I am no longer safe in King’s Landing.”

It broke your heart when your betrothed had no words of comfort to spare you—for you were right to worry. As a supporter of Rhaenyra, you weren’t safe here. 

The Prince remained silent, cupping your cheeks in his hands, and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

And though the two of you were enemies on rival sides of the war—you still loved him for the man underneath all that. And Aemond would never stop loving you, no matter how much he hated his nephews, and his half-sister.

For just a couple hours, the two of you allowed yourselves to be free of thought. No Blacks and Greens, no Princes and Ladies, no violence and hatred. 

Only you and him.

The butterfly and the dragon.

Aegon’s crowning was witnessed by thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of people. You were forced into a bright green dress by Alicent’s ladies-in-waiting, your hair done up and silver jewelry pinned around your neck, and to your ears. You stood beside Aemond, playing your role as the faithful wife-to-be. On your other side was Helaena, in a dress of sweet blue, and her watering eyes trained to the ground. In front of you was Alicent, in a dark dress of viridescent hue, a golden seven-pointed star resting on her chest, her face grim.

“People of King’s Landing!” announced Otto Hightower. “Today is the saddest of days. Our beloved King, Viserys the Peaceful… is dead.”

The crowd murmured in surprise upon the announcement.

“But it is also the most joyous of days! For as his spirit left us, he whispered his final wish: that his firstborn son, Aegon, should succeed him.”

Shock spread across the audience. After a few moments, they began to cheer and clap. Your insides roiled with disgust at their blatant disregard for Princess—now rightfully Queen Rhaenyra.

Not too long after, trumpets were sounding, and Aegon began walking down a pathway cleared for him by Goldcloaks. His silver-white hair shone, standing out starkly from the crowd. His expression was stony, and the corners of his eyes were red with unshed tears.

“It is your good fortune and privilege to be here to witness this! A new day for this city—a new day for our realm! A new King to lead us!” announced Otto.

Queen Alicent pressed a kiss to her eldest child’s head and led him forward to the Septon. Aegon knelt down before him. Helaena stared at her brother-husband, purple eyes misting over.

“May the Warrior give him courage. May the Smith lend strength to his sword and shield. May the Father defend him in his need. May the Crone lift her shining lamp and light his way to wisdom.” With each sentence, the Septon dipped his thumb in blessed water and dragged the finger across Aegon’s brow.

The crown was then given to Ser Criston Cole, to place upon Aegon’s head.

“The crown of the Conqueror, passed down through generations,” he proclaimed, resting the heavy silver ring against Aegon’s silver locks. “Let the Seven bear witness: Aegon Targaryen is the true heir to the Iron Throne.”

Aegon rose to his feet. Criston and Alicent bowed their heads before their new King. Helaena set her jaw, looking none too pleased that her monster of a husband was now the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, but bowed slightly nonetheless. You were next, dipping your head ever so slightly—a deceitful butterfly. 

“All hail his Grace, Aegon, Second of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!” said the Septon.

“Aegon the King!” bellowed Criston.

The crowd burst into raucous applause.

The newly crowned Targaryen let his eyes roam over the audience. They were all cheering… for him. All his life he’d been searching for praise, for validation, and now they were all giving to him on a silver platter. 

“Aegon the King!” they all screamed. “Long live Aegon!”

He unsheathed his Valyrian steel longsword, Blackfyre, and held it up with a victorious smile. The crowd cheered loudly with every thrust of his sword into the air, and he spread his arms out, feeling powerful for once in his life. A ghost of a smile crossed Alicent’s lips. Helaena shut her eyes tightly.

A beast beneath the boards.

The ground shook as the stone of the floor gave way. Plumes of dust and smoke filled the air. Screams of terror erupted from the throng of common folk and they scattered every which way.

The shrill roar of a dragon echoed loud and true. It was Meleys, the Red Queen of dragons, her scarlet scales rippling with each movement, having burst out from the Dragonpit below. Dozens of onlookers were trampled beneath her large copper-hued claws as she snarled out an ear-splitting screech. 

Out of pure instinct, Aemond had grabbed your arm, pushing you behind him protectively, placing himself in between you and the large dragon. You gripped his shoulder tightly.

Once the smoke and debris had vaguely settled, you could start to make out her rider—Rhaenys Targaryen. The Queen who never was.

Alicent grabbed her eldest son, standing in front of him, terror painted across her features. She shoved Criston towards Helaena, ordering him to protect her.

The large dragon growled as she prowled closer to the royal family—smoke falling from behind her bared teeth and golden eyes blazing. Rhaenys watched you from above, eyes narrowed. For a moment, she caught your stare, bowing her head ever so slightly in your direction. 

It was as if she were offering you a way out. She was well aware of your strong allegiance to Rhaenyra, and your fondness for her granddaughters’ betrotheds.

You glanced at Helaena, then to Aemond, and swallowed the lump in your throat. How could you find it in yourself to leave them both?

The Princess met your eyes, her purple ones softening ever so slightly. “Go,” she mouthed silently, nodding once. Tears blurred your gaze.

Ever so slow and trembling slightly, you stepped out from behind Aemond, much to the rest of the family’s shock. Aemond held onto your wrist, unwilling to let you go—how could he? How could he let go of you, the person he was meant to marry? The woman he loved with the entirety of his being? 

You turned to your betrothed just as a hot tear slipped down your cheek.

“Goodbye, my love,” you murmured, voice cracking with emotion as your free hand lifted to cradle his cheek. You surged forward to kiss him, one last time, uncaring of the onlookers. It was quick and chaste and you could only wish for it to last longer. Raw despair and anguish and muted fury flickered across his pale visage all at once. “Let me go, Aemond. I love you, darling, please, let me go.”

Not so long ago, you were begging him to stay. And now you were asking him to let you go.

You were the only thing he had left to himself—for everything else in his life was not truly his. The two of you belonged to each other, Aemond knew this to be true… and yet you were still leaving. He refused to cry, but could feel his throat burning with restraint. If he didn’t let you go, he feared the dragon would burn his entire family alive. His wretched brother, he would’ve been alright with, but his sweet sister and mother deserved a better fate. Aemond set his jaw, and loosened his grip on you.

You rotated away just as the second tear fell, and strode towards the terrifying creature that was Meleys. The rest of the Greens remained rooted in their spots, deathly afraid of the beast in front of them. She lowered herself for you to climb on behind Rhaenys—your green dress ripped loudly in your haste. The dragon’s scales were warm, nearly burning to the touch.

Alicent shut her eyes, accepting what she thought to be her fiery death.

No dracarys ever came.

Instead, the dragon only planted her feet and bellowed out another loud, ear-splitting shriek—a warning of sorts. 

With that, Rhaenys urged her dragon to turn and fly over the terrified citizens, away from King’s Landing. Cold wind blew against your face, drying your tears, and undid the intricate hairstyle your ladies-in-waiting had worked so hard on. The two of you were going to Dragonstone, where Rhaenys was to inform Princess Rhaenyra that her father passed away and her half-brother had just been crowned King. 

A clashing symphony of sorrow and relief buried deep within your chest.

You craned your head back as Meleys soared away, hoping to look upon Aemond and Helaena one last time—but they were too small to see, growing into blurred figures in the distance.

Lucerys could not take his eyes off of the map of Westeros, intricately carved into stone. His hand reached out to graze over that of Driftmark—which was to be his, when Lord Corlys Velaryon passed away. It felt as if there was a heavy stone sinking within his stomach.

“There you are,” said his mother, which made Luke’s gaze snap upwards.

Rhaenyra strode towards her son, both her hands rested on her pregnant belly.

“The Sea Snake is going to die, isn’t he?” asked Luke.

Shocked at his sudden words, Rhaenyra began to say, “Luke—”

“I can’t be Lord of the Tides! Grandsire was the greatest sailor who ever lived. I get greensick before the ship even leaves the harbor! I’ll just ruin everything, mother. I don’t want Driftmark. It should’ve passed on to Ser Vaemond,” the young boy said, brows furrowed.

Rhaenyra shook her head, long silver hair swaying over her shoulder. “We don’t choose our destiny, Luke. It chooses us.”

“Grandsire let you choose whether you’d be his heir. You told us so, Mother. Grant me the same mercy—I do not want Driftmark.”

Her features softened, understanding her son’s turmoil. 

“Do you want to know the truth of it?” she asked, voice quieter. “I was frightened. I was four-and-ten… same as you are now. I wasn’t ready to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms—but it was my duty nonetheless. And, in time, I came to understand I had to earn my inheritance.”

Luke swallowed the lump in his throat, casting his gaze to the side. “I’m not like you,” he murmured.

His mother tilted her head. “In what way, sweet boy?”

“I’m not so… perfect.” 

Rhaenyra could only smile at that, stepping closer to her second son and cupping his face, kissing the skin right beside his dark brown eyes. “I am anything but,” she whispered. “My father looked after me and helped to prepare me for my duties. Your mother will do the same for you.”

A small, accepting smile danced over Lucerys’ expression. He nodded, before noticing the guard approaching the two of them from behind.

“Good morrow, Princess,” said the guard, making his mother turn to face him. “Princess Rhaenys has just arrived on dragonback, with Lady Y/N Strong accompanying her. She urgently requests an audience with you and Prince Daemon.”

Shock flashed across Luke and Rhaenyra’s features. They hadn’t received any news of either of your plans to visit. Though he had just seen you a few days ago, Luke was excited to see you once again—you had never been to Dragonstone before.

“She urgently requests an audience with you and Prince Daemon,” the guard added. 

Luke’s shoulders slumped. It seemed he’d have to wait a bit longer before he could greet you.

Your legs were sore from the long ride, and wobbled as you began walking into the large castle, hot on Rhaenys’ heels. It was not long until the guards led you into a large, expansive room, where Rhaenyra and Daemon awaited the two of you.

“Princess Rhaenys. Might we hope for news of Lord Corlys’ recovery?” she acknowledged as soon as she spotted the older woman, with not a clue about her father’s passing. Her purple eyes lit up when she saw you, but her expression quickly melded into one of unfiltered concern. You were a mess—dress ripped, cheeks still-damp with tears, lips bleeding with how hard you’ve bitten them in the midst of your anxiety. “Y/N, sweet girl, what is the matter? Are you alright—?”

Princess Rhaenys’ sharp words cut Rhaenyra off, loud and echoing. “Viserys is dead.”

There was a long moment of silence.

Daemon turned upon the unexpected news, eyes wide.

“I grieve this loss with you, Rhaenyra. My cousin… your father, possessed a kind heart.”

Rhaenyra’s expression faltered.

“There is more,” continued Rhaenys. “Aegon has been crowned as his successor.”

A sudden jolt of pain struck within Rhaenyra’s belly. “They crowned him?” she murmured, eyes darting between you and Rhaenys in disbelief. The green dress you were wearing finally made sense.

“How did Viserys die?” asked Daemon, heartbroken over his lost brother.

“I could not say,” said Rhaenys. You remained silent, hands clenching and unclenching into fists.

Pain lacing her tone, Rhaenyra asked, “How long ago?”

“A day ago, perhaps two,” said the older woman. “I was made a prisoner in my quarters while the Queen made her preparations. Y/N tracked down Aegon in an effort to keep him away from Otto Hightower, so as to not order your execution.”

If it were under any other circumstance, Rhaenyra would have smiled at you gratefully. But she couldn’t, doubling over in agony as more rivulets of pain struck her stomach.

“Viserys has been slain,” said Daemon, anger rising within his voice. 

Affronted, Rhaenyra spat out, “Alicent demanded you declare for Aegon?”

“She did. I refused her,” replied Rhaenys.

“And yet you are still alive,” hissed Daemon, gaze suspicious and sharp.

Rhaenys cocked her head. “The High Septon crowned Aegon in the Dragonpit. I witnessed it myself just before I fled on Meleys.”

For the first time you arrived, you spoke, voice hoarse. “There were thousands of people there, all bearing witness to Aegon’s coronation.”

“They crowned him before the masses,” Rhaenyra said, horrified at the news.

Rhaenys nodded. “They will see him as their rightful king.” 

Accusingly, Daemon gritted out, “That whore of a Queen murdered my brother and stole his throne and you could have burned them all for it.”

Rhaenys stood her ground, remaining endlessly calm and patient. “A war is likely to be fought over this treachery—but that war is not mine to begin. I only rushed this warning to you out of loyalty to my husband and to my house. The Greens are coming for you, Rhaenyra. And for your children. You should leave Dragonstone at once.”

Tears glossed over Rhaenyra’s eyes. She glanced at you, practically her daughter in every way but blood and name—aware that your life was in danger now that you had run away from the Greens. 

Another wave of pain. She cried out, hands splaying out over the table in front of her. With frantic motions, Rhaenyra reached under her dress.

Her hand came out from beneath the fabric bloody.

“The babe is coming.”

Rhaenyra had stripped down to her shift, walking around her chambers with her hands on her hips and breathing irregularly. She was sweating profusely, skin a blistering shade of red and silver hair sticking to her sticky flesh.

The midwives were all murmuring to themselves, unsure of what to do and how to help her, especially when Rhaenyra kept waving them away, telling them, “Just fuck off!”

Even the maester appeared worried, murmuring low beneath his breath to the eldest midwife, “Her term is far from complete… this should not be happening.”

Rhaenyra had stormed up to them, growling out behind gritted teeth, “It is fucking happening!” 

“Keep your head about you, Princess,” the midwife crooned. “We’ve done this five times before—just keep your spirit and the sixth will be no different.”

“Get off, get off, get off me!” Rhaenyra hissed, yanking herself away from the fussing midwives. “Ow, ow, oh…”

Salt pricked the corners of her eyes when she turned her head in a frustrated manner, gaze landing on you. You were in the corner of the room, having been the one who ushered her here, hands shaking and cheeks damp with a constant stream of worried tears. Your mother had died giving birth to you—and you couldn’t imagine what it would be like if Rhaenyra died in front of your eyes, as well.

“Sweet girl, darling, fetch me some water, please,” she gasped, breathless, reaching out to you with a wince. 

With a frantic nod, you scrambled to the bedside table to pour Rhaenyra a cold cup, rushing to the woman who had taken to leaning against a stone pillar, chest heaving. A cry left her throat as she felt another wave of pain overtake her body.

She collapsed into you as she screamed through the pain, and you braced yourself with her weight, clutching her close to your chest.

“Drink, Princess,” you urged her, holding the rim of the cup to her chapped lips. Rhaenyra tipped her head back and swallowed a few mouthfuls to quench her dry throat, nearly choking as agony struck her belly once more.

Ten minutes later, Jacaerys and Lucerys were summoned, descending down the stairs to their mother’s chambers with confused and concerned expressions.

“Mother?” asked Jace, mouth parting upon seeing you by Rhaenyra’s side. 

“Fuck!” groaned Rhaenyra, huffing out a warbling breath. She turned to look at her two boys, both their brows furrowed and worry splayed plainly over both their faces. “Your grandsire, King Viserys, has passed.” 

Both the boys straightened at the news, their eyes widening with shock.

“The Greens have repudiated the succession and claimed the Iron Throne. Aegon has been crowned King,” Rhaenyra said, through bouts of intense pain.

Jacaerys’ jaw set. “What is to be done about it?”

“Nothing yet,” she replied. 

“Where is Daemon?” asked her eldest son.

“I don’t know. Gone to madness—gone to plot his war,” she bit out, lips trembling.

Furious that his stepfather wasn’t by his mother’s side, Jacaerys turned and began striding back up the stairs. “Leave Daemon with me,” he said.

“Jace!” called Rhaenyra. “Jacaerys!”

Jace halted in his strides.

“Whatever claim remains to me, you are now its heir. Naught is to be done but by my command. Do you understand?”

The young man dipped his head in a nod, and he disappeared out of the room.

Her purple eyes landed on Luke, appearing frightened beyond belief. 

“Are you going to be alright, mother?” he whispered.

“Yes, sweet boy,” she replied, the lie falling off her tongue easy. “Go. You mustn’t see this.”

Hesitating once more, Luke caught your eye, and you gestured for him to leave, a reassuring warmth to your gaze. The boy scampered away, leaving you to Rhaenyra once more. 

As soon as her boys left, she bent at the waist and began screaming again, nails digging into her thighs. You were the only one she allowed close to her, barking at the midwives to stay away anytime one of them tried to get near her. But there was little you could do, and so you just pressed a cold, soaked cloth to her head, wiping away her sweat and drew her hair away from her face. 

The seconds blurred into minutes.

Blood stained her shift.

The minutes blurred into hours.

 “Get out, get out!” she screamed at the babe within her, voice breaking, teeth clenched so hard it was a wonder they didn’t crack beneath the pressure.

The hours blurred into half a day.

Her agonized yells rang so loud it echoed across the entirety of Dragonstone. After a long while of strenuous pushing, blood pooled out from beneath her shift—and a minute later, a sick squelch befell the chambers as the stillborn baby came out of her. Its small, undeveloped body fell to the stone floors.

The babe was a girl.

And she was silent. Unmoving.

The midwives all turned away with tears in their eyes. 

With tired, shaking, bloodied hands, Rhaenyra fell to her knees and picked up her baby, wrapping her shift around its tiny form. Red soaked through the fabric, drenching her skin, her hair, her face.

You wanted to cry some more—but you forced the burning urge away, steeling yourself to stay strong for Rhaenyra. And so you sat beside her, with a hand resting upon her shoulder, face stoically set.

The two of you stayed that way for the rest of the day, long after the sun had set, with Rhaenyra rocking her dead daughter in her arms and her other daughter dutifully by her side, swallowing down her tears.

Sparse few attended the funeral.

Visenya, the babe’s name was. Rhaenyra had whispered it to you right before she had gotten up to wrap up her daughter in linens for the burning.

It was a dreary event, the sky covered with grey clouds and the oceans quietly lapping at the shores of Dragonstone. You stood beside Luke, his hand held tightly within yours. Rhaenyra did not cry, for she had done so for hours on end and had no tears left to spare.

A familiar figure passing through the thin crowd made your brows raise in surprise.

“I mean no harm, brothers,” Ser Erryk Cargyll said when two guards drew their swords upon him. The man took off his helmet, kneeling down before Rhaenyra and Daemon. He then pulled out a golden crown from his satchel, presenting it to the two. “I swear to ward the Queen with all my strength and give my blood for hers. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall guard her secrets, obey her commands, ride at her side, and defend her name and honor.”

It was, by no means, a lavish coronation. After all, it was unexpected and sudden, and took place during the funeral of her stillborn daughter.

But it was better than any amount of gold could ever buy for Aegon.

Daemon took the crown from Erryk and placed it upon Rhaenyra’s head. He was the first to kneel. “My Queen.”

The rest of her people followed suit, bending the knee towards the true Queen.

“Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,” announced Daemon, standing at the head of the stone-carved table of Westeros. “Your Grace.”

Rhaena Velaryon offered the Queen wine, and Rhaenyra graciously took the chalice, beckoning for her to come closer to the war table, along with her sister Baela.

You stood beside Jacaerys, staring at the glowing markers on the table, eyes fixed upon King’s Landing—where Helaena and her darling children were. Where Aemond was.

“What is our standing?” asked Rhaenyra.

Swiftly, Daemon replied, “We have thirty knights, a hundred crossbowmen, and three hundred men-at-arms. Dragonstone is relatively easy to defend, but as an instrument of conquest, our army leaves a lot to be desired. We have sent word to my loyal men in the City Watch—I’ll have some support there, but I cannot speak to the numbers.”

A maester chimed in, “We already have declarations from Celtigar and Staunton, along with Massey, Darklyn, and Bar Emmon.”

Rhaenyra nodded. “My lady mother was an Arryn. The Vale will not turn cloak against their own kin.”

“Riverrun was always a close friend to your father, Your Grace,” said the maester. “With Prince Daemon’s acquiescence, I’ve already sent ravens to Lord Grover.”

“Lord Grover is fickle and easily swayed,” Rhaenyra said. “He will need to be convinced of the strength of our position, and that we will support him, should it come to war.”

Seeing as Grover was the head of the overlord house of Harrenhal, you knew much about the man, and were also aware that he was not one to put trust in. Feeling the need to speak up, you cleared your throat. “If I may, Your Grace—Lord Grover is old and sickly. He is bedridden, and far too aged to act with haste. It would do us well to address his grandson and heir, Elmo Tully, instead. Ser Elmo is sensible and loyal to a fault. He would surely support your cause.”

A ghost of a proud smile traced Rhaenyra’s expression. “That would be wise, Lady Strong. Maester, see to it that you do as she says.”

“What of Storm’s End and Winterfell?” asked Ser Erryk.

“There has never lived a Stark who forgot an oath,” said the maester. “With House Stark, the entirety of the North will follow.”

Rhaenyra toyed with the ring about her finger. “We cannot speak to Storm’s End with surety—Lord Borros Baratheon will have to be reminded of his father’s promises first.”

Finally, the Queen turned to face Rhaenys. “What news from Driftmark?”

“Lord Corlys sails for Dragonstone,” said Rhaenys.

Still ever so suspicious of her, Daemon narrowed his eyes. “To declare for his Queen?”

Rhaenys did not wither beneath his glare. “The Velaryon fleet is in my husband’s yoke. He decides where they sail.”

“We shall pray for both you and your husband’s support, then,” said Rhaenyra, “just as we prayed nightly for the Sea Snake’s return to good health. There’s no port on the Narrow Sea that would dare to make an enemy of the Velaryon fleet. What of our enemies?”

Fingers flexing against the hilt of his sword, Daemon replied with a venomous tongue, “We have no friends amongst the Lannisters. Tyland has served Otto Hightower too long to turn against him… and he needs the Lannister fleet.”

“Without the Lannisters, we are not likely to find any allies west of the Golden Tooth,” said Rhaenyra.

Daemon huffed out a breath. “The Riverlands are essential, Your Grace.”

One of the lords began speaking from the other end of the table. “Pray forgive my bluntness, Your Grace, but talk of men is moot. Your cause owns a power that has not been seen in this world since the days of Old Valyria. Dragons.”

Rhaenyra’s mouth slackened. “The Greens have dragons as well—”

“They have three adults, by my count. We have Syrax, Caraxes, and Meleys. Your sons have Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes. Baela has Moondancer,” said Daemon, counting off on his fingers.

“Daemon, none of our dragons have been to war,” replied Rhaenyra, tone sharpening. 

Unrelenting, Daemon pressed on, “There are also unclaimed dragons. Seasmoke still resides on Driftmark. Vermithor and Silverwing dwell on the Dragonmont, still riderless. Then there are the three wild dragons, all of whom nest here.”

“And who is to ride them?” asked Rhaenyra, baffled. 

“It does not matter. A dragon needs no rider to be an asset. We have thirteen to their four. I have another score of eggs incubating in the Dragonmont. Now, we need a place to gather—a toehold large enough to house a sizable host.” Daemon stepped around the table to place a marker on the map. “Here, at Harrenhal. And Lady Strong is our key to that—she is its rightful heir, after her older brother Larys Strong—and he is not a favorable man. The people there are more likely to bend the knee if they know we have their Lady’s support. We’d cut off the west, surround King’s Landing with the dragons, and we could have every Green head mounted on spikes before the fucking moon turns.”

Surprise filled your expression at the mention of your hometown. Though you’d never been to Harrenhal, you knew Harwin and your father were well-liked. Perhaps they could be swayed in your favor instead of slimy old Larys, as well.

Before anyone could respond to Daemon’s hot tongue, a guard ran up to Rhaenyra. “Your Grace, a ship has been sighted offshore. A lone galleon, flying a banner of a three-headed green dragon.”

Your heart leapt to your throat. Could it possibly be Aemond?

“Alert the watchtowers. Sight the skies,” said Daemon, already making his way out of the room. 

Fully expecting to be sent to your private quarters, you were shocked when Rhaenyra laid a hand on your forearm. “Y/N, my sweet girl, you are of great value in this war. You are quick-witted in the political tongues of battle and a good fighter. You shall come with me.”

You blinked in surprise, before bowing your head. “Yes, My Queen.”

Otto Hightower was most certainly not a sight for sore eyes. His face was set in stone, powerful and commanding and pretentious all at once. This was the most power he’s held in his entire life, and he was relishing in it.

“I come at the behest of the Dowager Queen Alicent, mother of King Aegon, Second of his Name, Lord and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms,” he uttered, somehow managing to look down upon Daemon despite him being taller than Otto. “Where is the Princess?”

From the skies, Syrax’s roar rumbled the very clouds with its piercing volume. She descended upon the bridge you were standing on, yellow scales rippling as she lowered herself for Rhaenyra to climb down.

The knights Otto had come with cowered at the sight of the golden beast.

“Princess Rhaenyra,” Otto greeted, not even bothering to bow in the slightest.

“I’m Queen Rhaenyra now,” she coldly replied. “And you all are traitors to the realm.”

