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foreveia · 3 days ago

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c(alc)ulus ⤨ tsukishima kei

⨭ genre; hard 2 explain but there's a happy ending so u shld read (jk its a college!au, frat boy!au)

⨭ pairing; tsukishima kei x f!reader

⨭ word count; 9.7k

⨭ descriptions; you're the last person kei wants anything to do with, but not even he can deny it: he, and the entire frat, needs you.

⨭ warnings; frat boy levels of alcoholism, explicit language

⨭ a/n; i love math but love blondes more. i also love rly long fanfics with plot and pretty language and feelings, so hope y'all enjoy this super long mess of a frat!universe haikyuu with college-core drinking habits, calculus talk, and a whole lot of simping for kei <3

one.

Kageyama is failing calculus.

This statement wouldn’t necessarily be a big deal—after all, he had barely passed most of his classes his whole life, getting into college solely with his athletic skills and having zero intentions to stay in academia in the future. He’s in university primarily just to have something to fall back on, and he has made it exceptionally obvious that he does the bare minimum to get his degree by sleeping through his lectures and procrastinating his homework to the night it’s due. He doesn’t, and has never, cared much about school, and has somehow made it through life anyway, so really, in most circumstances, Kageyama failing a class wouldn’t be a big deal at all.

However, in this circumstance, Kageyama is also a brother of Kappa Alpha Rho, and therefore his grades reflect not just him but the brotherhood, meaning him failing a class has fully become Tsukishima’s problem, making this, in fact, a very, very big deal. He thinks he’s screwed.

And it’s completely your fault.

Tsukishima glares at the email notification sitting at the top of the screen, clenching his jaw so hard that he feels his back molars ache.

ASU Policy Update: New Funding Requirements for Student Organizations

He’s already read it twice, but he clicks on it again anyway, as if the words would magically change now that it’s his third try. His fingers drum against the desk, anxious and annoyed all at once.

Effective immediately, all university-funded student organizations must maintain a collective GPA of C+ (2.3) or higher to remain eligible for financial support from ASU. Organizations failing to meet this requirement will be placed on academic probation for a select amount of time, after which, if under the minimum, will be denied funding for the academic year.

He exhales sharply through his nose and shuts his laptop a little harder than necessary. His knee bounces under the desk as he stares at the wall, running the numbers through his head. A D- average to a C+? That’s not a small jump. That’s a fucking leap.

And it’s because of you. But then again, of course it is.

Tsukishima doesn’t even know you personally, but he knows of you. Everyone at Furudate University knows of you. It’s honestly impossible not to.

Your name gets thrown around like a fucking urban legend: the math department’s golden girl, every professors’ favorite. The kind of student whose name gets printed in bold on the Dean’s List every semester, top of the class in every single way, looking down at everyone else from your haughty position up there.

You’re the poster child for academic excellence, and this is exactly the kind of sanctimonious, holier-than-thou rule someone like you would pass.

He can practically see you in his head, sitting in some committee meeting, smug as you argue for “higher academic standards,” completely unaware of the absolute nightmare you’ve just created.

He rubs his temple. He doesn’t have time for this. If Kappa Alpha Rho loses funding, they lose access to the house stipend, the event budget, the formal venue deposit—

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath, already clicking through the chapter’s internal roster. He zeroes in on the worst grades. Not surprisingly (albeit disappointing nonetheless), Kageyama’s name jumps out immediately.

He has a 37 in Multivariable Calculus.

Tsukishima closes his eyes and counts to five. It doesn’t help. His laptop screen just glares back at him, the double-digits in bright red. He’s dragging the entire GPA down, significantly so.

So if Kageyama fails, they’re all fucked.

Tsukishima opens the frat group chat.

(11:42 AM) tsukishima: who here actually passed multi calc

It takes all of five whole seconds before the chat explodes.

hinata: LOL NOT ME yamaguchi: barely but yea? noya: i didn’t even know multi was real lmao

Tsukishima pinches the bridge of his nose. They’re useless. They’re all fucking useless.

(11:43 AM) yamaguchi: wait is this about the gpa thing? are we actually losing funding? tsukishima: we will if kageyama fails calc hinata: bro just make him pass it then tsukishima: do you think i control his brain (11:44 AM) tanaka: wait hold on. are you saying if we fail we’re actually broke?? yamaguchi: tsukki wouldn’t joke about this lol hinata: WHAT DO U MEAN BROKE. LIKE. BROKE BROKE?? noya: LIKE WE GOTTA PAY FOR KEGS OUTTA POCKET BROKE???

Tsukishima watches the messages roll in, each response growing increasingly more unhinged. He feels his blood pressure rising, ticking up with every single one.

(11:45 AM) tanaka: WE CAN’T LOSE FUNDING FORMAL IS IN 3 MONTHS hinata: NOOOO NOT FORMAL noya: NOOOOOOOOOO NOT FORMAL tanaka: WHO THE FUCK IS GONNA PAY FOR FORMAL

Tsukishima sighs, dragging a hand down his face. This is exactly what he didn’t want. The second these idiots realized the frat’s funding was actually on the line, everything was going to implode. Where’s the rest of the exec board right now? He misses them.

(11:46 AM) yamaguchi: okay but seriously what’s the plan tsukishima: kageyama needs to pass calc obviously tanaka: okay but like. how

Good fucking question.

Tsukishima leans back in his chair, thinking. Kageyama isn’t stupid—not in the traditional sense, anyway. He just doesn’t give a shit. If he had a decent tutor, someone to force the information into his thick skull, he might actually stand a chance.

(11:47 AM) tsukishima: does anyone know a decent tutor (11:48 AM) yamaguchi: y/n

Tsukishima physically recoils.

(11:48 AM) tsukishima: like… vpaa y/n??? yamaguchi: yeah?? she’s the best tutor in the math department hinata: wait isn’t she the one that profs never shut up about lol tanaka: bro we’d be paying for a 5-star tutor with beer money noya: u think she’d go for it tho?? hinata: tsukishima just bat your pretty little eyelashes and get her to help us 🤩 tsukishima: i will block you

There is no way in hell he is asking you for help. Absolutely not. Because if there’s anyone on this entire campus that would not hesitate to let Kappa Alpha Rho crash and burn, it’s you.

But then, Daichi—super convenient timing for the president to come in right now—sends the real kicker.

(11:49 AM) daichi: Text Y/N. Now.

Tsukishima grinds his teeth. His fingers hover over the keyboard. For a very, very long moment, he just stares blankly at the screen, until finally, he types.

(11:50 AM) tsukishima: someone send me her number.

And Tsukishima thinks, for not the last time, that he’s absolutely screwed.

two.

For someone who’s actively ruining his life, you’re surprisingly… okay.

At least, you were over text. You responded within minutes, and—without sarcasm, without question, without any needed negotiation—agreed to a tutoring session the next day.

Tsukishima thinks he should be wary of this. Surely you have some ulterior motive, something that’s meant to prove to him (and yourself) just how much smarter you are than everyone else.

Ah, yes. That’s probably it. You’re going to use the dumb frathlete to make yourself feel good.

After some contemplation, Tsukishima decides that he should be there. As idiotic and annoying as Kageyama can be, he’s still his brother, and Tsukishima isn’t about to let some pretentious academic just mock and insult him; Kageyama is shitty with words, so the least Tsukishima can do is be there to snap back for him.

Tsukishima is almost certain that you’re doing this solely to stroke your ego. After all, why else would someone like you agree?

That being said, twenty four hours later, sitting across from you at a library table, he’s forced to admit—begrudgingly—that you’re actually not… terrible.

Tsukishima watches you carefully, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for the moment you slip up—some trace of superiority, some indication that you think this is beneath you. But to his surprise, you don’t smirk, you don’t sigh in frustration, you don’t roll your eyes every time Kageyama gets something wrong.

You’re just… patient. Shockingly, infuriatingly patient.

“Okay,” you say, tapping the corner of Kageyama’s notebook with your pen. “Walk me through your thought process. How did you get to this step?”

Kageyama stares at his paper, scowling. “I don’t know.”

“Well, you got this part right,” you say, circling something in the equation. “So let’s build from here.”

Kageyama frowns deeper, pressing his pencil so hard that the lead tears a little hole—Tsukishima expects you to finally snap, to lecture him for not paying attention, but instead, you just tilt your head and try again.

“I think you’re having trouble with double integrals, so let’s break those down first, okay?” you say, not at all unkindly, before flipping open your notes and locating the respective chapter in the textbook. Tsukishima notices, with mild surprise, that you don’t even have to check the table of contents—you go straight to the right page.

And then, even stranger: your own notes are written beside the original text. Your annotations are precise but casual, breaking down the wordy explanations into clear, digestible pieces; your diagrams take up the margins, and where there’s extra blank space, you’ve doodled functions, arrows, sometimes little stick figures interacting with equations.

Tsukishima shouldn’t care. He doesn’t.

But something about it—about how thoroughly you understand this shit—sticks with him.

And as you start explaining, Tsukishima quickly comes to understand why they call you the best in the department.

Your voice is even, steady, and you don’t just read from the textbook—you reframe the concepts completely, breaking them down into comparisons, real-world applications, diagrams that actually make sense. It’s the kind of familiarity that takes years of experience and countless hours of practice, and you obviously have gotten to an incredible degree of expertise. And most importantly, when Kageyama hits a block or stumbles over the formulas, you don’t get irritated.

You just adjust.

Again. And again. And again.

Until finally, something clicks.

Tsukishima watches, arms crossed, as you do something no professor, no TA, and certainly no frat brother has managed before: you make Kageyama think. You make him care. Kageyama straightens slightly in his seat, gripping his pencil a little tighter; he scribbles something down, then nods to himself, like he actually understands.

Tsukishima leans back, exhaling through his nose.

He hates to admit it, but Yamaguchi was right: you really do know your shit.

three.

An hour passes like this. Slowly, but gradually, Kageyama works through his problem set, stopping every so often to ask questions. You answer every single one without hesitation, without even having to double check, with the complete confidence of someone who simply knows that they’re right.

Then, completely unprompted, you ask, “So, do you play volleyball?”

Kageyama pauses mid-writing. The question catches him off-guard—catches both of them off-guard, actually.

Tsukishima gives you a sharp look, but you just smile, amused.

“You retained information best when I used sports analogies to explain,” you continue, tapping the end of your pen against the table. “And when I used a volleyball as an example for triple integral applications, you corrected me on the radius in like, two seconds.”

Kageyama blinks. Then, looking somewhat sheepish, he mumbles, “Wow, that’s crazy. I’m on the university team.”

“That’s cool,” you say simply, clicking your pen. You doodle absentmindedly on an extra sheet of paper, this time drawing a little volleyball in the corner. “Our executive VP is on the team too. Sakusa.”

Kageyama hums an affirmation. “Yeah, we’re both starters.”

“As a sophomore? That’s really impressive,” you say. Tsukishima thinks that you’re pretty impressive too, considering you’re a sophomore just like them, but you don’t seem to be even thinking about that. “Why are you taking calculus, then? What’s your major?”

“Physics and kinesiology.”

“I didn’t peg you as a STEM guy,” you muse, still sketching in the margins. You’ve now switched to drawing a little banana.

Tsukishima, despite himself, huffs a quiet laugh.

Kageyama flushes slightly. “I, um, want to go pro after college,” he admits, ears bright crimson as he speaks. “So kinesiology felt right for an athlete. And for physics, well, I’m a setter, so I want to, um… I want to be able to calculate the velocity of the balls I send with more accuracy.”

It’s a ridiculous reason. Maybe even a stupid one. Definitely the stupidest reason Tsukishima’s ever heard for taking an incredibly intense and complex major like physics.

But you don’t laugh.

You just nod, smiling to yourself. “Thanks for letting me help you with your process, then.”

There’s a moment of silence, before Tsukishima bluntly remarks, “You’re weird.”

It comes off slightly ruder than intended, and you pause, your pen coming to a halt on the paper. He adds, quieter than before, “I mean, you notice things like that?”

Your nose and forehead scrunch up in slight confusion, expression so befuddled as if he were simply asking you if the sky was blue.

“Well, yeah.” You say this as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. “Everyone is different, with different interests and learning styles, and things get easier to understand when you break things down on their terms as opposed to yours. So of course I’ll pick up on things like that. I try to be observant of all the people around me.”

When your eyes meet his, he instinctively is on edge. Your tone is still light, but there’s something pragmatic about your eyes that makes him feel apprehensive, like he’s standing at the edge of a 50-foot fall and you’re watching to see if he’ll take the jump. It’s like you’re taking all of him in, like you’re taking everyone in. Like you see things other people don’t.

If Tsukishima is being honest with himself, this perceptiveness is something he lacks. He willingly disregards much of the people and the things around him; it's a defense mechanism he has perfected over the years. It’s easier to stay detached. It’s easier to keep to himself; it’s easier to be indifferent.

To be blunt, your astuteness unnerves him, and it’s a sensation he’s not used to grappling with. There’s a raw honesty in your gaze that feels almost invasive, peeling back the layers of his carefully constructed facade. You two had just met, but for a brief moment, he wonders if you can somehow see through him because despite your cheerful and carefree attitude, you are looking to understand people in a way he never has.

He quickly looks away, breaking the intense eye contact. “I guess that’s one way to look at it,” he mutters.

You don’t reply because your attention has already shifted back to Kageyama, with you leaning over his notebook and exclaiming, “See, you got this!”

Kageyama has solved the several problems you gave him, his work still amateur but complete. You scan his notebook, pointing out the few areas where he could simplify his work, but the overwhelming beam on your face is nothing short of proud, and it incites a completely new determination in Kageyama. Despite his usual stoicism, your encouragement has visibly boosted his confidence and Tsukishima watches as the boy smiles and nods along when you flip the textbook to a new chapter, declaring loudly, “Okay! Let’s move onto vectors!”

As you continue to explain, Tsukishima watches the two of you with a slight mixture of exasperation and something else he can’t quite put a name to. You are honest and true and it’s wholly unfamiliar, tiring in a way where he is overwhelmed. He’s not quite sure how to describe how he feels right now, sitting here with you together: maybe it’s a touch of admiration for you, maybe it’s just relief that someone else is dealing with Kageyama’s math woes for a change, but either way, at the end of it all, he finds himself settling back into his chair, a small, almost imperceptible amusement playing at the corners of his mouth.

Minutes turn into hours, and before you know it, the sun is dipping lower and lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the library floors. By the time the library's closing announcement echoes through the halls, you have made it through half the vector fields unit and Kageyama has filled several pages of his notebook with neatly written solutions.

“Well, let’s finish up. I think we’ve made some good progress today,” you decide, stretching your arms above your head. You begin to gather your things—if you’re not all out soon, the librarians will come and yell at you for sure.

“Thank you so much, Y/N,” Kageyama says earnestly, closing his notebook. “I think I’m starting to get it.”

“You are. Just keep practicing those problems, okay? You’ll pass this week’s quiz for sure if you keep at it,” you say cheerily. “Just text if you ever need any help. I’m always around.”

Your enthusiasm seems genuine, like you really do want to help Kageyama succeed. Tsukishima’s not sure what to do with this information.

He should be suspicious. Should assume there’s something in it for you—some academic accolade, some resumé boost, some smug satisfaction in proving you’re better than everyone else. But you don’t gloat. You don’t even act like this is a favor Kageyama—or, by extension, the frat—owes you for the rest of time.

You just offer your help like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal to give this much of your time, your energy, your effort.

It’s strange. It makes him uncomfortable.

“You’re always around?” he says, unable to stop himself. His voice comes out dry, skeptical. “Sounds like you have way too much time on your hands.”

You blink, then laugh, genuine and light.

“Not really,” you say, slipping your notes into your bag. “I’m just good at making time for things that matter.”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his, and for some reason, that sentence sticks in his brain.

Good at making time for things that matter.

Before he can think too hard about what that implies, Kageyama—completely unaware of the odd shift in atmosphere—stands, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll text you,” he says. “Uh. If I get stuck.”

“Good,” you say, satisfied. “See you both next time.”

And with that, you’re gone, stepping out of the library doors, the evening sun catching in your hair before you disappear down the hall.

There’s a brief silence.

“…She’s nice,” Kageyama says, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets.

Tsukishima sighs, shaking his head. “Don’t be weird about it.”

“I’m not.”

“You sound weird about it.”

Kageyama scowls but says nothing, already distracted by whatever thought process is rattling around in his thick skull.

Tsukishima, however, lingers.

He doesn’t want to admit that today went better than expected. That you weren’t condescending, that you didn’t treat Kageyama like a lost cause, that you were actually kind of impressive to watch. That there’s something about the way you carry yourself—the way you see people, notice things, care about things—that makes his stomach twist in a way he doesn’t like.

He exhales sharply. Nope. Not going there.

Instead, he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and starts toward the exit, brushing off whatever this feeling is. After all, this is just the first session.

There’s still plenty of time for you to prove him right.

four.

After the fifth tutoring session, Tsukishima notices two things.

First: since you’ve started helping Kageyama, his calculus average has jumped dramatically from a 37 to a 60. Considering he has to catch up on the whole semester, this much progress in such a short amount of time is insane, and Tsukishima—who has spent years watching Kageyama be a stubborn idiot—is actually kinda baffled by it.

Second: it’s not that you look down on him, or Kageyama, specifically. You just look down on Greek life as a whole.

It takes him a while to realize it. At first, he assumes it’s personal—that you have some vendetta against Kappa Alpha Rho, some deep-seated superiority complex. But then, over the next few weeks, he starts paying closer attention.

You don’t sneer at Kageyama’s jersey. You don’t mock him for struggling, don’t look at him like he’s a dumb jock barely worth your time.

But when Tanaka and Noya come to pick Kageyama up after a session, still wearing their frat hoodies from some brotherhood event, Tsukishima catches the way your eyes flick to their letters. The way your lips press together, just slightly.

When Kageyama makes an offhanded comment about formal, you barely react—just a small exhale through your nose, something unimpressed.

And then there’s today.

You’re explaining another concept—Tsukishima isn’t really listening; Kageyama is nodding along, so he figures he doesn’t need to pay attention—when Hinata, of all people, shows up at the library. He bursts through the doors like a chaotic, overexcited golden retriever, completely disregarding the quiet study environment as he waves both arms above his head.

“Kageyama!”

Kageyama physically tenses. Tsukishima watches, vaguely amused, as he slowly turns to the orange-haired idiot now bounding toward them.

Hinata slaps a recruitment t-shirt onto the table. “You left it at the house, dumbass! Daichi said to bring it to you.”

Kageyama looks vaguely murderous. “Shut up.”

Tsukishima smirks. And then, he glances at you.

And there it is again: that brief flicker of something. That same exhale through your nose.

You don’t say anything, don’t react much at all—but Tsukishima sees it.

You hate frats.

And now, he wants to know why.

Luckily for him, it actually doesn’t take much to find out.

It comes up casually, in the way most revealing things do—offhanded, unguarded, something you don’t realize you’re giving away.

Kageyama is the one who brings it up. Not intentionally, obviously—he's never been intentionally insightful a day in his life—but between scribbling down an answer on his problem set, he suddenly asks, “Why’d you make that rule, anyway?”

You glance up, caught off guard. “Huh?”

“The GPA thing,” he clarifies. “You’re the VPAA, right? So it was your idea.”

Tsukishima watches as you blink, your grip tightening just slightly around your pen.

Then, after a moment, you exhale, setting it down. “It wasn’t just me,” you say. “It was a committee decision.”

“But you agree with it,” Tsukishima says, leveling you with a look.

Your lips press together. There it is again—that tiny flicker of something. Then, you sigh.

“It’s just frustrating seeing people waste their potential,” you say finally, voice careful, deliberate. “I mean, don’t you want to succeed?”

Ah. So that’s what it is: you think that all fraternity boys are idiots who only care about partying and drinking games. You think they don’t care about their futures. That they’re lazy, entitled, wasting the opportunities they have.

Tsukishima exhales slowly through his nose, tipping his chair back just slightly. He should be annoyed. He should be pissed off.

But instead, he just smirks.

“You think we’re all just dumb party boys, don’t you?”

Your eyes flick to his. You don’t answer, which, really, is answer enough.

So obviously, he challenges you.

“Come to the house,” he says. “See for yourself.”

Your expression shifts into something guarded, something skeptical and unimpressed. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you clearly don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Tsukishima says simply.

Kageyama, ever helpful, chimes in: “Hinata’s even worse at math than me.”

Tsukishima watches you pause, purse your lips, obviously considering. It’s a long pause, you staring down at the desk for a full minute, until finally, you sigh. “Fine.”

Oh, you’re in for a disaster.

five.

Walking into the Kappa Alpha Rho house for the first time, you’re not sure what you were expecting.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t… this.

The first thing you’re hit with when you enter the house is, simply put, noise.