The older man narrowed his eyes. “King Aegon Targaryen, Second of his Name… in his wisdom and desire for peace, is offering terms.” After a beat of silence, Otto took it as his cue to continue talking, despite Daemon’s restless fiddling with his sword. “Acknowledge Aegon as King and swear obeisance before the Iron Throne. Return Lady Y/N Strong to her husband-to-be, the King’s younger brother, Aemond. In exchange, His Grace will confirm your possession of Dragonstone. It will pass to your trueborn son, Jacaerys, upon your death. Lucerys will be reaffirmed as the legitimate heir to Driftmark, and all the lands and holdings of House Velaryon. Your sons by Prince Daemon will also be given places of high honor at court—Aegon the Younger as the King’s squire, and Viserys as his cupbearer. Y/N will be treated well and married to Prince Aemond, after which she can choose to live with you on Dragonstone if she so pleases, until it is time for her to collect her inheritance of Harrenhal with Aemond. Finally, the King, in his good grace, will pardon any knight or lord who conspired against his ascent.”

Otto Hightower was a clever man, with a sharp tongue of persuasive influence. 

But Daemon saw right through him, scowling deeply. “I would rather feed my sons to the dragons than have them carry shields and cups for your drunken, usurper cunt of a King.”

“Aegon Targaryen sits the Iron Throne,” Otto reaffirmed. “He wears the Conqueror's crown, wields the Conqueror's sword, and has the Conqueror's name. He was anointed by a septon of the Faith before the eyes of thousands. Every symbol of legitimacy belongs to him. And then there is Stark, Tully, Baratheon—houses that have also received and are at present, considering generous terms from their King.”

Rhaenyra clasped her hands together. “Stark, Tully, and Baratheon all swore to me, when King Viserys named me his heir. Has that perhaps slipped from your mind, Lord Hightower?”

“Stale oaths will not put you on the Iron Throne, Princess,” reminded Otto. “The succession changed the day your father sired a son. I only regret that you and he were the last to see the truth of it.”

With deliberate steps forward, Rhaenyra marched towards Otto, grabbing the Hand of the King’s pin on the front of his coat, tossing it somewhere over the stone bridge. “You are no more Hand than Aegon is King. Fucking traitor.”

Otto seemed unmoved by this.

“Grand maester,” he said, holding out an awaiting hand.

“What the fuck is this?” Daemon muttered under his breath from beside you, fingers clenching and unclenching around the hilt of his sword.

The maester gave Otto a worn piece of paper—one that Rhaenyra seemed to recognize from her childhood growing up with Alicent.

“Queen Alicent has not forgotten the love you once had for each other,” he said. “No blood need be spilled, so the realm can carry on in peace. Queen Alicent eagerly awaits your answer.”

“She can have her answer now, stuffed in her father’s mouth, along with his withered cock!” spat Daemon. “Let’s end this mummer’s farce.”

With that, he drew his shield, prompting every knight present to also pull out their swords. You wrapped your hand around the hilt of your dagger, hidden within your cloak, but you made no move to unsheath it just yet.

“Ser Erryk, bring me Lord Hightower so I may take the pleasure myself,”  growled the white-haired Prince, ever the impulsive hothead. 

A tear slipped down Rhaenyra’s cheek as she stared down at the page. From behind Otto, Syrax gave an outraged growl upon seeing her rider upset.

“No,” Rhaenyra said, glancing back at her husband with a warning stare. Daemon put his sword down and hung his head with a sigh, deeply frustrated he was denied the pleasure of cutting off Otto’s head. “King’s Landing will have my answer on the morrow.” 

With that, Rhaenyra turned to leave. Daemon followed close behind.

“Lord Hightower,” you said, drawing his attention to you. “Tell Prince Aemond he is on the wrong end of the scales. Tell him I will be forced to balance them, whether or not he is on my side. He will understand what this means.”

With not another word further, you turned on your heel, striding away from the former Hand, hurrying to catch up to Rhaenyra.

The next morning was much busier than last night. More lords had keener insight to offer, and plans were starting to roll into place. 

“The Lord of the Tides,” announced Erryk Cargyll, “and his wife, the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.”

You paused in your conversation with Jacaerys to watch the Velaryons descend the staircase. Baela came to Jacaerys’ side, the two of them nodding at each other stoutly. Rhaena strode over to Luke, a bright smile to her face, which was equally mirrored by the young boy.

Corlys’ cane echoed loudly as it stamped against the floor. There was a slight limp to his step, but there seemed to be nothing else dire in terms of his condition. 

“Lord Corlys,” greeted Rhaenyra. “It brings much relief to see you hale and healthy again.”

The Sea Snake leveled her with a calculating gaze. “I’m very sorry about your father, Princess. He was a good man.” He hobbled closer to the stone-carved map. “Your declared allies?” he asked, glancing at the markers strewn across the table.

“Yes,” Rhaenyra said.

“Too few to win a war for the throne,” surmised Corlys.

Rhaenyra hesitated, before saying, “Well, we would also hope to have the support of Houses Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark.”

“Hope is the fools’ ally,” the Sea Snake said.

The Queen drew herself to her full height. “Both Arryn and Baratheon share blood with my house. But all of them swore oaths to me.”

Corlys cocked his head. “As did House Hightower, if I can recall correctly.”

Tone sharp, Rhaenyra responded, “As did you, Lord Corlys.”

The Lord of the Tides found himself at an impasse for a reply. He glanced back at his grandchildren—Jace and Baela, along with Luke and Rhaena. 

“Your father’s realm was one of justice and honor,” said Corlys. “Our houses are bound by common blood and common cause. This Hightower treason cannot stand. You have the full support of our fleet and house, Your Grace.” He bowed his head low to his Queen.

Gratitude shone through Rhaenyra’s expression. “You honor me, Lord Corlys. Princess Rhaenys. But, as I said to my bannermen, I made a promise to my father to hold the realm strong and united. If war’s first stroke is to fall, it shall not be by my hand.”

Surprised, Corlys’ brows shot up. “You do not mean to act?”

“Taking caution does not mean standing fast,” said Rhaenyra. “I wish to know who my allies are before I send them to war.”

Allowing yourself to play the fool for once, hope clutched at your ribcage. Rhaenyra would make for a good Queen.

“The consequence of my near-demise in the Stepstones is that we now control them. I took care to fully garrison the territory, this time. A total blockade of the shipping lanes will be in place in days, if not already,” Corlys told Rhaenyra with a firm nod. “The triarchy has been routed. The Narrow Sea is ours. If we further seal the gullet, we can cut off all seaborne travel and trade to King’s Landing.”

Stepping forward, Rhaenys offered, “I shall take Meleys and patrol the Gullet myself.”

You studied the positions of the Blacks on the map before voicing your input, “With the Narrow Sea obstructed by the Velaryon fleet, King’s Landing can be easily surrounded, and a bloodless siege could be levied onto the Red Keep. It is a strong castle, but more than vulnerable, given the right number of knights and extensive knowledge of the inside. I know the castle like it’s the back of my hand—along with the secret tunnels to smuggle people in and out unseen. Once the Keep is impregnated, the Greens’ would be forced to surrender.”

Rhaenyra smiled at you, perhaps the first time she’s genuinely smiled since the death of her daughter. “If we are to have enough swords to surround King’s Landing, we must first secure the support of Winterfell, the Eyrie, and Storm’s End.”

The maester bowed his head. “I’ll prepare the ravens, Your Grace.”

From beside you, Jacaerys spoke, “We should bear those messages. Dragons can fly faster than ravens—and they’re more convincing. Send us.”

Corlys regarded his grandson with an impressed look. “The Prince is right, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra nodded her head once after a moment of thought. “Very well. Prince Jacaerys will fly north—first to the Eyrie to see my mother’s cousin, Lady Jeyne Arryn, and then to Winterfell to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. Prince Lucerys will fly south to Storm’s End to treat with Lord Borros Baratheon. Lady Y/N will go with you, Luke. She is quick-of-tongue, has been trained in the art of combat, can bargain against Lord Borros’ temper if need be, and is around the same age as his four daughters. Hopefully that will make for some common interest.”

Surprise rippled around the room, but you determinedly bobbed your head once.

“I’ll do my best, Your Grace,” you said, earning you a warm dip of her head.

“We must remind these lords of the oaths they swore,” Rhaenyra proclaimed. “And… the cost of breaking them.”

The waters lapped voraciously against the tall, stony cliffs, the sea’s waves crashing loudly against them. You turned your gaze up to the sky, watching the dark, heavy clouds slowly shift with the whistling winds. 

There was a storm on the horizon.

And it’d be your second time mounting a dragon.

“It’s been said that as Targaryens, we are closer to gods than to men,” Rhaenyra said to her sons. “And the Iron Throne puts us a touch closer, perhaps. But, if we are to serve the Seven Kingdoms… we must answer to their gods. If you take this errand, you go as messengers—not as warriors.”

Luke sent a worried gaze to his brother and then to you. He was frightened and terribly nervous, of course he was—this was the first time he’s been sent off for something this high of importance—but he was immensely relieved that you were to go with him. He knew you were a formidable fighter, even if they were avoiding violence, it was comforting to know that he wasn’t going to be alone.

“You must take no part in any fighting,” Rhaenyra told them, expression solemn. “Swear it to me now, under the eyes of the Seven.”

“I swear it,” said Luke without hesitation.

Jacaerys took a moment longer to follow after his brother. “I swear it,” he parroted.

“You as well, sweet girl,” Rhaenyra said, turning her dark purple gaze to you. “I need this ordeal to be bloodless.”

“I swear it, Your Grace,” you whispered, bowing your head. “I’m honored you trust me with such a task.”

A smile traced Rhaenyra’s lips. The rolled up pieces of parchment in her hands shifted as she held one out to Jace. “Cregan Stark is closer to your age than is mine. I would hope that as young men, the two of you can take a mutual liking to one another.”

Jacaerys nodded determinedly. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra regarded her eldest son fondly, before turning to the younger boy. She noted the unadulterated worry in his eyes.

“Storm’s End is a short flight from here. You have Baratheon blood from your grandmother, Rhaenys. And… Lord Borros is an eternally proud man. He will be honored to host a prince of the realm—and his dragon. I expect the both of you will receive a very warm welcome.” The Queen smoothed down his cloak, and brushed his curls away from his face. 

“Yes, Mother. I mean, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra shook her head, an affection glint to her eyes. Her sweet boy… grown far too quickly.

Finally, she turned to you, handing you the parchment. “Lord Borros is a temperamental man, but you are smart—smarter than most your age—I have faith you will easily persuade him for support. Let us hope he will see his daughters within you… you and his eldest, Cassandra, are of the same age.”

“I will not fail you, Your Grace,” you said.

Rhaenyra cupped your face, dipping forward to slant a chaste kiss upon your temples. “I will see you soon, daughter. Get to it, then.”

A warm smile brushed across your features. You pulled away, bidding Jacaerys a warm goodbye, before walking away with Luke.

“Are you ready?” he asked you.

“No. Are you?”

“No.”

The two of you grinned at each other, nervous.

You placed a comforting hand on his shoulder before he could mount his pearlescent dragon, Arrax. “Luke… everything’s going to be okay. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The younger boy rolled his eyes. “I should be the one saying that to you—I’m the one with a dragon.”

With that, he mounted the small beast, commanding Arrax to bend down so you could climb on, as well. The dragon seemed to purr contentedly when you stroked his pale scales.

And to the dark skies the both of you took, the howling warnings of the wind falling upon deaf ears.

Storm’s End was cold and dreary and grey all over. Pinpricks of frigid rain stung your skin.

The flight was short but uncomfortable, as the winds made for a difficult journey and the saddle was really only made for one person, since Arrax was still a young dragon. Nonetheless, Luke helped you down, and the two of you made for the castle. 

A shrill roar in the distance made the two of you flinch, looking west to see Vhagar in the distance, shrouded with cold fog and smoke, more than five times the size of Arrax. The two of you exchanged worried glances.

Aemond was here.

Fear clutched at your chest.

Determined, Luke stepped forward to the guards manning the castle doors.

“I am Prince Lucerys Velaryon. I bring a message to Lord Borros from the Queen.”

The guards nodded, turning to lead him through the massive stone archway.

Thunder rumbled angrily through the sky, rivulets of white lightning carving pathways between clouds.

Somehow colder inside than out, you drew your blue cloak closer to you, sticking close behind Luke.

The guards brought the two of you into the castle’s great hall, where Lord Borros was seated upon a stone throne. He was a burly man, with a mane of black curls and a thick beard shadowing his jaw. To his left were his four daughters, each tall and dark-haired and fair of skin.

To his right was your betrothed.

He was calm as ever, hands clasped behind his back, foot tapping rhythmically against the ground. His purple eye was fixed on you, expression unreadable. You could feel your heart stutter within your chest—despite everything, you missed him terribly.

“Prince Lucerys Velaryon, son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen,” announced the guard. “Lady Y/N, of House Strong.”

Luke shifted uncomfortably at the sight of his uncle.

“Lord Borros,” he started, voice trembling. “I brought you a message from my mother, the Queen.”

The Baratheon lord showed little interest in the young princeling. “Yet earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King. Which is it? King or Queen? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it.” He began laughing to himself, loud and hollow, bouncing off the cold stone walls of the castle. “What’s your mother’s message?”

With your head held up high, you stepped forward to hand the Lord the bound scroll. He eyed you with disdain, a sigh falling from his lips.

“Where’s the bloody maester?!” he yelled, his patience growing thin. Borros was not a man of words, and could not read for himself.

Aemond’s stare pierced into Luke, nearly scalding. Subconsciously, Luke rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

The maester stepped forward to read for him, before bending down to whisper the message into Borros’ ear.

Fury painted itself golden across his grizzled features.

“Remind me of my father’s oath?” he echoed, voice booming with anger. “King Aegon at least came with an offer! My swords and banners in exchange for a marriage pact!”

Your eyes widened, and you chanced a glance to Aemond. Had he offered his hand to one of the Baratheon girls? Had he already cast you to the side as if you were nothing?

“Aegon’s youngest brother, Daeron, is to wed one of my daughters. Prince Aemond was just negotiating dates and dowries,” said Borros in a boastful manner.

A strange sense of relief befell you, one that you didn’t quite understand.

“If I do as your mother bids… which one of my daughters will you wed, boy?”

Voice quaking, Luke shook his head. “My lord… I am not free to marry. I’m already betrothed.”

“So you come with empty hands,” said Borros, an incredulous scoff following his words.

A slight smile crossed Aemond’s features. You gritted your teeth.

“My Lord, if I may,” you began, holding the Baratheon’s graze strongly. “It matters not what we offer. This is a warning to you, from the Queen. The might of the Velaryon fleet has already sworn fealty to Queen Rhaenyra’s cause. Winterfell has never forgotten their oaths and will support Her claim, along with the entirety of the North. The Tullys and the Arryns and dozens more great houses are also to be loyal to the Queen’s cause. Will you be willing to risk your own noble house against the strength of the Blacks if war is to come?”

Borros Baratheon was stunned into silence. He wasn’t a man easily swayed, stubborn to a fault—but your words had struck a chord within him. The threat of the entirety of the North was not one he could hold defense against, not to mention the Velaryon fleet, the Vale, and the Riverlands.

A grumble resounded in his chest. Borros was not one to back down. “Rhaenyra has taken House Baratheon for granted far too long. A son—a male heir—is of higher order than a daughter. Aegon is the true King.”

You pressed forth, “Lord Borros, I beg you to think about the future of your house—”

“NOT ANOTHER WORD FROM YOU!” he shouted, effectively cutting you off, thick brows drawing together. You fell silent, angrily biting down on your tongue. The burly man drew out a heavy sigh, addressing Prince Lucerys once more. “Go home, pup. Tell your bitch of a mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not a dog she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.”

The both of you stiffened at his blatant disrespect.

“I shall take your answer to the Queen, my lord,” said Luke.

The two of you turned to take your leave of the blasted place. 

“Wait.”

You froze in place, turning only your head to see Aemond staring straight at his nephew.

“Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm with my dear betrothed… trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?” he said, words as sharp as knives. 

Luke straightened himself, remembering what he swore to his mother. “I will not fight you,” he told his uncle. “I came as a messenger, not a warrior.”

“A fight would be little challenge,” said the one-eyed prince. You protectively moved to stand in front of Luke. Aemond hummed at this, regarding you with a heated stare. He reached behind his head to pull off his leather eyepatch—where a gleaming sapphire was placed within the scarred socket. Memories of when he had bared himself to you fully and wholly that one fateful night flashed across the forefront of your mind. You yearned for that time back. “No… I want you to put out your eye. As payment for mine. Just one will serve. I would not blind you. Hm… I plan to make a gift of it to my mother.”

With that, he reached down into his coat, brandishing a curved dagger. He tossed it down to the ground in between you, the blade glowing with the light of the torches lining the walls.

Revenge was consuming him. He was angry—infuriated that the Blacks had stolen his wife-to-be, and now they were parading about the realm, falsely claiming Rhaenyra to be the rightful Queen.

“Aemond, stop this madness,” you hissed, stepping closer to him, your hand resting over your own dagger hidden within your cloak. “He will do no such thing.”

“Mmh, then he is craven as well as a traitor,” said Aemond.

“Not here!” bellowed Borros.

The prince paid him no mind, surging forward with quick steps. “Give me your eye, or I will take it, bastard!” 

You met him halfway, just as he scooped up the dagger he had tossed. One of your hands found his chest and you shoved him back, the other coming forth to slant your dagger right against Aemond’s stomach. The prince met your eyes briefly, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn you saw regret dancing amongst the mauve of his iris. But it was gone just as quickly as it came.

“Touch my nephew and I will cut you open from head to toe,” you threatened in a hushed whisper, lips grazing his ear.

Aemond found himself chuckling lowly at your slip up. “So you finally admit it, my love. He is a Strong, just as you are, hm? Look at this sad creature, my sweet betrothed… little Luke Strong, the bastard. He is drenched. Is it raining outside or has he pissed himself in fear?”

With a growl, you shoved at him again, which only barely made him take a step back.

Luke had drawn his sword, hands trembling around the hilt.

“NOT IN MY HALL!” yelled Borros. “The boy came as an envoy. I’ll not have bloodshed beneath my roof! Escort Prince Lucerys and Lady Y/N back to his dragon. Now.”

Luke sheathed his sword, and Aemond twirled the dagger in his grasp, before doing the same. You were the last to put your weapon away, glaring at your betrothed with the might of a thousand suns.

“For what it’s worth, Aemond,” you told him as a lump formed in your throat, “I’ve missed you. Or, at least—I miss the man you used to be.”

You did not wait to see his reaction. 

Instead, you turned to tell Lucerys, “Go, Luke. I will stay and try to barter with Lord Borros. With time, I think I can convince him.”

The princeling shook his head, wet curls flying. “No, Y/N, you must come home with me. We can tell mother together!”

You brushed his damp hair away from his face. “I can do this, Luke. Go. I will see you at Dragonstone—I shall take a ship back.”

Reluctant, Luke nodded once, before rotating on his heel and heading out the door. 

When you looked back, Aemond was already gone. Unease settled within your chest.

The storm seemed to have worsened—the rains were far heavier and the gusts of wind were stronger. You made your way out of the castle to watch Luke go on his young dragon.

Vhagar was nowhere to be seen.

Your eyes widened. Aemond must have already taken her to the skies—no doubt to torment his nephew further.

Or… or worse than torment…

You ran out into the muddy clearing, screaming Luke’s name. Your voice was lost to the storm. Frantic, you made your way out of Storm End’s walls, desperately trying to see through the thick fog.

“LUKE!” you screamed. “AEMOND! No, no, no…”

Vhagar’s rumbling roars echoed loud and true over the stormy seas of Shipbreaker’s Bay. 

Raw terror sank its dark hands around your ribcage, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing—

In the faint distance, you could see parts of a pale dragon streak from the sky.

A fluttering wing membrane.

A spined tail.

A gnarled talon.

A dragon head.

And along with it, the corpse of your nephew, falling down, down, down, into the waters below…

You screamed your throat bloody until your voice gave out. 

In three days' time, you would find yourself back in Dragonstone, and be the one to tell Rhaenyra that her son was dead. You were weathered and broken, and had to write the words out for your own voice had failed you.

Daemon was enraged upon hearing the news.

“An eye for an eye, a son for a son,” he had said. “Lucerys shall be avenged.”

[hiraethwa]

to be loved is to be known

two; here we go again // the red strings bring you back to me

<the collection — to be loved is to be known>

pairing. kageyama x reader

cw. angst, timeskip, setter!reader, one-sided pining, divorced!reader, fluff, healing from past marriage

wc. 6.8k

featured track. haze by LUCY

you have me. even when you think you don't. i was only ever yours to begin with.

kageyama tobio accepted the offer to play with ali roma that following season. 

you had seemed happier in the following weeks with no recollection of the night of your birthday, so he tells himself that he is happy for you that you managed to mend whatever it was in your marriage. not that it ever stops him from thinking that he wouldn’t have allowed it to happen in the first place if he was your husband. if, if, if. 

but he isn’t, so he throws himself into volleyball, the love of his life. between the busy season leading up to the olympics and moving to italy, he didn’t have much time to miss you anyway. 

you didn’t normally text or call each other outside of volleyball, the only thing that threads a very thin connection between you, so he sort of lost contact with you naturally, the delicate string unraveling through disuse. 

it’s been many months since he settled in italy, so he gathers it’s time to move on with his life—move on from you. he thinks he is actually doing alright in that department, chasing after whispers of your name on written articles, posts, updates significantly less than he used to when he first moved there.

once again, kageyama forgets to account for the variable that is you. 

because he finds you knocking on his apartment door as he returns from his grocery run, and his arms slacken, bags falling to the wooden floor. a tomato tumbles out onto the floorboard. he wonders if he is hallucinating—he thought he had been doing so well in the moving-on-from-you department too. 

“kageyama!” he finds himself flustered at the lack of formalities coming from you. 

“kuroo-san? w–what are you doing here?” how did you even find where he lives? 

“didn’t you send me that text to drop by if i visit italy? you didn’t tell me you changed your mind.” you help him with the bags as he fumbles with his keys. why won’t the key fob just orient itself properly? 

wait, the text? he didn’t text you, did he? finally, the lock on his front door registers the presence of the fob and unlocks. he realizes belatedly, as you set down his groceries on the kitchen floor, that he must have accidentally sent you the text that was meant for hinata. 

no wonder hinata never said anything about it. 

kageyama wisely chooses not to mention his mistake to you. he listens to you point out a few things you’ve noticed in your trip so far—the gorgeous architecture, the gelato storefronts that seem to line every other block, the mouthwatering food you tried so far—patiently waiting for you to explain this bizarre situation to him. 

it is extremely out-of-character for you to show up unannounced, and not to mention, formalities and boundaries be damned. and you are rambling, seemingly nervous, your tell of tucking your hair behind your ear giving you away. 

so he nods along with you, commenting here and there, pretending like all of this is normal (when none of it is) as you make yourself at home at his kitchen island, telling him stories while watching him put his groceries away.

kageyama could almost pretend that this is your domestic life. one in another world where the gods favored him.

he recognizes the glint of wildness in your eyes, the look when you take a leap of faith, uncalculated faith, trusting, hoping that you will land on the other side safely. 

“say, if, if aeroitalia smi roma gave me an offer to join them here in italy next season. what would you do if you were me?”

aeroitalia smi roma. here in italy. a barrage of questions appear, one that especially looms above them all. his eyes wander to your hands, noting the absence of the gold band on your ring finger. he tamps down on the blind hope rising to the surface of his heart. 

“i would take it. they’re one of the best in italy.” but what about kuroo-san?

you nod at his statement, mostly to yourself. he registers the faraway look in your eyes as you turn to look out the window at the busy streets below. 

he could almost taste the hope on his tongue, could almost imagine a life shared with you, doing groceries together, having you stare out his kitchen window as you are now on a lazy saturday afternoon, a cup of steaming hot latte in your hands. almost.

“could i ask you for a favor?” 

“anything.” he breathes. 

another lifetime where you would barrage him to decorate his relatively empty apartment, its four plaster walls empty and unused, to make his place feel like a home. 

“i am going to need a tour guide when i come back.” you look pointedly at him. 

he tries not to let his smile shine through too much. “when you come back?”

this lifetime where he would take anything you are willing to offer, make his peace with it. it has been so long he’s almost forgotten it, how easy it was to be around you, natural as breathing, familiar as a volleyball in between his palms. 

as though he’s a desolate tree that survived all winter, the chill that festered in his bones being chased away by your warm gentle rays of sunlight from the unexpectedly early spring.

“you know, if aeroitalia did give me an offer.”

“i have barely been here for a year.” he laughs, coming to a stop next to you, staring out at the streets.

“still barely a year longer than me. plus, you can speak some italian, right?” you elbow him. 

“i guess i will see you then, huh?” he tilts his head at you, dimples showing. you smile back at him—barely, a ghost of what it used to be. 

he makes a vow to the gods that he would do anything to bring it back. anything.

“i’ll be two doors away if you need me.” you think kageyama was being polite as he helped you lug your suitcases up twelve flights of stairs with the elevator undergoing maintenance. 

you bang your head on the wall in embarrassment. what exactly were you thinking when you showed up at kageyama’s apartment last month, and then pestered him with your stupid questions about moving to italy?

oh my god. he was probably just being polite and didn’t know how to tell you off. your relationship with kageyama had been strictly work-related, but you went off the rails, too worried about the move to italy while finalizing your divorce to be anxious over what he thought of you. 

you ignore the uneasiness in your chest as you fish your phone out, feeling a buzz from it. 

it’s a text from kageyama. you alright over there? shit. that was the wall between your apartments, wasn’t it? you text back a yep! before letting your shame out in a silent scream. 

you make quick work of putting your essentials away, clothes, toiletries, packed food ingredients (as kageyama suggested), and some miscellaneous things that you managed to fit in two suitcases. the apartment came furnished, and two suitcases wasn’t much to begin with, having left most of the items from your previous marriage behind. 

the sun is setting by the time you finish. the apartment looking just a little less vacant with your jacket strewn over the back of your couch, sauces and seasonings dotting the space next to the stovetop for now. 

it’s not home, but it will do, for the time being. until you could fill in the missing fixtures and appliances, like a coat hanger for the front door, some bathroom necessities, kitchen knives. the list grows by the second as you survey your new space from where you are curled up by the kitchen window.

you lean your head against the wooden panels, admiring the yolk-colored ball of fire casting its final rays of light over the bustling city before darkness falls, much like flipping the last page of the chapter. 

you stay there until the last strand of sunlight disappears over the horizon, rome now enveloped in specks of yellow. the sun will rise again tomorrow, it’s time to start a fresh page. 

still, it feels odd knowing you are the only one who will walk through the front door every evening, that you have this space all to yourself. 

your habitual tadaima slipping from your lips to no one in particular as you cross the threshold of your apartment, not that kuroo was ever present physically or mentally to welcome you home with a responding okaeri. on days when he came home after you (which was most), he often beelined for the shower, briefcase left at the front door, which he would come back to later, flipping through project documents past working hours. 

you could probably count on ten fingers the handful of times that he even noticed your presence in the living room and mumbled a tadaima before tugging off his tie in the last year of your marriage. 

it is easy to forget how much your life has changed during the day, occupied with the pace of practice and the frenzy of filling your apartment. so easy to gloss over the kuroo-shaped hole in your heart when the sound of the cities floods out the voices in your head. 

when the night falls, and the city quiets, that’s when it gets loud. the sound of nothing, the crackling static gets so deafening in your ears, your mind, overwhelming your senses. 

the realization that you really left everyone who’s ever loved you behind in japan to find something new, different in a foreign country, its tongue that you are struggling to decipher, the loneliness of being abroad. 

the hollowness in your chest that amplifies the nothingness in your ears. 

you have taken a liking to the city nightscape, eyes staring out at nothing in particular as you sit by the window by your lonesome, trying your very best to adapt and learn to be comfortable alone in your spacious apartment. to allow your thoughts and fears and hopes to speak to you while the static buzzes in the background, acknowledging them and letting them flow over and through you. 

i hear you. 

it gets easier to breathe the more you sit by the window overlooking the city. the sense of loss that once pressed on you at every waking moment dulls to a quiet throb. 

you look out the window, where the first rays of sunlight peek over the city, dancing through the window and illuminating your kitchen in its softness, loosening a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

it’s the first morning you actually see the sunrise, legs cramping, as the sun climbs over the horizon, wishing you a good morning, since you moved in weeks ago. 

it feels like deja vu as kageyama tobio finds you outside his apartment door, arm poised to knock on it, except you don’t. still as a statue, you stand frozen in doubt, the only movement from your fingers flexing and curling catching his eye. 

even the shadows themselves seem to curl tighter around you as he approaches you carefully, as if you were a wild animal emerging from hibernation that would vanish back into the darkness at the slightest disturbance. 

the gods must be over the moon with the new creative ways they are coming up with to toy with his heartstrings. the roles so starkly reversed between you and him, his once brilliant sun reduced to mere echoes of its former glory, leaving him to play what used to be your role and bring you out of your shell.

kageyama wonders if it would be appropriate if he poked fun at you the way you used to at him,  if he would be overstepping his lines. then again, the lines had been blurred and redrawn over the past month, he thinks, remembering the first time you reached out to him after dropping by without notice, not really volleyball related.

hey! what should i bring to italy? you had texted him, the bubble showing that you’re still typing. like stuff you can’t get there.

he had thought long and hard about it before replying—curry cubes. perhaps that one was too specific, as he follows up with another text. sorry. anything you like to eat in japan, it’s hard to get japanese ingredients here. you had reacted to his message with a heart and left it at that.

and then more random messages. 

do i need to bring a rice cooker? probably not…? i bought mine here. [image attachment] maybe i should bring one… 

kageyama couldn’t help but laugh at that one. did you really have such specific preferences?

hey, do you think rome has nice soy sauce? just bring it.

how cold does it get there? tokyo is much colder, just bring your lighter coats.

he could just try. what’s the worst that could happen, right?

“hey.” he feels bad as you flinch at his sudden appearance, having half a mind to scurry back to the safety of your apartment, but it was too late—you have been spotted. “the door isn’t going to bite.”

“oh, hey, i wasn’t sure if you were home.” you rub the back of your head sheepishly. 

“our practice ended late, what’s up?” he spies the stack of curry cube packages under your other arm, the thought of you remembering the stupid text he sent without thinking and bringing him all those boxes from japan making him flush. 

he puts a mental hand over his heart to calm it from jumping out of his ribcage into your hands.

gods above, the effect that you have on him with every little gesture, all of them flying blissfully over your head. that’s one thing he can thank the gods for, at least.

you hand him the stack, tucking a stray curl of hair behind your ear. “a token of appreciation for all your troubles, kageyama.”

and because he was feeling a little bold, he jokes, “are you the same y/n who turned up at my door a month ago?” 

“oh, you’re one to speak,” you roll your eyes, the corners of your lips twitching in a small smile. “there are two wolves in me, okay? one is batshit nuts, you know her, the one you see on court. the other one is me, and you drew the short stick today.”

kageyama knows he’s nowhere close to getting over you with the way the smallest hint of a smile from you sends his heart skittering, the way he is offering up everything he has to the role he has been asked to play so that you might shine freely once again, not for him but for you.

despite the stamped out selfish hope that maybe, maybe you might fall for him this time, he earnestly wants to weather the passing storm by your side, so you might walk out to clear blue skies, cloudless and unburdened. so you might smile freely once more, even if it's not meant for him. 

“wanna come in? i’m making pasta for dinner.” he holds up the bag of groceries he picked up from the corner shop on the way home. 

you hesitate, not unwillingly, more so from not wanting to intrude on his personal space. “you don’t have to—”

“you’ve already shown up unannounced once, what’s another?” 

you flush with embarrassment at the thought of that time. not your brightest moment. “gods, will you ever let me live that down? i really don’t want to be a bother.”

“c’mon, you’re not. promise.” he gestures for you to enter his apartment. 

you lean against his counter awkwardly as you watch him lay out the ingredients, prepping the table surface to actually make pasta from scratch. he notes the surprise on your face.

“i actually can’t cook very well, but making pasta is surprisingly therapeutic.” kageyama explains while he measures out the flour and salt, making a well in the center of the mixture to crack the eggs in. he whisks the eggs before slowly stirring in the flour mixture methodically. 

“wanna try?” he offers after seeing the entranced look in your eyes. you nod, scrubbing your hands with soap before taking over the kneading of the pasta dough from kageyama.

he watches you quietly as you poke the tip of your tongue out the side, attention completely focused on folding and pressing the dough and repeating the motion, taking note of the downward turn of the corners of your eyes, the haunted look in your eyes when you forget to hide it. 

your hand waving in his face breaks him out of his thoughts. “kageyama?”

“what happened to your formalities?” he blurts. where is the line between us?

you give him a questioning look. 

he corrects himself, “i’m kageyama-san to you, and you’re kuroo-san to me, remember?”

“oh, that. i’m not kuroo-san anymore. we finalized our divorce before i moved here. if you prefer that, i can go back to calling you kageyama-san.” you brush your divorce off as if it is ancient history, as if it doesn’t leave an emptiness in your chest where you used to feel love for him. 

“i’m sorry to hear that.” he shouldn’t have asked. for various reasons not limited to the way the hope in him perks its head up at the confirmation that kuroo is out of your life for good. 

“it’s fine, it’s been coming, i just chose to look the other way.” you squint at the dough, suddenly kneading it with more force, your previous child-like delight now gone at the mention of your failed marriage. 

kageyama really shouldn’t have asked. he hates to be the one who took away your fun and soured your mood with that question. that you still look devastatingly beautiful despite the sorrow etched in your soul. 

“you can call me tobio. since we are friends outside of work now.” he hopes that his hair is covering the warm tips of his ears.

“sure,” you shrug, “you know you’re the only one who called me that or oumae-san anyway, right? old man.”

“oh wow, going right to insulting me. is this your other wolf appearing?” he shoots back drily as he nudges you out of the way. “go put something on the tv, we need to rest the dough for twenty minutes.”

your clear and bright laughter fills his apartment as you back out of the kitchen, hands up in surrender, a sparkle in your eyes and that smile appearing on your lips, chasing away the darkness. 

he thinks this may not be as hard as he thought after all, playful banters with you. anything to chase away your ghosts. 

and suddenly the one-bedroom apartment feels like home to kageyama tobio. 

months slip by, summer’s warmth finally giving way to crunchy leaves beneath your feet and cool breezes caressing your skin softly with a lover’s touch. 

kageyama tobio and you are nothing if not creatures of routine, taking turns at your apartments during the weekdays to make dinner since it’s so much easier to make dinner for two than one and significantly time-saving to not have to go through the twenty steps of cooking by yourself every day.

though you find yourself at his apartment more than yours, his skillful hands diligently prepping ingredients, slicing them with precision, following the recipe methodically with you as his assistant (who lounges at kitchen island a little too much, head on hand, watching him work, because gods, his hands, larger than your own, fingers unbelievably slender and elegant despite all the training he puts them through. you are envious of them, and just a tad obsessed.) 

tobio would catch you staring sometimes, and you would look away, pretend to be unfazed, ignoring the blood racing through your veins. gods really do have a favorite. 

you grew to enjoy his company, so unlike the quiet solitude of home that you were used to. his dry humor and his quiet steady presence. his cooking, really. you wonder what his fans would make of that, since he had once admitted to being a bad cook in an interview that lives on somewhere on the internet. 

perhaps that precision of his is the reason the food he makes tastes so sinfully delicious on your tongue. 

you had felt restless at first, unused to having so much time on your hands after being used to spending most of your own free time for more practice, more work, since kuroo was rarely home before the late hours of the night. 

it never quite felt like home without him in that ninety-five square meter apartment—larger than most middle class homes yet so devoid of life and love that makes somewhere home. the luxury that you were able to afford given the size of your paychecks was never quite put to good use in those two years of your marriage.

“i’m feeling like some gelato today, want some?”

kageyama joins you out on the balcony, wiping his wet hands on the black cat apron you bought for him on a whim—a gift. it reminded you of his image in most people’s minds, a hissy and fussy cat who hates people, and to be honest (and maybe a little biased), you do enjoy that side of him. 

it’s endearing, especially since you’re one of the few special humans that the picky cat likes. he really does act like a cat. 

he had moved to italy a year before you, and being more familiar with the local culture, quickly became your go-to person to help you navigate the everyday life responsibilities from setting up your internet to the oddly laxed city disposal system. or the unlucky time your air conditioning stopped working in the peak of summer, barely weeks into your new apartment, your broken italian barely any help as you attempt to call a technician. 

you remember having to resort to knocking on his door with a sheepish smile, rambling about the bind you were in and asking him if he could talk to the technician on your behalf. he had nodded, taking the phone from you and speaking into it, italian rough but so much more fluent than yours. his usually deep solemn voice just half a pitch higher and more expressive.

his unresponsiveness had you twiddling your thumbs in nervousness as he padded into your apartment, still on the phone and with you following closely, and proceeded to slam a fist into the side of the air conditioning unit before turning it back on. 

the unit sputtered to life and you sighed in relief. “oh thank the gods.”

“the technician said he’ll stop by tomorrow in the evening because he has other calls to attend to from the unusually hot weather. i’ll be back from practice by then.” 

“thank you, tobio.” you had smiled at him gratefully. you hated having to rely on other people for help with things that you should be able to do on your own, so accustomed to being hyperindependent, but tobio makes it easy to come to him for help. mostly due to the fact that he never makes you feel bad about asking for help, even though you do still feel bad about bothering him with all the stupid everyday life problems. 

you had somehow wormed your way into his life and he had graciously allowed you to stay beyond all the times that you needed his help, steadily and unknowingly becoming your dearest friend. 

you hum in response, giving gelato another thought since the air is turning chilly as the sun dips lower over the horizon, dusk creeping closer by the minute. “sure, why not?”

now, walking through the streets of rome at dusk in the cool autumnal weather for gelato was not what you expected when you agreed to it. you had expected smooth cold gelato melting on your tongue in the comfort and warmth of tobio’s apartment. not this.

goosebumps scattered across your skin under your sweater, teeth chattering slightly thanks to the cold dessert dropping your body heat further. your stubborn ass had rejected tobio’s offer of a jacket at the door, thinking your sweater would be warm enough for the autumn breezes. 

apparently not if you’re eating gelato.

you didn’t have the heart to tell him no after finding out that the little trip would entail trekking fifteen minutes into the city and then back, with gelato, on a cool autumn night. 

tobio has a way of making you go along with his whims without even trying. 

you let out another shiver, cold fingers gripping the paper cup. he stifles his low chuckle by stuffing another spoonful of gelato in his mouth. 

“what?” you narrow your eyes at the man, challenging him to say it. i told you so.

he shrugs, licking his spoon clean. 

you look away from him, shoving the last mouthful of gelato between your cold cheeks and dumping the paper cup and spoon into a trashcan as you pass by.

a heavy warmth settles over your shoulders as you stick your hands into your pockets, surprise lining your eyes for a few seconds before realization sets in that tobio is draping his jacket over your shoulders. 

tobio, who’s always known what you needed when you needed it. tobio, who’s always done it without guilt tripping you, no ‘i told you so’s or ‘you should have listened to me’s. tobio, who welcomed you into his life and stayed without asking for anything in return, his warm and steady presence providing you comfort just from knowing that he is right next to you. 

the light brushes against your elbows when you work in the kitchen, arriving just as you space out a little too much while waiting for the onions to cook or staring out the window, the task before you forgotten. the gentle touches that grounds you back to reality, a quiet reminder that you are not alone. 

you wonder if he knows how he makes you feel at ease, at home, and sometimes, when you catch a soft knowing smile on his lips at your boisterous laughter, you wonder if he is doing it with intention.

what kind of heroic deeds did you do in your past life to earn the favor of the gods?

you spin around to face him, only to have him take a step back as a biker zooms by, hands gripping your shoulders, pushing you away from the hazard, his back towards the open street. he glances back at the rider who is long gone, frowning at their carelessness. 

his cheeks are pink from the cold, navy eyes sweeping over you to check that you’re fine. 

“are you cold?” you ask him, hands already moving to return the jacket to its owner.

“no, keep it.” 

you nod your thanks and pull your arms through the sleeves. your silhouette drowns in his already oversized jacket. the remnants of his warmth and the thickness of his jacket keep you warm the entire way home, just as it always does. 

tobio shoves his hands in his pockets, tilting his head in the direction of your apartments, towards home. tobio, who had teased you and laughed with you, sat with you in silence and talked to you over dinner, walked with you on that rocky path back towards the light. 

somewhere deep inside you, the smallest bud springs to life on a barren branch, hope, quiet and unsure, stirs in its dormancy.

the lines between you and kageyama tobio keep rewriting themselves. 

lines that were blurred and redrawn, over and over until the first lines were unrecognizable. it feels like drawing lines on sand, only to have waves wiping the slate clean, leaving you to hastily put down some semblance of a line. 

as if the gods are laughing in your face, telling you that you are wrong and to try again. 

so you threw the stick away. 

it was not a conscious decision, not at first. you had just accidentally let it slip, the thing that kept you up at night, the whispers that only quieted at the sight of the midnight skies. the endless expanse of it and the deep blue hues stretching as far as the eye could see, occasionally broken up by wafts of clouds floating through.

lighter than the dark skies of your hometown in rural japan where there was less light pollution from the sparse street lights dotting the farmlands. but it was the same skies, same stars light years away from earth that your obaasan taught you to navigate with if you ever got lost in the forest behind your home. 

the home you left behind to chase after your dreams in the city, and with it, your grandmother. the home you left again once more to outrun your bad decisions. 

tobio, to his credit, had listened intently to you on his balcony that night, both of you sitting cross-legged with your backs against the door, elbows grazing lightly, and assured you that your fears were in fact, not stupid. 

maybe it’s his comforting presence, or the way he ponders over the secrets you handed to him without judgment, but you seem to spill at the seams when he is around, unafraid to bare your soul to your—kindred spirit. maybe it’s the words that fall from his lips meant only for you, roughly thrown together, not without care, merely earnest and unembellished, sincerity clear in his focused gaze. 

though certainly, bringing up one of your deepest fears in the middle of a farmer’s market was the last thing on your mind, and tobio’s, you are sure. yet here you are, words pouring out from your heart at the sight of flowers, one of the last hurdles that still sticks tall. 

“do you think one day i won’t be broken anymore?” you gently thumb the soft petal of an amaryllis, feeling the ever so slight give under the pad of your thumb grounding you from the pain that your memories brought to the surface. 

tobio frowns at your words—he hates them. “you’re not broken.” if you were not in public, with people weaving around the different stalls, he might have tried to shake some sense into you, literally. 

oh, if only he knew. your heart twists, hand dropping to your side, flower forgotten. “he was in love with the idea of me. with an olympic setter as his wife, the trophy to his jva corner office. and i was too blind to see it, even tricked myself into thinking that i was in love, when really all along, we were just in pain.” 

you point at where your heart resides, finger digging into the soft flesh cushioning your sternum. “in here. i’m irreversibly broken deep in here. some part of me that rots in the darkness, never able to see the light of day. despite having fallen out of love with him months ago, stopped expecting anything from him, i fear that i’m still broken, tobio.”

the tip of your index finger—and nail—turning white with the amount of force you’re prodding yourself with. as if you wished you could pluck the beating broken but healing organ out of your chest and replace it with an undamaged one. nothing but a strangled mess of scarred tissue growing over old wounds that bleed with ease, too much ease. still fucking broken. 

“you are more than that. more than that wounded part of yourself that you’re healing. you’re not broken.” he deftly draws your hand away from yourself, holding it because he wanted to, drawing circles into the back of your hand to remind you that you are not alone. the crowd melts away, leaving the two of you in your bubble of imagined intimacy. “you’re not broken.”

“i can’t even look at my favorite flowers without being reminded of the times he would buy them as a late apology and a rain check he never made up for. and i would wonder if there’s something wrong with me, some explanation as to why having a husband is no more different than not having one.” you blink rapidly, fingers tightening on his hand as if he could keep the helplessness at bay that way. “some reason as to why it felt more like living with a stranger i love under the same roof in that last year. he just had something to prove and i just wanted him to love me.”

“when you find the right person, they will love you the way you deserve to be loved, with everything they have. they will make sure you never doubt yourself ever again.” tobio pins you with a determined stare, the words weighing heavy on his heart, knowing that he might have you to himself in this very moment, but not forever. not forever. 

does he have to watch you fall in love this time? gods, they really have it out for him. would he even survive it this time? 

you falter, hand around his slacking in defeat. “you don’t know that.” 

you cannot fathom anyone choosing to love you, with all the jagged edges and uncertainty. 

“i know that you deserve more than him, so don’t settle for anything less than you do. trust that the right person will come along.” he says it with so much conviction that you could have mistaken him for one of the gods that chart your destiny. 

you wanted to ask him why—why he seems to believe that with his whole heart despite yourself—but the brush on your sleeve from a passing shopper breaks you out of the imaginary depths of your fears, shattering the illusion of privacy. 

what had gotten into you today? 

you recover from your momentary meltdown in public, instincts to guard and deflect kicking in among the many ears that could be listening to a conversation that should have been kept behind closed doors. “are you speaking from experience?” 

“never been in a relationship, actually.” he smiles a wistful smile at you, deciding to release his hold on your hand—as if he himself also just remembered that you are in the public eye. 

“huh, i would have thought otherwise.” 

tobio rolls his eyes playfully at your teasing. “don’t even start, i know i’m not good with words.”

“no, really. it’s a wonder you haven’t been snatched up by anyone yet.” 

“now you're just flattering me because you want me to make the carbonara pasta that you’ve been begging me to make for the past week.” 

you gape at him, in disbelief that he would use that against you when you are doing nothing but giving him a sincere compliment.

“i’m being real here. whoever you choose to love would be lucky to have you. and if they don’t feel that way, it’s their loss, really.” you gesture with an outsplayed hand, turning back to the selection of flowers, wandering down the row of autumnal varieties. 

tobio presses two fingers to his temple, sighing as he mutters under his breath, exasperated words a soft whisper on the breeze, “too bad she’s too dense to realize it.”

he panics a little at the thought of you picking his words up as you turn around with your head tipped to the side in confusion, “what did you say?”

“nothing, just that the amaryllis is pretty. you should get it.” he blurts, just happy that his muddled brain was able to come with something on the spot. never mind that he just name dropped a flower, one of many that he learnt because you once loved them, still do, it seems, just tainted by your past. 

you shake your head at him, already looking forward. “it’s alright, let’s go look at the other stalls.” moving on from the remnants of a relationship you moved to italy to outrun, and leaving them behind. 

“wait,” a sudden thought pops into tobio’s mind, and he decides to do it without letting himself overthink it. before he loses his courage. 

you watch quietly as he picks out a stalk of carnation, a dusty pink that lightens slightly towards the tip of the petal and hands it to the shopkeeper, exchanging a few words before paying and returning with a very short stem. 

“i know you still love flowers even though they are tainted by your past,” tobio swallows, hoping he does not fuck this up like he always seem to with his words, “but i want you to know that you deserve flowers just because. it doesn’t have to be an apology, or a special occasion. you deserve them just because you like them, simple as that.”

he takes a step closer to you, watching you carefully for any hints of discomfort or anguish that you might try to hide from him for his sake—hoping that you are comfortable around him enough not to. 

you find yourself holding in your breath as you meet his eyes, mesmerized by the blue of his irises up close, warm cobalt shades dancing in the light, as if they were welcoming you, reminiscent of the night skies that fall after dusk, the same navy hues that lull you to safety. 

he tucks your hair behind your ear, his touch featherlike as he slips the carnation over the crest of your ear. “there. one day the first thought that crosses your mind when you see them will not be of him, but of how pretty they are again.”

a blink. “thank you.” the words are choked, as a wave of emotions envelop you whole. you throw your arms around him haphazardly, hugging him tightly with your eyes squeezed shut for fear of your tear ducts betraying you, leaning on him for balance with your weight on the tip of your toes because of his height. 

you yield to his warmth, comforted by his arms sliding into place around you, the familiarity tugging on a memory that you cannot seem to recover, a nagging feeling of something you forgot as seconds tick by. 

“thank you, tobio.” you say it again, releasing him shyly when you realize that you held on for moments too long, brushing at your eyes with the back of your hand for any stray tears, chuckling lightly at how emotional you are being. 

somehow it feels as if a weight has been lifted off your chest after hearing his words. 

“you are loved, y/n, by your family and friends, and your fans. you are the setter who will dethrone kageyama tobio’s rule of the court, remember?” 

you recognize the quote from one of the japanese magazines that you and tobio managed to get a hold of. it makes you laugh—the type that sends tears pooling at the edge of your eyes, leaving you breathless and light and feeling like everything will be alright—and you smile at him.

it feels strangely like coming home after a long day. 

there is a twinkle in your eyes, the return of your genuine self as you ask, “and what of kageyama tobio?”

your smile hits him like the first ray of warm sunlight when snow melts away to reveal the tiny buds sprouting at the nodes of tree branches, that first truly warm day after winter when you know that spring is here. and just like the trees that have weathered the cold season, you are shaking off the cold in your bones, ready to bloom again. 

that pureness in your smile—the invisible pull that drew him into your orbit almost three years ago now emerging reforged.

gods, you are nothing short of devastating. he knows he will never be able to love anyone else like he loves you, describing it as intense does not do it justice. try all-encompassing and consuming, leaving him defenseless and dazed and wanting more. 

is that wrong of him to feel that way? that if given a choice by the gods to do it all over again, he would still choose to love you? that there is nothing he would not do, no hell he would not descend, no winter he would not weather, just to see you smile at him unadulterated?

“he believes that you are the queen of the court.”

your smile does not falter. it deepens, reaching your eyes, curving them into joyful crescents that send his heart thundering at an inhuman pace. 

“thank you for being here. i am beginning to realize what it means to live.” you make me want to live. the unspoken words hanging in space between you. 

for the first time in a very long time, tobio finds himself praying to the gods that have long abandoned him. he can only hope that they are listening. 

taglist. @hatsukeii @daisy-room @soulfullystarry @kitsune-kita @bakery-anon @thechaosoflonging @bakingcuriosity (gen) @mintgrumpy @noble-17 @box-of-roses (tobio nation) @hiraethwrote @shouyuus @yogurtkags @mcdonaldsnumberone (add yourself here)

a/n. i sprinkled lots of little details in this one hehehe (like how it is apartment to tobio before it becomes a home) how many did you find? *giggles while plotting* it's fluffier than i intended so i hope you enjoyed <33

awaiting updates? browse the library while waiting

if you liked this, please consider leaving a like, comment, rb or ask <3 (perhaps i enjoy breaking hearts a little too much)

[wilcze-kudly]

Katara and the fear of loss (aka why she waited)

I think one aspect of Katara's storyline I don't see explored nearly enough the fact that she is terrified of losing others, especially those whom she cares for. This makes sense, especially looking to her background, how the death of her mother affected her and the fact that war has been a very large part of her life since she was a small child. Not to mention, she is actively a huge part of said war, along with her brother and friends, at the tender age of 14.