The music is loud—too loud for a weeknight, you think absently, because there’s no way none of these guys have morning classes tomorrow. Someone in the kitchen is yelling indistinctly over the sound of clinking glass, and from somewhere deeper inside the house, there’s a resounding crash, followed by an enthusiastic, “It’s fine, it’s fine, don’t worry about it!”

Tsukishima watches as you visibly tense, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. You’re standing near the entrance like you’re considering leaving, like maybe you’d rather walk straight back out the door than step even a foot further into this chaos. You wouldn’t be the first: he’s seen people walking into the house for the first time and immediately regretting every life choice that led them here. The frat is loud, messy, chaotic in a way that isn’t easy to handle if you’re not used to it. And you—pristine, calculated, Type-A to your very core—are definitely not used to it.

He watches you closely, waiting for you to scoff any second now, to turn around and walk out.

But then, you hear it.

“Integrate or drink, loser!”

As an applied and theoretical math double major, the sentence instantly piques your curiosity, and you can’t, in your conscience, just walk out after hearing that. So you square your shoulders, and saunter in.

And when you see it, you stop in your tracks.

The scene before you is, frankly, absurd. Kageyama is standing at the end of a beer pong table, furrowing his brows like he’s solving a differential equation rather than playing a drinking game, and Hinata, vibrating with excitement, looks one misplaced shot away from combusting. Around them, the rest of the guys are watching with varying degrees of amusement: Tanaka and Nishinoya are grinning like they already know something Kageyama doesn’t, Yamaguchi is stifling laughter behind his hand, and Tsukishima—leaning against the wall, arms crossed—is watching you.

You glance at the table. The setup is questionable, at best. The cups are unevenly spaced, some tilted at an angle that defies both gravity and common sense. The whiteboard behind them has the remnants of what was probably meant to be a scoring system, though it's mostly illegible thanks to a combination of bad handwriting and smeared marker. And then, of course, there’s the absolute nonsense of what just came out of someone’s mouth.

You shift your gaze to the ping-pong ball in Hinata’s hand, then to Kageyama, who still looks personally insulted by whatever just happened. You blink once, then twice.

“What,” you say flatly, “am I looking at?”

“The future,” Nishinoya says dramatically, throwing an arm around Tanaka. “The greatest intellectual drinking game of our generation.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Sugawara mutters. You didn’t even notice him and the other two, presumably, seniors, sitting lazily on a couch against the wall and supposedly monitoring.

“It’s simple,” Hinata says, barely containing his enthusiasm. “You make a shot, the other guy has to solve a math problem right, or they drink.”

Silence. You stare at him.

Kageyama’s expression darkens. “It’s stupid.”

“You’re just mad because I got the last one right,” Hinata shoots back.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did! The integral of sine is cosine, dumbass!”

“The answer was negative cosine—”

“Same thing!”

“It is literally not.”

“You know what,” you interrupt, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Forget I asked.”

At this, Tsukishima makes a quiet noise—something between a laugh and a scoff—but you don’t look at him. You’re too busy assessing the catastrophe in front of you.

Because, to be honest, this is ridiculous. A complete mess of a game, poorly thought out and even more poorly executed. But…

You bite the inside of your cheek.

The concept isn’t terrible.

It’s just wrong. And you, for better or worse, cannot let a flawed system stand.

Tsukishima watches as something in your expression shifts. You set your bag down with purpose, stepping closer to the table, eyes narrowing as you take in the setup. Then, voice completely serious, you say, “You’re playing it wrong.”

The entire room pauses.

Tanaka, who has a ping-pong ball balanced on the tip of his finger, squints. “Huh?”

“You’re playing it wrong,” you repeat, arms crossing as you survey the table like it’s a crime scene.

Hinata frowns. “No, we’re not.”

“Yes,” you say, “you are.”

Tsukishima raises a brow, intrigued. You’re not mad at them for playing. You’re not disgusted by their antics. You’re just… offended by the execution.

“The whole premise doesn’t work,” you continue, gesturing vaguely at the cups. “You can’t just shout out an integral and expect them to solve it in two seconds. You need rules. A system.”

Tanaka exchanges a glance with Nishinoya. “Bro,” he says, in awe. “We don’t have a system?”

“We do have a system,” Kageyama huffs.

You promptly ignore him, already reaching for a marker. “Okay. If we’re going to do this right, it should work like this.”

And just like that, you take over.

In what seems like an instant, the frat house—which is usually ruled by sheer chaos and barely functioning groupthink—is now operating under your direction. You’ve got the whiteboard in a chokehold, a marker uncapped and poised between your fingers as you outline a system so airtight, so horrifyingly efficient, that even Tsukishima has to admit it’s impressive.

Suddenly, the game makes sense. Instead of random, impossible integrals, each shot now corresponds to a category—concepts from the last five chapters, ranked by difficulty.

And as if just to add to the disbelief, everyone is listening.

Kageyama, glaring at the rules with an unreal intensity, is following along, his brows furrowed like he’s mentally poking holes in your system but failing to find any. Tanaka and Noya are nodding like you’ve just changed their lives. Ennoshita, who had previously been lurking near the drinks table, is watching you rewrite the game’s structure with increasing fascination.

Even Sugawara nods sagely. “She makes a good point,” he says solemnly. “The game did lack structure.”

“Thank you,” you reply, as if this is a serious academic debate and not an impromptu beer pong overhaul.

Tsukishima can’t even be mad about it. Not when you’ve very quickly become the most interesting thing in the house.

And especially not when he watches you, against all fucking odds, join in. As if you were some god tier frat boy in a past life, you sink a cup with infuriating ease on your very first throw, the ball arcing perfectly without any slightest bounce back. You don’t even blink.

As if on cue, the whole house erupts.

Tanaka and Noya nearly combust on the spot, clutching each other in sheer exhilaration, while Kageyama’s jaw drops so fast you think it might actually unhinge. Even the seniors look mildly impressed.

And Hinata… well, Hinata looks very afraid.

“You—” he starts, pointing at you like he’s about to accuse you of something heinous.

But you don’t let him. You simply cross your arms, unimpressed, and say, voice smooth as ever, “Basic derivative. Give me an answer, or drink.”

There’s a split second of silence.

Then, absolute carnage.

Hinata scrambles for the marker like his life depends on it. “Uh—uh—five x to the—no, wait—”

You tilt your head. “Is that your final answer?”

“Shit, no—”

“You took too long,” you say, entirely unsympathetic. “Drink.”

Hinata lets out a strangled noise of distress as Tanaka and Noya dissolve into laughter. Even Daichi, who up until now has been observing like a wise elder, shakes his head in amusement as Hinata accepts his fate, downing his drink in defeat.

Tsukishima watches the entire thing unfold, eyes half-lidded, expression unreadable.

Huh.

He’d expected you to bail before even stepping past the threshold. Expected you to scoff, maybe say something scathing about how frat boys had the collective IQ of a teaspoon, and leave without looking back.

And yet, here you are, rewriting the rules of a drinking game with the kind of ruthless efficiency that would put actual math professors to shame. Even worse: you’re winning.

By the time you sink your third consecutive shot, the rest of the guys have gone from mildly entertained to genuinely invested. Even Kageyama, who Tsukishima assumed would be sick of math by now, is begrudgingly playing along, answering derivatives and integrals like his pride is at stake.

Tanaka and Noya have fully accepted you as one of their own, chanting your name every time you land a shot. Hinata, despite his earlier humiliation, is practically buzzing, clearly determined to redeem himself. Even Yamaguchi, who usually prefers watching Tsukishima verbally eviscerate people from the sidelines, has been sucked into the chaos, trying (and failing) to solve an integral before Kageyama can.

It’s a disaster. A ridiculous, mathematically-inclined disaster.

And you—poised, serious, utterly deadpan as you call out equations like you’re running a boot camp—are the reason for it.

Tsukishima doesn’t even realize he’s staring until Yamaguchi elbows him.

“You’re enjoying this,” Yamaguchi says, low enough that only Tsukishima can hear.

Tsukishima scoffs. “Please.”

But Yamaguchi just gives him a knowing look, then pointedly nods toward you.

Toward the way you command attention without even trying. The way you challenge their game without hesitation. The way your focus sharpens when you're confronted with something that, even in the realm of absurdity, still needs to be corrected.

Tsukishima exhales slowly, shaking his head.

Of course you’d walk into a frat house for the first time and immediately take over.

Of course you’d turn a drunken joke into an actual intellectual challenge.

Of course you’d be—

“Tsukishima.”

He blinks.

You’re looking at him now, one brow arched, an extra ping-pong ball in your hand. The room quiets just a fraction, the weight of attention shifting ever so slightly. “You haven’t played yet,” you say simply. Your gaze is intense, and it makes his stomach twist, his chest strangely warm.

Tsukishima stares at you for a long moment.

Then, very slowly, he pushes off the wall. Rolls up his sleeves.

“Alright, genius girl.” He steps up to the table, arms loose, completely at ease. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The room erupts once again.

And for the first time that night, you grin.

six.

After two months of knowing you, Tsukishima notices something else.

Your bag always contains not just the calculus textbook but several others as well. Every time he sees you on campus, you’re sprinting from place to place, dashing between study halls and libraries and the ASU building. Whenever Kageyama does need help, you’re true to your word and always there, but Tsukishima observes the way you rub at your temples when you think no one is looking, the way you blink a little too long, like you’re stealing micro-moments of rest in the middle of a conversation. The way your hands tremble slightly when you reach for your coffee, as if you’ve been running on caffeine and sheer willpower alone.

So one day, after Kageyama has already run off to his volleyball practice and it’s just the two of you in the frat house’s study room, Tsukishima finally asks the question he’s been wondering for weeks.

“Why do you do this?”

You still, your hands stopping midway as you pack up your belongings. You pause, looking up at him. “What do you mean? Tutoring?”

“Well yeah, tutoring, but also everything else—ASU, TA-ing… all of that. Why?”

You hum as you think over his question, a thoughtful look gracing your features. For a minute, it’s just silent in the room.

“I mean, do I need some grand reason to do it?” You decide after a moment of consideration, shrugging. “There’s a few reasons, I guess. But the biggest one is just that I genuinely like helping people. Like, being there for them and getting to see things click for them. That’s super rewarding in itself.”

“And the other reasons?” He watches you intently.

Clutching your laptop to your chest, you sigh, biting your bottom lip tentatively. It’s the first time he’s really seen you look vulnerable, now that he thinks about it. You’re always so calculated.

“Well– I guess it’s actually only one other reason. It’s also just… the only thing I’m really good for– sorry, at. But whatever, that’s kind of just–” you’re stumbling through your words before you cut yourself off mid-sentence, shaking your head. “At the end of the day, the only reason that matters is that I like seeing other people succeed.”

He nods slowly, sensing your discomfort and deciding not to push any further. “Yeah, okay.”

A small, wistful smile grows on your lips. “In the end, I’ll still be here. The time will pass anyway. I might as well spend it helping people find the happiness I find in math, you know?”

“So you’re tutoring him again tomorrow?”

You nod. “Mhm, from noon until two. I would go longer, but I think he has practice, so I’ll probably just do some work. I have a few policy briefs to go over.”

“Were you not busy enough today?” He drawls, gesturing to the sagging bag on your back.

You laugh with pink cheeks, almost as if embarrassed at the question; you slightly scratch the back of your head. “Um, well, I don’t know. I had a really early class and then I had TA stuff, and then two tutoring sessions, and then a committee meeting and then this. So a pretty packed schedule, I guess,” you admit. Tsukishima gives you a look, and you quickly wave your hands. “I’m good though! I like all of it, so it’s not like it’s bad. It’s a lot, but not the worst, so it’s okay.”

Tsukishima watches you closely, taking in your words and the lilt in your voice. He can see the fatigue etched on your face, the prominent dark circles ringing under your eyes, but there's also a light in your eyes that speaks volumes about your genuine passion for what you do. It’s the same look that sparks up when you watch Kageyama succeed at a problem, the one that makes your eyes look like they’re dancing with fire and sets that weird fuzzy feeling in his stomach going again. It's both admirable and concerning, and he can't help but feel a strange mix of respect and worry.

“You really care about this, don’t you?” he says softly, almost more to himself than to you.

“Yeah, I do,” you reply. Your voice is purely sincere, completely direct. “Even if I’m super busy and stressed out and tired, it’s all worth it because I get to be a part of someone’s life becoming even just a little bit better.”

He’s quiet for a moment, processing everything you’ve said.

He used to hate you. He deemed you pretentious for the GPA rule, assuming you were just another overachiever with a superiority complex, or someone who enjoyed making things harder for people like him and Kageyama. Even beyond you personally, he’d always mocked people like you for flaunting their overtly virtuous and self-righteous personas, always seeming to crave attention and recognition for their altruism.

But now, for the first time, their actions don’t seem self-serving: it’s a sacrifice, a genuine and earnest effort to make a difference that has nothing to do with personal gain. You don’t push people to do better because you think you’re above them. You do it because you believe they can be better. Because you care. Because, despite everything, you genuinely want to see people succeed. You dedicate all of yourself to others, to strangers unaware of your existence, simply because it’s the right thing to do. Simply because you can.

You’re standing there, shoulders weighed down by the sheer number of responsibilities you carry, yet still speaking with unwavering certainty. You don’t expect anything back—in fact, you barely even take credit for the work that you do. You are just kind for the sake of being kind; even when you’re exhausted, even when you have nothing left to give, you keep going. You work yourself to the bone for the sake of everyone else, and no one seems to notice—not your professors, not the students you tutor, not the countless committees that rely on you.

Except now, Tsukishima does.

And because he doesn’t know what else to do with this realization, he sighs and just says, “You should eat before you go.”

You blink at him, caught off guard. “Huh?”

“The house is making dinner.” He shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’re here anyway. Might as well eat something before you collapse.”

You huff a quiet laugh, but there’s something warm in your expression, something soft. “I’m not going to collapse.”

Tsukishima raises a brow. “Yeah, well. You look like you might.”

You roll your eyes, but to his surprise, you actually consider it. Then, after a pause, you sigh. “Okay, fine.”

And when you follow him toward the kitchen, Tsukishima tells himself it’s nothing. That he doesn’t care. That he’s just making sure you don’t keel over in the middle of a lecture hall somewhere.

But later, when you’re laughing at something Yamaguchi says, plate balanced in your hands, that strange, unfamiliar warmth creeps up his spine again.

And he thinks, not for the first time, that he might be screwed.

seven.

Since the first day you had dinner with them a few weeks ago, you’ve come to spend more and more time at the KAR house.

And well, you admittedly didn’t see it coming, but you like the Kappa Alpha Rho boys.

They’re loud. They’re class clowns. They spend many, many weeknights drinking and blasting 2000’s pop at maximum volume, so much so that you can hear the telltale tunes of old Miley Cyrus and Britney Spears from halfway down Frat Row. They are, in many ways, exactly what you expected.

They’re also… really sweet.

They’re all extremely determined to help each other to succeed. They care about each other so deeply; they’ve opened their arms to you, too, without question or complaint. They’ve looked after you in a way that you’ve never been cared for before. They gifted you a frat hoodie—your initials stitched beside the KAR letters. You have a designated mug in their kitchen cabinet. They don’t even ask if you’re staying to slide a plate in front of you at dinner. Tsukishima watches you closely whenever you pick at your food, and you pretend not to notice when he scoops an extra helping onto your plate.

They’re driven too, in their own way: as if inspired by Kageyama’s improvement, they’ve all begun to care about school, even if their study methods always seem to include some variant of rage cage or beer pong. You’ve seen how passionate they’ve grown about it, celebrating each small academic win as if it were a final exam. The whole fraternity has been clawing their way out of academic ruin, grinding through assignments, struggling through tests, pulling their GPAs up one painstaking decimal point at a time, going from one of the organizations with the lowest GPAs to being so close to the C+ minimum.

They’re so close. So close.

But technically, the frat still falls under that 2.3 minimum.

You realise this, sitting at your desk in the ASU building, because the deadline for organizations on academic probation to get their GPA up is inching closer and closer. The deadline that you set. From the policy that you put into place.

You stare at your desktop screen, at the open PDF of the passed policy, unblinking. The text is sharp and unforgiving. Academic probation lasts one semester. Organizations must raise their cumulative GPA to at least 2.3 by the end of that period or risk losing university funding. No exceptions.

You remember writing that clause, steady in your resolve at the time. It was supposed to be fair. Cut-and-dry. The goal was to push organizations to take academics seriously—to ensure that no fraternity or club skated by on empty promises and minimal effort. But now, the words feel different. They feel wrong.

You click open the academic records, searching for Kageyama’s name. His grades appear on the screen in neat rows: a scatter of past failures, single digits that make your chest ache, then a stark and steady climb. He’s sitting at a B-average now, a remarkable turnaround considering where he started.

But as you do the math quickly (a habit at this point), calculating projected GPAs based on their current grades and the remaining assignments for the semester, you realise the bitter, indisputable results: no matter how hard they push, it won’t be enough. KAR’s overall GPA still won’t meet the minimum.

The weight of that realization settles deep in your stomach.

Your policy is flawed.

For the first time since writing it, you see its error clear as day: it measures results, but not effort. It punishes past failure while ignoring present growth. It demands perfection in a system that, by design, allows only for progress in small, slow steps.

Something about that feels deeply, fundamentally unfair.

You think about the very principles that allowed you to sit here in the student union building, to have earned the title of Vice President of Academic Affairs. Because you’re not a natural genius, either: you’ve put in countless hours of hard work and effort into your studies, pulled countless sleepless nights and worked through countless practice problems just to get things right. Your policy was meant to encourage others to do the same.

To reward hard work, and drive.

And you’ve witnessed it for yourself, out of a group of rowdy, rambunctious frat boys.

You inhale sharply and sit up, rolling your chair forward. The cursor blinks in the empty document in front of you, a quiet invitation.

Slowly, carefully, you begin to type.

eight.

The night before the deadline, the Kappa Alpha Rho house is unusually quiet.

It’s strange. Even with music thumping from the speakers, even with bodies packed into the living room and voices rising in conversation, the usual energy—the chaotic, unrelenting, borderline obnoxious joy—is gone.

The party isn’t really a party. It’s a wake.

They all know what’s coming. Without funding, they’ll barely be able to keep things running. They’ll have to gut their budget, cut out every major event, every tournament, every social they used to host. They’ll lose their momentum, their presence on campus. They aren’t naive; they know what happens to a fraternity that can’t sustain itself.

So they drink. They celebrate what they were while they still can.

Tsukishima stands near the kitchen, beer in hand, watching the scene with a quiet irritation that hasn’t left him in days. It’s not just the situation—it’s you.

Because you’re not here.

And you haven’t been, not for days. No texts, no calls, no sudden appearances at dinner. No slipping into the house with your laptop and a resigned sigh, no sarcastic quips over Tsukishima’s shoulder while he studies. He knew you’d take this hard—he’s watched the way you’ve thrown yourself into their academic comeback, has seen the way your eyes light up when someone passes a test or raises their grade.

But he never thought you’d disappear.

The realisation sits heavy in his chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome. It bothers him more than he wants to admit.

“Have you heard from her?” Yamaguchi asks, appearing at his side with a drink in hand.

Tsukishima exhales sharply through his nose. “No.”

Yamaguchi frowns, but doesn’t say anything else.

The thought festers in Tsukishima’s mind as the night stretches on. He should be angry at you. A part of him is angry at you. But mostly, it just doesn’t make sense: no possible explanation he comes up with does. You’re not someone who runs from responsibility; if anything, you take too much of it on yourself. But if you’re not here, if you can’t even look at them, then maybe you really do feel guilty. Maybe you really do think you failed them.

The idea makes something twist in his gut, makes the irritation curdle into something else.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with that feeling.

So he stands there, arms crossed, listening to the frat he’s come to love mourn itself in real time.

And then the front door opens.

The music isn’t loud enough to drown out the sound—the soft creak, the shuffle of movement as someone steps inside. Tsukishima looks up, and the irritation he’s been holding onto vanishes in an instant.

Because it’s you.

You look exhausted. Shadows hang under your eyes, and your hair is slightly disheveled, like you’ve spent too many hours hunched over a desk. But still, you’re here.

And in your hand is a folder.

You walk straight toward him, weaving through the crowd, your expression unreadable. His breath catches in his throat before he realizes he’s holding it.

You stop in front of him, holding out the folder.

“Here,” you say simply.

Tsukishima doesn’t move. He just stares at you, at the folder stamped with the massive, obnoxious university logo, at the way your hand doesn’t waver. Hesitantly, he reaches out and takes it, fingers brushing against yours as he pulls it open.

His eyes scan the page.

ADDENDUM TO THE ACADEMIC PROBATION POLICY

His heart stutters.

It takes a moment for the words to register. The fraternity’s cumulative GPA is still below the requirement. But this—this thing you’ve spent the last few days working on, the thing you’ve evidently been breaking yourself over—it changes everything.

Organizations that show substantial improvement will still qualify for funding. As long as they continue to raise their GPA, they won’t be penalized.