Now, some of you may ask "quill what the hell does Aang have to do with Katara's mother?"

Yes, on the surface, there isn't that much connecting Katara's dead, grown ass mother to Katara's alive 12 year old goofball bf but the parallels between Kya and Aang are planted even at the beginning of the show, in the first few episodes.

When Zuko and the Fire Nation attack the Southern Watertribe, they are looking for Aang, the last airbender, not dissimilar to the Southern Raiders looking for the last Southern waterbender. Furthermore, both Kya and Aang willingly give themselves up to the Fire Nation in order to protect the village, particularly Katara.

Throughout the show, we see Katara's interest and endearment towards Aang grow, and we see them create a genuine friendship. But I'd argue that Aang being the Avatar is, to some degree, a problem to their relationship. Aang's duty as the Avatar, and the risks and decisions he is faced with due to it, often create a rift between him and Katara.

Be it due to Aang's responsibilities leading him to make decisions she doesn't agree with, like in the Avatar State, where Aang feels the pressure to force the Avatar State due to the suffering of the soldiers he feels responsible for.

Or, more poignantly, in the Awakening, where Aang is once again compared to one of the parents Katara lost due to the war, though Hakoda's 'loss' was not due to death, but a need to fight. I think this also shows how much Katara values Aang not just as the Avatar, but as a person.

Katara: Aang. He just took his glider and disappeared. He has this ridiculous notion that he has to save the world alone, that it's all his responsibility. Hakoda : Maybe that's his way of being brave. Katara: It's not brave; it's selfish and stupid! We could be helping him, and I know the world needs him, but doesn't he know how much we need him, too? How can he just leave us behind? Hakoda : You're talking about me too, aren't you?

This is twice Aang has been directly paralleled to one of Katara's parents, whose repsective losses have clearly affected her greatly. This is also extremely poignant, since we've been explicitly told that Aang's love for his own lost family, the Air Nomads, was reborn into Katara. For Aang and Katara, the ways they deal with their losses influences how they pursue each other romantically.

Of course, there's also the ✨️ immediate threat of death and physical injury✨️. Aang and the rest of the Gaang, but particularly Aang is constantly being chased and tracked and endangered by the Fire Nation and he is meant to face the Firelord and defeat him. There are a lot of possibilities for something to go horrifically wrong here.

From Aang being half dead when Katara found him, then almost immediately getting kidnapped by the prince of the goddamn Fire Nation, to almost every villain of the week shenanigan, Katara already has good reason to worry for Aang.

But then the reach Ba Sing Se and things get even worse. Jet, Katara's only other canonically confirmed love interest dies, and Katara is helpless to do anything about it. This is already enough to make someone reconsider future romantic endeavours, but surely it can't get any worse, right?

Oh yeah, Aang FUCKING DIES

He gets blasted in the back with lighting, right as he enters the avatar state, right before Katara's eyes. The saviour of the world, but more importantly, her dear friend, brutally cut down before her very eyes. And Katara, a child, is the only person with even a sliver of hope of bringing him back.

So is it really any surprise that Katara, having experienced loss before multiple times over, and almosf having lost Aang himself, would be hesitant to enter a romantic relationship with someone being actively hunted by the greatest military in the world, someone obligated to take on the leader of said military?

Katara is afraid. She's afraid of opening her heart up to loving Aang and then losing him after that. This is the main reason why she hesitates in initiating her and Aang's relationship. Whenever Aang tries to brooch the subject, she brings up the war and the Firelord, but due to being a child, she struggles in communicating her exact feelings, which leaves Aang confused and of kilter. Katara often gives Aang romantic attention, and clearly feels rather possessive of him, however, she is not ready to enter a romantic relationship due to the threat of the war looming above their heads. But due to being 14, she doesn't know how to explain these feelings, which is what leads to the minor conflict between her and Aang. Because, you know, they're both children in a situation that children aren't built to deal with.

Katara : Aang, I don't know. Aang: Why don't you know? Katara : Because, we're in the middle of a war, and, we have other things to worry about. This isn't the right time.

It's important to note that Aang isn't exactly a bad person for wanting this relationship to be made tangible. He does push boundaries, and kissing Katara without her consent in the Ember Island episode is obviously a horrendous misstep (which he acknowledged), but I think you can at least understand his motives. He may soon die, after all, and he wants to love Katara and wants to express that love before he possibly loses his entire goddamn life. I think this can also be traced back to how Aang deals with the genocide of the Air Nomads and vs how Katara deals with the death of her mother.

Aang certainly blames himself for the death of the Air Nomads, although this guilt is unfounded. Perhaps part of him believes that if he'd just stayed with them, spent a little more time with Gyatso, he could've helped them. It wouldn't be a leap to imagine that Aang wanting to spend more time with those he loves, including Katara is a coping mechanism surrpunding that loss.

Now juxtapose this to Katara, who's entire encounter with Yon Rha is permeated by helplessness and fear, an 8 year old Katara being unable to do anything but run away and try to get help, sadly not in time for Kya to survive. So Katara trying to assert some control over her relationships, maintaining a certain distance to Aang while the war that robbed her of her mother is still in full swing isn't an improbable concept. She's trying to not feel that helplessness again.

(Katara probably blames herself for her mother's death too, but it has less to do with Katara's actions and more to fo with what Katara was; a waterbender, something she hasno bearing on)

This is why she initiates the kiss with Aang at the end of the show. Not because she feels the need to give in to his advances due to him being the hero of the world. Not because she's caving to his insistence or because she's pressured. But because the possibility of Aang getting fucking murked by glorified pyromancers are significantly lower than they were during the war.

This is not a 'taking one for the team bcs I feel like I have to due to Aang saving the world' type of smooch. This is a 'finally I feel safe to express my feelings' type of smooch.

To be completely honest, I don't like how Kataang was handled post day of black sun, I think it was an unnecessary addition of a redundant "will they, won't they?" aspect to the relationship. Teasing Zutara in the last few episodes was also just unnecessary, because it was obviously never a viable endgame relationship and it only served to give kid zutara shippers false hope. This is especially fucked up looking at how the same zutara fans were later mocked by the creators, which, no matter what you think if the ship, is a horrible thing to do to a bunch of teenage girls and I think has contributed to those teenage girls growing into bitter, aggressive adult zutara shippers.

But, as much as I dislike this storyline, it does make sense for Katara's character and is an interesting and touching 'silent arc' for her to have. We often see characters fall in love in the midst of a conflict, but we aren't always shown how that conflict would affect the way they look at their relationship, so I appreciate this storyline for what it was.

[wethotcrazy]

Lando Norris x reader where the reader is a singer? 👀

SHE GOT AWAY

pairing: Lando Norris x Singer! Reader

word count: 1029

just something short, it’s my first time writing for lando pls spear me for taking creative liberties. THIS IS A BREAK UP FIC THATS BASED LOOSELY OFF OF THE LYRICS OF THE SUBWAY BY CHAPPELL ROAN

Lando hadn’t realized how empty a city could feel until she was gone. Racing had always taken him away from her, from everyone, but he could always come back to find her waiting. Now he walked the streets of London alone, watching strangers go about their lives, passing through his like shadows. And every once in a while, he thought he saw her—a flash of her hair, a laugh in a crowd that sounded just like hers, a beauty mark on a stranger’s cheek that almost made his heart stop.

It had been months since they said goodbye. Months of quiet car rides, restless hotel nights, and half-finished meals because his appetite had disappeared with her. He’d thought this was what he wanted. To be able to focus entirely on racing, to chase his career, to let nothing hold him back. He’d told her as much, the last time they’d sat across from each other in her little kitchen, hands clenched on their respective sides of the table.

“It’s just not… practical,” he’d said, forcing the words out despite the knot in his throat. He could still remember the hurt in her eyes, the way she’d held herself back, holding back the words she probably knew would tear him apart if she said them out loud.

And she’d left without looking back. He’d watched her disappear down her street, wondering if it would feel as final as it did.

But now, everywhere he went, he saw her. He felt her. Her hair color flashed through crowds, her beauty mark lingered in every stranger’s glance. Her shadow followed him, slipping into every quiet space, haunting every silence. Lando had expected the ache of missing her to ease with time, but it only grew, filling his thoughts until she was everywhere.

One night, on the subway, he nearly lost it. He’d glanced up and there she was—or someone who looked painfully, uncannily like her. The stranger’s profile, the slight tilt of her head, the way she rested her hand on her thigh—it was all her. And just like that, every wall he’d put up to stop himself from thinking of her collapsed, and he felt the full weight of the loss he’d chosen.

Lando quickly looked away, forcing himself to breathe, gripping the edge of the subway seat so tightly his knuckles turned white. He felt like he was falling apart, breaking into pieces he had no idea how to put back together. And all he could think was how badly he wanted to go back, to erase the stupid decision he’d made in the name of ambition.

In another bar, a few weeks later, he caught a whiff of her perfume, delicate and warm, like she’d just brushed past him. His stomach twisted as he looked around, desperate, trying to convince himself it was her. But when he saw the source—a random girl laughing with her friends—he felt a new wave of emptiness wash over him. The scent, the sound, it wasn’t her. Nothing was.

He stayed long enough to finish his drink, but he could feel the walls of the room closing in, suffocating him. He had to leave, stumbling out into the night, eyes blurring as he tried to outrun the thought that he might never see her again.

“Lando, mate, you’ve got to stop doing this,” his friend Max said over a late-night call. Lando had confided in him, admitted just how hollow everything felt since she’d left. He’d been counting days, four months now, and the ache hadn’t eased. If anything, it had rooted itself deeper, taking up residence in his every thought, his every waking moment.

He tried to shake it off, to convince himself it was just another day, that he’d feel better once he got back on the track. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. She was still everywhere, in the places they used to go together, in the laughter he couldn’t join in anymore, in the shadow that stretched beside him, refusing to leave.

He found himself thinking about something she’d said once, during one of their late-night talks, curled up on his couch, her head resting on his shoulder.

“You ever think about soulmates?” she’d asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He had laughed it off, said he didn’t believe in things like fate. But now, as he lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, he felt the hollow ache of what she’d believed all along. She’d thought they were meant to be. He’d dismissed it, dismissed her, and now… now he would do anything to hear her say it again, to see that soft, hopeful look in her eyes.

He was losing her to memory, piece by piece, and he was helpless to stop it. Every day, he’d tell himself it was over, but it never felt over. Not really.

One night, Lando found himself alone in his apartment, staring out at the city lights. He’d heard she was happy now, moving on with her music, her life—maybe even with someone new. He tried to be glad for her, to let her go with some grace, but he could still feel her, like she was right there in the room with him, her voice wrapping around him in a way that hurt.

“Maybe I’ll just… go somewhere,” he muttered to himself, as if leaving the city would free him from her memory. Saskatchewan, some remote place where he could drown his regrets in silence. But he knew he’d only carry her there too, because no matter how far he ran, he’d never really left her.

As the days passed, Lando found himself counting down, hoping that one day, she’d just be another face on the subway. Someone he could pass by without feeling like his whole world was caving in. But he knew better now. He knew he’d carry her with him forever, as someone he’d let slip through his fingers, a dream he’d never be able to shake.

She got away.

And he’d be chasing that ghost of her for as long as he lived, trying to fill the silence she’d left behind.

[vivwritesfics]

Hi, literally dying for more top gun x f1!

Literally anyone for top gun (your choice) x f1!driver reader

And then I maybe like Lando, max or Oscar with a top gun reader

tgm x f1 with a slight twist!!

Jake Seresin was always aware that his best friends had money growing up. Their house was incredibly grand and they got whatever they wanted. It never drove a wedge in their friendship, though. (Not until they were older, at least).

When his best friends little sister started karting, Jake didn't really understand it. His father had enjoyed NASCAR, and that was what he knew. He didn't understand the elegance of the sport she was so desperately trying to get into.

She made it. They'd lost touch for years, but she made it.

Jake sometimes saw her on television, sometimes saw news articles about her, about her career. He didn't expect her to come back to Texas so long after she'd made it, didn't expect to see her in the store, acting like a normal person.

But there she was, buying a pint of milk like her salary wasn't $2000,000.

She looked so different from the last time Jake had seen her. But she had been a teenager then, not the young woman she was now. She'd grown into herself, and Jake was floored.

That little girl who used to chase after Jake and his best friend, demanding they let her play with them, had grown up hot.

She hadn't noticed Jake, not until he was stood behind her at the checkout. She turned her head slightly, catching a glimpse. But then she was turning on her heel to look at him. "Jake Seresin?" She asked, voice full of surprise as she looked at him.

Jake said her name in the same way.

"No freaking way," she mumbled as she threw her arms around him. "You got big, Jakey," she said as she pulled back to look at him.

But Jake was looking at her, too. "You..." But he was tongue tied, in a way he wasn't used to. "How long are you back for?" He asked instead, nodding towards the cashier.

"Until the end of August," she explained as she paid for the milk. "What about you? When are you next shipping out."

She knew she was in the navy. How did she knew he was in the navy? His cheeks were pink as he paid for his own groceries. "Have you spoken to my mom by any chance?" He asked as she stood there, milk in hands to talk to him.

"I might have stopped by the ranch," she said, almost coyly. "So, you wanna hang out?"

But it went beyond hanging out while they were both there. It had started out perfectly innocent, getting dinner, catching a movie, all of it as friends.

But that one night at the bar. Slamming tequila shots in a way she hadn't since her win in Spa. She and Jake were positively stumbling over each other as they left the bar. But then he had her pushed against the wall, lips against her own.

Her arms were around his neck, pulling him close as his fingers dug into her side. Neither of them were willing to pull away, kiss positively becoming bruising. "Fuck, Seresin," she hissed against his lips.

They couldn't let it happen again, but it did. Every night until she ended up in his bed. And then that happened every night until she had to go back to the UK.

Neither of them expected it to go any further. Neither of them expected it to get to the point where they were, quite literally, dating. Constantly on the phone to each other, sending memes and pictures through the day.

She knew she had to invite him to a Grand Prix.

Vegas. He made the trip, joined her in her hotel room. She was incredibly late for media duties that day. And, when she made it to the track, her hair was a mess and she was being trailed by her big, hunky boyfriend.

[psylocke142]

Nightmares

Sana x fem!reader

synopsis: Sana keeps having nightmares, recurring and always the same. Sana can’t help but think that it’s something important. There’s a message she’s missing. Something feels familiar about her dream.

w/c: 4.3k

warnings: death; accident; angst(?); trauma

a/n: i wrote this as a sana x fem!reader fic but it’s more of a sana centric fic. some roommate misana. this was a draft of a “book” i wanted to write in high school. i was proud of the concept of this fic back then. still am. not too sure how i feel about the final product…but it’ll do.

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

It’s a brisky night as Sana is walking down the street. A cold gust of wind blows in Sana’s direction, making her hands seek refuge in the pockets of her jacket. She looks up into the sky as she languidly treads to cross the street. No specific destination in mind yet. She begins to get lost in the starless sky, wishing she could live in some place where the stars are more visible.

Sana lives in Seoul, a big city with towering buildings and a vibrant nightlife. It’s a charming city filled with much to give. To Sana’s disappointment, the light pollution from all the buildings just so happens to block the starlight away.

A heavy sigh is released from her chest as she continues her stroll. Her body is starting to feel heavy and in need of some rest. Something Sana knows she needs but never looks forward to.

She had gone out for a night walk downtown, which was a short distance walk away from her apartment. The honey-haired girl had dreaded going home after work, so she headed to the heart of the city to walk around and waste time. Prolonging the needed rest and increasing her exhaustion.

There was nothing for her to do at home either. Sana had a small cafe she built from the ground up, making enough to pay her half of the rent. Her family is in Japan and her friends seem to be strangers. Being drifted away by busy work schedules and other circumstances. Sana didn’t care much, at least she pretended not to. Her duties at the cafe gave her enough work hours to not think too deeply about it. She has Mina. The younger girl is Sana’s roommate, who currently seemed to be the only person in her life. Maybe, that was all she needed.

Mina is the quiet type. They had met after high school, looking for someone to lessen the load of responsibilities in apartment rent and college tuition. They’ve been inseparable ever since. Mina has always been respectful and would never poke her nose in places it didn’t belong. She still cared about Sana though. Which is why Sana’s phone vibrated from the pocket of her worn-out denim jeans.

Mina: are you almost home?

Sana: went for a quick walk, be there soon.

Mina: ok. be safe.

Sana: will do.

Sana pocketed her phone and began to head to her apartment, obeying Mina’s unspoken order to come home. She always did. On occasion Sana would lose track of time during her night walks and receive a similar text from Mina telling her it’s getting late. Sana always replied and would head home, she had no reason to ignore Mina’s request.

The two women aren’t very communicative with each other. However, they had grown to care for one another throughout the years of living together. Text messages being one of the ways they showed their fondness for each other. Sana would often bring leftover goods from the cafe, sharing them with Mina. In turn Mina would look out for Sana, more so recently, by making sure she never came home too late and stayed safe.

The streets became more familiar the closer she got home. Sana passes by the convenience store that’s next to the park. Said park being across her apartment complex. Originally, she had planned to occupy an empty bench to sit. There is no one there since it is already dark outside. The basketball court always filled throughout the day with old men chasing after a ball. Couples spread across blankets. Mid-age women jogging in groups as they gossiped about the neighborhood drama. Children running, their sneakers scuffing the gravel of the playground. Laughter and screams echoing in the air. A complete contrast to the park’s atmosphere once the sun subsides.

Her plans would have to wait for another night.

Sana reaches the end of the park and finds her apartment complex in view from across the street. As she is crossing, she begins to drift off in her head. Wondering whether Mina will be waiting for her, maybe reading in the living room. Her mind brings up old memories. She thinks of her future. Her failures. She ends up wandering to a beautiful silhouette in her head. One she can’t put a name or face to.

Strayed in a haze of thoughts Sana crosses the street to her apartment. As Sana steps onto the curb of the other side, she hears the loud screeching of tires and a piercing honk. Sana turns rapidly, the sight before her paralyzing, blood in her body running cold in an instant. The fight or flight response muffles her senses, deafening her momentarily. She squints to the pickup truck with beaming headlights. Then to the person laying prone on the floor. Sana is frozen in place, stunned by the truck’s collision. Before she can gather her bearings, the vehicle reverses and flashes away from the scene in front.

Sana runs to the person, finally coming out of her paralytic state, with each step her heartrate begins to double. Worry and fear going up by the millisecond. Approaching the unknown person, Sana crouches to their level with arms reaching out. Flipping the person into her arms, her eyes widen and her heart stops. Feeling all the oxygen escape her lungs in shock. Sana wanted to back away instantly but was once again paralyzed.

The person she had placed into her arms was — herself.

This mortified Sana and she couldn’t tear her gaze from what seemed to be impossible. She remained there watching the life fade from her eyes.

Sana shoots up from her bed, panic ridden in her eyes while she lets out uneven breaths. She observes her surroundings in order to ground herself to reality. A thin coat of sweat layers her body. She’s in her bedroom. Her duvet covers the lower portion of her body, lightly sticking to her legs. The blinds of her window allow small rays of the moonlight to filter into the room. She eyes the soft patterns of light and shadows cast onto her walls. Finally, she glances over at the digital clock on her nightstand.

3:14AM, it read. She lets out a heavy sigh.

Ten minutes had passed, and Sana managed to calm down, but the image from her nightmare was still fresh in her mind. She swiftly gets out of bed and heads to her desk. Fishing for her headphones in one of the drawers. As she plugs them into her phone and hits shuffle on her playlist she reflects, “That’s three times this week.”

Sana has been having the same nightmare for a while now, and although she doesn’t get it every night it torments her daily. The look of her lifeless eyes etched into her brain.

An alarm blares on Sana’s nightstand, jolting her awake from her short slumber. Headphones landing on the floor. She gets up groggily wiping the drowsiness from her eyes, reaching over to silence the persistent noise. 6:00AM her phone highlighted as she discarded the alarm. Focusing on the still dark view of her window, sun unrisen, she stretches her limbs. Trying to shake off the exhaustion deep in her bones. Sana makes her way to the bathroom to freshen up. Another day of work ahead of her.

As Sana makes her way to the kitchen, she catches sight of Mina pouring herself a cup of coffee. Sana reaches into one of the cupboards for her mug and takes a seat on a stool in front of the kitchen island. Mina nears her offering some of the warm, bitter beverage.

“How’d you sleep?” the younger of the two questions.

Sana aimlessly stares at her now filled mug. No real interest in the cup of coffee, “mmm…the same as always” she mumbles.

Mina studies her roommate, aware of the night terrors that haunted her. Observing the dark circles and paling complexion that appear to be worsening as the weeks pass. Her eyebrows furrow in concern but she maintains her tone steady, “I see.”

As much as Mina wanted to pry and ask about the subject of her nightmares, she didn’t want to push Sana to share. She’d wait until Sana was ready to talk about it. So, she retreats from her spot in the kitchen and gathers her things to head out.

“Take it easy at work Sana,” is all the raven-haired girl can manage to express her concerns. Not waiting for the eldest’s response before heading out the door.

Sana brings her mug to the sink. Emptying the remains of her coffee. She stands there, arms leaning against the sink mentally preparing herself for the day. Willing the thousands of thoughts and images away to the back of her mind for now.

It’s a slow day. Her least favorite type of day, regular customers entering the well-known shop for their usual orders. She had no helper today to make matters worse. She had let her part-timer, Dahyun, take the day off. Aside from the regulars not many patrons enter. Leaving Sana vulnerable to the silence of the small, dim-lit cafe. Alone with her thoughts.

Sana busied herself throughout the day; cleaning every single crevice of the cafe, organizing the storage room, restocking the coffee, and serving whoever came through. To say she was tired would be an understatement. However, it did the job. It was now time to close the shop. After shutting off the lights and making sure everything was locked up, Sana headed out. Too worn out to go for a walk, the honey-haired girl apprehensively decided to go home right away.

As the weeks continue on, so do Sana’s nightmares. However, with the progressing weeks her dream is minutely changing. In her dream everything always plays out the same from the beginning. When she runs towards the body in the middle of the street, Sana is still petrified by the sight of her own image reflecting on the ground. What has changed is that her duplicate has become distorted. Her features almost appear to be clouded by an unseen force or shadow. Her eyes were the only part visible. Nonetheless, Sana jerks awake in fear.

There is familiarity in the shadows that now distort her nightmares. It reminds her of the silhouette that has crossed her mind. Sana realizes that what used to be her duplicate is now morphed into the clouded silhouette that resides in the back of her thoughts. What racked Sana’s mind was who this shadow person was and why they were appearing.

While the image of watching life vanish from her own eyes haunts her, the image of the shadow lingers. The once-clear reflection of herself has transformed into an indistinct figure. The only thing Sana can make out of this new shift is it’s a female. Her eyes, though barely visible, leave Sana feeling a paradox of emotions. Unsettled but comforted holding her in her arms. Familiar but unrecognizable as she stares into their eyes.

After mulling over her thoughts, the honey-haired girl can’t help but wonder if there’s a deeper meaning to her nightmares. Every night Sana wakes up, drenched in a layer of sweat and gasping for breath, the shadowed female lingers in her mind. She felt the figure was someone important. Almost as if the shadow holds a piece of her. Maybe her past. Sana wonders if there’s a message she needed to decipher from this. There was something crucial that she’s forgetting. Lately, the questions gnaw at her mind, affecting her day by day.

Mina observes her roommate. The aforementioned girl sat in the dining room, a now soggy bowl of cereal in front being left untouched for too long. Sana is constantly lost in her head whenever she’s at home, paying Mina no thought. This raises concern in Mina. So, she begins to keep a close eye on Sana. The raven head becomes anxious, thinking Sana is finally putting the pieces together. Closer to figuring out what she doesn’t remember. Mina needs to prepare for the day it hits Sana.

It would be easy for Mina to lay it out for her friend and tell her, but Mina wants Sana to solve it out on her own. Her own memory will decide when she’s ready.

One night while Sana heads home, a strange feeling courses through her. It’s an inkling feeling that begins as she crosses the street from the park to her apartment complex. Something was itching her brain to remember. Sana didn’t realize she had stopped walking to focus on what she was feeling. Stagnant in the middle of the street. Seemingly from nowhere, she heard loud honking and tires skidding in an attempt to halt. The beaming headlights along with the rush of nerves putting her body on alert gave Sana a sense of Deja vu. She barely manages to move to the side as the car swerves around her.

Sana is able to guide herself home afterwards. She shuffles inside and exhales to release the tension from the previous incident. Quiet footsteps approach her. “You’re home — already,” it was her roommate.

Mina stands by their apartment entrance, eyeing Sana who was slipping off her shoes. Her hair was covering her face as she was slightly bent downwards. When the honey-haired girl looked up, Mina could see the sullen look on her face. Sorrow filled her sunken eyes. The younger girl couldn’t handle seeing her roommate like this anymore.

“Sana, is everything ok?”

This was all it took for the dam to break. Too overwhelmed by her troubles, Sana couldn’t help the tears welling at the corner of her eyes. Mina led her to their couch.

Finally voicing out her dream and the torment it’s brought her, with her head in her hands, Sana expresses her concerns and want to get to the bottom of things. Burdened by the unresolved.

She has a lengthy conversation with Mina, taking most of the night. Her roommate listens attentively, confirming her worries. However, she puts them to the side. Focusing on the words being hushed out from the older girl. Sana goes deep into detail about how she feels an inexplicable connection to the figure of her dreams.

That with each passing night, the feminine silhouette became more defined. The presence of this person feels like a key to unlocking a part of herself that was buried. “This can’t just be something from my imagination, Mina…” Sana huff out and pauses. “It can’t be. It feels too real.”

Sana looks at her friend, tired. Eyes desperate and in search of answers. For the last missing piece. Continuing to vent out, Sana can no longer hold back all her thoughts or feelings. She knew that she would have to confront this. To find what she is looking for, she would have to delve into the depths of her mind where she will uncover the truth. Something Mina is aware of. She knows what the missing piece in Sana’s nightmare is. Mina bites her tongue; she holds the last piece to Sana’s puzzle.

It wasn’t going to be easy for Sana. The raven head finds a glint of determination in Sana’s eyes. She just hoped it would be enough to get her through whatever lies ahead. Through the unraveling of the darkest corners of her psyche.

After a couple of days passed, Sana is at work again, eyeing the calendar at the cafe with the intention of looking at next week’s schedule. She finds a certain date calling to her. Sana fidgets with the hem of her rough leathered work apron. Gaze set on the calendar but was miles away in her mind.

“Hey boss,” a small pale girl appears next to her “have something coming up?”

Sana pondered, did she? The date was calling out to her, similar to the other night’s incident, a call to remember. She abruptly decided, “would you mind handling the shop on your own?” as she pointed to the date. The smaller women glanced at the calendar, mentally confirming if her schedule aligned. “Sure, no problem,” she gleams.

Sana remained silent, not that she didn’t trust Dahyun, but she rarely took days off.

It seemed as if her employee had read Sana’s mind.

“You know — we’re all entitled a day off once in a while.”

“Having a break won’t hurt,” and Sana couldn’t agree more but for different reasons. She wished she could get a breather from the nightmares and the baggage of turmoil it entailed. Weighing heavily on her shoulders. She wanted a break from all her unresolved questions and emotions. Sana wanted a moment of clarity, a small respite from the chaos in her mind.

Ever since their late-night talk, Mina and Sana have become closer. Their conversation became a turning point in their relationship. That night Sana came home and poured her heart out, Mina listened and supported her unwaveringly. This created a deeper bond between the two. One more open. It was as if the restrictions to showing their care were lifted. Mina wouldn’t withhold herself anymore and checked on Sana more often. She ensured that Sana was coping — as best as she could — with her nightmares. Sana found herself content with this new development.

Later that same day Mina visited the cafe. This was part of the new development in their friendship. On days that Mina finished her work early, she would stop by the cafe to indulge in savory sweets and rich flavored coffee to balance it out. She would occasionally stay until Sana closed. Walking home together to make sure she didn’t stay out too long and have a repeat of the other night.

As Mina was taking a bite of the sweets she had ordered, her ears perked at the conversation a couple of feet away. Dahyun was conversing with Sana. From what Mina was able to hear, she found that Dahyun would be taking care of the small shop by herself. This piqued her interest. If Dahyun is going to be by herself at the cafe, that means Sana would be taking a day off. Aware of the upcoming date Mina stood up with her empty plate and mug. She headed to the register, where the cafe workers stood. Dahyun greeted her with a smile, “Thanks Mina, I would’ve collected them you didn’t have to bring them yourself.” “It was no trouble,” Mina countered as she offered a small smile. She quickly glanced at the calendar behind the two girls.

There it was. It was marked on the cafe’s schedule in bright red: Sana’s day off. Sana was indeed getting closer to figuring things out. Mina thought to herself for a moment. She needed to take action. She said her goodbyes to Dahyun and looked at Sana, checking for any unusual signs. She told Sana she would see her later and excused herself to run some “errands.”

Mina arrived to the apartment she shared with Sana, swiftly parking into the underground garage. Jogging up the stairwell she held her phone against her ear. Listening to the ringing as she waited for the call to connect. The younger girl was calling her boss. After her discovery at the cafe, she felt that she had to take a day off. The same day as Sana.

After settling things at work the younger girl began to rummage through her closet. With little to no struggle Mina found what she was looking for, there in the back corner of her closet was a dusty and messily taped up box. This is Sana’s box that was given to Mina years ago. However, Mina is sure that Sana has no recollection of doing this. Mina swipes at the dusty box with an old rag. Uncovering a name that had not been spoken or crossed in the mind of her roommate. A name that would certainly bring back a flood of memories and emotions that Sana had tried to bury deep within her consciousness. She had entailed this to Mina long ago and despite her best efforts to confine the box, the answers to her questions had been a room away — in Mina’s closet.

Mina stared at the name on the old box. She asked herself whether Sana would be ready for this. Placing the answers to Sana’s nightmare in the back of her trunk, she concluded that it was time. Her friend deserved clarity.

The following days passed by in a blur for the two roommates. Both filled with nerves for their day off, one in fear and one in uncertainty. That morning Sana woke up in her patterned panic, result of her nightmare. With no work scheduled, Sana had wanted to sleep in. Her own personal but cruel alarm couldn’t let that slide.

Sana dragged her feet into the kitchen until she stopped at the view of her roommate. The same roommate who should be at work by now. Mina meets Sana’s eyes and simply states, “I have the day free.” Giving it no other thought, Sana continues through her morning.

“Hey, I have a small errand I have to run. Do you mind joining me?”

Sana looks towards her friend from her spot on the couch. Eyebrows raised in confusion.

“I don’t feel like going alone. Some company would be nice…” the raven head explains. Hoping this will be enough to convince her. Luckily, Sana stood up a few seconds after and agreed.

Throughout the car drive, Mina holds onto the steering wheel with a death grip so tight. Her anxiety locking her fingers in place. This didn’t go unnoticed by Sana. She chose to ignore it for the time being; her eyes focused on the road for any clues to their destination.

A short drive later, they have finally arrived. Sana glances out the window and a cemetery comes into view. Mina was quick to observe Sana’s reactions, but only found confusion take over her features. Putting the car in park, Mina exits the car. The older girl watches, confusion deepening the furrowing of her eyebrows, as her roommate gathers a bouquet of flowers she hadn’t noticed.

“Why are we here?” Sana asks, her voice tinged with uneasiness. Her gut sending her a feeling of foreboding and apprehension.

Mina didn’t utter a single word in response. She secures a small bag on her shoulder and motions for Sana to follow. After a moment’s hesitation Sana steps out, taking in her surroundings as her feet hit the gravel concrete. There were rows of graves, and the air was filled with a thick scent of earth and floral tones. The atmosphere of the cemetery quiet and somber, quite what one would expect. To Sana however, it brought a chill to her bones. Walking in silence, the gravel crunches under the weight of their steps. Sana’s mind is racing in an attempt to piece together why Mina has brought her here.

Suddenly Mina stops and begins to kneel down. Setting aside the bouquet and placing the small bag alongside. It wasn’t a lie when Mina said she had an errand to run. Mina knelt down in front of a single, well-tended grave. Her roommate begins to clean around the area with practiced ease and precision. Her movements are deliberate and respectful. Unknown to Sana, the raven head would frequent the grave in front of them. Maintaining the site before them, a gesture Sana would later appreciate.

Finally taking a glance at the name engraved on the headstone, Sana’s knees buckled. It was a name Sana hadn’t thought of in years. Succumbing to the flood of memories and emotions she fell to her knees, unable to hold back her sobs as tears began to stream along her face.

The memories hit Sana like turbulent waves. Each memory crashed into her; a feeling that made Sana feel like she was drowning. Each one is more painful than the last. It was Deja vu all over again. Except now it dawned on Sana that her nightmares were a mirroring image of your accident. It became too much for her. She felt her heart clench tightly in her chest and erupting into pieces. The all too familiar feeling of her body paralyzing in shock hit her once again. She had lost you.

Realization dawned on Sana. It all made sense now; the nightmare, the shadowy figure, the sense of Deja vu. It was a reflection of that tragic day. You were the silhouette. The shadowed figure — the one who died.

She remembered that day clearly now, how you had tried to surprise her after work but had arrived a bit too late. Sana had closed the cafe early, the same idea as you in mind. She remembered turning around just in time to see you running, set on catching up to her. Unaware of the incoming car. The all too familiar honk, tires screeching, and beaming headlights replayed in her flashback. The image of the truck not being able to stop in time. The scene played out exactly the same as her nightmare. Except when she turned the body around it was you in her arms.

She held you in her arms as she panicked. Your hands gripped tightly onto Sana’s sweater fear evident in your face. Sana stared into your eyes, your gaze furthering away. There was not enough time for help to arrive, even so, Sana called Mina out of desperation. By the time Mina and the help she called for would get there, it would be far too late.

Instead of watching the life drain from own eyes, she watched the life drain from her lover’s eye. The love of her life. Despite it being herself in her nightmare, Sana felt there was no difference whether it was you or her. You were her life. Her everything. The memories she had tried to bury, a trauma response to the loss, had finally resurfaced.

A gentle breeze swept through the cemetery, hitting the two girls. The wind being soft but strong enough to wipe away some of Sana’s tears. Sana looks at your headstone, a defeated smile crossing her pale face. She felt you there with her, as if you had sent the small breeze. Sana knew that she would never forget you, not anymore.

Mina was now at her side. She places a comforting hand onto Sana’s back, offering her silent support. The two of them sit there for a long time, sharing in the sorrow and bittersweet memories of you. In that moment, Sana felt the burden on her shoulders lift and a strange sense of closure.

[lovelynicho]

Can you react &command to the fact that the reader initiates their intimacy for the first time? In terms of a kiss, hug and etc?

&team reaction - to you initiating intimacy for the first time

Pairing: &team x gn!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: not proofread (I was lazy), nothing else ig but lmk if there is

Note: I wrote it in a way that the reader doesn't usually like physical touch, I hope it's okay; english is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes

Masterlist

K

He's fond of physical touch so he would be soooo happy when you finally initiate some intimacy. It happened after a date. After dates K usually hugs you and kisses you and he planned to do the same this time too. Only if you weren't faster than him. You guys were still talking in his car. Talking about everything and nothing, laughing a lot just like after every date. You felt so happy with him, so.... in love. You just felt a sudden urge to kiss him so you did it. It caught him off guard but when you tried to pull a way he chased after your lips to capture them again. When you two stopped for air he just smiled at you because he knew it was a big step for you.

Fuma

Your relationship was still fresh, so you didn't have that much intimacy yet. Today you just had a rough day and you couldn't stop yourself from crying. All this while you already settled a date with Fuma, to watch a movie at your place, so you left the door open for him. But as you were crying you lost track of time and the next thing you hear is your boyfriend yelling a loud 'hello' in search of you. You tried to hide you tears but it was no use. He got really worried when he saw you so he sat on the bed, right next to you. The thought of hugging you too crossed his mind, but knowing you're not really into physical touch he wasn't sure if it was okay when you're in this state. He did try to calm you down by saying "it's okay to cry" and "you can tell me if you want to". But suddenly you just asked "Fuma, can I hug you?" He nodded with a soft smile, hoping he can make you feel better.

Nicholas

He understands why you don't like skinship that much (no he doesn't cuz why would you resist warm hugs, but he tries his best). Despite that, he initiates a lots of skinship, but always makes sure that you're okay with it. When you first initiated skinship, it was really sweet. Both of you were sitting on the couch at your place doing nothing together. You looked at him by some sudden urge, just admiring his beauty (cuz come on, he's beautiful) and you lead your gaze to his arm. His perfectly defined arm that is decorated by a scar, something that makes him even more unique. Without thinking you lay your head on his shoulder, this already surprised him. But he definitely wasn't prepared for what came next. You brushed your hand over his scar making a guitar string sound and then you just smiled at him, this act made him laugh so hard you tought you broke him. Then when he finished he just looked at you and said "you're so cute"

EJ

It was nothing special honestly. You two were hanging out at his place talking and doing nothing when suddenly you felt hungry. He offered to make both if you sandwiches and you'd be crazy not to accept it. But as he was in the kitchen, making food, he looked so beautiful. Eyes focused on what he was doing and his waist just looked so pretty, so inviting. So you went up behind him and hugged him. It caught him off guard because normally you don't do things like this. In fact, you have never initiated a hug between you too, or with anyone else. He even asked you if you were okay because it's just sooo not like you. You just laughed at his question confirming that you are indeed okay, he just looked really pretty and you couldn't resist.

Yuma

You guys went stargazing together. It was almost midnight and there was nothing around you, the whole environment was quiet and calm. Sometimes you talked, but otherwise you just layed next to each other looking at the sky, making wishes when you saw a shooting star. But you were getting sleepy. You didn't want to fall asleep out in the middle of nowhere but you did want to get into a more comfortable position. You didn't have any pillows though, so you decided to use your boyfriend as a pillow. More specifically, your boyfriend's chest. As soon as you laid your head on it, you could hear a soft laugh coming out of Yuma. "I knew you wouldn't be able to hold yourself back from touching me for long" he said between laughs, but this playful statement of his earned him a soft slap from you.

Jo

He's shy. Like VERY shy. So I feel like it would be really awkward for a while with him. It would be just hugs and pecks on the lips for a long time because neither of you was brave enough to initiate more. And even those hugs and pecks were started by him. He even felt a little worried that you don't actually want to be with him. But one day on your date you felt courageous so you decided it was time to finally do something. It was a movie date when you came out from the cinema you guys still had some of your shared popcorn. You guys were talking about the move you just saw while you ate all the remaining popcorn. And by 'you' I mean you alone. When you realised there's no more left you just looked at him and suddenly kissed him. It was a longer kiss, but all soft. Then you said "sorry, I thought you deserve something since I ate all the popcorn". But he didn't even think about that, he was busy becoming a tomato.

Harua

It takes him time to start initiating intimacy too, so he understands you. Still he was the first one to initiate holding hands, hugging and kissing. You were comfortable with it, you just didn't know how to initiate these kinds of things. One time you and your boyfriend went to the nearby coffee shop for a date. You were waiting and finally your lattes arrived. You guys were chatting nicely and your boyfriend started to drink his coffee, but the cream stayed on his lips. That seemingly stayed unnoticed by Harua. You were thinking about how to tell him that he has some cream on his lips when suddenly you had a better idea. So while he was telling you about a cat he met the other day you just leaned in and kissed him. The action took him by surprise because you have never been so straightforward about a kiss before, but he had to admit that it was really cute. (It's so cliché I'm sorry sksksk)

Taki

He seems like his love language is physical touch. So it was a little hard for him to get used to the fact, that you're not really into it. Even when you two end up cuddling or kissing or just hugging, it is always him who initiates it. So the first time you hugged him he got so happy, he ended up picking you up and spinning you with that adorable smile of his on his face. After he put you down he would apologise in case that action was too much for you. When you tell him that it was okay and he's really cute and even hug him again he just carries you to the couch or bed (whichever is closer) and you two end up cuddling for hours.

Maki

I think his love language is physical touch. It would probably be hard for him to completely understand how you're not really into touching and stuff. He might end up starting to initiate less skinship because he wants to respect your boundaries. But you wanted to cuddle him, wanted to kiss him you just didn't know how you should start it. Once you were at his place, watching a movie. You just left for more snacks and when you came back you thought that now is a good time to cuddle him. So when you went back to the couch you put the snacks on his lap and then sat close to him, close enough to be able to lay your head on his shoulder. Maki, noticing your intention, put his arm around you and you guys just continued to watch the movie, but your boyfriend felt exceptionally happy just from your small gesture.

[glassartpeasants]

How to Love .03

Trafalgar Law x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, angst

A/N: Sorry that it's shorter then normal but i can not tell you how hard i had to grind to get this shit out.

music playlist

~~~

“Law? You alive?” Soft fingers could be felt gently skimming against Law’s forehead, making him lean into their warmth before his eyes snapped open.

Jumping up, Law looks around his room before seeing you kneeling down beside his bed. His heart slowly calms before finally finding the words to speak. “(Y/N)? What are you doing in my room?”

“Well, good evening to you, too.” Rubbing his eyes, Law looks at you with a confused look.

“What? Evening?” Turning to his alarm clock, he sees it’s 8 am.

“We had a power outage due to an unexpected storm last night. I thought you might have already fixed your clock, but I was wrong.” Law jumps out of his bed and opens his curtains to see a beautiful sunset staring back at him.

“Why didn’t you wake me earlier?! What time is it?!”

“It’s currently 6 pm. Also, I thought you were actually trying to catch up on sleep.” Standing up, Law looks at (Y/N) in bewilderment before pacing around.

“I have stuff I need to do! Shit, I need to pay bills.”

“Done.”

Stopping in his tracks, Law stares at you. “What?”

“I said done. I paid them.”

“I also made a sheet with finances on everything I know we’ve spent at least together in the last month. I didn’t go through your mail. Went grocery shopping and cleaned the entire house. I did save some financing things so we can go through them together.”

“I-”

“I did everything.” A silence covers Law and you as you both look at each other.

“Why?”

“You always work so hard! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep in once since I’ve known you! For a doctor, you think you’d take care of yourself more.” Law watches as you cross your arms.

“I…Thank you.” Law says in almost a whisper. “But never let me sleep in again.”

“But you look so refreshed! Even if you got wild bedhead.” You tease. Law grumbles before trying to flatten his hair, only for it to bounce back. You can’t help but giggle.

“Maybe if you take a shower, it’ll fix it.”

“Alright. Now get out.” You can feel Law push you out of his room before closing the door.

“What? No ‘Thank you for waking me up (Y/N)?’” You say sarcastically.

“I would have said that if it wasn’t 6 pm!” His voice rang from behind the door.

“So ungrateful!” You chuckle before walking away towards the kitchen. The smell of dinner is too much to resist.

As soon as Law heard you walk away, a loud crash and curse left your lips.

“Fuck! Bepo, no!” Law quickly put on a decent shirt before running out to the dining room. His jaw dropped as he watched you holding Bepo, who had a whole grilled fish in his mouth.

“Spit it out! How dare you eat my fish, you asshole! I thought we were cool!” Law was speechless, so he watched his cat and roommate fighting over fish.

Turning your head, you saw Law just standing there. “Law! Help me! Little shit has my food!” You get a good grab on the fish, and just as you think you’ve gotten it, Bepo takes another bite.

Law can’t help but stiffle a laugh as he watches you fight with Bepo. When you finally lost grip of the fish, Bepo made a break for it, which led you to begin chase.

“Damnit, cat! Give it to me!” Law hears you yell from down the hall. Chuckling, Law moved to what used to be the dinner you made. Paw prints everywhere as well as nibble marks from Bepo’s teeth. White cat hair covering every inch of food.

“He’s never jumped on the table and ate our food before. What’s gotten into him?” 

He could hear you stomping and cursing your way back to the kitchen, telling him that you were unsuccessful in your mission. When you entered the kitchen, you stood beside him and looked at the mess Bepo had reduced dinner to.

“Looks like he ate good tonight.” Law chuckled, trying to lighten up your now-soured mood.

“He probably just gained all the weight we’ve worked so hard for him to lose! Why would he do this? He’s never done this before!” You whine. With a frown, you begin to clean up the ruined dinner.

“This fucking sucks. I spent so long on this dinner for you, and he came along and ate it!” Law’s eyes widen upon hearing your words.

“You made it for me?” Law watches you stiffen before going back to normal posture.

“Yeah, I did. I wanted you to have a stress-free day, but Bepo decided to be an asshole and destroy dinner!” You sigh as you throw away the destroyed food before putting the dishes in the sink to wash.

“I don’t wanna order takeout 'cause I know you don’t like fast food. I just…” You sigh as you try to figure out what to do.

“Takeout is not that bad. We can order something and watch TV…together?”

Feeling your heartbeat pick up its pace, you gulp before answering. “You sure? I don’t wanna force you to eat food you don’t like just to cheer me up.”

“I’m sure we can find something. I think Olive Garden delivers?”

“Olive Garden, huh? Never took you for a pasta fan.” You joke, trying to lighten up the mood.

“I’m a sucker for restaurants who put actual effort into making their food.”

You laugh. “And our old classmates said you weren’t funny.”

“What? Who the hell said that?” Law’s offended tone made you smile.

“Doesn’t matter. You're a doctor making big bucks and saving lives while they're cleaning Mcdonald's bathrooms for quick cash.” Law couldn’t help but feel a slight smile tug at his lips from your words.

A laugh escapes Law’s throat. “I guess if you think so, that’s all that matters.” Law pauses as soon as he realizes what he’s said. Yet he doesn’t see how his words bring a smile to your face.

~~~

You can’t help the smile that sticks to your face as you work endlessly to fulfill customers' orders. Your mind is running with the thought of Law and his smile.

“What’s got you all smiley?” Killer asks you as he cleans the counter.

“What? Am I not allowed to smile?”

“You are, but that’s not a regular smile you got on your face there.” His words make you stop in your tracks as you snap your head in his direction.

“You have someone on your mind, don’t you?” You can practically hear the smirk behind his mask.

“You don’t know what the hell you're talking about, Killer.”

“I bet it’s Law, huh? Doesn’t shock me. You’ve been his roommate for about five months and went through a breakup together.” You hit Killer in the arm.

“Shut up! What if someone hears you!” You whisper with a burning face.

“Afraid he’s gonna show up and hear me saying the truth?”

“Killer, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to murder you.” Killer only laughs as he looks at you.

“Yeah, okay (Y/N). Whatever you say.” You huff as you look down at the clean coffee machine in front of you. Killer’s words bouncing in your skull. You didn’t want to admit it, but maybe Killer was right. Perhaps you were falling in love with him again.

“I did have a thing for him in college. Before dating Eustass. I ended up falling for him during our time together working on that project.” Killer stops cleaning as he looks at you. Silent but wanting to hear your words.

“I don’t know what it was about him, but by the end of the project we were grouped together for, I had ended up falling for him. Hard. It took me a lot of convincing, but I thought that maybe he liked me too.”

“Did he?”

You stay silent before answering. “ I guess not because my best friend asked him out, and he said yes.” A deep pang shot through your heart as you remembered.

“She had told me afterward that she liked him since we started college but never told me until I talked to her about asking someone out. I didn’t say Law’s name, but he was the one I was talking about.” Sighing, you grip the counter.

“Her telling me she’s liked him since we started college broke me. How could I try dating the man I liked for a whole semester while my friends liked him from the beginning? It broke my heart to hear him agree to be her boyfriend. Having her bring him around was like torture the first few months.”

“While I, of course, never acted out of place with Law while he was with (.....), I only managed to get over him when I heard him say ‘I love you’ to her. That was when I knew I had lost. After a few months after that at graduation, I begin to date Eustass. After that, we slowly stopped talking and only saw each other when it was with (.....). Until five months ago.”

“When you caught Eustass and (.....)?”

“Yeah…When I caught them.” Your heart burns at the memory, but not as bad as it had been before. What used to be a stab in the heart now felt like a bee sting.

“How am I supposed to tell him that I’ve fallen for him again? What if he doesn’t feel the same? How am I supposed to live with him? Not to mention, ruin a friendship.”

“I suppose that does complicate things.”

“I don’t understand. How come this has to happen? It’s like the universe is doing this to fuck with me. Shoving something in my face that I want something I can’t have.” Killer stays quiet as he listens to you speak.