He blinks. Once. Twice. The words blur slightly as he rereads them, brain struggling to keep up.

And then he looks up at you.

“You did this,” he says, voice lower than he intended.

You smile, small and tired but real. “You deserve it.”

Tsukishima feels like the air has been knocked from his lungs.

For a moment, he can’t speak. He can’t move. He just stares at you, at the quiet certainty in your expression, at the exhaustion lining your face, at the way you’re standing here, in his house, telling him that they deserve this. He’s digesting the fact that you cared enough about them, that you respected their effort so much that you admitted your system’s faults to the entire university, published and notarized with physical proof.

Then, without thinking, without planning, without hesitation—he grabs your wrist.

The folder nearly slips from his grasp as he pulls you toward the center of the room, toward the rest of the fraternity. Someone notices first—Hinata, probably, judging by the sudden yell of surprise. Heads turn. Conversations still.

“What’s going on?” Kageyama asks, brow furrowed.

Tsukishima doesn’t answer. He just holds up the folder.

And then he watches it happen. The shift. The confusion, the realization, the moment the words sink in.

Kageyama’s eyes go wide. Yamaguchi’s jaw drops. Someone swears. Someone else shouts. And then, chaos simply erupts.

Because the next thing Tsukishima knows, they’re celebrating.

It’s different from before. This isn’t a goodbye party anymore. It’s loud, and wild, and joyful. There’s yelling and laughter and Hinata practically tackles you in excitement before you’re pulled into a flurry of hugs and cheers. Someone turns the music up. Someone else pops open a bottle of champagne that they were definitely not supposed to be saving for this occasion.

Tsukishima doesn’t join in.

Instead, he watches you.

Watches the way you’re laughing, exhausted but triumphant, surrounded by the people who care about you more than you realize. Watches the way they pull you into the celebration like you’ve always been one of them.

Watches the way you belong.

And for once, he doesn’t fight the way his chest tightens at the sight.

nine.

The party winds down eventually—not the joy, just the noise.

Most of the fraternity has either passed out in their rooms or sprawled out in various corners of the house, too tired (or too drunk) to make it any further. The music is still playing, but softer now, reduced to a faint hum that drifts through the open windows. Even the air feels different—lighter, easier, like the very house itself is breathing again.

Tsukishima finds you on the back porch, sitting on the steps, nursing a half-finished White Claw. He hesitates for only a second before stepping outside, letting the screen door creak shut behind him.

You glance up at him but don’t say anything as he sits down beside you. There’s no need to. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. It lingers, settled, like something well-worn and familiar, like you’ve known him forever.

It’s Tsukishima who breaks it first.

“Why?”

You tilt your head. “Why what?”

He huffs, staring down at his beer. “Why’d you do it?”

You blink at him, then let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Because I was wrong.”

Tsukishima looks at you then, sharp eyes flickering with something unreadable. You don’t waver under the weight of it, and he remembers the way you look when you simply know something, that quiet certainty, that unshakable conviction. It sends a warmth through his chest, the same warmth he’s been trying to ignore for weeks now, the same warmth he always seems to feel when he’s with you.

“They deserved to have their efforts rewarded,” you continue, voice steady. “I wrote that policy thinking I was setting a fair standard, but all it did was punish people for starting at a disadvantage. They—” you gesture vaguely toward the house, where distant laughter still filters through the walls—“worked their asses off. I watched them do it. I wasn’t about to let that mean nothing.”

Tsukishima doesn’t respond right away, but he doesn’t need to. The way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers drum once against the step before curling into his palm—he gets it. He knew before you even said it.

“You didn’t have to kill yourself over it, though.”

You roll your eyes. “I didn’t.”

He levels you with a look.

You sigh, glancing away. “Okay. Maybe it wasn’t easy.”

That’s an understatement, and you both know it. You don’t admit just how much effort it took, how much red tape you had to cut through, how many meetings you had to schedule, reschedule, and push through just to get the addendum approved in time. You don’t tell him about the sleepless nights, about the pages of drafted revisions, about the quiet, gnawing fear that it wouldn’t be enough. You don’t tell him how you single handedly powered through academic records for every single organisation on campus, just to make sure this change gets written into law.

You don’t have to.

Tsukishima already knows.

He clicks his tongue but doesn’t push the subject further. Instead, he shifts, stretching his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his hands. “Tanaka and Noya are already losing their minds over events now that the funding’s secure.”

You snort. “I can only imagine.”

“They’re talking about a full house party lineup, a tournament series, and some kind of insane spring break trip.” He exhales sharply, something that vaguely sounds like a laugh. “It’s exhausting just listening to them.”

You smile softly. “Sounds about right.”

He hums in agreement. Then, almost offhandedly, he adds, “They mentioned formal, too.”

You nod, swirling your drink absentmindedly. “Makes sense.”

A beat of silence.

Then.

“…Can I take you to formal?”

You freeze.

It’s not like you haven’t been asked out before, but it’s different coming from Tsukishima. Maybe it’s the way he says it—not cocky, not casual, not even teasing. Just direct. A little uncertain. A little careful.

You don’t mean to hesitate, but you do. Just for a moment.

It’s a moment too long.

Tsukishima sighs, looking away. “Forget it.”

And that’s when you see it—so brief, so subtle, but there. The way his shoulders tense, the way his lips press into a thin line, the way his fingers twitch like he’s bracing for something. Like he expected you to say no. Like he’s already trying to convince himself that he doesn’t care.

Before you even think about it, you reach for his hand. Your fingers lace through his, warm and solid, and you squeeze lightly, grounding him.

“Yes,” you say. “I want you to take me.”

Tsukishima goes still. He stares first at your joined hands, like he can’t quite process the fact that you’re holding his. Then, slowly, his gaze flickers back up to yours.

His voice is quieter when he asks, “…Not out of pity?”

“Have I ever done anything out of pity?”

He considers that for half a second before huffing out something that’s almost a laugh. “…No.”

“Exactly.”

You don’t let go of his hand, and he doesn’t pull away. Instead, you shift slightly, moving just a little closer, lifting your interlocked fingers as you lean into his side. It’s easy, natural, like something inevitable.

For a moment, Tsukishima doesn’t react.

Then, slowly, hesitantly, he squeezes your hand back.

The porch is quiet, the sounds of the house fading into the background. Somewhere inside, Tanaka and Noya are still arguing about something, Kageyama is grumbling, someone bursts into laughter—but out here, it’s just you and Tsukishima, sitting in the soft glow of the porch light, hands entwined.

Neither of you says anything else. You don’t need to.

And in that moment, Tsukishima is certain that he’s screwed. But right now, with you curled up next to him, knowing you deeply the way you seemed to know him the first time you met him, remembering everything that has brought you two here, to this moment, he is equally certain about this: he will be there. He’ll keep noticing things about you that you think no one bothers to see, and he’ll be the support that you always offer to others but never ask for. He’ll let you—make you, if he has to—rest; he’ll take care of you the way you do for everyone else.

And above all, he’ll be the person to prove to you that you are incredible. Not just for being good at tutoring, not just for being good at math, not just for being good at school, but that he’s in awe of you and who you are.

He’ll love you how you should be loved.

He swears it.

⨭ closing notes; very very attached to this one bc i started it in 2019. yes, 2019. she's gone through an insane amt of rewriting and cuts, but i am super proud of this final draft and i rly rly love it. this is also 1/3 of my asu trilogy so look out for that!!! as always #comment #like #reblog i literally see them all and it keeps me going :') thank u all sm if u made it to the end!

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theecholegend · 2 days ago

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the update!!!

Not a lot of things to theorize this update but it tis the beginning!!! They are gonna split up now!

Just this entire page here. Legend worrying for Twilight in his own less than necessary way. I'm sorry Lege but nobody cares for the "I'm just saying" excuse

But Honestly, I know I've said it before but being scolded really throws this guy off. He hates it. I can just tell! I'm sure he regrets it every time he says something that gets people on his case (I do the same thing so... self projecting) especially since he's done so much that's earned him glares ever since they entered the dungeon. Has anyone else noticed that? He probably can't wait for one on one time with the only Link he never has any trouble with

Everyone is gonna be talking about it but THIS. I'm with Twi. I can't believe Sky just did that!

Oh Wild... don't ever change. They have to get their brotherly bonding time in before everything goes to hell. Wouldn't it be great if one of the groups ran into trouble in the very first room they enter?

Legend would be all "of course it had to happen to me!"

Warriors and Wild would probably start an argument immediately about how to handle the situation.

Sky and Twilight would probably be fine. They are going to be a power due. I just know it.

Time, Wind and Four is a pair I'm excited to see. I wonder what their group fighting style would be? I think they would be pretty well off. They just don't have much... beef with one another. At least, not that I can remember.

Anyways new update yay!

all art by @/linkeduniverse

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu update

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sleepy-steve · 6 months ago

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cirajay on ao3 • lesbian • gadigal land, always was, always will be

corporate girlie by day • pole dancer by night • writer where i can fit it in between

minors dni • some nsfw present • SWerfs, terfs, and zionists fuck off

• icon and header by stervrucht 🖤 •

♡ tags for my writing below ♡

🦇 batgate // snippets

🏴 undead x ferryman // pt 1, pt 2, pt 3

💔 steddie angsty august fic // day 8, day 9, day 10

✨ secret project with @stervrucht // snippets

⛓️ (pray) ‘til i go blind // ao3 // 4k // M // modern au, metal burlesque performer eddie, audience participant steve

☁️ why are you never real? // ao3 // 6k // E // cw: mild suicidal ideation, prompt: ghosts, post-s4, dream haunting

🖤 please, please, please // ao3 // 2k // M // eddie is obsessed with steve, yearning and pining, introspective

🩹 trust // ao3 // 2.5k // T // hate crime, wound care, eddie whump, protective steve, first kiss

💫 north star // ao3 // 2k // G // eddie in WITSEC, phone calls, mutual pining, angst w happy ending

—

i use my likes for bookmarks + stuff to remember for later, so if i liked and didn’t rb, that’s why :~)

prev url: kenm-akozume (this used to be a haikyuu!! blog)

#cira writes #cira writes steddieangstyaugust #figured i’d better do an intro post since i’m getting back into writing #also hey it’s been like almost ten years since i posted any fanfic at all #rarely written in between. getting a degree in creative writing will do that to a person #anyway. will update as necessary but for now that’s about it!#inbox #favourite #tag games

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werewolfetone · 1 year ago

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Lying on my bed giggling kicking my legs thinking abt the changes I just made to my oc lore

#wall of the text in these tags im warning u.#read smth interesting which vaguely inspired me + changing the way i write the entire craig family but esp. frederick... feel as though the #way his situation was depicted before was inappropriately like... light? wrt the fact that fundamentally his arc is about a child falling #in with a hate group and then developing psychic powers out of guilt. it does not make sense in context btw. but in any case i don't like #the way i was handling it before so im changing the way it's written!!! thinking i can do it more realistically now!!!#+ also im making major changes to the family's make up. before it was sarah + frederick & annie + f&a's Evil Uncle + their father who left #to find work + their dead bio mother + sarah's dead husband + sarah's kids. is now s + f&a + Evil Uncle + father who just ran off with his #gf w/o warning them forcing them to move + s' dead BOYFRIEND who she was never married to + dead mum is the same + s' sole kid with her bf #+ the kid who she had with the Evil Uncle. this will further fuck them up which is good as this is necessary for the story to work At All #there is a very good chance many of the other families will also get an update soon including the breen family + wilbur's family... which i #have not even thought about beyond the fact that he has one...#anyway i dont know why im talking about this in the tags. keep my oc insanity contained on the sideblog i specifically made to contain it #challenge -- impossible!#ocs #jory.txt

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covetyou · 2 months ago

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solstice

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: smut (PiV), competency kink, grumpy/sunshine, he falls first, yearning, angst, almost enemies to lovers, Tommy being a little shit, no use of y/n, Jackson!Joel word count: 4k summary: Three little words. Joel heard those same three words damn near every day for the last seven months. Most days, they were the only words you said to him. Sometimes, if he was lucky, you'd say them more than once. Other days, you didn't say anything to him at all. He liked those days least of all.

A/N: happy holidays @trulybetty! thank you for being so lovely about this being a little late. I was only going to go for one or two of your prompts for the @pedrostories secret santa, but then my brain went why not all of them, and now here we are.

divider by @saradika-graphics

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Three little words.

"I got it."

Joel heard those same three words damn near every day for the last seven months. Most days, they were the only words you said to him. Sometimes, if he was lucky, you'd say them more than once. Other days, you didn't say anything to him at all. He liked those days the least.

You said other things too, of course. He heard you speak to other people. Not always nicely, but he heard you. You said more to him on occasion too. Out my way or put it down were some particular favorites, but none said more so than those three, tiny, little words.

I got it.

Because you did. He had never met a woman who had got it more than you. Strong, capable, and everything he ever tried to be. He watched every day how you'd got it. Climbing up ladders with tiles stacked on your shoulder, hauling wheelbarrows full of gravel, chopping wood in bitter wind and cold. You had it, and he watched, wanting it too.

The only problem was, he wasn't too sure what it was.

To begin with, it was the respect you commanded that he yearned for. He had that, once. Not here. Fuck, never here. The people here would barely look at him for the first few weeks. But you? They listened to you. If you said move they listened, even if it was with a roll of their eyes. If you told someone to fuck off to medical, they went without a grumble. They trusted you. Even if you weren't particularly generous with your smiles.

You were the exact opposite of what Joel was finding he had to be.

In Boston, people feared him, and that kept him, and Tess, safe. It was for the best. The people here feared him too, at first. Maybe even still now, if he was to be honest with himself, but he'd worked hard to change that. He met the mumbled good mornings with as much of a smile as he could muster. He went for drinks with his brother, made small talk with the locals even when he didn't want to. He tried to get into Maria's good graces, but never quite succeeded.

And he worked. With you mostly. Jackson didn't have much use for hired muscle or someone who could smuggle shit discreetly - not outside of the daily patrol shifts they wouldn't let him on yet, anyway - but they did have use for contractors. Plumbers, electricians, carpenters, anyone who was good at doing shit with their hands. Those were things that had value behind these walls and, luckily for him, that meant he had value too. For the first time in a long time, he meant something to people.

Just not to you.

As much as he smiled, and made small talk, and helped out fixing shit in this place that was now his home, he could never get through to you. He'd try to help you out, only to be knocked aside - sometimes literally. You barely looked at him. Spoke only when necessary. Once, you'd even told him to fuck off.

He did.

At first he took it all personally. He moped, and kept his sour mood hidden from his brother and Ellie. Then, he saw how you were with, well, just about everyone else, and that lessened the sting.

But, as time wore on, Joel saw other things too. Where at first you'd seemed rude and abrasive, he now saw the kindness and compassion you treated everyone with. If you told someone to go the fuck home, it wasn't because you wanted them gone it was because you wanted them rested. If you let people struggle, strike their thumbs with a badly aimed hit of a hammer, it was to help them learn. You never did let anyone make the same mistake twice. And, because of you, no one did.

It was with the waning of spring that his desire to be you changed into something different and entirely more confusing.

As the gardens and trees exploded in the frenzy of summer, you shed your layers. Literally, not figuratively. You still stayed firmly closed up as your jacket disappeared and made way for a shirt hung loosely about your shoulders. Then, even that found its way around your waist and Joel had to come face to face with the bare, strong expanse of your back while you worked in nothing but a tank top, the patch of sweat at the small of your back blooming while he watched.

It was for the best that he didn't think about what you looked like walking towards him during those relentlessly hot months, with nothing but a thin tank top pulled across your chest. It wasn't something he should think about in public, anyway. It was something he kept for late at night, when those three little words echoed around his head and you showed him just how much you really, truly got it.

By October, Tommy had caught on. Your jacket was fastened back around you, and you were as hostile as ever. You breezed past him one morning, hooking a ladder over one shoulder, toolbag gripped in your other hand.

"I got it."

By now, Joel knew you did.

By now, he wanted to come with you anyway.

So he did, grabbing his own set of salvaged tools and heading up to the latest reno with you, only to have you square up to him the second you saw him.

"I said, I got it."

Five words. It was a good day.

So good, that he couldn't keep his eyes off you in the Tipsy Bison that night. You weren't in here often - from what he could tell, you didn't do much outside of work - but the people who shared your company seemed to enjoy it. You sat soft and quiet in the corner, listening in to their conversation more often than you contributed. But, when you did, they laughed, and Joel caught himself smiling, and Tommy caught him too.

"Never thought you'd be more of a ray of fuckin' sunshine than anyone else, but there's a first for everythin', I guess," he'd said, tilting his glass to the table in the corner where you sat.

Joel took a swig of the last fresh cider of the season and shrugged.

"You got an eye for her."

He sputtered, choking on the tart, sweet liquid. "No I ain't."

"Well you got somethin'," said Tommy, clinking his glass against Joel's own. "If it ain't an eye it's your-"

A harsh kick, and a grunt loud enough to turn every head in the bar later, and Tommy dropped it entirely.

For about a week.

Tommy ribbed him at dinner, drinks, lunch and just about every time in between. Called Joel 'Sunshine' even as he scowled. Asked about his girl as if you were anything other than a person who hated him. Slung his arm around Joel's shoulder and told him all about the birds and the bees, as if he'd ever forgotten.

He couldn't forget. Not with you running around barking at him and keeping him in a seemingly permanent state of arousal. If it wasn't your voice and that angry way you talked at him, it was just about anything else. He couldn't escape it.

It was how you did everything he could do, and more. What he had in strength, you had in technique. Your hands - fuck, did he watch your hands - were rarely unblemished with dirt or scrapes, but they were adept at everything you put them to. He couldn't look away, even if he knew each minute he looked was a minute quicker he'd be when he touched himself to the thought of you later that night.

The taunts stopped with the first snowfall.

"If you're really that interested, should talk to her," Tommy said instead. "Bark's worse than her bite."

"You're still sayin' she bites, though."

"Sure she would if you asked nice enough, brother."

Joel didn't ask.

He didn't ask the morning he woke up early to see the town blanketed in thick snow either. He simply went out, picked up a snow shovel and began working until the sun came up. He didn't expect to find you at his door that evening, or for you to grab him and throw him outside, pushing him up against the side of his own house.

"What do you think you're playing at, Miller?" you growled up at him, pushing him firmly against the siding.

Joel stared, dumb-founded, your hands curled in the front of his shirt - touching him - and blinked down at you.

"I don't give a shit who you are or what you've done out there. I am not scared of you and I am not having you take my job."

You ignored him more after that. Days went by with barely a word to him - not even a scowl thrown his way if he made too much noise or offered to help someone out on a job.

As for him, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Every day for weeks that night played through his head, memory of the feel of your hands on his chest and your face so close he could feel your breath, until Christmas was on the horizon and a pit of fear began stirring in his stomach. You were a balm to it, somehow. Something to focus on when the fear got too much and kept him inside, away from the crowds of happy people.

Every single I got it was more of a comfort than the last. It could have been the familiarity of it, or the way those words came softer and softer as the season wore on. Sometimes he'd head by the workshop to ask if you needed a hand, just to hear that soft rejection one more time.

Until late one cold afternoon, it didn't come. You were alone, blowing warm air onto gloved hands, and when he asked you simply nodded, and he followed.

You worked together in silence until the sun set, when you turned to him as you parted ways.

"S'hard this time of year, but joy and grief can exist at the same time, y'know."

He didn't go to the Bison that night. Or the next. He let the grief crack open his chest instead, and let it pour out over his bedroom floor for two whole days.

On the third, he let the joy back in. Ellie reeled off new jokes from a book she found in the Jackson library. He held his nephew and rocked the teething babe to sleep. He went back to the Bison - you weren't there - and celebrated the impending holiday.

Seven months, three days, and about as many hourssince he stepped foot back in Jackson. Damn near every day he's heard those three little words, and he'll be damned if he goes another without them.

With the day as short as it could ever be, the sun tracking low in the sky, he finds you.

"I got it," you say softly, when he asks you that very same question he always does.

"I know."

He doesn't know how your lips end up on his - because it is you who kisses him. He doesn't know how his fingers find themselves under your shirt either, the coldness of them making you gasp into his mouth until you're pulling apart, both wide eyed.

He does know you taste like fruit, even in the dead of winter. He always suspected it - knew your sweet tooth by the berries you couldn't resist and the sweet treats gifted to you. He knows your fingers are as cold as his when you hand him a shovel.

He does know, even though you got it, you let him help anyway.

You clear streets and roofs of snow together until the sun goes down. He follows at your heel in the dark, cold biting through your layers as you both stomp the snow off your boots, shovels thrown down, workshop locked up. You barely even look at each other until you're staring through the fog of your own heavy breaths on Joel's front porch. He doesn't know how to welcome you in - he never was too good with words - so he simply unlocks the door and pushes it open.

You step inside.