“It’s easier just to shove them down before you end up hurt.”

~~~

“Is that a smile on our grumpy doctor's face? What’s got you all happy?” the charge nurse teased Law.

“Your the second person to tell me that, and it’s annoying me.” The nurse chuckled.

“Oh, please, Law. Everyone can see you’ve got something on your mind, or is it…someone?” The nurse watches as Law tenses, and his cheeks dust pink.

The nurse squeals. “It is!” She claps her hands in excitement. "You have to tell me! I promise I won’t tell anyone!”

“No! I’m not telling you anything!” Law whisper yells.

“Aw, why not? I could give you advice!”

“I’m not telling you about my personal life! So stop asking!”

Huffing, the nurse gave up. “Fine! But here, there is a 3rd-degree burn case in room eight. Says a new co-worker turned up the coffee machine too high, and when it accidentally spilled on her hand, it scalded her.” Law snatches the clipboard and narrows his eyes at the nurse before making his way to room eight.

Opening the door, he expected anyone but the person before him. “(Y/N)?!”

“Hi, Law,” you chuckle nervously. “I didn’t know you worked in the ER.” Law can hear the nervousness in your voice. His eyes scan your body before seeing your bandaged hand. He carefully grabs your hand and looks at it.

“How did this happen?”

“A relatively new co-worker put the coffee temperature too high, so when I went to pour it and accidentally spilled some on me, it got all over my hand and burned it. I didn’t think it was that serious initially, but Killer made me come in. And now it turns out I have a third-degree burn.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No. Not really.”

“Well, you're an idiot for not coming in sooner.”

“It didn’t hurt other than the initial pain of being burnt!”

“That’s cause it burnt away your nerves!” Your shocked expression told him all he needed to know. Law sighs as he examines your burn. 

“It’s definitely a 3rd-degree burn; you're gonna have to keep it bandaged and change it at least once daily. It’s not big enough to need surgery, but it’s still gonna scar. Drink a lot of fluids. I’m prescribing you an antibiotic to prevent infection.”

“Alright. Good thing I live with you. You can help me with it all.” You say with a smirk, causing him to roll his eyes but with a smile. 

“But forgetting about me, how’s your day going? Did you drink your fluids?”

“I’m the doctor, and you're the patient. Don’t try that with me.” Law chuckles.

“You seem to be popular with the ladies' Law. A lot of nurses are looking at you from outside the room.” Law’s head snaps to the doorway to see a few nurses sticking their heads into the room through the doorway.

“I’ll be back.” You giggle as Law walks away and out the door.

Leaving the room and closing the door, Law turns his head to the nurses. “What are you doing?!” Law whisper yells at them.

“She’s the one that's got you all smiley, isn’t she?!” The nurses squeal.

“No, she isn’t! She’s just my roommate until she finds a place she can afford!” Law tries to defend himself, but the pink that swarms his cheeks tells the nurses everything.

“She is! And you're even roommates with her! That’s perfect! Come on, you have to ask her out on an official date!”

“That’s not happening! God, you people are so nosy!”

“What’s stopping you-”

“I’m not her type, alright?” Law snaps, causing the nurses to hush.

Running a hand through his hair, Law sighs. “I’m not her type, so even if I did like her, she wouldn’t say yes.”

“How do you know?”

“I went to college with her. That’s all your gonna get.” Law runs a hand through his hair.

You rotten his brain and wormed your way into his heart. Somehow, in the semester-long project he did with you all those years ago, he ended up gaining feelings for you. There was just something about you. The way you laughed, your smile, how you always seemed as happy, the list could go on.

He was sure you liked him too. How you looked at him couldn’t be anything other than it, right? You’d scoot closer to him when you both worked on the project—texting him about things other than the project. Bringing him food you had made.

He wanted to, oh, how he desperately wanted to ask you out. So when he got a note on the desk he always sat on had a note that said to meet him at the park, he was so sure it was you. It had your handwriting and everything. It had to be you. And when he saw (.....), your friend instead of you, he was shocked.

She had told him that you had written the note for her cause she was too scared to do it during school hours. She had even joked about a double date with you and a guy you were thinking about asking out. He felt his heart break when he heard it. Did he really jump to conclusions and think you liked him when you could have just been friendly?

All these thoughts ran through his mind that day. He didn’t know why at the time, but he did say yes to (.....) asking him out on a date. Possibly to forget the pain he felt? A distraction? He didn’t know.

But now, those feelings he thought were snuffed out reappeared stronger than ever. He wanted to be with you all the time. All he could think about was you. Even worse than college. His dreams were filled with images of you. He heard your voice when you weren’t there. Almost everything reminded him of you. He could look at a cloud and somehow be reminded of a memory you two shared.

Ever since you moved in as well, his diet has gotten relatively healthier. While he still drank coffee and energy drinks nonstop, you always ensured he ate. Hell, you’ve even started making him lunches to bring to work two months ago when you found out he usually didn’t eat anything during his shift. He couldn’t help but chuckle cause with every lunch came with a terribly drawn Bepo picture on whatever color sticky note you had. Each one he kept in his desk drawer.

“Law! What do you want for dinner?” You yell through the rooms door to Law, causing him to be pulled from his thoughts.

“Just roommates, huh?” One of the nurses asked with a smirk while the others held smug grins. They could easily see through the stoic doctor's facade. 

“Just roommates.” Law glares before entering the room to answer your question.

“I give it another month before he caves.”

“I say two. He seems to be pretty worried about his friendship with her.”

“True, I say three, though. Gotta give him time to boil in his feelings for a little longer.” The nurses converse with each other as they try to sneak peeks at the doctor and the cause of his smile.

~~~

“Law, hurry up! It’s about to start!” You yell to him. The sound of his footsteps rings throughout the apartment, letting you know that he heard you.

“I’m coming. I’m coming. Give me a second.” Chuckling, Law sits down next to you on the couch. 

“I’m so excited! I can’t believe they’re making a Sora: Warrior of the Sea show! You know what that means, right?” You squirm in your seat in excitement. 

Putting his feet up, Law looks at you. “ What does it mean?” He says with a smile.

“That means every Thursday we get to hang out and watch a new episode! Doesn’t that sound awesome?” You can feel your heart beating out of your chest from happiness as you smile brightly at him.

Law looked down at you and felt his heart leap. You were so excited to be near him. Telling him how you couldn’t wait for it to be a common occurrence. Despite him telling himself not to go down this road again. He couldn’t help but imagine how it’d be if you two were an actual thing—feeling your warmth against his cold frame, holding you close. Laying down next to you at night, hearing your soft breaths. Being able to admire your calm features as you sleep. And even feel your lips against his.

Law could see you sitting next to him, so close your thigh touched his. You didn’t seem to notice or care, which made his heart beat in his ears. He couldn’t even pay attention to the show, as he was more focused on you and how close you were to him. There was an itch inside him, telling him to do something. Now would be the perfect time to make a move, even if it was small. So, taking a breath, he took the risk.

Law moves his arm up slowly before laying it behind you on the couch. His heart beats rapidly, as he pretends not to notice he’s done it, giving you quick glances to see if you’ve noticed anything. So far, to him, you haven’t

But you noticed right away.

You were screaming internally with excitement and nervously biting your tongue. Could it mean he liked you too? Was it an accident? Either or made your heart beat against your ribs. Your head spins as you try to act cool and not show how excited you were to have him so close to you.

If he had made a move, then who were you to ignore it? So, with an internal deep breath, you lean back against his arm. His warmth makes a shiver run across your spine. It felt as if your face and body was on fire from his skin touching yours. You curled your toes in your socks as you tried to contain a steady breathing.

You take a swallow the lump in your throat as you decide to take a jump of hope. With a sharp intake of breath, you lean closer into Law, placing your head on his shoulder. His cologne flooding you like a calming aroma. In his arms felt like a dream come true. Laying against his shoulder as his arm laid behind your head. 

Even though the you told yourself that you wouldn’t fall for Law or act on your feelings, sometimes it’s okay to lie. Even if it’s to yourself.

~~~

Taglist:

@yuki190 @stachelrose @loraleiii @axcel-lucci @st4rfevrr @rexspersonalhell @nanapurinpurin @elen-alambil @starlightkitten19 @bby-deerling @queenofthekill @chaes-tea @emmaiscool22 @shuujin @augustanna @likeliterallywtf @iraaiitz @cherrybomb5000 @lavenderkaye106 @jabean @wrennyx @jamaicaa-blakee @ashortdork @kat2tired @nerdgeekandeverysweet-blog @getsue @kaptain-rebekah @reigenmagnet @rebeccawinters @keenzinemugstudent @mydearlybeloathed @firefistussy @throne-inmyside @littleleelee @thepurpleempath @yuji4lierrr @whodissbitj @slut-for-buck @ihatespidersdie @bluebunny002 @gabi-moureira @blairbellerose @luciledreamz @mrstraffy @yukiyury @lunalovesthe-moon @kenqki

[planetnini]

PLEASE DON'T SAY YOU LOVE ME !

࿔･ﾟ*࿐ You kept catching glimpses of Suguru around even after his death. Thinking it may have been a trick on your mind, you brushed it off but when someone that looks and sounds exactly like him shows up at your apartment, you have no other choice but to take matters into your own hands... that is until you find out that he still might be in there.

pairing. geto suguru x gn!reader

tags. angst,, like seriously angst (this hurts so much please listen to me), the first half is a trick there is no happy ending, shibuya arc spoilers!!! (kenjaku is a bitch), violence/fighting (i get a bit descriptive sorry) and of course,,, major character death :)

word count. 2.8k

notes. this idea came to me one night and bambi encouraged me to write it so here it is. i hope no one kills me for this, i also can't believe this is my first official fic of jjk... anyways, get ready to (c)rumble, thank you! <333

“I thought I told you not to worry about me.” you said, phone tucked on your shoulder holding it to your ear as you took the grocery bag from the old lady giving a curt nod and smile. You moved the bags in one hand and pulled the phone out from your shoulder, pressing it against your ear.

“But then what else would I do?” Satoru whined, masking his concern with a playful question as you walked to the crossing, going to take the usual route home.

“Go bother someone else.” you teased.

Going for the dramatics you heard him gasp through the line, “You are so mean.” he replied and you don’t have to see him to know he is pouting. 

You chuckled, stopping in your tracks as you glanced over the scenic route through the park contemplating to take the long way home. Your attention is suddenly turned to the children with their parents, chasing each other around.

Your heart stuttered.

The mere sight elicited thoughts about your future; the plans you had come up with; the dreams you’d wish to share with Suguru that were torn away from you. The burdens of the jujutsu world were too much to handle alone, and you just know that if you were just a bit more attentive, you could have saved him.

“You need to be reminded that you’re not the only special grade sometimes.” you said, glancing at the way the soft cerulean of the sky weaved with a beautiful light orange. The sunset reminding you of days when Suguru would take you out after missions together.

“Do you think you’re stronger than me?” he chimed, and you rolled your eyes at his comment. Satoru was always like this but you knew that his voice was laced with worry and concern.

“I’m going to hang up.” you threatened as your feet move against their own will, deciding to take the long way home today. The cherry blossoms danced along with the wind, falling beneath you on the concrete as you continued down the path.

It is quiet for a moment and you think Satoru has hung up on you in response to your comment but when you hear him sigh, you can’t help but do the same.

It has been a rough few years for everyone, especially for Shoko, Satoru, and yourself. Not only had you lost your best friend the first time but you also had to lose him another time.

“Are you still there?” he interrupted your thoughts.

“Yeah.. I’m still here.” you replied as you let out an exhale, kicking some pebbles along your path.

“Are you still seeing him around?” he questioned, words picked out carefully.

You sighed, “you make me sound insane.” you responded as you stood at the traffic light waiting for the cars to pass by. Your eyes moved to the blossom leaves falling atop your head and on your clothes.

“I never said you were insane Y/N.” he grumbled and you can’t control the way your whole body relaxes at his words. You knew Satoru cared for you deeply and you had always appreciated it even if you didn't really show it. He had always kept an eye out for you, even before Suguru’s death, and while he was a handful, you knew he always had good intentions. “It wasn’t easy to be there." he added.

You thought back to that day where Satoru insisted you stay back as he went to find Suguru but one look at you and he caved. You wanted to go to find newfound peace but seeing him in this state did nothing for your closure, it only made your heartache worse.

Seeing him smile at you like he did the first day you met had sent butterflies all throughout your body.

Everything about him- every minuscule detail about him- had been exactly as you had remembered. He still had the same sweet and playful look in his eyes. He still had the same goddamn smile. He was still the same person you fell in love with all those years ago so it hurt. You cried, wept, and tried to be strong as you thought about the moments shared with him and how cruel it was that this was where you ended up.

You leaned down, and kissed his cheek as tears adorned your cheeks. Holding his hand and with three tight squeezes- a sign of sorry that you established as your relationship blossomed- he closed his eyes, prepared for the worst as a tear rolled down his face, and then he took his last breath.

“Satoru…” you uttered, completely speechless as you tried to clear your head, “I wanted to be there.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“Do you think it’s possible?” he questioned, uncertainty laced in his voice.

“That what Satoru? That by some miracle he’s alive?” you replied immediately regretting it.

It wasn’t just you that had to grieve the loss of Geto Suguru, and as much as you wanted to just go about your day without thinking about it, guilt would eat away at your bones for not constantly thinking about him.

“i’m sorry.” he sighed and you felt your heart clench at his apology. Why should he be apologising? It was unfair that grief was making you behave this way and you knew that sooner or later you'd need to talk to someone about it.

“I’m the one who should be sorry. I just don’t think my mind will let me forget it...” you sighed as you continued to walk slowly to your apartment.

The line is quiet and you don’t know what else to say. You don’t expect Satoru to even reply to you.

“You don’t have to forget. You can just live with it.”

Shoko had once told you that 'grief was love with no place to go' and while you hadn’t really understood it then, you did now. It was a way to understand the emotional ruins of grief as a continuation of the love you once had, even if the object of that love is no longer a part of your life. In a sense, Satoru was also telling you the same thing. He acknowledged that moving on didn't mean erasing the past and staying stagnant in the moment, but recognised that you can continue living a meaningful life whilst also carrying the grief with you.

You thought you were losing your mind and that seeing Suguru everywhere was a curse but maybe it was the world's way of letting you know that he was finally at peace. As you walked up the pathway to your apartment in a comfortable silence, you thought about his and Shoko’s words. 

Every single day you would return home to a place void of any remnant of Suguru. A place that is supposed to offer comfort now did the opposite but today felt different. Maybe it was a step towards another way of living and it wouldn’t be so hard to live with the grief.

“Where are you now?”

“Outside my door.” you spoke as you used a key to unlock the door.

“Okay. I’m glad you got home safe," he remarked, "I'll see you tomorrow?”

“See you then.”

“Stay safe.” he said and you know what he means.

“Love you too.”

You hung up the phone and took off your shoes before tossing everything onto the kitchen island and groaning as you stretched your back and neck. You turned to open the fridge, “Whoever you are, you have ten seconds to run before I kill you.”

You wouldn’t say you were the strongest, your abilities were nowhere to be compared to Satoru but everyone deserves a second chance, right? You let the entity decide its own fate. Don't say I didn't warn you...

“So... you’re the infamous Y/N.” 

That voice…

Your feet were frozen in place and you could feel your own heart sink into the pit of your stomach. There were words stuck in your throat as the nauseous feeling crept up and threatened to spill from your lips. This can’t be right… 

What felt like minutes passed by as you processed what, or rather who you just heard. The way your name rolled off their tongue was foreign. Was it really who you thought it was? Your mind must be going through it right now and although you know it’s not possible, you can’t help but hope it is who you think it is as you turned around.

“Suguru?” you uttered, eyes wide as the tears brimmed the edge of them as you stared at the man in front of you. 

“Bingo!” he chuckled.

You begged yourself to snap out of it. This was clearly a sick and twisted transformation technique but your heart betrayed you, standing there and not making a run for it.

“You’re probably thinking this is some illusion but thanks to your friend, I was able to obtain this body without much trouble.” he smiled and you felt goose bumps crawling up your arm at the strange sight. Despite how much this man looked and sounded like Suguru, you knew this was not the case at all.

Your jaw clenched, “What the fuck did you do to him?” 

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, standing up from your sofa as he trudged towards you, “My cursed technique allows me to transplant my brain into anybody," he explained and you're heaving as you tried to keep your rage at surface level, "I have access to all of his memories, his skills, and whatnot."

You don't have it in yourself to attack just yet.

"He lived a long time without you in his life but somehow," he paused, "you take up almost every single memory.” he sounded frustrated and the tears threatening to escape your eyes do so- whether he was telling the truth or not, they still hurt you immensely. 

“So why are you here?” you growled as your body allowed itself to move again and maintaining eye contact with him as you focused all your energy to charge your technique.

“You are a hindrance to my plans.”

His weakness.

You released your cursed technique at him immediately and launched him across the room and as you moved to the table to grab your phone. One of Suguru’s cursed spirits wrapped around your hands and restrained you and using your abilities, you managed to get away from it. You shot him a look as he tilted his head with a smile, “I gave you ten seconds to run but I have something else settled for you now” you snapped as you continued to use your technique to your advantage as you continued to fight him.

You would say that against Suguru, it had always been a close call of who would win in a fight but this time it felt difficult. Who was this guy?

You continued to attack the man, fighting back with all your might. He wasn’t actually Suguru, so you didn’t feel the need to hold back. He caught you off guard with a calculated move and knocked you to the floor. You saved yourself from further injury as you used your arm to break the fall, but you managed to hit your head on the furniture with your head in the process.

You winced pushing yourself off your elbow as the man walked towards you with his hands in front of you as he tried to force you up by the throat, “Suguru...” you managed to say before he could grab you. 

Before you can even process it, there is a twitch of his hand that came up to his throat, choking himself as his fingers pressed down against the side of his throat, ultimately stopping himself from putting a hand on you.

Your eyes widened as your breath caught in your lungs. Was he still in there?

Kenjaku’s eyes widened, as his vessel- Suguru’s body- fought against him, and a laugh that used to be full of joy now sounded like nails on a chalkboard as it echoed through your apartment, “This is impressive!" he spoke, amused at the action.

By no means was Geto Suguru still alive, but protecting you had become muscle memory; it was an instinct that has embedded itself deep within his soul, one that Kenjaku would never truly be able to understand..

You are still on the floor, blood dripped down the side of your head as you moved up from your spot. Using your technique, you try and catch him off guard by putting all your strength into your next move, attacking him when he least expects it, “In all my years, I have never seen anything quite like this and it is all because of you.” he cackled. 

“It sounds like somebody is scared.” you taunted, smirking at the imposter to try to size him up.

“Well, let me tell you this,” he cleared his throat, “When a part of the original host reacts, you know what that means?”

“What?” you seethed, jaws clenched as you waited for him to finish his sentence.

“He’s still in here.” he whispered, and t had caught you off guard.

You wanted to attack but instead your heart sabotaged your next move allowing Kenjaku to have the upper hand. You struggled to react as you felt the pain of something on your left side and suddenly, you are on the floor gasping for air and you can feel him hover over you.

He pinned you down to the floor and slammed you against it to stop you from struggling but you were already incapacitated so what was the point?

In terms of physical strength, Suguru would always win by a landslide and this is when you wished you had taken your training more seriously. 

There was a visceral reaction that tears at Kenjaku as he has you in his hands which entertains him once again, “You have some nerve calling yourself a special grade sorcerer,” he sneered, “Are you holding back?”

You looked up at him and tried your absolute best to move but the pain is too much to handle. You clenched your jaw as your breathing became erratic, “You will find no peace, so long as you live.” you choked out.

He laughed and wrapped his hand around your neck tighter, his right hand reaching over to your hand- you don’t know what he expected from you now that you’re bleeding out. "You're hilarious," he rejoiced as his hand intertwined with yours, “So let me make this easier for you. Just think about him...” Kenjaku needed you to suffer so that he could shake Suguru’s will to its core, stripping anything left he had. You don’t know what you expected but then you felt a gentle squeeze.

One. 

You forced your eyes open to look up at the man who squeezed your hand. It seemed that he was unaware at the action. This guy said he had all of Suguru’s memories so was he just doing this on purpose? Is this Geto Suguru or is this the imposter that is using his body?

“It is honestly so sweet just how much he loved you after all those years apart.” he chuckled.

Kenjaku continued to put pressure around your neck with one hand, feeling the exact opposite of what Suguru was probably going through- an intolerable, gut-wrenching pain, without exaggeration. He can’t do anything but squeeze his hand in yours again.

Two.

You can’t fight back, you have no will. Even if by some miracle, how could you possibly hurt the man in front of you? The man you once loved...

“Is that why you’re not fighting back? Do you love him too much to hurt him?” 

Suguru’s soul pleaded. 

He wondered why he couldn’t be strong right now for you and resist but it was no use. You could see a tear falling from his face now as the final fragment of his soul tried its best to push through.

Three.

You’re choking. You can't swallow. You can't breathe. You can only see the man you loved in blurry vision from the lack of oxygen and through tears. He was sorry...

“I… I.. forgive.. y-” you choked out, voice restricted as Kenjaku forced himself to push through with his execution, tightening his grip.The finality of it all settled deep within his soul as Kenjaku watched the life leave your eyes as you took your last breath.

A tear rolled down your cheek and your existence on the Earth came to an end.

Suguru was not really gone but he might as well have been. He will exist for a long time knowing that he was the one that killed you and that he couldn’t do anything to stop it either.

It was on that night for the first time that Kenjaku felt the overwhelming amount of agony from his vessel. His soul ached, cried, and wailed that night, longing to be with you but he couldn’t- that was just how things were meant to be for you two.

You hoped he knew that you forgave him and that you would love him endlessly but as for now, you would wait...

tags! @stsgluver

i made y/n a special grade user because they could easily take down suguru if they wanted but just didn't do it hahahahahah

[snoopyearss]

you right

eren x female!reader

TW: Blunt outing on skin. (He doesn’t do it to the reader, but he does it on himself)

description: your relationship with jean was fine until you meat his friend eren. now all you could think about was him.

inspired by “You Right” by Doja Cat.

i suggest playing the following songs for the full experience: You Right (Extended Version) - Doja Cat (makes obvious sense; play this song first or throughout the story.), Work - Rihanna, Sativa - Jhene Aiko, Slow Down - Chase Atlantic and I Was Never There - The weeknd. There’s no order for the other songs.

Disclaimer: I DONT CONDONE CHEATINGGG!!! I just really like this song and made this one shot on a whim. 

.˚₊‧༉︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

                    ı𝕝ı.𝕝ı𝕝𝕝ı𝕝ı.ı𝕝𝕝ı.

            ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ; [ 𝕐𝕠𝕦 ℝ𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 (𝔼𝕩𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕕) - 𝔻𝕠𝕛𝕒 ℂ𝕒𝕥 ]

           𝟙:𝟘𝟟 ——◦———— -𝟜:𝟘𝟝

          ↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

            ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

How long have you thought about this? This sinful thought? You lost track. But if you could have a dollar for every time you thought about him, Bill Gates would look like a middle-class citizen. 

You wanted him so badly, but you had a boyfriend, who happened to be one of his best friends. 

When did this all start? The second your boyfriend Jean introduced you to the rest of his friends, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

“I want you all to meet my girlfriend, Y/n. Y/n, these are my friends. The one I was telling you about.” Jean introduced the group and each of them introduced themselves after. Eren was the first to introduce himself. After he did, you tuned everyone else out. There was something about him that made him so intriguing. 

His facial features.

His pretty sage eyes 

The amorous gaze he gave off.

His piercings.

His voice.

Oh God, his voice. It was hypnotic. The way he said certain words had you weak in the knees.

His hair. It looked about shoulder length. It was easy to tell from the man-bun he styled it in. You never really found long hair on guys attractive, but with Him? You made an exception. 

It was long enough to pull on when he’s-

You shook your head to erase the thought. And that was when it all began.

You met his friends three months ago, yet you found yourself lying awake in the bed you and Jean share, thinking about his best friend. Thinking about how he’d look on top of you, how he’d look underneath you, or in every position possible. You felt horrible. Who does that? But it wasn’t like Jean was innocent either. The other day you caught him making googly eyes at the new girl in your class. Mikasa was her name. 

The difference between you and Jean was you’ve never really had a conversation with Eren. Jean talks to Mikasa every other day. People would think it bothers you, your partner talking to someone else, but Eren lived in your head rent-free, so you didn’t care. 

You would pass by him in the hallways on your way to class and both of you would give a quick smile and a nod signaling “Hi.” You felt like you were in high school again. All giddy and smiley when your crush would give you the slightest bit of attention. 

You always wondered if he felt the same way, but you’d be an idiot to ask, so you attempt to hide it in your face. However, something told you he knew already. Every time you and Jean’s friends hang out, it’s hard to look directly at him, and he could tell because he wouldn't look away.

All of you were eating at a diner when you made eye contact with Eren, he never dropped his gaze, it was intense. You tried focusing on something else when you accidentally tipped a cup over causing the drink to pour on the table, and drip onto the floor. “Shit.” You murmured. 

“My soda!” Sasha whined. “We’ll get you another one.” 

You reached out to grab a napkin, not realizing it was the last one, but it was too late because you looked up to see Eren grabbing it at the same time. Both of your hands touched.

It was like a vibration, or electricity shot up your arm and throughout your veins. The funny part about this is that neither one of you moved your hand. 

“I-I’m sorry, were you gonna use this?” you asked.

“‘was gonna help you clean it.” He answered. He removed his hand from on top of yours, letting you have it to clean up the now sticky mess. 

Now you wondered if anyone else caught onto what just happened. 

That following Friday, you all went to a barcade for drinks and vintage games. You hopped out of Jean’s car and held hands with him as you guys walked into the arcade bar. “I’m totally gonna beat you in Mortal Kombat.” Jean snickered. “You wish!” You stuck your tongue out at him and joined the others who were playing games and drinking already.

“There you guys are! We were starting to worry.” Armin pulled you both in for a hug. 

“C’mon Y/n, let’s go take a shot.” Ymir linked her arm in yours as we skipped to the bar. you both sat down and ordered two tequila shots. “So,” she started. You raised your eyebrows to tell her to keep going. “So?”

“What’s up with you and Eren huh?” She jabbed her elbow into the side of your rib. “Ok first, ow. And second, nothing? Why’d you ask?” You downed the shot before the bartender could even place it in front of you.

“Um, at the diner the other day? What was that?” She questioned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh come on, Y/n. Don’t act dumb. I’ve seen that look before. That same look when you saw Jean for the first time.” You rolled your eyes.

“Nothing’s going on, Ymir. I promise you.”

 “Alrighty then.” She shrugged and got up from her seat. 

“Wait.” She turned to you.

“Did..anyone else notice? You know, what happened?”

“Not to my knowledge. But it’s ok. Your dirty little secret’s safe with me.” She winked and I scoffed. “Let's go play games.” 

Another tequila shot later and you were feeling a bit tipsy. Your eyes met the motorcycle racing game and asked Ymir to race with you. “I’m gonna dust you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” you waved her off.

You walked toward the motorbike and climbed on it. It was hard to keep it in place since it was set up to lean from side to side to make turns. “Ugh! Stupid piece of shit. Stay…Still!” You cursed the machine.

You then felt a pair of hands on your waist to stabilize you on the bike. “Most of your weight needs to be here.” The voice said. You recognized that voice anywhere. It was Eren’s.

You look behind your shoulder to see him looking directly at you. This was the closest you two have ever been to each other's bodies. So close you were able to smell him. He smelt so good, if you weren’t drunk before, you might be now. It was intoxicating. 

“Like this?” You looked back at him. He silently groaned before nodding and saying, “Mhm.”

Eren knew you wanted him. It was too obvious. He wanted you too, but you were his best friend's girl. However, he couldn't help the thought of seeing you underneath him, struggling to take all of him inside you. 

He sees you in the halls before classes and the outfits you wear. Like one day, you wore a black mini-skirt and some thigh-high boots, it almost send him over the edge. How he’s able to keep his composure around you is unbelievable. And once he saw you bent over on the motorbike, looking back at him through your eyelashes, he almost folded right then and there.

You ended up winning the race against Ymir and smirked at her. But as soon as she walked up to you and whispered “But nothing’s going on between you and Eren right? You’re such a bad liar.” your smile dropped. 

☆

The walls were an egg-white color, although it was hard to tell with the red LED lights illuminating them. It was a weird thing to pay attention to as you were gasping for air as Jean gripped your throat while pounding into you. 

“You look so hot like this Y/n. God, you take me in so well.” He moaned. Your hand held onto his wrist as he continued, only picking up the pace. “D-don’t stop. Please.” You whined. Jean wasn’t bad at sex. Quite the opposite actually. Although he knew all of your spots, he never went down on you but he always asked for head, which wasn’t fair to you. Other than that, it was great, but you still wanted Eren. Just the sinful thought of it made you grow even wetter and clench around him.

“I felt you tighten up baby. You like how my dick feels, Huh?” He placed a hand on your hip only helping him to go harder and faster. “Oh fuck. Jean, I’m gonna-” You announced, your eyes threatening to roll back.

“Come for me.” And you did. Your hand slapped in front of your mouth, covering it. Jean thought it was so you won't be so loud, but it was to prevent you from screaming Eren’s name instead. 

He cleaned you up, gave you a kiss on the forehead, and knocked out immediately after that. 

You lay awake for an hour or so after your session with your boyfriend. Although he made you come, you were missing something, you weren’t sure what it was. Your mind trailed back to when you almost slipped up and moaned out Eren’s name instead of Jean’s. 

Eren.

Everything about him made all the self-respect leave your body. You wanted him so bad. You began to imagine what he looks like shirtless. You remembered the day you went to go pick up Jean from work and conveniently, Eren was working that day too. They both work at an auto repair shop, it’s where you first met Jean; he helped change your oil.

You were waiting in the car for him, as Eren walked out and gave you a small wave. It took everything in you to prevent your eyes from widening and your jaw from dropping. He. Looked. Insanely delicious. He turned his back to you to talk to one of the other workers there. Even his back was pretty to look at.

Sweat was glistening on his back muscles, and on his grey tank top. His hair was in that messy bun you were crazy over. He grabbed his water bottle and took a swing of it, only for some droplets to trickle down his throat. You wanted to lick it. 

You took that mental image, and imagine him running his hands up and down your body. Touching and stroking your body like you were a lump of clay, waiting to be molded. It drove you crazy. You were so aroused it started to hurt if you didn’t take care of it right away.

You slid one hand down, past your panties, and slowly rubbed your clit. You bit your lip to prevent yourself from making any noise, in fear of waking Jean up. The other hand grabbed your breast and played with the sensitive nipple. Your hips bucked a bit, signaling you to do more. You inserted a finger in and bit your lip a bit harder now.

You imagined how he would sound if it was his dick instead of your finger inside of you, how his moans would sound like. You remembered the time he stubbed his toe at Sasha’s new place, hitting his toe on one of the legs of the table. The sound that he made, should’ve been illegal. It was a groan that turned into a whimper. Although he was doing it out of sheer pain, he still sounded so pretty. You knew right then and there that his moans were to die for. 

One finger turned into two, stretching you out and hitting that spot that leaves your legs having a mind of their own. “Fuck,” You whispered. This was so bad, this was your boyfriend's best friend you were thinking about. But the forbidden act only made your arousal grow.

Soon enough, it was hard to hold it in, and you let go, your fingers making a squelching sound from pumping them in and out of you so fast. Your slick poured out of you, onto your fingers, and a little bit on the sheets. You tried to regulate your breathing and clean up after yourself. After you did, you realized you were going to have so much trouble looking at Jean and Eren in the eye the next day.

-

The next day was Saturday, Ymir was throwing a party for her 21st birthday and us being her closest friends, were all invited. After getting ready, Sasha drove you, her, and your other friend, Annie to Ymir’s. 

“I’m so excited about this party! Ymir’s parties are literally the best!” She exclaimed. “She always has the best booze.” Annie chimed in. You weren’t really present for the conversation. Your brain was stuck on if Eren was going, and what he was gonna wear. 

“Y/n! Hello!” Annie waved her hand in front of your face, leaving you looking dazed. “Oh, What?” She and Sasha frowned. “You ok girl? You’ve been quiet the whole car ride!” Sasha asked. “Hmm? Oh! Yeah, I’m fine.” You smiled sheepishly. They shrugged it off. “Well, we’re here! Come on!”

We walked into the house, the music blasting through the speakers, and in each room of the house. “You guys made it!” Ymir smiled. “We wouldn’t miss it! Happy birthday!” I hugged her. “Thank you! Drinks are in the kitchen. You guys help yourselves!” She waved and walked to greet her girlfriend.

The three of you walked into the kitchen, only to be greeted by the rest of the group and, Eren. 

He looked at you and you tried to focus your attention elsewhere. It was hard to though; especially with the way he was looking tonight. It really wasn’t anything special, just a black muscle tee, but it made his arms and chest look extremely toned. You were able to see his tattoos and his key necklace was visible. He wore grey sweatpants with white Nike ones. He still looked very scrumptious and you wanted a taste.

“Hey, guys! Historia made jungle juice. Want some?” Connie handed you and the two girls a cup. “Thanks. Where’s Jean?” You asked, getting ready to take a sip of the beverage. He and Reiner, another one of Jean’s friends, exchanged looks with each other. “Um…He…” Connie couldn’t finish his sentence. 

 ı𝕝ı.𝕝ı𝕝𝕝ı𝕝ı.ı𝕝𝕝ı.

            ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ; [ 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕜 - ℝ𝕚𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕒]

           𝟙:𝟘𝟟 ——◦———— -𝟜:𝟘𝟝

          ↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

            ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

“He went upstairs with some dark-haired girl. I’m sorry Y/n.” Reiner tried reassuring you. Your eyes widened. “Oh.” That was all you could say. In your head, you weren’t sure if you were allowed to even feel angry, as you were already imagining doing things with another man. It made you frustrated.

No one spoke for a few seconds.

“Well, screw him. Come, let's go dance.” Sasha tried cheering you up. You lightly smiled at her and downed your drink then joined her on the dance floor. “Work” by Rihanna started to play, which made you feel a bit better. Sasha was behind you as you began moving your hips against her to the beat of the song. 

Her hands met your waist and pressed you against hers as you started to wine on her. You look behind you to meet her gaze as you two smile and continued. Despite you two being in the middle of the dance floor, you could still feel someone’s eyes burning into your flesh. It was him. 

He was sitting manspread with a couple of guys, smoking a blunt. If this isn’t the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, it might be time for prescription glasses. His eyelids were low, due to the effects of what he was smoking. For some reason, it made you more confident, so you turned to face Sasha and kept eye contact with her, as you wined down to the ground and back up.

You did this a few more times then turned back. You looked at him as you were grinding on Sasha, not breaking eye contact. Until Jean came down the stairs with Mikasa. Your heart sunk in your chest as you saw him dap up one of his friends. You knew what that meant. It made you sick. You felt extremely dizzy. “Hey, I’m gonna…I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” You told Sasha. “You want me to come with?” You shook your head no. “I’ll be ok. I’ll be back in a few.” You smiled and walked up the stairs. You entered the first door, which happened to be a bedroom with a bathroom in it. You walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

The song was still playing in the background as you gripped the sink and caught your breath a bit. You wanted to cry, but at the same time, you felt a bit relieved now that all bets are off. You didn’t feel as guilty thinking about Eren in such a way anymore. You turned on the faucet and flicked a bit of cold water on your face, not wanting to mess up your makeup, then used a paper towel to dap it dry.

You turned off the faucet and opened the door, only for him to be on the other side.

“E-Eren?” You were startled. Did he follow you up here?

“Hey.” That was all he said and walked passed you and closed the door then closed the toilet seat down and sit on it. 

“Um, Hi? What are you doing?” 

“Came up here to smoke. Too much noise in my head down there.” He shrugged and lit his blunt.

“Are you sure? Doesn’t really seem like it.” You said. “What makes you say that?”

“You coming up here, immediately after I come up here? Looks pretty suspicious.” You shrugged.

“Does it?” He looked up at you and you nodded. “You know what else looks suspicious?”

You raised your eyebrows signaling to go on. He took a hit of his blunt and blew. “What happened yesterday, and a few days before? Now that’s suspicious.” I frowned.

“You seem to have forgotten. Do you want me to remind you?” He stood up, slowly walking towards you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Aw, don’t act coy, Y/n.” He cooed. You stepped back only to bump into the door. He was towering over you now. You were looking up at him with a slight need in your eyes. He smirked and took another hit.

“You know,” he started, the smoke leaving his mouth and his hands sliding up and down your hips.

“There was something about you that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It was until the way you would stare at me, that I fully understood.”

“W-What do you mean?” Your voice was quiet, but he still caught it. “Come on Y/n. Are we playing the stupid game?” He teased. 

“I’ve got the strangest feeling that you might want me, but you have a boyfriend, sweetheart.” He took one last hit of his blunt before outing it on his arm. You gasped and your eyes widened. He smirked and grabbed your cheeks to make your lips pout slightly. He blew the smoke into your mouth for you to inhale it all. 

“Good girl.” He praised. “Exhale.” You did just that. He then placed his hand on the side of your face while the other one was placed against your lower back. 

“You want me?” He asked, trapping you between the bathroom door and his body. You couldn’t look at him, his gaze was piercing. He took your chin in his fingers. “When someone’s speaking to you,” his other hand pulled you closer to him and tilted your face to force you to look at him. “You look at them. Understand?”

You whimpered in response.

“Speak.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what baby?” He pushed you.

“Yes, I-I understand.”

“Smart girl. Now I’ll ask again. Do you want me? Despite being Jean-boy’s girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Huh. Wonder what he’ll think if I told him this.”

“Well, he’s not here right now. You know what he did.” You reminded him, as he was there when Reiner told you he was sleeping with someone else. “His loss.” He shrugged. Eren walked backward and sat back on the covered toilet seat then motioned you to walk towards him. “C’mere.”

You did what you were told and he tapped your thighs to signal you to sit in his lap. “There we go. Comfortable?” You nodded. “Good. Tilt your head to the side pretty girl.” You tilted your head and immediately he attached his lips to your neck. “Tell me,” he kissed up your neck to your jaw. “How long have you thought about doing this? Hm?” 

“Mm. For so long.” you whimpered. “I’ve thought about this for so long.”

“Yeah?” Eren’s hands were drawing different patterns on your back as he continued to mark you. “What have you thought about? What kinds of thoughts kept you up at night?” You whined in response, seeing as it was too humiliating to go into depth. “I’m not gonna continue if you don’t tell me, sweet girl.”

Oh, fuck you.

“I’ve thought about-” you were stopped mid-moan as he found the sensitive part of your neck and began to suck on it harshly. “A-About you, having you all on top of me, and touching me all over my body. Fuck.” It was hard to speak since it was one, humiliating explaining your fantasies to him and two, the way he was destroying your neck.

Eren grabbed your hips and pushed them down so you could feel him. “Can you feel me? How hard you’re making me right now? Fuck, I feel it throbbing.” You could feel the pulse between your legs as you felt his dick pressed onto your clothed slit. 

Your whines grew a little bit louder as you found yourself grinding down on his hardened dick. You could feel the slick start to dampen your panties. “Eren, please.” You gripped his hair and started to grind on him a bit faster this time. “Fuck, look at you.” He said as he gently pulled your head down to meet his lips.

They were incredibly soft and could taste/smell the weed on his lips. It was enough to get you high. You were struggling to kiss back as he used his hips to thrust upwards, grinding into you and moaning in your mouth. This went on for a few more minutes until you got frustrated and told him you wanted more. 

He picked you up and placed you down on the counter. He kissed down your body until he was face level with your clothed cunt. He looks up at you with hungry, low-lidded eyes as he kisses the inner parts of your thighs, your dress riding up as he continued, kissing every part but the part you wanted him to touch. He was teasing you on purpose.

You were fidgeting on the counter, making all kinds of noise, moaning his name so he would get the message. He finally started to kiss your clothed cunt and the feeling made you jolt forward a bit, almost making you fall off the counter. “Woah, it’s ok. I’m not gonna let you fall.” He holds your hips in place.

“Damn girl, you’re acting like you’ve never been eaten out before.” He joked but when he looked up at you, you weren’t laughing. “Don’t tell me-”

“He’s never…done that to me before.” You looked off to the side. Eren scoffs. “I’m about to show you what you’ve been missing. Make sure you get a good grip.” He rips your panties and before you could react, his tongue was already connected to your clit and you both let out loud desperate moans. You were already wet from the dry-humping session you both just had, and it was having an effect on him. If his dick wasn’t hard then, it certainly is now. He took a few deep breaths to try to prevent him from coming right them.

He wraps his hands around your thighs and attaches his mouth to your cunt to start lapping you up. Your breath hitched in your throat since you weren’t used to this foreign feeling. His tongue makes different patterns and swirls on your clit while his mouth creates a suction effect.

“Oh shit,” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and grabbed his now disheveled bun. Your entire body feels light like you were about to float up to the ceiling at any moment as he draws circles over your entrance and then flicks your clit. You grabbed ahold of the counter as tightly as you could, till you would see your knuckles turning white.

You opened your eyes and looked down to see him looking right at you the entire time. “Fuck.” you whimpered, the pleasure you were experiencing and the way he was looking at you was all too much but you would curse at yourself later if you didn’t get a chance to at least take a glimpse. 

He unwrapped one of his hands off of your thigh and held your hand as the other arm wrapped around your hips, pulling you further into his mouth so you couldn’t escape his grasp as he tongue fucked you. Your breathing was totally uneven now. You were a moaning shaking mess before him. His name was the only thing you knew how to moan at this given moment. 

You were wet. So wet, you could hear the wet sloppy noises coming from his mouth, and your cunt. It would’ve been embarrassing if you both weren’t so turned on. Eren ate you out with such purpose. Like he enjoyed it. That’s because he did. He loved seeing your eyes roll back and you moaning out his name with your legs shaking on either side of his face.

He then stops and stands up. “Get down and turn around.” You quickly hop down and turn around, Eren then unzips your dress and pulls it down enough to expose your breasts. Your nipples began to harden from how cold the bathroom was. He whispers “Fuck,” in response as he placed his hand in the middle of your back and pushed you down. “Bend over for me,” you bent over with no hesitation.

He was directly behind you, and although you can see his reflection in the mirror, you couldn’t really see his entire body. Just from the waist up. He took off his shirt, which exposed his abs and the rest of his tattoos. You were practically dripping at this point. He grabbed the tip and dragged it along your wet slit to coat him a bit.

Eren pumped himself a few times and groaned. “Look in the mirror,” he ran his hands up and down your back and hissed. “I’ve thought about you non-stop ever since I met you for the first time, you always had that look in your eye as if you wanted me,” He slowly put the tip in, watching it stretch your hole out a bit. You whined at the feeling. You’ve always loved being teased, even when it got frustrating at times, the anticipation is what makes it better. 

“You feel this? You feel how I’m stretching you? Oh, fuck.” He pushed only the tip in a few times then slapped it on your clit. “You would look away first whenever we made eye contact, it was so cute. And now that I have you, I need to savor this.” He inserted himself halfway in, causing you to whine louder. 

“Eren,” you pleaded. You were getting desperate now. “I know, baby.”

“It’s been months and neither of us made a move until now- fuck.” He moaned slowly pulling it out and then rubbing it on your clit, making you bite your lip and roll your eyes back. “‘Cause you chose to be loyal to him, but.” He pressed the tip to your entrance. 