Layers are shed before the door even closes. Heavy coats dumped on the couch, boots toed off and left this way and that. The hat on your head stuffed in a pocket - he can't remember which.

You move upstairs - worked on this house, you say - and pull him into his own bedroom before his lips even touch yours again. But when they do, they do. Joel's frantic with it, feeling the softness of you so close to the hardness of him. His hands hold your waist, rooting you to him, but then you're moving them up and under your shirt to the flair of your ribcage. The curve of your breasts fit perfectly against the cradle of his thumb and forefinger, and he thinks of everything his hands have done, this is what they were made for.

It must be. When you whine at the feel of this thumb stroking across your pebbled nipple, he thinks for the first time in a long time that maybe his hands aren't so monstrous if they can pull such pretty noises from you.

In fact, the things they've done don't seem to matter at all when he gets to touch you, to pull sounds from you so sweet he'll be tasting you on his tongue all over again just from the memory of them. For all the harm these hands have done, they could never hurt you. You would never let them. You'd tear him apart first.

And he'd let you.

You swallow his groan when you palm his length over his jeans. He stiffens beneath your touch, warm and firm, and grinds into your hand. It's been so long since he's felt the touch of anyone other than himself. He could come just grinding himself against the firm press of your hand against him, if he thought about it too hard.

So he doesn't. He focuses instead on the soft plink plink plink as you run a nail up his ice cold zipper, the way you bite his lip, tangle your fingers in his hair.

He tries to take off his own belt, cold fingers fumbling against even colder metal, but you mumble I got it into his mouth, and his knees quiver.

You do. You always do.

His belt is pulled off and you're tugging him by the loops of his pants and pushing him against his own bed, the sheets still rumpled from the morning. You slip off your own and toss it to the side too, tangling it with his on his bedroom floor. Then, you're so very close to him again, his thigh between your legs as you nip and suckle on his bottom lip. He holds you close - one hand finding its way under your shirt again, cupping your breast fully this time, and the other pulling you firmly against his strong thigh.

You warm his thigh with the burning heat between your legs, grinding yourself against him, the seam of your jeans pulling tight against you. Moans you were pulling from him a moment ago are silenced by your own, your nails digging crescents into his arm as you burrow your face into his neck in an attempt to stifle them.

You're better than he ever dreamed. Softer. Warmer. Stronger. The sounds you make so much prettier than he ever thought. Those three little words so much sweeter within these walls than any other.

Even when you strip off layer after layer, it's better than he dreamed. Summer was barely a taste of you, he realises, when your shirt, your tank, your soft bra, all tumble to the floor and you climb onto the bed behind him.

You kick your jeans off, and he pulls his down too. He can't get his shirt off quick enough, the scars on his body forgotten as he strips bare for you as you watch, lust barely turning to curiousity as you take in the sight of his body.

"Come here," you tell him, and he obeys. You're softer with him when he lies beside you then. Grasping hands turn to gentle strokes, his own hands on your bare flesh mimicking your gentle movements across his skin.

When your hand trails down to his cock, squeezing once again when you feel him throb in your palm, he has to pinch his eyes closed and pretend he's anywhere but here.

"Been a long time," he says through gritted teeth. "Long, long time."

Me too, he thinks he hears you whisper before your lips latch to his again and his soft, worn boxers are slipped down his legs, kicked to the side, forgotten.

You don't look at him, and for that he's grateful. He's less grateful when you start to play with your own nipples and toy with the edge of your panties. He presses a kiss to your shoulder instead, hiding his face against you and breathing you in.

When he opens his eyes again, your panties are off, thighs spread, one hooked lazily over his own, the other stretched out on his sheets.

"Don't have to," you mumble, when he looks down at you, stunned look obvious on his face.

"I want to."

He touches you and you let him. His hands run all over your body, rough, calloused palms dragging across your soft belly, your hips, your thighs. He's dreamed of this, and still it's better than his wildest fantasies.

When your hand wraps around his bare cock, pumping his length once, twice, he thinks that's better than any fantasy too. You practically drag him by the cock, tugging gently to pull him towards you until he's kneeling between your thighs. You lazily stroke him, swiping precum across his tip and making him jerk in your grip. His own hands play with your thighs, massaging and squeezing them, drawing his fingers closer and closer to your apex.

Seven months, three days, and twenty-something hours since he stepped back into Jackson, he slips into you for the first time.

And, fuck, is it divine.

You're slick, and wet, his cock gliding across your skin before he pushes into you, and you both gasp.

He's slow. He trembles. His fingers make dents in your thighs as he grips them. You shuffle your hips, make yourself comfortable, and he holds steady while you adjust to the intrusion. Then, you pull him in, grabbing him by the neck to steal a kiss while he makes space for himself deep inside you, rocking each tentative inch into you until he's rooted inside.

You adjust - let the tenseness in your core release - and he barely holds on. And, just when he thinks he's got a hold of himself and begins fucking you in slow, languid movements, your hand moves and you say those three little words.

"I got it."

For the first ever time, he stops you. His hand pins yours to your hip, his movements stilling as you frown up at him, a threat on the tip of your tongue. So, he begs.

"Let me. Please."

And you do. He slowly swipes a spit slicked thumb against your clit, and watches as you melt into his sheets. By the look of you, the pure relief on your face, he thinks this could be the first time you've ever truly let go, and his ego soars.

It soars again when your legs tremble, rocking his thick cock in you as his thumb works slowly over your clit. You moan his name, and he groans too. He can't keep it back. It's the first time he's ever heard you say it, and he doesn't think it could sound better. Your eyes find his when you say his name again, testing him, only to pull another groan deep from his chest.

A small nod is all you give him as a sign you want more. His thumb moves quicker, popped into his mouth to taste you just for a moment before it swipes around your cunt where you grip him, and back up to your clit.

You come on him, face turned into his sheets, brow furrowed, mouth open as you moan and shake, trembling and pulsating on his cock as you come.

For you, he keeps going. Let's you ride out the waves, fluttering against him, as he barely holds back from the brink himself.

If this is all he gets - if you push him off and walk away now - it would be a good day, he thinks. But you don't. He doesn't even get chance to ask if you want him gone when you're pulling him down, kissing him, rocking your hips against him and murmuring against his throat for him to fuck you.

So, he does.

It feels sloppy, and awkward, his hips not quite knowing how to move any more as he snaps them against yours.

"Don't stop," you whisper to him with a scrape of your teeth against his shoulder. "Don't stop."

He's never been able to disobey you, he realizes. He's never had reason let alone want to. Even now, he does as he's told, keeps fucking forward into you, mattress squeaking and bed rocking as he finally, finally, finds his rhythm.

It's easy then. You spur him on, grip him tight, wrap your legs around his waist. He grunts, growls, can barely stop himself from panting, looking down at you and how you stare back at him and he thinks fuck, this is what it's like to be trusted by you.

With a sudden gasp, he pulls out, slipping from your wet heat to rut against your sopping cunt until he's spurting ropes of come against your mound and belly.

He apologizes, tries to admonish himself for being so quick. You tell him to shut up, hitting his shoulder. He does.

You both sigh in the afterglow. Even in the before, he never had times like this, he doesn't think. It was always frantic, too quick, too drunk, too fumbling. In the after, he could never quite relax enough to enjoy it fully. In the now, it's just about the best he's ever had.

You're still covered in him. Your fingers play idly in it on your belly, and he glows. He'd trace patterns with it over your skin, if only you'd let him. But then, you're up and gone, and he fears you're gone for good until you waltz back in and throw yourself next to him, mess cleaned from your skin as you stretch and yawn beside him.

"I aint tryin' to take your job, y'know," Joel tells you some time later, when the afterglow wanes and sleep pulls at him.

"Right."

He looks to you, the roll of your eyes and tug of a disbelieving smile on your lips visible in the glow of the bedside lamp.

"I promise. I'm just tryin' to... be some place."

You're still. And silent. He thinks he's fucked up for all of one second, until you're smiling sadly up at the ceiling.

"I get that," you say softly. "This is a nice place to be, all things considered."

And, though he thinks he knows what you mean, Yes, he thinks, this is a nice place to be.

This is a good day.

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acmeangel · 10 days ago

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♡ Levi being awkward about his feelings for you and not knowing how to act around you.

♡ SFW, pretty fluffy ♡ Levi x Fem!Reader ♡ One shot, soft Levi ♡ Word count: 2431 ♡ Summary: You work at the orphanage that Levi helped facilitate. You think he doesn't like you -- he definitely doesn't act like it. But it turns out, you couldn't be more wrong.

Levi tends to visit the orphanage now and then, when he can. He doesn't like to make a big show of it -- he just wants to check in on things, make sure everything is running smoothly and that the children are being properly cared for. After all, this is a project that he had helped bring to fruition.

He's pragmatic with his approach to his visits -- he wants to know updates, facts, and problems to which he can find solutions by leveraging his position as Captain. He doesn't interact much with the children, it's not exactly his strong suit. Still, he seems to linger longer than he needs to. He usually just leans against the fence along the perimeter of the grounds, taking in the idyllic scene of children, no longer lost and alone, playing in the field together.

There was no need for him to do this, but he did it anyway. And you had noticed.

But, you could never get a read on Levi, really. The two of you hardly interacted outside of meetings, during which, you'd often feel his eyes burning into you, narrowed and tense. While others in the meetings talked about numbers, resources, and operations, you typically told stories about the children -- their personalities, preferences, funny habits, concerns you had for each of their small, little hearts. It didn't help that you frequently bent the rules, too, finding them too constricting and unnecessary.

This often dragged the meetings out longer than necessary, and you could sense the annoyance emanating off of Levi. He wasn't fond of you and your sentimental musings -- this much you were sure of.

You missed today's meeting, somewhat purposefully, trying to avoid subjecting yourself to Levi's gaze and mutterings.

It's one of the first Spring days that feels truly in bloom, the sun kissing your skin, blossoms dotting the trees, the grass lush and vibrant. So, you sit out in the field and read a storybook to the children, who are either sitting at your feet or laying down, one of them tucked up into your lap.

Some of them had been falling behind in learning to read and write -- it wasn't their fault, and you wanted to help. You show all of them each of the words in the book and help them sound out the letters, guiding them through the story.

After the meeting inside draws to a close, Levi makes his way out into the field as he always does, expecting to see the children running around as they usually are. Instead, he sees you. His posture stiffens as he approaches you, his expression unreadable.

"That's not your job," he comments, a flat statement, as he leans against the fence. He looks down at you, his gaze scrutinizing. "They have teachers."

You tilt your head up to look at him, a soft smile on your face. "I know, but," you look at the children, "they don't mind that, do they?"

The children collectively shake their heads, tiny giggles rising from the group.

Tch. He's officially annoyed.

"Suppose it doesn't matter then, huh?" His voice drips with dry sarcasm. "Just do whatever you want."

The child who is curled into your lap gently tugs on your sleeve, lifting themselves up to whisper into your ear, not very discreetly, "Miss Y/N, why is Captain Levi always so grumpy?"

You catch Levi's frown, subtle as it may be, and the low rumble that comes from the back of his throat.

You laugh, an effortless, melodious sound, your lips curving into a wider smile that reveals your teeth. "I don't know," you whisper to the child with just as much indiscretion, "why don't you ask him?"

The child's face flushes bright pink, nuzzling their head into the fabric of your shirt, too sheepish to talk to Levi themselves. Your hand lifts up to stroke the child's hair.

For a moment so fleeting you can't be sure it actually happened at all, his eyes follow the tender, gentle motion of your fingers stroking the child's hair, before he looks away. Your gaze lingers on his profile, tracing the outline of it, the way his hair blows in the breeze, revealing a clearer look at his eyes than usual.

He shifts his weight as he stands there, just barely, a signal that he's waiting both for this scene to end, and to speak to you, likely about logistics. You get the hint.

"Alright, my sweethearts, why don't you all head inside?" You look at the group of children, nodding your head toward the large farmhouse. "Go on and get cleaned up for dinner, I'm expecting no dirty little hands at the table, hm?"

The children scramble to their feet and begin running off, giggling and mumbling to each other as they do. You rise up, closing the book and tucking it under your arm and brushing off the blades of grass that have stuck to your clothes.

"Come inside for some tea?" You ask, your eyes drifting back to Levi after you watch the children run off, the bubbly sounds of their laughter popping in the air.

He pauses for a beat. The faintest twitch of his lower lip. "Sure, 'ppreciate it."

You grin. "Okay, great." You begin walking. "You usually decline that offer."

You look at him from the corner of your eye. His movements as he walks are precise, economical, his eyes cemented forward.

"So?" The word is terse, even a tinge defensive. "Doesn't mean I hate tea."

You accept his answer; with him, you tend to take what you get. The rest of the walk is silent, apart from the gentle hum of springtime bursting to life around you.

Inside, the kitchen is washed in golden sunlight, specks of dust hovering in the air as if the moment is completely suspended in time. Without a word, Levi takes a seat at the small table by the window, his head turned to look outside as you set the kettle on the stove. You can't help but catch glances at the back of his head, the tilt of his shoulders.

You make two cups of black tea -- both with milk and a drop of honey. This is how everyone you know drinks it, and you can't imagine anyone would have a preference for it plain, bitter.

You settle into the chair next to his, and you hand him the teacup, which he takes from you by the top, your fingers briefly brushing against his in the exchange. His skin is dry, rough. He peers into the cup, his teeth grinding together imperceptibly as he notes the light, creamy color of the tea; he takes a sip and his eyelid flutters, faintly.

Normally, with anyone else, he'd have pushed the cup to the side, his mouth set in a curt line of disapproval at the unnecessary sweetness. But for some reason that he's not quite sure of, with you, he can't. He sips the tea anyway, forces himself to.

"One of the other workers ratted on you." He breaks the silence. He leans back in his chair, slinging one leg over the other, his ankle resting on his knee. "Told me you let those brats sneak into the kitchen at night and take extra food."

"Oh," your teeth clench together, your nose scrunches, embarrassed to be caught. "Well, the thing with that- it's-"

"Why?" He cuts you off, a single word urging you to get to the point. God, you think, he must think I'm a complete idiot.

You inhale deeply. "I think they're just hungry, you know? Their meals aren't always that big, and they're still growing, so..."

"That's not what I'm asking," his gaze bores into yours with an intensity you're not sure he's completely aware of. "I'm asking why you let them do it."

"Oh," you sigh softly, your eyes tracing over the patterns in the wooden table, collecting your thoughts. "It wouldn't feel right to scold them, to dissuade them from wanting something as simple as food. They've never been allowed to want... anything before. I don't want them to feel like they're not supposed to want even the most basic things. I think it would make them feel like... like they don't deserve anything."

"You're not wrong about that." His voice is low, hardly above a whisper, and he turns his head to look out the window. "I'm not going to stop you from letting them do it. I just... wanted to know why."

You see the clouds swirling in his irises for a moment, his jawline tense with thought, with memory, with contemplation.

You look away, feeling as if you're intruding on something private just by looking at him. You lift your teacup and take a long sip, then set it back down.

At the sound of your cup fitting back into its saucer, he's brought back to reality. His gaze narrows, helplessly fixated on the rim of your teacup, on the faded pink lipstick stain you left on it, that somehow blends perfectly into the intricate floral pattern painted onto the cup. A short, barely perceptible puff of air escapes his nose.

He looks at you, again, his eyes catching the sunlight in a way that makes them look silver, but not icy or cold -- like delicate dew drops that form in the gray early morning mist after a rainy night. Rare, and oddly comforting.

He's too busy looking at you to notice you looking at him. His eyes trace over you, as if he's searching for something. Something that he's not sure if he wants to find, but has to -- in the way the light catches your hair and brings secret tones and shades out of it, the softness of your breathing, the lingering redness from the sun that glows on your cheeks, nose, and shoulders.

He doesn't understand it -- you -- how you've remained good, compassionate, free, warm, even hopeful, despite the cruelty and ugliness of the world you both live in. But he wants to understand it, just by looking at you.

"You look..." he begins, the words tumbling out of his mouth tightly, awkwardly, as if by accident.

Your eyes snap to his, widened slightly like an animal caught in the woods, and your hand flies up to your mouth. "What? Is there something on my face?"

Your fingers wipe across your lips preemptively, the apples of your cheeks and the bridge of your nose turn rosy. He watches this motion, and his brows press together, his jaw clamps down. You think he's become actually repelled by you.

"No. Shit. You look," his voice is flat, dry. His hand gestures vaguely, the movement stilted and rigid, as if he's trying to find the word he's looking for in the air, "nice. Now. In the sunlight." He grumbles the last part.

You couldn't help but smile. It was endearing in a way, seeing Levi, who is typically calm and collected, stumble his way through a simple sentence.

"Thank you, Levi." You mean it, genuinely.

"Yeah." He clears his throat. The grip of his fingers flex slightly, tightening their hold around the rim of his tea cup.

"I always thought I bothered you." Your head tilts to the side, your hair flowing with the movement. A glint of amusement, teasing shines in your eyes.

"You do bother me," he breathes out, firmly, his eyes darting to the side. "Just not in the way you think."

Oh.

"I see..." The words come out of your mouth in a single breath, your heart catching in your throat, preventing you from saying anything more.

He looks at you. The tension in his jaw releases, his lips relax, parting ever so slightly.

"Is that alri-"

"Yes." You cut him off before he can even finish the thought, before he can question this fragile moment and retreat back inside himself.

He nods, strands of his hair swaying in front of his eyes. Your hand, drawn to him by an invisible force, reaches up to his forehead. You hover, hesitantly, before pushing the hair away from his eyes, slowly, your touch feather-light.

Instantly, instinctively, he turns his head away, pulling away from your touch partially. His top lip tugs upward, a movement of subdued discomfort, uncertainty. Your hand slides down to his chin, gently coaxing him back toward you, and he allows it.

"Sorry." He mutters. "I don't..." The rest of the sentence evades him. But you know where it was going. He doesn't do this. He doesn't know how.

You nod, your expression melting into one of understanding. Your eyes glide around his face, your fingers returning to his hair, pushing away the curtain that his eyes often hide behind.

"What are you doing?" He's not defensive -- he's genuinely curious.

"I want to see your eyes better." You tilt your head as you look at him, your eyes meeting his, looking into them for what feels like the first time, with a clarity and honesty that feels palpable. He lets you.

Your lips curl up into a perfect curve, and his eyes shift down to them immediately. His expression doesn't waver, but his dilating pupils reveal his hand.

You begin to lean in, little by little, as if testing how far he'll let this go, what he truly wants. His eyes meet yours again with a softness, a vulnerable longing that grants you permission. Finally, you close the space between the two of you, your lips lightly brushing against his. You feel a small breath escape from his lips, melting against yours.

His head tilts and he leans in further, his lips molding against yours with a whispered intensity. A soft sound rises in the back of his throat, as his hand finds its way to the back of your head, his fingers tangling into your hair. His tongue presses against your lips, realizing he's enjoying the taste of something sweet for the first time.

He tugs your hair, not forcefully, just enough to pull you back so he can look into your eyes; you can see the thoughts reeling through his head as his eyes shift between the two of yours.

"Y/N," his voice dips into a rare tenderness, "you bother me. A lot."

You're not sure if you're imagining it, but you think you even see the smallest upturn to his lips.

"Then I suppose I'll have to keep bothering you," you match his tone, your words wrapping around him with a warmth he's never felt before.

He makes a hm sound of approval. He nods. He smiles -- you're sure of it this time.

Masterlist

Requests are OPEN!

#☆.levi.oneshot #☆.acmeangel.writes #levi ackerman #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman fic #levi ackerman fanfic #levi ackerman one shot #levi one shot #levi fic #levi fanfic #levi x y/n #levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x y/n #levi ackerman x female reader #levi ackerman x you #levi fluff #levi ackerman fluff

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myladysapphire · 6 months ago

Text

Two Halves of a whole

Aemond had always understood you in ways others could not, your bond so deep nothing could severe it. A bond so deep that they would do anything to save the other, even if it meant being trapped with the enemy.

based of this request

word count: 6,208

cw: MDI+, 18+, Smut, Angst, fluff, love conffessions, arranged marraige, cheating. (im so sorry Cregan i love you i swear), not proofread!

Aemond Targaryen x twinsister!reader (or Creaganswife!reader)

dividers by @zaldritzosrose

authors note: so sorry i haven’t updated in two weeks! ive been in such a writting slump but here is finally some work! <3

Aemond had always understood you in ways now one else had.

Born together, you had never seen the day apart. Your lessons spent together, your rooms shared until you where three and ten.

And even then that did not stop you form spending every moment together.

You were so similar, not only where you twins but it was almost as If you where the same person, two halves of a whole.

You were kind, where he was cruel.

Your were beautiful where he seemed himself ugly, no matter the words you spoke to call him otherwise.

Where he was bold, you where shy.

And where you thrived, he drowned.

But something shifted the day Aemond claimed Vaghar.