“A couple strokes when I put it in, you’ll belong to me.” He pushed himself all the way in this time. “O-oh my god! F-Fuck!” You cried out and gripped the counter. He continued this a few times, pulling all the way out then slamming back in, then he went at a steady but quick pace.

The louder you got the harder he fucked into you, his hips slamming against your ass making a slapping noise. He looked down to watch as your ass rippled with each hard thrust. Tears began to flood your eyes from the immense pleasure you were experiencing then fell because of how hard Eren was pounding into you.

“Every day, I get angry at myself because I didn’t meet you first.” He said through gritted teeth. “Could’ve used this pretty cunt before Jean could get a hold of you.” He grabbed your neck and lifted you up so his chest was pressed up against your back. “Look in the mirror,” He said in your ear. “Look in the mirror as I fuck you senseless.” Your mouth is open, panting like a bitch in heat from how good he was making you feel. 

Your hips were pressed up against the counter and Eren moved up a bit more so you could feel him deeper. You couldn’t back away, you just had to take it, which made you grow wetter. Your head fell back on his shoulder as you moaned out his name some more, like it was the only name you knew, “Look at you baby,” He cooed and you slowly brought your head back up to look in the mirror. 

“Look at how hard I'm fucking you. What would your boyfriend think about this, hm? If Jean walked in here, what would you do? Seeing his precious girlfriend getting fucked hard by his best friend. You think he’d watch us? Until we finished?” You whined at the thought of that actually happening. Thinking about it, you would probably keep going until you both finished. You started to clench around him. “Oh? You would like that. Messy bitch.” He grabbed your throat and squeezed it and he took his other hand to rub your clit at a fast pace. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” You chanted and wrapped your hand around the wrist that was slightly choking you. “Eren, I’m close-” He removed his hand from your clit and pulled out. “No, you’re not. Go lay on the bed,” He backed up enough for you to wobble to the bed and spanked your ass in the process. You lay down on your back as Eren got on top of you and pushed the tip back in. In this position he was able to pound deeper into you, it felt like he was in your guts. “Oh my god, Eren! You’re s-so deep. In my st-stomach.” You managed to force out. “Yeah? How does it feel?” His pace quickened up. 

“It’s- I- I don’t know if I can take it. Fuck,” You cried out and your legs started to tremble. The pleasure was getting too intense for you to handle, how you did come yet is still surprising. A part of you wanted to release, but the other part of you wanted this to last. So you tried to make it last. “It’s ok, baby. You can take it. You’ve been such a good girl. Take it for me.” He only went in deeper. The tears from earlier continued to pour down your cheeks and the sides of your face, pooling by your ears.

Eren loved the sight that was in front of him. Your nose and cheeks were a slightly red tint from the crying and the pleasure you were receiving. The sounds that were omitted from your throat were like music to his ears, he wanted to hear them again and again. The faces you made, he paid close attention to what felt good, and what made you feel uncomfortable. The way your breasts bounced from the hard thrusts you were receiving, and the way your cunt was gripping him. He couldn’t focus on where to look.

“God, look at you. You’re so beautiful,” He started. “Almost makes me wish I could paint or something.” It was already working. Your thinking process was fuzzy and your brain felt like it was turning into mush. You weren’t speaking in complete sentences at this point. “Mm, feels so good Eren.” You slurred as you gripped the bed sheets beneath you. Eren got on his forearms to lean down and kiss you. He squeezed your cheeks like he did when he blew the smoke in your mouth, but this time he gave you a sloppy kiss. The sounds that came out of your mouth would've been embarrassing if you both weren't so turned on. One of his hands snaked down you rub your clit at a slow pace, which made it hard to keep up with, it caused you to get close. You started clenching around him.

“Eren,” You whined.

“Mm, I can feel you tightening up around me. Ready to come for me sweet girl?”

“Yes, please, please.” You chanted.

“Come on baby,” He kissed down your neck and used the same hand that rubbed your clit, to push down on your lower stomach, causing your body to immediately relax and take more of him inside you. “Come for me.” That was all it took.

“Eren, Eren, EREN! FUCK!” Your legs shook with such force as you screamed out his name multiple times. You tossed your head back in pleasure as your ejaculate gushed out of you and dampened the sheets below you and Eren’s lower stomach. Your hips attempting to buck if Eren hadn’t held them down. “Good girl, that’s it. Let it out for me.” He talked you through your orgasm, which only made it more intense for you. Your breathing pattern was all over the place. Your hands didn’t know where to hold on to; first the sheets, your hair, or Eren’s wrists. It was out of control.

“There you go, that’s my girl.” He purred as he pushed you further up the bed and fucked you through your orgasm then chasing his. He kept one hand on your hip and the other gripping the headboard to thrust into you. His thrusts were slow but deep to help you finish, then it got harder and faster. His pace was ruthless as his hips snap against yours with so much force that your head hits the headboard slightly with each thrust. “Oh god, ‘needed you so bad. You have no idea.” He moaned. His thrusts were so fast, that you tried getting him to slow down, but your voice was shot from the moaning previous. You weren’t able to let out proper moans, but Eren seemed to fuck them out of you. 

“Oh shit, holy shit, Eren slow down I’m - Fuck!” You babble as you came all over him a second time. He looked down at you as you did. Watching your face contort in pleasure as your whimpers made their way down to his tip. “God, you’re killin’ me.”

The sight above you was something that needed to be in an art gallery. His bottom lip was puffy and pink from biting it so hard, and beads of sweat glistened on his chest and forehead. His hair was out of its usual bun and down along the sides of his face. His eyes were rolling back as well, which was one of the hottest things you’d ever seen. 

“Eren,” You moaned out. “Hm?”

“Come inside me. Please. I wanna feel it.” You pleaded. He moaned in response.

“Yeah? You want me to come in this pretty cunt? You want me to breed you, baby? Wanna feel your cunt being filled up?” He looked down and smirked at you. You whimpered and nodded.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes. I need it so badly. Please, please.” You ran your hands up and down his abs. 

“Fuck, I’m- I’m gonna come -- Oh God -- I’m gonna fucking come baby, oh fuck!” Eren pushes his hips down into you until your head is pushed up against the headboard. You feel him in your guts as you feel his warm cum in you and all throughout your body. His breathing was uneven as he gripped your hip, digging his nails into the fatty flesh.

“Shit,” He cussed and lowered his head down to kiss you gentler than before. “You ok?”

“Mhm,” She hummed. “So tired.” He chuckled and pulled out.

As he did, Eren rolled over and pulled you into his arms. “Let’s sleep. We’ll deal with Jean tomorrow.” He kissed your forehead and put the covers over your naked body as you drifted to sleep.

[rabbitblackx]

Alright so can I have headcannons for Ghostface, Jason, Michael(Rz or 78) and Freddy when their s/o calls them a baby girl? Like one day their s/o just says “ Hey baby girl” Thank you so much

Yeah sure thing! And ur welcome xx :)

Slashers when Reader calls them ‘baby girl’

Includes: Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger and Ghost Face (Danny Johnson)

Michael Myers

You were watching tv one day when you decided to grab a little snack. You pulled yourself off the couch and trudged over to the kitchen

Lo and behold, there stood Michael. You didn’t even hear him come in! He was getting good at that. Michael stood like a statue by the counter, where one of your snacks sat

“Oh, hey, baby girl.” You deadpanned

You gave him a small smile before snatching the snack and walking back to the living room

What

That was all? No kiss or anything? How dare you? Also, huh? Baby girl? No, he was a man

Michael’s head cocked to the side, before he slowly followed after you. You were a weirdo like him. That was why he spared liked you. He shouldn’t of been surprised that you called him such a thing

Michael didn’t think anymore of it. He simply sat down on the couch next to you, and watched you watch tv

Jason Voorhees

You walked out of your cabin to find Jason setting a trap by some bushes. There were some unwanted teens nearby that were causing a ruckus, so he was just doing what needed to be done. You approached the crouched man, squinting your eyes from the sun and shielding them with a hand

“Hey, baby girl.” You greeted casually

Jason stood from the set trap and whirled around to look at you. You could see his wide eyes from behind his mask

“Whatcha doing?” You asked, gazing about the woodsy scenery instead of him

He was very confused that you called him that. Sure, his mother had called him baby boy before, but never—girl. It was weird to him

Over the next few days, Jason would continuously try to act big and strong around you. He was almost worried that you saw him as a softie or something (which was definitely, one hundred percent, not the case)…🫣

Jason made sure you were watching when he chopped down that huge tree, and carried its thick logs with just one arm. See? Look how strong he was! He was no baby girl!

Though I don’t think he would mind if you called him baby boy instead…

Freddy Krueger

After drifting off to sleep, you found yourself in a reddish boiler room you knew all too well. You rounded a corner to be met with your burned boyfriend, none other than Freddy Krueger

You placed a hand on the wall while the other rested on your hip. You two were always messing about and playful with each other

“Hey there, baby girl.” You grinned, rising your eyebrows jokingly

Freddy wheezed out a chuckle that echoed throughout the boiler room. He strode over to you with a toothy smile on his own scarred face

“Hey there, sweetcheeks.” He flirted back

Sorta like Michael, Freddy didn’t think much of it in the end. It was just how you were with each other. You flirted, joked and were downright goofy

Freddy wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close while in his little dream world. He smirked before pressing his chapped lips onto yours

He didn’t mind at all being your baby girl

Ghost Face (Danny Johnson)

You were on trial with your fellow survivors like normal. Luckily for you, the killer was none other than your spooky boyfriend. You saw him earlier, but lost track after he got caught up in a chase with your poor friend. You were just repairing a generator by yourself when you saw a white blur peeking behind a tree in your peripheral. You quickly realised it to be the Ghost Face’s forever screaming mask

“Hey, baby girl!” You called out with a playful smile

The Ghost Face couldn’t help but chuckle behind said mask. You were from a newer time than Danny here. You had gone on about other random, strange things from the future before. He had no idea, but thought maybe this pet name was an inside joke from the 2020s or something

“Hey, handsome.” Danny played along

You let out a loud laugh before rising to your feet. The Ghost Face slinked away from the tree to stalk over to you. You giggled together as you wrapped your arms around each other.

Though he still didn’t really understand it, it soon became a reoccurring pet name you called him. Danny didn’t mind. It was different. You were different. Fun too. He couldn’t ever think of a scenario where he would hurt you. He liked you too much

You literally made Danny into a baby girl🫠

[goldfades]

𝐈'𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋, 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ─ TZ¹¹

TRACK 11 ─── I CAN FIX HIM (NO REALLY I CAN)

TTPD CELLY MASTERLIST !

౨ৎ ─ summary | you navigate a tumultuous relationship with trevor, filled with ups and downs as you cling to the belief that you can fix him and reignite the connection you shared after a fateful night together. amidst the judgment of friends and the complexities of your past, you grapple with the challenge of making things work this time while trying to prove that your love is worth fighting for

─ word count | 5.5k

─ warnings | NSFW (with plot) under the cut! read at your own discretion, p in v, praise/degradation (if you squint). pretty angsty, asshole trevor (like i mean REALLY ASSHOLE!), on and off relationship, umm... idk im pretty sure nothing else

The music was loud that night, the kind of thumping bass that rattled through your chest and made conversation nearly impossible. But you didn’t need words. Not then. Not with him.

Trevor was all smirks and sharp blue eyes, a whirlwind of energy as he made his way through the crowded room, laughing too loud, moving too fast. You didn’t know what pulled you to him—maybe it was the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the room, or the easy confidence in his voice when he asked if you wanted to step outside for some air.

One minute, you were strangers, and the next, you were leaning against the railing of a balcony with the city skyline behind you, the party fading into a distant hum. Trevor told you things that night. Things that felt... real. He wasn't just the Trevor Zegras everyone else saw—funny, cocky, and always in the spotlight.

No, there was something deeper, something raw beneath the surface. He had opened up to you in a way you hadn't expected, and you thought, This is the real him. This is the Trevor he doesn’t show anyone else.

Later, when the night blurred into something heated, and your lips found each other in the dark, it felt like more than just a hookup. It felt like a connection. You woke up convinced that there was something between you, something worth fighting for.

And now, months later, you're still fighting.

You didn't know how you ended up locking him down. You see, Trevor wasn't a "boyfriend" kinda guy, until he met you. At least, that was what everyone else told you.

He was the one everyone whispered about, the one people said never stayed in one place too long—whether it was at a party, in the middle of a conversation, or in someone’s life. He was always in motion, constantly chasing the next thrill, the next distraction. But after that night, things shifted. You didn’t think you’d be the exception. You hadn’t planned for it, hadn’t expected that one encounter on that balcony to become something more. Yet here you are.

At first, it seemed like the universe was proving everyone wrong.

The people who warned you, who raised their eyebrows when you said you were “seeing” Trevor Zegras—they didn’t know him like you did. They hadn’t seen him the way you had that night, with the vulnerability in his voice, the way he’d let his guard down. You clung to that version of him, the one who had told you he felt lost sometimes, who had confessed that all the attention—the pressure, the expectations—it got to him. In that moment, he wasn’t the guy who laughed the loudest or wore that devil-may-care grin. He was real, stripped down in a way that felt… intimate.

You’d wake up in the morning with his arm draped over your waist, his breath warm against your neck, and for a second, everything felt perfect. Like this was how it was supposed to be. Like you had found a version of him no one else had. The connection from that night still lingered, and it was enough to keep you chasing it.

But then there were the moments in between. The way Trevor would pull away, emotionally at first, then physically—nights when he’d say he was too tired to talk or that he was out with the guys, shrugging it off like it was no big deal. You’d try not to let it get to you, convincing yourself that this was just how he was. He needed space. He wasn’t used to being in a relationship, and maybe he didn’t know how to act. You were different for him, something new. Something worth adjusting for.

So you waited.

You waited for the nights when he would come back around, when his smile would soften and his lips would find yours in the dark again, and for a few hours, it felt like he was the guy from the party all over again. The guy who opened up to you, who made you feel like you were the only person who understood him. You lived for those moments, told yourself they were enough.

After all, no one else saw that side of him. Just you.

It wasn’t that Trevor didn’t care. He did—in his own way. He’d call you after a tough game, not saying much, but you could hear the exhaustion in his voice, the way he leaned on you even in silence. And when you were together, there were times when he looked at you like you were the only steady thing in his life, like you grounded him. Those moments kept you going, made you believe you could fix him, that you were slowly chipping away at the walls he’d built up.

That beneath the carefree, reckless exterior was the guy you’d seen on that balcony, the one who wanted more but was just afraid to admit it.

But the disapproving looks from your friends started to weigh on you. The way they’d purse their lips or exchange glances when you mentioned his name. It was subtle at first—comments like, “You’re really still with him?” or “I don’t know, he just doesn’t seem like the relationship type.” You’d brush it off with a laugh, repeating the same thing every time: He’s different with me.

They didn’t get it. They didn’t see the side of Trevor that you did. The side that, even if fleeting, was real enough to make you stay.

It wasn’t just your friends, either. His teammates, people you’d meet at events or in passing, would make their own comments. “Zegras? You’re dating him?” There was always a note of surprise, like it didn’t quite add up. Trevor, in their eyes, was a wild card—a player, not just on the ice but in life. It wasn’t that they didn’t like you. They just didn’t understand how someone like you could tie down someone like him. But they didn’t know what you knew. They hadn’t seen the cracks in his armor.

At least, that was what you were trying to convince yourself.

Sometimes, when you were alone in your apartment, waiting for him to come back from another late night, you’d wonder if maybe they were right. If maybe you were chasing a version of Trevor that didn’t really exist, not anymore. But then he’d come back, all charming smiles and lazy kisses, and the doubts would fade. You’d tell yourself it was just a phase. He was figuring it out, just like you were. Relationships weren’t always easy. He wasn’t perfect, but neither were you. And wasn’t that the point? To fight for something worth having?

But still, in the quiet moments, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were the only one fighting. That every time you reached for him, he pulled away just a little bit more, and all you were left with were fragments of the guy you met that night, scattered and hard to piece together.

Yet you stayed. You stayed because you believed in him. You stayed because, deep down, you were convinced that Trevor was someone worth saving. You could fix him. You had to.

Then, your first break-up happened. Keyword: first.

It wasn’t explosive, like you’d expect. No shouting, no slammed doors or broken dishes. It happened on a Thursday—of all the ordinary days—and it crept up on you like a slow, inevitable wave. You should’ve seen it coming, maybe even prepared for it, but when it finally happened, it still felt like it knocked the air out of your lungs.

Trevor was distant that entire week. More than usual. He didn’t return your texts for hours, sometimes not at all, and when he did, it was always a short reply: busy, later, can’t tonight. You told yourself he had a lot on his plate—the season was in full swing, practices were intense, and the pressure from the media never let up. But deep down, you knew something else was going on.

That night, when he came over, there was a heaviness between you, the kind of weight that pressed down on your chest and made it hard to breathe. He didn’t kiss you when he walked in. Didn’t even flash you that half-smile you’d grown to crave. He just tossed his keys on the counter and collapsed onto your couch like the energy had been drained out of him. You asked how his day went, trying to make small talk, trying to ignore the growing pit in your stomach. He barely responded, and when he did, his words were clipped, distant.

You tried to bridge the gap, but it was like reaching for someone underwater—close enough to see, too far to touch. The silence stretched until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Trevor,” you said, voice tight, “what’s going on?”

He rubbed his hand over his face, exhaling in a way that made you feel like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. For a moment, he didn’t answer, just stared at the floor, and in that silence, you knew.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

His words hung in the air, so soft, yet they cut deeper than you could’ve imagined. You blinked, trying to process it, the suddenness of it, even though you’d felt it coming. “What do you mean?” Your voice cracked, and you hated it, hated the vulnerability that crept in, but you couldn’t help it.

“I just…” Trevor sighed, leaning back against the couch, finally meeting your gaze. His eyes weren’t as bright as they usually were, dulled by something you couldn’t quite place. “I’m not good at this. At… relationships. I thought maybe I could be, with you, but…” He trailed off, running his fingers through his hair, the gesture so familiar it twisted your heart.

“But you are,” you whispered, your throat tightening with desperation. “You can be.”

He shook his head, and there it was—that wall he always put up when things got too real. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said quietly. “But I think I already am.”

And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it?

The thing you’d tried to ignore, to explain away with excuses. You were hurting, and he knew it. Maybe he even felt it, too. But instead of pulling you closer, he was doing what he always did—running.

“You’re not hurting me,” you said quickly, stepping closer, trying to bridge the gap between you. “We can figure this out. We can make it work.”

But Trevor shook his head again, standing up, his movements slow, like this was the last place he wanted to be but felt he had no choice. “I don’t think we can. I don’t think I’m what you need.”

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest, the ache spreading through every part of you. “You are,” you insisted, tears threatening to spill over, but you swallowed them down, refusing to break. “You just—you're just going through something right now. We can fix this, Trevor. I can help you.”

There it was again. The words that had become a mantra in your mind. I can fix this. I can fix him.

But Trevor’s face didn’t soften. His jaw tightened, and his eyes—those eyes that had once made you feel like you were the only person in the world—were cold. Detached. “You can’t,” he said quietly, almost regretfully. “I can’t even fix myself.”

He turned away then, and the sight of him walking toward the door felt like a punch to the gut. This was it. You were losing him. And no matter how hard you tried to hold on, he was slipping through your fingers.

“I thought we had something,” you said, your voice trembling now. You hated how small you sounded, how helpless, but you needed him to understand. “I thought we—”

“We did,” he interrupted, turning back to you, his expression unreadable. “But it’s not enough.”

The finality in his voice hit you like ice water. There was nothing left to say. Nothing you could do to change his mind. You wanted to scream, to beg him to stay, to tell him that he was wrong, that what you had was worth fighting for. But all the words caught in your throat, strangled by the weight of his decision.

And just like that, it was over. He grabbed his keys and walked out of your apartment, leaving you standing there in the middle of the room, your heart shattered on the floor in pieces you didn’t know how to pick up.

It felt like the end. But you didn’t realize it was only the beginning of a cycle you’d find yourself stuck in—over and over again. Because with Trevor, the break-ups were never final. There was always something pulling him back, something unfinished between you.

This was only the first.

───

Trevor's lips slammed into yours, his hand found your neck in the way it always did. You weren't sure how you ended up tipsy at Quinn fucking Hughes' party, making out with your ex again. His fingers pressed into your skin, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t stand the thought of space between you.

The taste of him—familiar and intoxicating—blurred your thoughts, and for a moment, nothing else mattered. Not the history, not the break-ups, not the fact that this had happened before. You were back in that heady, heated moment, the one that always made you forget how things fell apart.

You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t get sucked back in. Not again.

But the second you locked eyes with him across the room, something shifted. The electricity was still there, sparking between you like it always had. You’d been sipping on your drink, trying to ignore the way your heart sped up the moment you spotted him leaning against the wall, laughing at something Jack had said. He hadn’t noticed you at first, but when he did, his eyes lingered, the corner of his mouth lifting in that lazy half-smile that always made your stomach flip.

It was as if time stood still for a moment, the crowd around you fading into a dull hum. You told yourself to stay away, to keep your distance, but then he started making his way toward you, weaving through the throng of people like a magnet drawn to steel. By the time he reached you, it was too late.

One drink turned into two, and then you were leaning against the counter together, his arm brushing yours, every touch sending sparks through your skin. You didn’t mean to let it happen—at least, that’s what you told yourself. But when he leaned in, eyes dark and intent, you were powerless.

His mouth was on yours before you had time to think. Before you had time to remind yourself why this was a bad idea. Your back hit the wall as Trevor pressed closer, his body solid and warm against yours, his kiss rough, urgent. He kissed you like he was drowning and you were the only thing keeping him afloat. And just like that, you were right back where you started.

The noise of the party faded into the background, the music, the laughter, the voices—it all disappeared. All you could focus on was the way his hands roamed your body, the way his lips moved against yours, the way everything about him felt so damn familiar.

He hadn’t changed. Not really. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Because neither had you.

It was always like this with Trevor—crashing back into each other like waves against the shore, only to pull away and leave destruction in your wake. You knew it, deep down, but the connection between you was like gravity, impossible to resist.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he muttered against your mouth, his words muffled by the kiss, but you heard them. Felt them in the way his grip tightened on your waist, in the heat of his breath against your skin.

You should’ve stopped him. You should’ve pushed him away, told him that this wasn’t what you needed, that he couldn’t just waltz back into your life after breaking your heart. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Instead, your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer, as if holding on tighter would somehow make this all make sense. As if it would make the hurt go away. Because when Trevor kissed you like this, when he touched you like this, it was easy to forget the pain, the doubt, the nagging voice in the back of your mind telling you that this was a mistake.

You wanted to believe that this time would be different. That maybe, just maybe, this kiss meant something more than just a fleeting moment of lust and longing. But you knew better. You’d been here before. You’d lived this cycle over and over again, and every time, it ended the same way—with you left wondering how you ever thought it would be different.

“Trevor,” you whispered against his lips, trying to catch your breath, but he didn’t let up.

His hands slipped under the hem of your shirt, fingertips brushing against your skin under your bra, sending shivers down your spine. He always knew exactly how to undo you, how to make you forget everything except the way he made you feel.

“Just… don’t think,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes were half-lidded, intense, and you could see the hunger there, the desperation. “I missed you. Missed us.”

Us. The word twisted something in your chest, and you couldn’t help the bitter laugh that bubbled up. “There is no ‘us,’ Trevor. Not anymore.”

He froze for a split second, just long enough for the reality of your words to sink in. But then he was kissing you again, harder this time, as if he could erase the truth with his lips, as if he could will you back into the illusion you both clung to. And for a moment, you let him. For a moment, you let yourself pretend that maybe, just maybe, you could make it work this time.

But deep down, you knew this wasn’t real. Not really. It never was.

“You're the only one for me, y'know?” He mumbled against your lips as if he heard your thoughts, your doubts.

He pulled away for a second, gazing into your eyes like you were the only person in the world—no, in his world. You averted your gaze, your lips forming something in between a frown and pout.

“I'm serious,” he said, his voice softer now, like he was pleading for you to believe him. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in that familiar way that always made your heart skip a beat. “You’re the only one for me.”

You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to believe that the Trevor standing in front of you right now was telling the truth, that he wasn’t just saying what he thought you wanted to hear. But how many times had you been here before? How many times had he looked at you with those same eyes, said those same words, only to disappear the moment things got hard?

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, searching for something—anything—that would make this feel real. But all you could see was the same pattern, the same cycle repeating itself over and over again. He always came back. And every time, you let him.

“Trevor…” You said his name softly, your heart aching with the weight of everything left unsaid. “You say that now, but—”

“But what?” he cut you off, his grip on you tightening as if he were afraid you might slip away. “I mean it. I know I’ve screwed up before, but this… this is different.”

Different. He always said that, too.

You swallowed hard, the words tangled on the tip of your tongue. You wanted to tell him that you couldn’t do this again, that you couldn’t keep letting him back into your life only for him to break your heart all over again. But when you opened your mouth, the words wouldn’t come. Instead, all you could think about was the way he made you feel in this moment—the way his touch still sent sparks through your body, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you like this.

But before you could voice your concerns, his lips were on yours again. This time the kiss was softer, almost tender, as if he were trying to tell you all the things he couldn’t say out loud. The urgency from earlier was gone, replaced by something gentler, something that tugged at your heart in ways you wished it didn’t. His hands moved to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like the world had quieted, like maybe this could be the start of something better.

But deep down, you knew better.

You kissed him back anyway, letting yourself get lost in the warmth of his embrace, in the way his mouth moved with a kind of reverence, like he was trying to make you believe that this time was different. And for a split second, you wanted to let yourself believe it. You wanted to pretend that everything you felt—the hope, the heartbreak, the endless cycle of push and pull—was leading somewhere other than the same painful end.

Trevor pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours, his voice low and filled with a vulnerability you hadn’t heard in a long time. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, his hands still holding your face like you were something fragile, something worth protecting. “I need you to know that.”

Before you could reply, his hands slipped under your thighs, lifting you up as if you weighed nothing. Trevor kicked open the door of Quinn's room, dropping you on the bed as he pushed you down. His lips smashed into yours, the desperation was back as you sighed into his lips.

He leaned away for a second, gazing into your eyes, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. “Tell me you don’t want this,” he murmured, his voice rough with a mix of desire and something deeper—something that made your heart ache.

His eyes searched yours, pleading, as if he needed you to say the words that would give him permission to keep going. To keep pretending that this was enough.

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing. The room felt suffocating, the weight of his body pressing into yours, grounding you in the moment even though your mind was spinning. You could feel his hands trembling slightly as they gripped your hips, like he was terrified you might push him away.

And for a second, you almost did.

You almost told him that this—whatever this was—wasn’t what you needed, that the late-night kisses and whispered promises weren’t going to fix what was broken between you.

But instead, you stared up at him, the words lodged in your throat. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Couldn’t bring yourself to end the moment when everything felt so perfect, so right, even though you knew it wasn’t. Even though you knew this was just another temporary high, another rush of emotion that would crash down just as quickly as it had started.

You wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that he wasn’t going anywhere, that maybe this time would be different. But you knew better. You’d been here before, and every time, it ended the same way—with him leaving and you left picking up the pieces.

“I…” Your voice was shaky, barely audible, as you stared up into his blue eyes. You should say no. You should tell him that you needed more than this.

But when you opened your mouth, what came out was, “I want this.”

Trevor’s gaze darkened, and without another word, he crashed his lips against yours, his kiss more urgent this time, as if he needed to prove something. His hands roamed your body, tugging at your clothes, and you let him. You let him because it was easier than facing the truth. Easier than admitting that this—these fleeting moments of passion—was all you ever really had with him.

Your back arched as he moved over you, his hands exploring every inch of your skin, his mouth tracing a line down your neck, making you forget, if only for a moment, about all the things that weren’t said. All the doubts that had been lingering in the back of your mind since the moment you walked into that party and saw him again.

You let yourself get lost in him, in the way he touched you, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment. Because in those moments, it was easy to forget the pain, the heartache, the constant push and pull. It was easy to believe that maybe, just maybe, this was enough.

But deep down, you knew it wasn’t.

It never would be.

And as Trevor’s lips found yours again as he finally pushed into you, you couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in your chest—that no matter how much you wanted to believe in the potential of what you could be, the reality was that Trevor could never give you what you truly needed.

“God, this pussy was made for me,” he moaned as he slammed into you, his forehead falling into yours.

You nodded, your eyes squeezing shut. “Trev,” you moaned as you gripped the sheets underneath. “Oh, God.”

His hands grabbed your face, forcing you to meet his dark gaze. “No one can ever make you feel this way, right?”

You let out a small whimper as you gazed up at him, shaking your head. “No, only you,” you told him—and it was the honest truth.

His grip tightened just enough to make your heart race, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. “Say it again,” he demanded, his voice low and rough, filled with something almost desperate. “Tell me it’s only me.”

Your breath hitched, your body trembling beneath him as his words sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel the weight of his need, the way he was searching for something—validation, control, reassurance—that you weren’t sure you could give. But in that moment, with his hands on you, his gaze burning into yours, you couldn’t bring yourself to resist.

“It’s only you,” you moaned, your voice shaking as you repeated the words he wanted to hear. “Only you, Trevor.”

A flash of satisfaction crossed his face, and his lips were on yours again, more possessive this time, like he needed to claim you, to prove that what you said was true. His hands moved from your face to your waist, pulling you closer as he fucked you into the mattress, holding you tight as if he was afraid you might disappear.

You moaned again, your head falling back into the mattress. The desperation in his touch was overwhelming, consuming, and all you could do was surrender to it. To him.

But you couldn't help but crave it, in some twisted way.

But even as your body responded to him, your heart was heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. Because yes, he made you feel things no one else did. Yes, he ignited something in you that was impossible to ignore. But it wasn’t enough. You knew that. You both knew that.

Trevor pulled back, his breath ragged as he stared down at you, his thumb brushing over your lips. “You belong to me,” he murmured, his voice thick with conviction, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. “Don’t you?”

And in that moment, you couldn’t say no.

Even though the rational part of you wanted to scream that you didn’t belong to anyone, that you needed more than this, more than the highs and lows, you couldn’t bring yourself to push him away. Not when he was looking at you like that. Not when he was giving you everything he could in this moment, even if it wasn’t enough.

“I do,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you nodded, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I belong to you, Trevor.”

His eyes darkened with satisfaction, his hips moving even faster as his lips kissed you roughly. And you let him. You let him because in that moment, it was easier to give in, to pretend that what you had was enough. Easier than facing the truth that no matter how much you wanted him, no matter how much you tried to make it work, Trevor would never be the guy you needed him to be.

But for now, you let yourself forget all that. You let yourself get lost in the way he touched you, the way he made you feel alive, even if it was only temporary.

Your eyes rolled in the back of your head, and suddenly all of the doubts in your headed muted. “O-oh, fuck!” You cried out as you gripped the sheets underneath you, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Your orgasm crashed into you like a train, strings of curses and cries of pleasure leaving both of your lips. His forehead fell against yours, breathless as he kissed you again.

His hands found your face again, pulling you up to meet his hooded gaze. “That's my beautiful girl,” he mumbled before letting go and pulling out of you.

My beautiful girl.

The words echoed in your head, sending a rush of warmth through your chest, but there was an ache that followed just as quickly. Your heart flipped, clinging to the way it sounded, the way it felt like he meant it. You barely noticed Trevor pulling up his pants, getting off the bed, as you lay there, still trying to process the whirlwind of emotions running through you.

For a moment, you just watched him—watched the way his fingers fumbled with the button of his jeans, the way he ran a hand through his tousled hair like he was already back in his own world, already a step removed from you. He was there, but somehow, not really.

You sat up slowly, the sheets slipping from your shoulders as reality settled over you like a cold blanket. It wasn’t like you hadn’t been here before, in this exact position, watching him get dressed, waiting for the inevitable distance that would follow. But this time, something felt heavier, like the weight of your heart had finally caught up with you.

Trevor didn’t say anything, didn’t even glance back at you as he grabbed his phone off the nightstand, his attention already elsewhere. It was like a switch had flipped, like whatever moment you’d just shared wasn’t as significant to him as it was to you.

You pulled your knees to your chest, biting your lip as you searched for the right words to say, something that might bring him back into the moment with you, something that might make him stay just a little longer. But the silence stretched between you, heavy and thick, and it made you feel small, like maybe you were holding onto something that was already slipping away.

Trevor glanced over his shoulder at you, his face unreadable. “I should probably head out,” he said casually, like he hadn’t just turned your world upside down, like leaving now was the most normal thing in the world.

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile even though your chest tightened. “Yeah… sure.”

He leaned down, planting a quick kiss on your forehead, too quick, too brief, and you felt the familiar emptiness creeping in. “I’ll text you,” he added, his voice already distant.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to say anything else, not trusting your voice to stay steady. You wanted to ask him to stay. Wanted to tell him that you needed more than this, more than stolen moments and whispered promises that never seemed to last. But you didn’t. You just watched him walk out the door, the sound of it closing behind him echoing in the quiet room.

And just like that, he was gone.

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of the empty space beside you heavier than it had ever been. You sat there for a long time, staring at the door, waiting for the ache in your chest to subside. But it didn’t. It never did.

My beautiful girl.

The words lingered in your mind, and as much as you wanted to hold onto them, to believe that they meant something, deep down, you knew better. Because being his “beautiful girl” wasn’t enough. It had never been enough.

And the worst part? You weren’t sure you knew how to let go.

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