You had both been dragon less, teased for it and faced the constant bullying of your older brother and nephews.

you had spent days talking and studying dragons, and where Aemond started to loose hope, and yet you pushed him to believe he could claim a dragon.

And he did, the biggest and most fearsome dragon in the world.

And you were left behind in the process.

That night, no one told you of what had transpired until you were dragged from your bed and greeted with the bleeding face of your twin brother.

Your house divided, and your brother a changed man.

Form that day he became cruel and cunning, hellbent on being the best swordsman. the best dragon rider. Skilled and wise.

And though you where there for it all, helping him and watching. It was all from the sidelines. As if you only mattered when he was involved.

that’s what your family thought anyway.

Until you became of marital age, and your father decided a alliance with the north was necessary.

You had always thought you would marry Aemond, and yet here you where on your way to winterfell about to marry a stranger you had never met.

Your nephew Jace had talked of him often, recounting his days spent in Winterfell. And though he sounded honourable and kind, you feared what it would be like to be apart fork Aemond, the man who was truly the other half of you.

even after years of drifting apart he was still everything to you.

“are you excited, aunt?” Jace asked, he and the rest of your family where all accompany your north, using the journey as a tour of Westeros.

“As one can be to be marrying a stranger I suppose” you mused, looking out of the window.

Whilst your siblings all rode their dragons around Westeros, you were forced to ride with your nephews and cousins, with dragons too small to withstand the long journeys.

“Cregan stark is a good man, I’m sure you with have a good marriage” Baela spoke, looking up from her book.

You scoffed, “so everyone has met him but me?” you mumbled to yourself, shifting uncomfortably.

“I always thought you would marry Aemond” Rhanea spoke up, she and you had strike a surprising friendship, despite her distaste for Aemond. Your common lack and want for a dragon bonding you both.

“As did I” you spoke longingly, looking up and seeing the shape of Vaghar in the distance.

The rest of the journey was spent with minimal words spoken, and your eyes never leaving Vaghars form.

Ever since they announced your betrothal Aemond had been distant, still ever present as he was, but distant.

The day he had found out he had stormed out of his rooms and ignored you for the remainder of the day.

And though the day after he had carried out your old routine, it seemed different, strained.

Though Aemond was never a talker, he was never silent around you. If he didn’t respond with words, he responded with actions. Whether it be brushing a piece of hair behind your ear, caressing your hand, or bringing you flowers.

But since then, the casual touches or small gifts of flowers or your favourite snack or bringing you a book he thought you’d enjoy, stopped.

Conversation was strained, always ending on an awkward note, and when you had wished to confront him on it you had found he had gone to the silk of streets with Aegon.

You felt hurt, betrayed almost and yet it was you who was marrying another, leaving him behind, even if you had no choice in the fact.

And the tour had been even worse.

Your days spent in a carriage alongside people you hardly knew, with Jace and Luke the very boys who had once teased your mercilessly. The very people who had caused Aemond so much pain and even harsher words in the past years.

And yet you were forced to put on a pretty smile and put up with their chatter. Though had no quells with Rhaena, finding many conversation flows easy with her.

You felt all alone, stranded in a marriage yet to happen and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

The journey around Westeros was as long as it weas boring, full of lords trying their hardest to appease you father, spoiling you all with gifts and pretty words.

You were grateful once you started to visit the northern houses, they were honest, less kind, less welcoming and less inclined to spoil you with meaningless gifts.

It took six months, six months of travelling of Aemond being distant and eventually ignoring you altogether before you reached Winterfell. And met Cregan stark.

And though you could tell he was a good man and that there was no way to deny he wasn’t handsome, he wasn’t Aemond.

You got along well, though every smile or laugh was met with Aemond’s glare. His disapproving stare. His harsh words and even harsher steps as he followed you both through the halls.

He hadn’t said a word to you, but made sure you new his anger.

Even as he watched you walk down the aisle in the godswood and take Cregan as your lord husband.

After that day you felt perpetually lost, as if you had lost the other part of you, that you were never whole.

Perhaps it was because Aemond had left without so much as a goodbye, or that now there was no chance of you and Aemond getting what you both wanted.

Two years passed, two years in the north as Cregan’s wife, a babe born and not a single word or letter from Aemond.

You felt stranded in the north, with no dragon nor any dragon rider offering you an escape. Any letters took weeks to arrive, any news arriving long after the fact.

You heard little from anyone frankly, that’s why it was such a surprise to see your nephew Jace once more.

“Jace?” you questioned, as you walked into the great hall. He sat beside Cregan, clearly having spent the night.

You were shocked, no one had told you of his arrival.

“Aunt” he greeted in turn, his voice kind as he greeted you.

“What are you doing here?” you said, as you approached where they sat.

He looked over to Cregan, shocked you didn’t know he was here. “Your father…Viserys is dead”

“oh” you said, not feeling any emotion in particular. He had never been a father too you, always distant, treating you more like a cousin child, than his own. “did he- was it peaceful?”

“I don’t know” he said, as you finally took your seat beside him, “we had left Kings Landing before-“

“Is that why your here? My fathers death?”

Jace looked over to Cregan an awkwardly, “Aegon usurped my mother, I have been sent to remind the north of their oath.”

Aegon being king wasn’t a surprise, your mother and grandsire had been plotting for years to crown him since he was born. If anything, you were shocked that Jace seemed surprised by the betrayal, as if the court hadn’t been treating Aegon as heir for years.

“And as I told the prince, the north remembers” Cregan said looking over to you, his tone serious. “we pledge our loyalty to the queen”

“and if war comes with you plunge your sword into my brothers back, husband?”

“if it comes it it, aye”

You looked down and remained quite through the remainder of Jace’s stay, keeping to yourself, as you always did.

The harsh realisation that your husband would so easily kill your brothers hurt, even if they were traitors and usurpers.

You had never felt whole since Aemond left and you knew a part of you chipped away the longer he was gone, the longer he punished you with his silence.

And then news came, Luke was dead at the hands of Aemond. And you felt apart of you break.

The realisation that Aemond would not survive this war without erasing the entirety of Rhaenrya’s line.

You felt more stuck than ever.

Stuck with a husband plotting a war were the allegiance was split.

You had married Cregan in hope of uniting the north to the greens. But of course the loyal house stark would never wavier form their oath, even if it meant a wife forced to watch as her kin was murdered.

You hated this war, and it had yet to start.

You had been left in charge of Winterfell in your husbands absence, and you felt even more lonely without him. The one person who you had felt some stability from.

Your dreams was filled with blood and death, fear of what was to come. And yet another dream chased you. Flashes of blue flames, ice eyes and cold scales. A song sung through your mind, it had no words or melody, it was as if it were a secret language only your dreams could understand.

A storm raged on, leaving you locked inside and a feeling a dread filling your bones.

You couldn’t escape the nagging feeling, the feeling like something was very wrong.

You could scarcely see outside the window, let alone leave the keep. The snow thick and relentless, and yet you could make out a figure ever so slightly.

A dragon.

Large and far away, your mind hoped it was Aemond, though he would be a fool to travel north, especially in this storm.

And yet it seemed to pale, not nearly as monstrous or large.

It called to you, your eyes following if, unable to tear themselves away from the dragon.

Had it not been the call of your name from your maid, Lyra, you were sure you would have chased after it, its song luring you to were ever its layer sat.

“my lady” she started, her demeanour nervous

“what is it?” you questioned, finally pulling your eyes away from the creature.

“you have a visitor”

“who-“ your words were cut off as your twin strolled in, his yes firm, a hand gripping his sword “Aemond” you breathed, your hand gripping at your chest.

“sister” he greeted.

You sent a look to lyra, sending her running, though she seemed relived at the dismal.

“my husband is not here”

“good”

“he pledged for Rhaenrya”

His gaze hardened, a smile gracing his lips “you betray your own kin”

You scoffed “me betray? You are the one who has not spoken a word to me since the day i was married, no letter no word! Even Aegon wrote me and yet you my own twin, the very man i have loved and been with since the day we were born, betrays me without a word all because I am shipped of in a marriage you very well knew I did not want! If anyone has betrayed the other it is you”

His gaze fell, his smirk falling, “you choose him-“

“by the gods! I had no say”

His eyes dropped their firm, “no…mother said you had chosen him and rejected my bid” “your bid? You bid for my hand?” you scoffed once more, “do you think that if I knew I had a choice I would have come crying, begging for your help?”

He seemed you look at you, look at you for the first time in years, his yes boring into you in a way you did not realise you missed.

Aemond had always been selifish and cruel, a man who only believed his opinion to be the truth and yet with you he was patient and kind, and though you saw a glimpse of the man others did see, you knew he was still the Aemond you had long knew.

Though the fact remained, as it stood you were on opposing sides of this war, and with no dragon and your son the heir to house stark, you were powerless to change sides.

But as he looked at you, and as you heard to coo of your son as he sat in his crib your mind went back to the day your life changed and Aemond drifted apart.

You knew the day was coming, word had been circling around court, suitors from throughout the realm had come to bid for your hand.

Though you in truth you only wanted one man, your twin Aemond.

It wasn’t wrong for you to assume that you and he would marry, it was within the custom of your house, you had always been close and he had practically been courting you for years.

With gifts an-d days spent walking the gardens, with soft words and caresses.

Though he never made his intentions clear, you were sure he was of the same mind of you.

And yet days spent whining about the men hellbent on following you, with cheesy words of love and gifts you already had too may off. It was all impersonable and endlessly repetitive. And Aemond never uttered a word. Simply nodding his head in what you hoped was silent contempt.

and yet your mother had summoned you to her chambers, a sombre expression on her face.

“daughter” she greeted, a soft smile as she reached for your hand.

The feeling of dread encompassed you, your face pale and stricken as she ushered you to sit.

“an offer has been made, one your father could not refuse” she started, her hand caressing yours, “one with house stark…lord Cregan Stark has made a bid and your father has accepted.”

You swallowed, your head dropping.

“I know your heart bid for another…but this is the way of the realm, and lord Cregan is a good man, your- Rhaenrya’s son knows him well.” She spoke the last part hesitantly.

“when?”

“we leave in a moons turn”

You nodded your head, standing quickly you nodded your head as your turn to leave, the tears already threatening to fall from your eyes.

You had ran to Aemond’s rooms, his chambers adjacent to yours.

Your eyes were filled with tears, your face red and your breaths short.

He breathed your name, coming up to hold your face in his hands.

“I am to be married” you breathed through shallow breaths.

Aemond held his breath.

“mother…mother has said I shall marry…Lord Cregan Stark” you stuttered out, and Aemond back away from you, his hand dropping as if your face was fire.

“what?” he muttered harshly, “out of all your…suitors, him?”

“I had little say…I alw-“ you cut yourself of as you saw the look on Aemond’s face.

With you Aemond had always had patience, been kind where he was usually curel, his face never harsh or firm but now…now he seemed to hold the anger of the sun as he looked at you, as if he had been betrayed, as if he was the one being made to marry a man thousands of leagues away, a man you had never met.

“please Aemond” you begged, trying to move towards him once more.

You were unsure of what you were begging for.

Whether it was to help you get out of this betrothal or to marry him instead, but Aemond scoffed and sent you a glare that would send anyone else running.

“what do you want? Hmm?” he began, stalking over to you, “to help you out of it? Or what claim a dragon so that you might escape?” he said, his tone mocking.

“what is with you!” you spoke through tears, “why are you being so cruel?”

“cruel?” he scoffed once more, “you are the one being cruel!”

“how?! I had no choice!”

“you had every choice” he seethed, “and yet you continuously turn a blind eye to the right choice!”

“what choice? you think I had any choice in this?” you scoffed, “gods! Heleana had no say, even Rhaenyra had little say in her first husband and yet you think I got to choose?” tears were falling from your eyes but for an entirely different reason, you felt betrayed, the one person you knew or had thought you could trust with all your heart had betrayed you. Had made you lose all trust, and made you feel alone.

A feeling that had followed you for moons, even the following years that were to come. As he grew more and more distant, no more gifts or walks, days spent in each other’s company and now they were spent listening to your nephew trying to sell your future husband. Your mother and planning your wedding.

You felt like you had lost Aemond In his entirety and yet here he stood before you, claiming you a traitor.

“why are you here?” you breathed, trying to forget the words he had said.

“for you” he spoke, straightening his stance as you walked towards your sons crib.

“for me? What of Rickon? Hmm?” you said, bouncing your six month of son in your arms. “he is the heir to Winterfell and his father fights for your enemies, you expect me to leave with you? To abandon my home?”

“your home?” he huffed, “last we spoke, you hated it here.”

“last we spoke was two years ago, opinions change especially in years apart”

“so what? You will stay in here in the cold, damp, baren land that is the north?”

“in favour of what?” you questioned genuinely, leaving the north would gain you nothing, instead you would lose the comforts of a husband and your son his birthright.

“you know…I always assumed we would wed” Aemond began, a small gasp left your throat, “and so you will wed me, your son will be Aegon’s heir until you and I have a son of our own”

“what…I am already married-“

“to a man I shall kill myself”

“Aemond! Gods you are mad! You speak of a life this war will never offer us!” you shook your head, “I- I cannot leave here, not for a life you cannot guarantee, especially after years of neglect over something I could not control”

“so you are a traitor”

“I pledge to no one, I care not for the throne especially if the fight is between Aegon and Rhaenyra” you spoke “I have no means to fight in this war for either side, and I do not desire to…if that is what you want…for me to leave my home for no reason other than an empty promise for a life we will never live then I must tell you to leave”

“leave?” he said bewildered, unbelieving you would send him away so quickly.

“you can stay the night or until the storm clears up, but I will here no more of this war or of your fantasy you have suddenly conjured up” A fantasy you had long desired yourself, had craved for him to desire it to. And now you were offered it, it seemed unreachable now. A war in its way, a war started by him and only one ending could grant you this fantasy, an ending to messy and deadly.

“I will go now” he spoke harshly, sending you a single glance before he took his leave.

That night the storm raged harsher, and sleep evaded you.

The storm did not stop raging once and for the first time since Driftmark you feared for your brothers life.

You stared out your window once more, trying to find the familiar shape of Vaghar, and yet you saw nothing.

Your eyes closed as you hoped, prayed that he had manged to get out of the storm.

But instead of a prayer you heard the song, the singing of that dragon once more.

Opening your eyes, you instantly found its shape, its wings flying through the sky as if the storm was nothing, its song enticing you to follow it, to find were it sat.

Grabbing your cloak and your boats you were quick to sneak from the castle, with no one questioning the steps of their lady, even less when you made a hopeful glance to where you were told Vaghar had landed. Hoping Aemond had chosen to wait out the storm.

But the typical stubborn man had left, mostly likely gotten himself stranded on some cliff.

As you left the walls of Winterfell, your sight blinded by snow, you were guided by the dragons song, a song that grew louder and louder as you went deeper into the wolfs woods.

You had been hunting here on a few occasions, never alone and always at Cregan’s side.

The trees dwarfed the sky the further you went, and yet there was a clearing amongst the trees, leaving a trail of discarded leaves and twigs, snow parted by what could only be a tail.

The trail lead to a cave, encased with snow and yet here the song stopped and the familiar smell of dragon began.

You had not know of caves in these woods, then again you had long strayed from the trail others took, and perhaps the word of a dragon had made this corner of the woods scarce.

With hesitance you entered the cave, with no sword nor light, simply will.

The cave was empty, bar what seemed to be a cliff, leading below.

Had there not been the unrelenting scent of dragon you would have turned back and yet, you climbed down, down rugged rocks only to turn and be meet with an ice cold bolt shotting from the dragons mouth.

A roar filled the room, alongside ice cold blue flame.

The dragon you had only seen from a distance lay facing you, its stare made to intimidate.

You left out a breath at the sight of her.

She was so different yet similar to the dragons you had grown up seeing.

She tilted her head, assessing you, before she nudged you.

Whether it was playfully or an attempt to get you to leave you did not now.

And yet you continued to step forward.

“lykirī” You spoke softly, walking towards the dragon hand raised, “lykirī” your hand reached forward, touching the dragon’s snout softly. She was warm and yet freezing under your palm, so different from the hot scales you were used to under the touch of your siblings dragons.

“nyke ryptan aōha vāedar” you started, softly stroking her, “īles gevie…iksā gevie”

I heard your song… it was beautiful… you are beautiful.

A soft grumbled left the dragons lips.

“iksin ziry syt nyke? aōha vāedar?” you swore she nodded her head.

Was it for me? Your song?

“gōntan ao brōzagon syt nyke?” you whispered, moving down her snout and towards her back, the place a saddle usual sat.

did you call for me?

“eman dreamt hen ao, ryptan aōha vāedar syt jēdri. se yet mirre bisa jēda īlē paktot gō ñuha pungos”

i have dreamt of you, heard your song for years...and yet all this time you were right under my nose.

The dragon shook her head softly, turning to face you as if to urge you up upon her back.

You swallowed roughly as you climbed upon her wing and then her back. she was larger than your brothers dragon Sunfyer, you would even wager larger than dreamfyer, and yet she was younger, her eyes softer and scales thinner. Her fire, or ice, however was strong, perhaps even stronger than Caraxes.

You settled upon her back, holding onto her scales, and before you could utter a word, she took flight.

“daor” you muttered, “dohaerās” you spoke, your hands gripping tightly as you urged her to serve. “Paez”

No…serve…slow

The storm still raged, you were blinded as the snow pelted your eyes, and yet your dragon seemed unfazed.

She circled the woods in what seemed to be glee.

Showing of tricks that left you praying to the gods as you gripped onto her horns for dear life.

And then you heard a roar.

An old and ancient roar.

“jikagon ūndegon” you urged.

Go see

She flew through the sky at a rapid place before the sight of Vaghar became clear, she lay stranded on the lonely hills, covered in snow and Aemond lay beside her.

“elēnās” you commanded, urging our dragon to bank.

Jumping of her back you rushed towards Aemond, his body cold and shivering.

“Aemond…gods” you whispered, “I told you to stay the night!” you near screamed, trying to urge him awake, and yet he seemed unresponsive to your words.

“Vaghar jikagon, jurnegon syt shelter” you screamed, as you made moves to drag Aemond towards your dragon.

Vaghar go, search for shelter

The old dragon seemed to rumble at your words her gaze following you as you near threw Aemond body on top of the dragon, a dragon you decided very well needed a name.

You were scared to take flight once more, with nothing but your arms to hold onto the dragon and Aemond.

“gods” you muttered, your eyes blinded once more by snow. “sagon qucik se gīda” you commanded, pulling Aemond to your chest and below the winter coat you wore, your hands gripping your dragon, as you commanded her onwards.

Be quick and calm

The flight to Winterfell seemed short, though worry racked through you as Aemond’s breaths grew shorter.

You landed rather ungracefully in the godswood, a landing that seemed to awake the whole castle as you were greeted with the entirety of your staff, your maid, Lyra rushing towards you a blanket in hand.

“my lady” she muttered rushing towards you, only to gasp at the sight of Aemond as you struggle to carry him.

“Gunther, Torren” you shouted for your guards, to help you carry Aemond, “send for the maester my brother is in need of aid.

“my lady is that your dragon?” Lyra asked, nervously as your dragon seemed to send menacing glares to your staff.

“yes” you nodded, catching your breath from your seemingly heavy brother.

“what is its name?” she asked stepping behind your form nervously.

“Stormfyer” you decided, and she herself seemed to like it as she eagerly nudged you, pushing you back ever so slightly.

That night the maester cared for Aemond, his body slowly recovering.

Though whispered moved swiftly of your brothers presence, and his lack of dragon.

A week passed before Aemond woke.

His voice scratchy and body weak, his head confused. Even more so when he saw your face.

You stood with broth and bread in your hand, a soft nervous smile on your face as you faced him.

His eyes were angry, but his face seemed to relax ever so slightly at your face.

“am I a prisoner?” he asked, as you placed the tray on his lap.

“if you talk a single word of war then yes” you joked, though the words soured soon after they were spoken.

“how did you find me?”

You smiled at his words, “there is a dragon in the north, she sang to me and I answered her call and in doing so I found you, your body beside Vaghars…. I rescued you, near a week ago”

“a dragon?” he spoke “you have dragon now?”

You nodded, “Stormfyer, I named her…she is near the size of dreamfyer I believe, though closer in age to Vermax” you spoke with a smile.

“I am…happy for you sister”

“I won’t reconsider… before you say anything”

“I know…I realised as such as I lay here dreaming”

“dreaming…of what?”

“of you” he spoke instantly, his hand gripping yours, “I meant what is said, all I have ever wanted was you by my side, as my wife and my queen” “I do not wish to be queen”

“then we shall be farmer and wife…in Essos or I shall shave my head and take the name snow and be your faithful sworn sword here in the north”

“Cregan will kill you second he sees you”

“then we leave”

“what if my son?” you argued, “he is the heir to Winterfell, it is his birthright”

“as is Aegon’s as king” Aemond snapped.

“and yet a war rages for Rhaenyra as queen, a queen the north supports and you lie as the enemy within.”

“then will you kill me sister?”

“never” you whispered, gripping his hand tightly, “you are the other half of me, I found you dying on the hills for a reason, I have felt your pain and joy for years…I will not betray you” “you staying here does…it hurts me, makes me ache for you”

You took a deep breath, moving the tray of Aemond’s lap, and yourself towards him.

You took his face in your heads, your forehead lent against his.

“I ache for you…everyday of my life I have ached for you” you breathed “I waited, I waited for you to feel he same for you to tell me you wished to have me as your wife and yet that day never came until a week past…after I am married and made a mother” your eyes swelled with tears, “if the gods wished us together they would have made it easier for us Aemond…they never would have put us on opposing side of a war…or me with a husband i-“ you were cut off with Aemond’s lips on yours.

His mouth merged with yours, moving in tandem with the others, years of love and desire melting into one as his mouth kissed yours, his hands gripping your sides as he pulled you onto his lap.

Your hands reaching for his hair, tugging him closer to you.

Soft moans left your moth as his tongue danced with yours.

Your dress loosened by his wandering hands.

Your hips moving slowly against this, his length hardening against your thigh as you cunt became sickened with your wet heat.

“Aemond” you moaned breaking away from him. “I am married”

“and I do not care” he smoke, removing his shirt and they your dress. Leaving you both bare.

Your eyes were roaming and quick.

As if nervous to see another man naked, and yet Aemond had long been the only man you ever desired.

You should be filled with guilt, with the thought of your husband and yet, no guilt chased you as you removed the covers and revealed Aemond’s cock.

You swallowed at he sight of him.

You moved forward placing a quick kiss to his lips, hovering over his cock, before lunging down.

The feeling of your walls wrapping around his cock made you both moan, your breaths heavy as you adjusted to the size of him.

Your head reasted on his shoulder, his hands gripping your waists as you began to lift your self of his cock, only to push them down once more.

You set a slow pace as you rode him, moving your hips in slow circular motions.

Aemond placed soft kisses to your neck, urging you to look at him.

He moaned your name, his hands caressing your sides, before settling once more on your hips.

Gripping your waist, he began to move you up and down on his cock, his pace fast and full of pleasure.

Your peak came fast, your moans covered by your hands as you rode his cock.

Your walls clenching around his cock, causing Aemond’s own peak to wash over him, his seed filling you as you lay breathless above him.

“Aemond” you breathed, kissing his chest lightly as he held you to him.

“I have wanted to do that forever” he whispered, kissing your head.

You wanted to say so may things and yet you couldn’t.

You felt joy at having Aemond finally, at your emotions being laid bare before him.

And yet a sadness watched over you as if this was a goodbye.

And seeing as shouts were heard, the sound of hooves and a rapid knock upon the door, you realised it was.

He gripped your hand, “stay” he urged.

“it is my husband” you whispered, gathering your clothes in a rush., “he can never know…you must leave!”

“leave? How when our husband and his men circle the courtyard”

“i- i- don’t..” you mumbled in a panic as your redressed, “this never happened Aemond, you must bend plea for something…I don’t know say you pledge for Rhaenyra”

“he will never believe it…and why would I come here if I did”

The knocking sounded once more…look asleep and sickly… I will come back” your promised rushing out the doors and to greet your husband.

“Husband” you greeted, a breathless smile on your face, “you are back?”

“only for a time, I’m afraid” he said, sad smile on his face as he gave you a kiss in greeting.

He turned serious as he faced you, his voice a whisper as he spoke, “your brother…Aemond” he began, “he is here?”

You swallowed, “yes…but please I beg don’t kill him” you said tears filling your eyes, “he can be our prisoner…I sent his dragon away he has no means of leaving” you begged.

He looked at you hesitantly, before urging you to talk inside.

“he is a kin slayer” he spoke outright, “he should be killed…executed”

“I know…but he is a valuable prisoner.” He looked at you the, with the same look he gave you the first few months of your marriage. When you felt alone and needed Aemond like you need air to breath.

“do you still love him?” he spoke after a moment, “and do not deny that you ever did…I know of the whispers and I know you saved his life days ago”

“you are my husband…the father of my son…I have cared for you and even started to love you-“

“but do you love him?”

You stared at him your eyes begging for what, you did not know “what does it matter” you sighed in mock defeat.

Cregan kissed his teeth, “queen Rhaenyra has taken Kingslanding, Aegon is missing, and Aemond now a hostage of the north and you...” he stopped himself unsure of what to make of you, “you are my wife and the lady of the north, a kingdom pledged to the queen”

“so what? Am I too a prisoner until you can test my loyalty?”

“do I need to test your loyalty?”

You had no reply as you stormed out of his solar, and to your own rooms.

You realised you had no choice in what was to come, Aemond would die and no prayers would save him from what his fate was set to be.

Sighing you faced the room you had made a home, now it seemed empty.

The crib lay empty, your son in the nursery.

Your bed made and fire well kept.

Your thing scattered, with clothes left tidy in their dresser, blanket slung over chairs, books left stacked.

You sighed, your head falling in your hands as you began to pace your room.

Then the realisation hit, the need to flea and run

Grabbing a bag you packed everything you could, clothes and books, hairbrushes and toys for your son.

A cloak slung over your shoulder, the bag well hidden as you made way to the nursery.

Smiling as you greeted him, his smiles lighting the room as you took him into your arms and made way to where Aemond was kept.

He lay in his bed, the food you had brought now eaten, a book lay in his hand.

“Aemond” you breathed, closing the door behind you. “we must leave” you said as you chucked some of the clothes Cregan kept in your chamber towards him.

Fleeing proved easier than you had thought. With feasts and revelry at your husbands return it was easy to sneak through the keep and towards the godswood.

Vhagar had made her way there only days ago, and though Aemond was still weak from the cold, he seemed to lighten up at the sight of her.

“where are we going?” he breathed as you tossed Aemond the bag you had packed.

“to lys” you began, “we cannot stay in Westeros and with the triarchy as your ally I am sure we would be safer there than here.”

After that day no one knows what happened to the Targaryen twins, many assumed Aemond had kidnapped you in act of revenge for your supposed loyalty to Rhaenrya and your betrayal against him. When in truth the escape had been your plan, and whilst you had lived in lys, myr and Tyrosh, moving from place to place for the first five years in fear of assassins, you later found a home where you thrive away from the war Aemond had began.

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@apollonshootafar @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @dark-night-sky-99 @zillahvathek @leavesmealobe e @winter-soldier-101 @bunbunbl0gs @ka1afbr @tesha-i-guess @aemondwhoresworld @littlebirdgot @eddieslut69 @beebeechaos @jennifer0305 @rosedurin @berightback1409 @barnes70stark @perla434 @nessjo @helo1281917 @ateliefloresdaprimavera @random-human02 @f1wh0recom @arieltwvdtohamflash @valiendokk @delaynew @haydee5010 @clobobo @aegonswife @scorpiosmalfoy @sithapprentice @probablyreadingsmutlol @bitchystuffs @livelaughlovetigers @Pamela

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proxycrit · 1 month ago

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I love your au!!! I love how the hylian duo look like gremlins, I LOVE the expressions and sass constantly and the changes to the lore, the worldbuilding and also the emotions (OUCH). I love their relationship with purah and each other and the new champions. I love the depth you gave Yona and her relationship with Sidon and Mipha. I love how link feels comfortable talking to sidon in addition to sign, I don't know if he does that with anyone else but Zelda unless its absolutely necessary (eg: just launched out a cannon and is paragliding down, so hands are busy) (side note: i love how much of an adrenalin junky/gremlin he is!!)

I do got a few questions! Will the pair get the sheikah slate again (so say link has the slate and zelda the pad), and can both slates do the warping and item storage (food, ingredients, armor, weapons, etc) (if so: no WONDER link was so upset! His collection!)

Does link have access to the ultrahand abilities (ik you said not The ultrahand, but what about fuse or ascend or rewind etc?) Where is the mastersword??

Does Link still have the champions' abilities, or did he lose those when their spirits moved on at the end of botw?

I know these are a lot of questions but I can't stop thinking about it!! The last few updates sent me back rereading the whole au and now its just vibrating in my head and giving me no piece

This is long and rambly, just know I am very much enjoying this au! Its silly and fun and touching and cute. Thank you for working on it!!

Oo some notes (also ty for circling my au haha im glad other people fixate like i do)

(Prewarning— i did not finish totk despite putting triple hours in it, so a lot of this story is being written while playing, though i know the big broad strokes thanks to cultural osmosis and video essays. A lot of Familiar Familiar builds from my playthrough with BOTW over TOTK, so the sheikah influence is significantly stronger and I will always choose botw characterization over totk characterization as a result.)

That aside

1. Sheikah slate’s dead. Rest in pieces, link’s rare collectable korok poop. Purah’s extracting as much data as she can to put on the purah pad but you can see the dread in her eyes whenever she has to tell link resurrection is not possible.

2. No idea about the zonai arm powers yet— im thinking about ascend, but the longer i go through this story the less likely ill hand it to him just due to immersion breakage. He and zelda will be getting sheikah gadgets from purah though! Maybe ill have a scene of him wandering through the sky island shrines, but without zelda warning rauru he and sonia wouldnt have prepared anything for the hero of the future. (But i DO love ascension and fuse. Lowkey dislike the building mechanics from a concept art pov because the green glue makes me want to cry, but it’s FINE i GUESS)

2b. Master sword’s chilling in korok forest. Link put it back in this au because of Reasons (part of his and zelda’s characterization in this au is to discard their past roles and embrace the present, not as knight and princess but as hero and researcher. They both have to face the reality those roles aren’t dead, but it’s a work in progress. I may also never address it. This “one off hehe lemme draw some guys” idea quickly spiraled into a web comic series so apologies for the vagueness, because i too am watching them adventure with dread and awe and i don’t know where they’ll go with it. They literally write themselves.

3. Rip champions, their ghosts are Gone (but their influence remains. You go mipha, keep haunting the narrative girl, i love you)

I know that some of these story notes don’t quite match up to what totk states is stone cold canon, but that’s the joy of fan work! Anyways sorry for folks who i have NOT answered asks of— i have a lot of them and I’m much better at the drawing and writing part then the socialization aspect (please feel free to peak in to my zoo enclosure ever so often though. I need the enrichment)

#ask #ah enough people asked these questions that i feel i should have a disclaimer #i may have 190 hours in totk #i still have no idea whats happening #brain emptier then a can of air

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hypnobeauty · 20 days ago

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A Chance Encounter - a cho hyun-ju x reader fic (part 3)

summary: a story about how you and Hyun-ju met and the following years of your relationship. part 1 / part 2 cw: no use of y/n, reader is afab, angst, fluff, hyun is unsure of herself, pre-squid game, slice of life. a/n: hello! i'm back with another part. it is probably the biggest one so far. i wish they were my barbies and i could make them kiss. anyway! i have quite a bit of the story drafted, we'll probably get into the relationship next part. it is out of my control, i never imagined i'd write so many parts lol enjoy xx comments are always appreciated ♥ taglist: @strayteez3staner @dekiruxxx @jeongteen @sunnysurvives @3leni @etta-huracan @honeyhyunju @basoressia - comment if you’d like to be tagged.

part 3. a door left open

the uber ride was awkward at first, the kind of silence where neither of you seemed to know where to start. hyun-ju sat stiffly beside you, her hands folded neatly on her lap, her gaze fixed firmly on the window. you could see her shoulders tense, and you thought about how tired she must be.

you decided to break the silence. “so, are you in pain? be honest.”

she turned her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “a little,” she admitted. “mostly just… tired.”

“that’s fair,” you said, giving her a sympathetic smile. “surgery’s no joke. i remember when my cousin had his wisdom teeth out—he tried to eat a cheeseburger the same day. ended up crying into his fries. don’t be like him.”

that earned a small giggle from her, and you took it as a good sign.

“you’re lucky i didn’t let ha-neul come with us,” you added, leaning in conspiratorially. “she would’ve pestered you with questions about your nose—she’s obsessed with noses right now. it’s been her only personality trait for weeks.”

this time, hyun-ju chuckled, soft but genuine. “what’s wrong with her nose?”

“nothing,” you said, grinning. “she just decided it’s not ‘cute’ enough. she almost picked one that would’ve made her look like michael jackson. i had to intervene.”

that got a laugh out of her—small, but real. “michael jackson?”

you nodded, feigning solemnity. “i told her, ‘ha-neul, your nose is fine. it’s perfect. no glitter gloves necessary.’ she almost went through with it anyway.”

hyun-ju laughed a bit more, finally relaxing a bit. the sound eased something in your chest.

“you’re good at this,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter now.

“at what?”

“making people feel comfortable.”

you shrugged, feeling a little shy. “oh. i just think it’s nice to be kind. and honestly? helping you was no big deal. it’s what anyone would do.”

“not anyone,” she said, looking at you for the first time since you got in the car.

when the uber pulled up to her building, you hopped out with her, offering to help her up to her apartment “do you need help getting upstairs?”

she shook her head firmly, already reaching for the door handle. “no, it’s fine. i can manage.”

“okay,” you said, “at least let me give you my number. if you need anything, just text me, okay?”

hyun-ju hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly, her eyes flickering with something unreadable. you exchanged numbers, and she disappeared into her building while you climbed back into the car.

later that night, as she sat on her couch, her phone buzzed.

hey, it’s me. i hope you’re feeling better. please keep me updated, and don’t hesitate to ask for help. you deserve it too.

she read it almost immediately. you watched the little “read” notification appear at the bottom of the screen. but no reply came.

hyun stared at the message for a long time, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. she typed out a reply, then deleted it. typed another, then deleted that too. nothing felt right. nothing felt good enough. finally, she locked her phone and set it down,

as the uber pulled away from hyun-ju’s building, you leaned back in the seat, finally exhaling the tension you hadn’t realized you were holding. before you could fully settle, your phone buzzed in your pocket. ha-neul’s name lit up the screen.

“heeyy,” you answered, bracing yourself.

“what happened? you just disappeared! did i miss an emergency rhinoplasty?” her tone was playful but edged with curiosity.

you sighed. “no emergency. i just… ended up helping someone.”

“helping someone? who?”

you hesitated. “the woman from the waiting room. remember her, hyun-ju? she had just had surgery, and the clinic wouldn’t let her leave without someone to sign her out.”

there was a pause, then an incredulous laugh. “wait, so you ditched me for someone you barely know?”

“it wasn’t like that,” you said quickly. “she needed help, and no one else was there. i couldn’t just leave her.”

another pause, but this time, ha-neul’s tone softened. “you’re too nice for your own good, you know that?”

“maybe,” you admitted.

“and she’s pretty, isn’t she?” ha-neul’s teasing edge was back.

you laughed, flustered. “i mean… i guess? that’s not the point.”

there was a beat of silence on the line. then, she snorted. “well, i didn’t know you were into girls.”

“what?” you sputtered.

“oh, don’t act surprised. i knew it since that day,” she teased mercilessly.

“to be honest,” you admitted, “me neither.”

“oh my god, you are so into her! i knew it! since the first time we saw her, i knew something was up.”

“i’m not into her,” you said, though your voice didn’t sound as convincing as you’d hoped.

“sure, sure,” she said, dragging out the words. “you’re just playing knight in shining armor for no reason at all.”

you rolled your eyes but smiled despite yourself. “goodbye, ha-neul.”

“oh, this isn’t over. i’m going to interrogate you later.”

you hung up with a laugh, shaking your head. from that day on, ha-neul teased you mercilessly—she found a way to always bring up hyun-ju, teasing you about how you’d never been so straightforward with anyone before, and even your friends got in on it after she spilled the story at dinner the following night.

the only problem? hyun-ju never replied.

you sent her a series of messages over the next week:

hey, how are you feeling today? let me know if you need anything.

i live close by—it’s no trouble at all.

two days later:

hey, stranger! ha-neul had her surgery today and looked worse than you, haha.

sorry, i didn’t mean to say you looked bad, just… well, bruised. are you okay?

hyun brought you up in therapy the following week, sitting across from her therapist—a kind, middle-aged woman who specialized in lgbtq+ mental health.

“i met someone,” hyun said hesitantly, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

her therapist’s face lit up. “that’s wonderful, hyun-ju. tell me about her.”

“she’s… nice,” hyun said, struggling to find the words. “she helped me after my surgery. we talked a little. she’s funny.”

“and how do you feel about her?”

hyun hesitated, then shrugged. “i don’t know. it feels… weird. like, she sees me. as me. and that’s good, but it’s scary too.”

her therapist nodded thoughtfully. “it sounds like you’re afraid of being vulnerable.”

hyun wasn’t sure what to say, so her therapist continued. “are you planning to stay in touch with her?”

“i think so,” hyun said cautiously. “but it’s scary. what if i say the wrong thing? what if i ruin it?”

her therapist smiled gently. “relationships—friendships, too—are about taking risks. you don’t have to have all the answers or the perfect words. just being honest and showing up is enough. let her in a little and see what happens.”

hyun left the session feeling lighter, more hopeful.

but when the messages from you kept coming, her anxiety crept back in.

each time her phone buzzed, she felt a pang of guilt. she typed out replies over and over, but nothing felt good enough. her fear of saying the wrong thing left her paralyzed, so she said nothing at all.

three days after the last message:

i’m starting to get worried, hyun-ju. just let me know if you’re fine.

another day:

i pass by your building every day on my way to work. should i stop by?

and finally:

hey, hyun-ju. did something happen? sorry if i came on too strong—i was genuinely worried about you.

i can see you’re reading these, but you never reply… i get it. i’ll leave you alone now. sorry if i made you uncomfortable.

after that, the chat stayed silent. when she received your last message, guilt and regret gnawed at her. she wanted to scream. to hit something. to do anything but face the truth: she had let fear win again.

in her next therapy session, when the doctor asked about you, hyun-ju lied.

“it… didn’t work out,” she said quickly, not meeting her therapist’s eyes. “she probably realized we’re too different.”

the therapist gave her a kind smile but didn’t press further. “that’s okay, hyun-ju. not every connection works out. what matters is that you tried, and you allowed yourself to open up, even if only for a moment.”

hyun-ju nodded, but her stomach churned. she couldn’t bring herself to admit the truth—that she hadn’t replied to a single message.

you stared at the chat for a long time after sending that last message. the little grey avatar beside her name felt cold, distant—you wished she had a profile pic. your own days moved forward, though you found yourself thinking of her often. you reread your messages to her, trying to pinpoint where you’d gone wrong. even ha-neul, who had teased you endlessly at first, stopped mentioning her after seeing how the silence weighed on you.

life went on. but hyun-ju had awakened in you feelings you had never taken seriously before and now you couldn’t help feeling like something had been left unresolved.

a month later, you were standing in line at your favorite café, eyes scanning the pastry display as you tried to choose something to pair with your cappuccino.

unbeknownst to you, at a table near the window, hyun-ju sat with her notebook, calculating the cost of her next procedure. she sipped her coffee absentmindedly, the barista’s voice barely registering as they called out a name—your name.

her pen froze mid-stroke. it wasn’t a common name. could it really be you? as she told herself it wasn’t, she heard your laugh, warm and unmistakable. her head snapped up, and there you were, joking with the barista as they handed you a cup and a paper bag.

hyun-ju stared, her heart pounding. you thanked them and turned toward the door, completely unaware of her. her legs moved before her mind could catch up. one moment she was sitting; the next, she was standing in front of you, her hand gripping your arm.

you had just reached the door when you felt a hand on your arm and a soft voice behind you saying your name. you turned, startled, and found yourself in front of her.

“can w—can we talk?” she asked, her voice low but firm. “please.”

you looked up from her hand—her nails were painted a soft blush pink and you made a mental note to ask her what nail polish it was—, and that familiar floral scent reached your nose. her expression was a mix of hope, fear, and determination.

face-to-face with hyun-ju, you smiled softly. “of course.”

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aealzx · 2 months ago

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_______________________

Update Post

Prologue | AO3

Previous Next

_______________________

After having talked with Jason and Tim, and learning that his friends weren’t the ones that had murdered him accidentally or not, Danny had ended up a little more at ease. He was still distracted by various concerns, but not to the point of any significant anxiety for the rest of the week. There wasn’t much for the manor residents to do outside of general activities around the manor to keep them occupied for the rest of the time until that weekend. But luckily the manor had plenty for them to do during that time, and with his family and friends kept fairly occupied Danny found it a little easier to rest.

By the time the weekend came Danny was managing to make it around the manor on his own feet instead of being carried. It was a liberating feeling, made more prominent when the others had made a big deal about Leslie finally removing the IV line from his arm. The burns had healed enough that morphine was no longer necessary, and he was able to stay hydrated well enough through drinking fluids instead of having them dripped into him. Now he was just having to deal with taking prescription painkillers, and a few supplements. Leslie had complained that Danny was much too skinny, and now that they didn’t have to worry about keeping him out of a coma she was starting to focus more on getting him well fed. A slow process, but one that Alfred was more than willing to help with. When he was finally untethered, Danny had earned a mixture of groans and chuckles when the first shirt he put on was the first one Dick had given him, proudly grinning after tugging it over his head. And being able to have a tasty porridge for breakfast had only improved his mood more.

Yet despite feeling significantly better than he had when he’d first woken up, Danny still didn’t tend to wander too far or otherwise be too active. He could make it across the manor, sure. But it tended to use up what little energy he had fairly quickly, and he didn't like going back to feeling so worn out he just felt like sleeping. It didn’t help that he was a little antsy about everything anyway, so sometimes tended to wear himself out easily just sitting. He was worried about his parents, mainly. But also what the GIW was up to with him gone. Were the other ghosts managing to take care of everything? Maybe Valerie was filling in for him? He doubted it. She was good, but she wasn’t as well versed in everything that he knew. Danielle was the main person Danny would choose as a backup for him, and she was unfortunately stuck there with him. Literally stuck to him at the moment too.

When the others came to find him to get ready to head to the Watchtower they found him and Danielle on one of the couches near a window in one of the nearby sitting rooms. Danny was staring out the glass, watching the scenery and occasional leaf falling, and Danielle was draped over his lap in a pose reminiscent of a cat claiming her space. There was a bit of an eerie ambience drifting from them despite nothing obviously unusual being able to be seen. When Cass looked she could swear there was a faint green glow about them, but it was hard to focus on. And Jon didn't seem to notice anything at all as he rushed over to them.

“Hi! Good morning! You’re looking a lot better- what are you doing?” Jon greeted them, first to Danny and then shifting his attention to Danielle.

Danny blinked as he noticed they had company, and Cass noticed the eerie feeling fade almost completely, along with the glow she hadn’t quite been sure was there.

“Recharging,” Danielle answered simply, slightly muffled by her squished cheek.

“Recharging?” Jon repeated, looking somewhat confused. “Like… literally or figuratively?” He knew Danielle wasn’t fully human, or at least not a typical human, so she could have meant literally.

Danielle ended up snickering at the question. “Both,” she confirmed, finally opening her eyes and considering getting up. “I don’t generate ectoplasm like Danny does, so sometimes he shares some with me since we’re compatible.”

“Ohhhh. So kind of like sunbathing,” Jon related, able to understand now why Danielle had said it was both figurative and literal recharging.

This time it was Danny’s turn to snort. “I guess so….. Who are you?” This was another new face who seemed to know him despite him not knowing them. How many more people were there that had helped him while he was unconscious? While it was nice to have friendly people, he still wasn’t used to how many there were who knew him, and who everyone was so open with about him too.

“Oh! Right, you haven’t been awake around me yet- I’m Jonathan Kent! Call me Jon. I’m Damian’s friend,” Jon introduced himself easily, holding his hand out for Danny to shake. “I actually live out in Kansas, but sometimes visit Damian on the weekends when I don’t have school. I was here last weekend.”

Oh, he had a lot of energy. Danny was already wondering if he was going to be able to keep up with him today or end up exhausted in minutes. But despite that he found he didn’t mind the company this time. Ever since the meeting with Raven, and the talk about the Infinite Realm and rituals he’d felt stuck in a haze of looping confusion. It was nice to have something other than that to focus on, and to start to feel like he was doing something other than waiting. He was almost starting to miss his homework and extra studies.

“He and I arm wrestled and broke a table,” Danielle informed proudly. “He’s got super strength, and a few other abilities,” she added when Danny’s brow rose significantly.

“Steph and the others want us to try again since it was a tie last time,” Jon admitted with a mild laugh. “But not right now. Bruce said it was fine if I came with you guys to the Watchtower since dad is working there today- well, he didn’t actually say it was okay, but he also didn’t say it wasn’t okay- So I came to get you guys with Cass.”

No one had really explained what the Watchtower was for other than the realm frequency scan, so Danny wasn’t sure what to make of Jon’s inclusion of his dad working there. Was his dad a scientist of sorts? An engineer? What were the people that worked with different realms called anyway?

“Are you ready to leave?” Cass asked, noting that neither Danny or Danielle seemed ready to go anywhere but the couch.

“We’re going now? I thought it wasn’t until four,” Danielle asked, not making any effort at all to get moving since it was only 10 am.

“It is. But we’re going early to allow for… exploration,” Cass confirmed, having to pause and think about the word she wanted to use for why they were going so early.

Danny grimaced a little at the thought of running around a large building, shoulders sagging. Six hours of walking around sounded like hell to his current state of being, and while he appreciated them not being rushed in and out of the place they were going, he didn’t want to be in pain again. “I’m not… really up for long walks,” he admitted reluctantly.

Cass didn’t mention she already figured that out. Instead she just reached down to tug on his and Danielle’s arms. “You will like this. I promise. We will carry you if needed,” she assured, her own excitement bubbling up. They had all agreed to tell none of the kids where the Watchtower was until they got there and could see for themselves. And it was for Danny that they were actually going so early, so she needed to make sure he came.

Danny let out a small snort at the offer, but obediently moved to follow her coaxing, half helping Danielle untangle herself from laying on his lap too.

“This better be worth interrupting my ‘sunbathing’,” Danielle joked, only slightly serious. She had been very comfortable, and wasn’t quite at full energy yet. But Cass’ excitement was rubbing off on her easily.

“It will be,” Cass assured again, pulling them along while making sure not to go too fast.

It was a little confusing that Cass took the small group to the Batcave instead of outside, taking the stairs very slowly, but after getting reminded they had vehicles down there too when they saw them Danny didn’t comment. What was still strange for him though was that everyone who was gathered there were dressed in their vigilante uniforms.

“Didn’t realize this was a formal event,” Danny commented with a slight frown, already slightly winded from the descent. Was it dangerous where they were going? Why were they all suited up?

Tim fortunately just chuckled at the comment. “There are a lot of people at the Watchtower who don’t know our civilian identities, and we’d like to keep it that way,” he explained easily enough.

“Can’t do much about you three,” Stephanie spoke up, looking at Jazz, Sam, and Tucker before shifting her gaze to Danny and Danielle, “But you two are welcome to ‘suit up’ with us if you’d like to keep some anonymity.”

It wasn’t something they had thought of, but at this point everyone in their group could agree that the less people who knew them the better. So with a brief nod to each other, Danielle quickly shifted into her ghost form. Danny was a little slower than her, having paused because of the half wonder if anything would be different considering how long it had been since he’d gone to his ghost form. But after a slightly larger breath to calm himself he reached for the familiar feeling, closing his eyes as the characteristic rings flashed over him.

Luckily, despite the injuries from the blood blossom, his ghost form didn’t have any strange side effects manifest. His now white hair was still affected by the semi weightless attribute this form had, his body feeling a little lighter itself. And the damage that had been done to his uniform had already been repaired as well, the bandages on his torso effectively hidden beneath the layers. He’d had to look when there had been a few mixed noises from the others, not sure if they had seen something unexpected. But it seemed to be that they had just been curious to see what his ghost form looked like compared to Danielle’s.

“Nice to officially meet you, Phantom,” Duke commented, holding his hand out that wasn’t keeping his helmet tucked under his other arm.

Danny couldn’t help snorting at the unexpected greeting, but nevertheless took Duke’s hand with a chuckle. “Nice to meet you too….uhh?” he returned, trailing since he didn’t know Duke’s alternate name.

“Signal,” Duke happily supplied. “Then there’s Batman, Red Robin, Spoiler, Orphan, and Robin.”

“And Superboy!” Jon chimed in, raising his hand while bouncing on his feet a bit.

“And Superboy,” Duke added with a chuckle.

“Nice to meet everyone,” Danny laughed lightly.

“What should we address you as?” Damian asked, looking at Danielle and noting that she and Danny definitely still looked like siblings even while in ghost form.

“Phantom,” Danielle responded, folding her arms and beaming with a proud smile.

“...You use the same vigilante name?” Stephanie asked, just to clarify.

“Yup. We have the same name as civilians, so why not?” Danielle grinned.

“...That’s confusing,” Tim commented. Even though he already knew quite a few other heroes who had the same hero names between two people, at least they had different civilian names and usually uniforms that were significantly different.

“Oh, we know,” Danielle confirmed, the mischievous hint to her smile becoming more prominent. “It’s on purpose.”

There was a slight shift in the demeanor of the group as they fully realized now that Danny and Danielle were that kind of sibling pair, and Danny had to chuckle again. “We’ve found it actually helps with anonymity quite a bit.”

“Like how no one can seem to tell the Robins apart when the picture isn’t dated,” Stephanie connected absently, earning several understanding hums and nods from the others.

“...It isn’t that hard,” Tim protested after a moment of looking mildly offended at the suggestion.

“You’re an outlier, Red. Your stalker opinions don’t count,” Stephanie countered, looking unimpressed.

“Even as an outlier!” Tim practically squawked, “It isn’t that hard!”

“Sure, sure. How ‘bout we get going before we all run out of the will to do so,” Duke placated, giving Tim a pat on the shoulders before steering him towards what looked like the entrance to a very large elevator to Danny and his friends and family.

Danny wasn’t sure if Duke was singling him out with that comment, but he appreciated the push for them to get moving anyway. Following the group as they filled into the semi enclosed space, Danny was expecting to feel the slight shudder of the elevator moving. But instead his vision flashed white for a brief second, and there was the residual semi static of energy leaving his flesh tingling just slightly.

_______________________

Oh look, another update real soon 8'D

These sections are a bit smaller simply because I have more pictures I want to draw for the scenes XD

Also THANK YOU to everyone who info dumped for me about Conner 8DD I feel like I can actually probably write him now. He'll show up briefly in like..... not the next chapter but the one after I think e,e I'm gonna pull Bart in too since Bart is actually my favorite speedster X'D (even if I don't actually know much about him other than the Young Justice cartoon. I just like his story and personality)

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Tag list: @galaxy-sharks-and-bottled-ships, @starscreamlover, @nerdynonnativenarnian, @dragongoblet, @megacharizardx99

@bellathecatastrophe, @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie, @asexual-insomniac, @wolfeyedwitch, @tkiesai,

@fanaroff, @raven1508, @nebulainajar, @serasvictoria02, @oliocelottafanfics,

@honeysuckletook, @omniithe-deer, @wolf-under-the-stars, @gingernutcalo, @that-random-fangirl,

@op-sys-chaos, @kirasigncomics, @ehobep, @paranoid-ira

#my art #dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #phantom rogues #long post #writing #fanfic

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krirebr · 1 month ago

Text

More Than This 8

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x f!reader, Steve Rogers & f!reader

Word Count: ~9.5k

Summary: Arranged marriages have always been used to solidify business deals among the ultra-wealthy. Your stepfather wants to be in business with Harlan Thrombey, so now it's your turn.

Warnings: Angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, explicit language, fighting, my own rampant abuse of italics and en dashes, the slooowest burn, family drama - Warnings will be added as needed for subsequent parts. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Ohhhhhhhh boy. Getting this update in right under the six month wire. I'm so sorry this one took so long, you guys. I had to drag this chapter out of me. But uh, it's horrifically long, so that's something?

And, I know I keep saying that we're about to start a happier part of this story and then deliver a bucketful of angst, and yeah, whoops, I've done that again. I should just stop making promises, huh?

Big thanks as always to @paperweight91 who has spent the last almost six months talking this one through with me. And to @bigtreefest who was so great with the encouragement and gut checks and did a quick beta of this chapter! But, of course, all mistakes are my own.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too! As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

The rest of the day was quiet. Calmer, more settled than you were used to. After having gotten everything out into the open, it was so much easier to acknowledge Ransom’s presence, to coexist with him. You hadn’t fully realized how much you’d been holding your breath until you could suddenly breathe freely. It was a wild feeling.

Once you were all cried out, Ransom turned on the TV, turning it to the classic movie channel. That was how you learned he loved old movies. “Grandad and I used to watch them together. When I was a kid,” he said quietly. He didn't volunteer any other information and you didn't ask. But you watched the old noir with him.

One movie turned into two and soon the whole afternoon was gone. It had been… comfortable, in a way you’d never expected to be with him. Neither of you had said much, but the silence hadn’t been stifling in the way it’d been even just the day before. For the first time since you’d gotten here, you felt something a lot like hope.

He made two arrangements while sitting with you on the couch. The first was for movers to come to collect his gym equipment the next day so that your new room would be empty when your things arrived in a couple of days.

You were made aware of the second when you received a text from him. You looked up in confusion. You were sitting right next to each other. He chuckled lightly. “That’s the number to your new car service. Call it, let them know where you’re going, and a car should be here within half an hour.”

You stared at the number. Holy shit, you’d be able to go places. You felt silly for how emotional you suddenly felt, but it was like your entire world was expanding in real time. It felt like fresh oxygen in your lungs. “Thank you,” you said quietly.

He just nodded in response. “After you’ve used that for a while, we can talk about whether a private driver might be more appropriate. If that’s what you need.”

You looked at your phone again. This was proof in your hands that you could tell Ransom what you needed and he would do what he could to help you get it. That he wasn’t the enemy you’d assumed he was. You could feel the tears starting to gather in your eyes and you took a deep breath to try to quell them without calling attention to your state.

Ransom, of course, noticed anyway. “Is that not ok?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head. “No, it’s perfect. Seriously, thank you. I’m sorry, I just–” You had no idea what to say to him, how to explain yourself. As good and necessary as the last several hours had been, he was still a stranger. And as much as he’d demonstrated a willingness to help you, that didn’t mean he wanted you getting your messy emotions all over him. “Sorry,” you said again, “I’m just emotional today. Hormones probably. I’m afraid you’re going to be dealing with this for the next nine months.” You grimaced in what you hoped was a playful manner as you tried to wipe the tears from your eyes.

He remained serious, concerned. “I think I can handle it,” he said, his tone still so soft. But if you looked very carefully, you thought that you might be able to see a hint of panic in his eyes. You didn’t know if it was for the havoc that your pregnancy hormones might wreak or everything that would come after. You didn’t ask. You knew you wouldn’t be able to answer the question for yourself either. So you turned back to the movie.

At some point, you both started to get hungry, so Ransom ordered takeout. As you ate, you asked a few questions about the sorts of movies he liked, grateful for a safe topic to fill the silence. You certainly wouldn’t call him verbose, but you learned that he had a soft spot for Billy Wilder movies. You wouldn’t really say the conversation flowed, either, but your questions didn’t seem unwelcome. It was nice. He was starting to feel like a real person.

When you were done, you cleaned up the leftovers together, packing them up and putting them away in the fridge. It was while you were doing that that the doorbell suddenly rang. You both looked up, confused. “If that’s fucking Linda, I swear…” Ransom grumbled.

“She never rings the doorbell when it’s just me here,” you griped. You continued putting things away, sticking your head in the fridge as Ransom went to get the door. Then everything happened so fast.

First, you heard Lola yipping excitedly. As you started to turn around to see what was going on with her, Ransom asked “What are you doing here?!” And then–

And then Ransom was on the ground, clutching his jaw, and Steve was looming over him, his hand still in a fist.

“What the shit?!” Ransom ground out.

Steve’s eyes flitted around wildly until they landed on you. He sighed in relief, clearly doing a quick check as he looked at you. “Are you okay?” he asked, his tone so much gentler than his posture.

“Am I– What– What are you doing here? I don't–” You felt like you couldn’t process anything that was happening. How was he here?? Your gaze caught on your husband, still on the floor. “Oh my god, Ransom!” You dropped to your knees next to him. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I–” he started, then carefully flexed his jaw, “Fucking shit. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Your hand hovered uselessly between you as he slowly stood up. You turned back to Steve, who had stepped fully into the house, closing the door behind him, and now had Lola in his arms, softly greeting her as she snuggled into him adoringly.

“Steve, what are you–” you started but then you saw the suitcase at his feet. “Are you staying here?!”

Steve finally turned his attention away from Lola. “Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’ obnoxiously, with a challenging glare to Ransom.

You sighed helplessly. “There’s no guest room…”

“Yeah,” Ransom grumbled as he rifled through the freezer until he pulled out an icepack, “as thrilled as we are to see you, we do have hotels here. You might be more comfortable in one.” The icy coldness that filled the room wasn’t just from the open freezer.

Steve took an aggressive step forward. “And leave you alone with my sister for even one more day? I don’t think so. I’ll be just fine on the couch. I’m easy like that.”

“Steve–” you tried but you were quickly interrupted.

“Really? You’re here for your step-sister? That’s interesting because my understanding is that you haven’t had much time for her lately,” Ransom said snidely.

Steve started to puff up in a way that was much too familiar from the playground fights of your childhood. “Oh my god!” you yelled. “Stop! Both of you!” You briefly put your head in your hands and took a deep breath, then one more. You straightened yourself and tried to deal with one of the fifteen problems at hand. “Ok, I, uh, I guess I’ll see about making up the couch,” you said, then stomped your way upstairs to the linen closet.

Steve followed close behind you, still carrying around Lola. “You know,” he said, his tone teasing, “you haven’t actually said ‘hello’ to me yet.”

“No,” you growled, as you looked through the closet without turning around to look at him, “I guess I haven’t.”

He pulled your arm lightly. “Hey, come on,” he said. “I’ll help pull this stuff together if you tell me where to look. We both know Ransom’s just gonna let you do all the work.”

That earned you finally turning to face him. “Well, he did just get punched in the face, so I think he’s a little more concerned with that than making you feel comfortable right now.”

Steve’s face scrunched up. “Wait. Are you mad at me?”

“Am I mad at you? Well, let's see. You showed up unannounced and punched my husband in the face. Yeah! I'm a little mad at you!”

“He deserved it,” he growled.

“How would you know?!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You sighed. You did not have the energy for this. And where were all the blankets? You remembered the pile currently in the corner of the gym. Right. You turned around and walked down the hall to your makeshift bedroom, Steve still on your heels. As soon as you walked in, he stopped, putting Lola down. “The fuck is this?” he asked, harshly, his hands on his hips. You realized your mistake immediately. His eyes scanned the cushions and blankets set up, the exercise equipment still there, your few possessions strewn about. “Is this where you sleep?”

“No! Just last night.”

“Why did you need to sleep here last night?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.

It felt like a trap. If you told him you’d panicked and needed some space, he would ask why. Steve never dropped anything. And you just could not tell him you were pregnant right now. It was the absolute worst time for that. But you didn’t know how else to answer his question. “I just needed a little space.”

He didn’t say anything, just stared at you. God, you hated being the focus of that look. It was the look he gave you when you scratched his car when you were 16, or when you were 18 and he had to pick you up from a party at 2 AM and wouldn’t tell him what had happened. It was the look you got when you were little and used to steal his paintbrushes so he couldn’t paint and he’d have to hang out with you. You’d hated that look since you were six years old. “Why are you here, Steve?”

He just shook his head for a moment. “You sounded so sad and tired this morning. And I’m just so sick of not being able to see you, not being able to tell what’s wrong.” He took a deep breath. “Not being able to protect you.”

“Steve,” was all you could say at first. Then you couldn’t help yourself anymore. You launched yourself at him and wrapped him in a big hug. He was a fucking idiot. You couldn’t believe he’d punched Ransom. You were so mad about that. But he was your fucking brother and you’d missed him so much.

He hugged you back tightly. “It’s so fucking good to see you, Chipmunk,” he murmured into your hair.

You stood there, savoring the closeness for as long as you both were able, and then you pulled away and stared down at the mound of blankets and cushions. The big couch downstairs had been pulled apart the night before to give you a place to sleep. That severely limited the options for Steve. You sighed. “I guess it would make the most sense to put you in here.”

“And where would you sleep?” he asked, his tone taking on an aggressive edge, aimed at the man downstairs, you knew.

“I’d go back to the bedroom,” you said, with a put-on casualness like you weren’t aware of the fight that was about to happen.

“Absolutely not,” Steve said firmly.

“Oh my god, Steve! You can’t control where I sleep!” you said, throwing your hands in the air.

“The whole reason I’m here is to make sure you’re ok and that he can’t hurt you! I’m not gonna do something that puts you back in his space!”

“Steve, I don’t need that! He isn’t doing anything!”

“Then why did you text me? Why were you crying?!”

You did not have the energy for the conversation that would answer that question, so all you could do was glare at him, which he answered with a confrontational jut of his chin. The two of you just stood there locked in a staredown until Steve muttered, “What sort of grown man doesn’t have anywhere for guests, anyway?”

“The sort that likes an excuse to stop people from staying at his house,” Ransom said pointedly from the doorway, startling you both. “What exactly do you think I’d do, with you right across the hall? I’ve already gotten a taste of how you solve problems,” he said to Steve, gesturing with the ice pack still held to his face. Then, much softer, to you, he said, “I know you want your own space, but you’re more than welcome to share the bed until your stuff gets here. That’s all I wanted to say.” Then he turned around and walked into his bedroom, Lola scampering behind him, ready for bed.

You stared after him, unable to parse the feelings bubbling up inside you. He’d been so different lately. Or maybe you were just finally looking.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Steve asking “Your stuff?”

You turned your attention back to him. He was watching you too carefully. “Mhmm,” you hummed, trying to feign nonchalance. “I’m having my bedroom furniture shipped here. I’m turning this into my room.” He raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to ask too many questions probably so you cut him off. “It’s been a really long couple of days, Steve. I’m tired. We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

He set his jaw. You could tell he wanted to fight you. Force you to talk to him. But you held your ground, looked him in the eye with a hint of challenge, and eventually he deflated, just a bit. “Yeah, okay,” he relented before he pulled you into another crushing hug. You’d really missed his hugs.

“I am happy to see you,” you whispered.

“Me too, Chip,” he whispered right back.

After making sure he had everything he needed, you left Steve alone with a quiet “goodnight,” and made your way back to Ransom’s bedroom. He and Lola were already snuggled in bed, snoring softly. You quickly went through your bedtime routine and then joined them, very careful not to wake either of them. After how eventful and emotionally wrought the last few days had been, it didn’t take you long at all to drift off into sleep.

You woke up in the morning pressed up against Ransom, face to face, your feet tangled together, Lola on your legs. You carefully pushed yourself away, watching him warily to see if he roused at all. Thankfully he didn't. You were sure he wouldn't be thrilled with how close you'd both gotten in the night.

You quietly got up and let yourself out of the bedroom, a now wide-awake Lola at your heels. The door to the gym was open and the room was empty, Steve’s suitcase wide open on the floor next to the nest of cushions and blankets. You didn’t hear anyone moving around downstairs, so he was out on a run, most likely.

You headed down to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee, then started looking through the fridge for the leftovers from the previous morning. As you were doing that, a creak on the stairs let you know Ransom was joining you.

“Morning,” he said, voice scratchy from disuse. He went to the coffee maker and just stood in front of it, waiting for the pot to finish.

“Morning,” you said from inside the fridge. You found the leftovers and closed the appliance, finally turning to him with a gasp. You put the food down on the counter and went to Ransom. “Oh my god, your face!” A large bruise in a deep shade of purple took up most of the left side of his face, centered on his jaw and cheekbone. You rushed to his side and without thinking, extended a hand to touch him before you realized what you were doing and pulled back at the last minute, embarrassed.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he mumbled, his attention still fixed on the coffee slowly dripping into the carafe.

You stared at him for another moment, before you just couldn’t keep your feelings inside anymore. “I’m so sorry,” you said softly.

He finally looked at you at that. “What do you have to be sorry for?” he asked.

So much, you thought to yourself, maybe, probably. But for right now, in this instance, you just shrugged. “He’s my brother,” you said, a little helplessly.

“Did you tell him to punch me?” he asked as he decided he’d waited long enough and filled his mug.

“What? No!”

“Then there’s nothing to apologize for.” He leaned back against the counter as he sipped his coffee. “Where is your brother?”

“On a run, probably,” you said, now helping yourself to a mug and fixing it up how you liked.

Ransom scoffed. “Of course, he is.” He looked at you carefully for a long moment and you struggled not to squirm under his gaze. “You happy he’s here?”

“Of course!” you said, too quickly. He kept looking at you. “I mean, I didn’t invite him here, so… It was just a surprise. I don’t know. He’s very protective, you know?” Ransom raised an eyebrow and you couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle. “Right, yeah. He just– Sometimes, he just– he decides what’s right. And then there’s no changing his mind.”

He made a little hum, then nodded and said, “Yeah, I know. I have met him before. But why are you worried about that?”

“Uh, he just, he isn’t always a good listener. And he’s gonna have a lot of questions for me today. I know he will. And I don’t know how I’ll answer any of them without telling him about the– that I’m pregnant.”

“And you don’t want to?” he asked, his voice unexpectedly soft.

“No, that’s not exactly– I just–” you sighed. “This isn’t what he ever wanted for me.”

Ransom made a small noise of understanding. “You think he’ll be disappointed in you.”

There was no judgment in his tone, but it still made you shrink in on yourself a little. You nodded.

“Listen, it’s no secret that I think he’s a sanctimonious asshole.” You opened your mouth to start defending Steve, but Ransom shook his head. “Let me finish. It’s clear that he loves you. I think you’ll be ok. And if he does give you shit, well, it’ll be just one of a few things he’s done to earn himself a punch.”

“Oh god, Ransom no, please don’t do that.”

He grinned at you. “Nah, I won’t. Some of us have self-control. I know him being here is important to you. I’ll try not to do anything to mess that up.”

You wondered if the warm feelings spreading through you would always be such a surprise. If he would always be such a surprise.

“But,” he continued before he paused to drain his mug. “I am going to try to get out of here before he gets back.”

“This is your house. You don’t need to do that.”

“It’s fine,” he said quietly, “you should have a nice day with your brother.” Then he put his mug in the dishwasher and went back upstairs to get dressed, with you staring after him.

Ransom left and, sure enough, Steve got back a few minutes later. He went straight to the shower and you tried to busy yourself and calm your nerves while you waited for the inevitable conversation.

When he came down, his hair was still wet and he was dressed in jeans and a plain white tee. There was nothing casual about his demeanor though.

“So,” he said, sitting down next to you in the kitchen, “you ready to tell me what’s been going on here?”

You started to get up. “Do you want some breakfast first? We have some pastries left over from yesterday.”

He grabbed your arm and pulled you back down into your chair. “No, I want to know why you've sounded so upset every time I’ve talked to you since the wedding.”

You squirmed under his sharp gaze. You knew him. You knew that he wouldn’t give up until you told him everything. But you also knew how awful his reaction would be and you just weren’t ready to give everything up. “It’s just been a lot of change, you know? Of course, it’s been hard. I’m just… adjusting. It’s been an adjustment period.”

“Adjusting to what, exactly?”

“To marriage! To living in a new place! You know, the obvious.”

“The obvious is why you always sound like you’ve been crying?”

You resisted the urge to bury your face in your hands in frustration. “You know me,” you tried. “I’m emotional.”

“You’re emotional?! Is that what he says to you?” Shit, he was already getting angry and you hadn’t even told him anything yet.

“No! God, Steve. That’s not what I’m saying! I’m just trying to say that it’s been a difficult transition, but I’m starting to feel better about it.”

“And I’m asking you to tell me exactly what about it has been difficult.”

You wanted to growl. Once he got an idea in his head, he was so fucking intractable. “What’s been difficult about moving across the country to a brand new city and living with a stranger??”

“Yes. Exactly. In detail please.” And then he just stared at you and you wanted to scream.

“I’ve been a little lonely,” you conceded, hoping a partial truth might satisfy him. “Ransom has to work a lot and it’s been hard to know what to do with my time.” And then, without giving him time to react, you asked. “How about you? How are you? Now that I’m out of the way, is Joseph trying to set up matches for you?” It was a low blow, but you were grasping for any defense you could reach.

“I don't understand why you won't just tell me what's going on.”

“I'm trying! It's just a lot more complicated than you realize and I think that maybe once you're in an arrangement of your own–”

“My marriage won't be anything like this.”

At first, all you could do was gape at him. Then you just sighed. “I don’t think,” you started slowly, “that you can have any idea what a marriage like this is really like until you’re inside of it, Steve.”

He shook his head. “I know what sort of man I am,” he said confidently. “I know how I’ll treat my wife.” And you saw it then, the pity in his eyes, and everything in you bristled.

Sanctimonious. That was the word Ransom had used. You loved your step-brother so much. You’d defend him to the end of the world and back. But he really could be such an asshole sometimes. And seeing him now, like this, you could understand why someone like Ransom might hate him.

“Well,” you said, trying so hard to keep your voice even, “you’ll be lucky then. To have such an easy go of it. I hope you don’t find that it’s harder than it looks. That appearances can be deceiving.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “That’s why I’m asking you to tell me. I don’t understand why you won’t.”

“Because I know you won’t listen! You’ve already decided what’s going on here!”

“Well, it seems pretty obvious! I know you, and I certainly know him. So yeah, when you’re crying every time I talk to you and you send me cryptic texts wishing I was here, yeah, I think I have a pretty good guess about what’s been going on.”

“You’re so frustrating,” you growled a little. Then you sighed. It was inevitable. You knew it. At this point, you just wanted to get it over with. “Ok. Fine. But you have to actually listen to me, ok? Like, to what I’m actually saying. You can’t just jump to conclusions. Okay? I’m serious.”

“Chip, yes, of course. I’ll always listen to you.”

You took a deep, fortifying breath. “It’s been– It’s been really hard here. I’ve been on my own almost the whole time and it’s just been really lonely. You just– you can’t know what it’s like to be married to a stranger. We haven’t known how to talk to each other and I just– It’s been really hard for both of us.” At that, Steve scoffed, but you couldn’t stop now, you had to get this out. “Anyway, um, a few days ago I learned some news, that was–” You paused to try to find the right word. You had no idea how to classify it. It wasn’t upsetting, per se, but what other word was there? “And then Ransom found out and that’s when I texted you. And slept in the gym.”

“What was the news?” Steve asked, gravely. He was looking at you so intently. You really didn’t want to do this, but you knew you had to.

You looked off into the corner of the room, unable to get this out and meet his eyes at the same time. “I’m pregnant,” you said quietly.

Steve stood up so abruptly that you couldn’t help but jump. “I’m gonna fucking kill him,” he actually snarled. You’d never heard his voice do that before.

“Steve, please,” you started, both hands out in a placating manner. “Please, can you calm down so we can talk about this?”

But, of course, he ignored you. “Where is he?” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, helplessly. “He’s out. I don’t, I don’t know where.”

Steve didn’t say anything, just clenched his jaw and stood rigidly, his hands on his hips. You could practically see the untapped adrenaline coursing through him.

“Can you please just sit down?” you pleaded. “Just take a deep breath and sit down and we can–”

“I’m going for a run,” he said, curtly, then turned on his heel and walked towards the door.

“But you just got back from one!” you called after him. He wasn’t even dressed for a run. But that apparently didn’t matter. He was gone.

You just sat there for a moment, completely lost, with no idea what to do. Then you got your phone out and texted Ransom.

He knows

Don’t come back for a few hours, I think. He needs time to calm down. I’m sorry.

The checkmark showing he’d seen your message appeared almost immediately, quickly followed by the three dots that showed he was typing, but then those disappeared. A few moments later they came back but quickly disappeared again. No response ever came.

The men from the storage company came to take Ransom’s gym equipment away. You threw yourself into directing them, happy to have a distraction from worrying about where Steve was, what he was feeling. But then they were done, the room was empty, and Steve was still gone.

Ransom got back first. He found you in the former gym, trying to rearrange the couch cushions in the center of the room into something more comfortable. He paused in the doorway, Lola dancing around at his feet. “Where’s Steve?” he asked, as he bent down to pet her.

“He, uh–” you said without looking up, “he went for another run. He wasn’t very happy.”

“Fucking asshole,” Ransom muttered.

You finally looked at him, shaking your head. “No, he just doesn’t handle it well when he doesn’t know how to fix something.”

Ransom looked at you very seriously. “And if he makes that your problem, he’s a fucking asshole.”

“That's not– That's not what happened. That's not what he's doing.”

He stared at you for a long moment, causing you to look away, uncomfortable with the attention. “Okay,” he finally said with the hint of a sigh. “Well, I’ll be downstairs if you want company or…” He trailed off and shrugged, then left the room.

About an hour later, Steve burst back into the house, yelling into his phone. “Well, where the hell did that money go? There’s no reason for him to be that over-budget. I’ve seen the dailies. –No, you get down there and you get that set back under control. –I can’t, I’m not in LA. There was a family emergency. –Yeah, I know Joseph is still there. He isn’t my only family, is he? Listen, just go do your goddamn job.” With that, he hung up his phone forcefully then stomped upstairs without acknowledging you or Ransom where you were seated on the couch.

You could feel the irritation coming off of Ransom but he didn’t say anything. You were grateful. You had no idea what to make of Steve right now, how to explain him. Or excuse him. The awkward silence was preferable to trying.

Several minutes later, Steve came back down, changed into fresh clothes again. He smiled at you in greeting and if not for the tense set of his shoulders, you would have thought everything was fine. “Hey,” he said, “I just ordered the two of us some food.”

“The two of us?” you asked, looking pointedly at Ransom.

“Oh!” Steve exclaimed and the fucking fake look of surprise on his face made you want to scream. “I didn’t realize he was back. Well, I’m sure it’s fine. It’s his house. He’ll be able to scrounge up something.”

“Steve,” you started. Of all the unbelievably rude–

Your ramp-up to letting your brother have it was cut short by Ransom’s hand on your wrist. “It’s fine,” he said quietly. He looked tired and sad in a way you hated. He looked annoyed too, beyond belief, but underneath all that, you also saw something pleading in his expression. You remembered what he’d said this morning. He wanted you to have a nice day with your brother. So you swallowed down all of your anger and didn’t say anything. But you cataloged everything so you could have a private conversation with Steve later.

“See,” Steve said with a smug grin, “it’s fine. This will be nice. It’s been too long since we’ve gotten to pig out together. I got all your favorites.”

Despite your protests, Ransom made himself scarce. The food arrived shortly after he disappeared and Steve dished it up like nothing was wrong. You sat and ate with him, even though you weren’t much up for conversation, despite his frequent efforts. He never said anything about the news you’d shared that morning. You tried not to be too hurt by that.

As you were finishing up, Ransom quietly reappeared, grabbing something to drink from the fridge. Before he could run back upstairs, you stopped him, feeling awful that he must feel so unwelcome in his own home. “Do you want some food?” you asked, gesturing to the copious leftovers. “I could make you a plate.”

Not waiting for Ransom’s response, Steve cut in. “Is that how it works around here?” he asked, not of you but Ransom. “You’ve got her waiting on you on hand and foot?” his voice teeming with anger.

“Steve,” you hissed, trying to stop him, but he didn’t notice.

“I mean, I get it,” he continued, and there was a sharp edge to his voice that made you very nervous, “you must have thought you hit the jackpot, huh? Some sweet, naive little thing who's too young to really be plugged into the right part of the prep school rumor mill. Hasn't heard about the designer drugs, or the girls, or the parties. All the trouble your family's had to bail you out of. That's why they had to look clear on the other coast for an arrangement for you, huh? They had to go that far to find anyone who didn't already know what a piece of shit you are–”

“STEVEN GRANT ROGERS” you shouted, your stool loudly scraping against the hardwood floor as you stood up. It’d barely been there, you’d barely seen it, the flash of deep hurt on Ransom’s face before he’d covered it up, first with a blank mask, then a sneer that threatened to bring everything down. But you wouldn’t let that happen. You were fucking done. You couldn’t deal with this anymore. “Can you just stop, Steve?! I’m so tired of this shit!” you yelled at him.

“What?” they said in unison, both men facing you now, surprised.

“Lola!” you called out. “Come on! Steve and I are taking you for a walk!” She came racing down the stairs, and you quickly put on her harness and leash. Then you were out the door, trusting that Steve was behind you.

You walked in silence for a few blocks. You could feel him watching you warily, but you didn’t turn around to look at him. You didn’t think you’d ever been so mad at him in your life. It might’ve been the angriest you’d ever been with anyone. Your hands were shaking. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” you finally seethed, stopping so suddenly that he almost ran into you.

“What?” His obliviousness made you even angrier.

You finally turned on him, your face heating up with rage. “You’re such a fucking asshole! You’re fucking everything up!”

He cowed just a bit at your glare but quickly recovered. “What are you talking about?! I came here to help you!”

“Well, you aren’t! I keep telling you that you aren’t but you never fucking listen to me!”

He recoiled a little, and then his eyes went steely. “Really? I never listen to you? I’m the only one who ever listens to you!”

Even if that were true, there was something about the way he said it that really pissed you off. “Fuck you!” you said and charged forward with Lola running to catch up behind you.

A moment later, Steve was on your heels again. “What is going on with you? You’ve been acting off since I got here.”

You spun on your heels to face him. “I’ve been acting off?! I wonder why! You’ve just barged in here like a bull in a china shop, not caring at all about the damage you’re doing!”

“I’m here to help you. I’ve been defending you!”

“Yeah, now! You’re trying to help me, now!”

“What does that mean?”

“Where have you been, Steve? You’ve been MIA the last three months, and now when things might actually get better, now you’re here to ‘defend’ me.”

“Better? This,” he hissed, flinging an arm towards your stomach, “is better?!”

“We had to do it. There was a clause in the contract. You know that!”

He scoffed. “Yeah, and I'm sure he reminded you of that every chance he got, as he fully took advantage of it.”

If he hadn't already set you off, that would be the thing to do it. “Never! Ok? I was the one who pushed it. I was the one who rushed It. Me. Never him.”

That brought Steve up short. “What? Why would you do that?”

“Because of your aunt!”

For a frustratingly long moment, he just gave you a confused look. Then you finally saw the realization dawn on his face. “Oh. Laura.”

“Yes, Laura! That wasn't going to be me. Not ever.”

“I never would have let that happen!”

The laugh that burst out of you at that was cold, hard. “How?” you asked. “You're always saying shit like that, but what, exactly, would you have done?”

He started to answer, but you cut him off quickly, shaking your head.

“This is my life, Steve. Mine. I’m the one who has to actually live it. I don’t need you judging me for how I choose to survive it.”

“You shouldn't have to just survive it,” he said. His tone had suddenly turned sad. It made you even angrier.

“I'll be lucky to survive it,” you growled. “You get to just waltz around, forgetting how this world works whenever it's convenient for you. Meanwhile, I have to claw and fight for just the possibility that I might not turn into my mom.” You took a deep breath. “Ransom, at least, can fucking see that. He's stuck in this mess with me, and I think he might actually want to try. You’re not going to ruin that for me just because he insulted you once at a cocktail party or whatever.” You turned on your heels. You were exhausted. You didn't have the energy for any more of this. “I'm going back. You can come if you want. But you better fucking apologize. He didn't deserve that. No matter what he’s done, he didn’t deserve to be treated that way by you.”

Steve was a few minutes behind you getting back to the house, and he did apologize, although through gritted teeth. The whole time, Ransom’s eyes were on you.

You declared you were going to bed shortly after. It was too early, but you didn't care. You were done with this day.

As you were changing into your sleep clothes, Ransom quietly let himself into his room. You both looked a little startled by your state of undress. Part of you wanted to cover up. It felt so intimate, changing in front of him. But you knew that was silly. He'd already seen so much more of you.

He just stood there for a long moment before he finally spoke. “You yelled at him for me.”

“Yeah,” you said. “He deserved it.”

“But he's your brother.” He almost seemed confused.

The absolutely absurd thought And you're my husband popped into your head unbidden, but thankfully you didn't vocalize it. “That doesn't change the fact that he was wrong.”

Ransom didn’t say anything. Just stood there with a furrowed brow. After too much silence you asked softly, “Did I do something wrong?”

He jolted a little, like he’d been somewhere else, then shook his head. “No, sorry, I just–” He took a breath. “Thank you. I’m not used to people doing things like that for me.”

“Oh.” You didn’t know what to say. You suddenly felt so sad for him. But honestly, the only person who’d ever done anything like this for you had been Steve. And you’d seen Ransom’s family. You knew he’d never had a Steve.

Sparing you from having to figure out a response, Ransom took a deep breath, “Listen,” he started, “about the things he said, I–”

You cut him off with a shake of your head. “We don’t need to talk about that right now. Sometime, maybe, but not right now.” Nothing about his past would change things for you now. You’d still be married to him either way. It was better to just focus on the man he was showing himself to be now.

Ransom took a long moment and looked at you carefully. Finally, he asked, “Did you yell at him for yourself too?”

You nodded, then added a quiet, “I did.”

“Good,” he said, then started to turn around. “I’ll try not to wake you when I come to bed. Good night.”

“Good night,” you whispered.

Right before he left the room, he turned back to add one more thing. “I’ve never seen you as naive. Not for a moment in this whole thing.” Then he was gone, shutting the door behind him.

You just stood there, in the middle of the room, unable to move for a few minutes. Then you took a deep breath and moved into the bathroom. As you finished getting ready for bed, you couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility that maybe you had two people in your corner now.

Your bedroom furniture and other belongings were delivered the next day. The movers set up the heavy furniture and then left everything else to you. As you started to begin unpacking, there was a hesitant knock on the door frame.

Steve stood just outside your now bedroom, looking far less sure than you were used to. “Would you like some help?” he asked softly.

“Sure,” you said, with a little shrug, pushing some boxes in his direction.

The two of you mostly worked in silence, only broken by Steve’s occasional questions of where you wanted your things to go. After a while he finally broke, “Dad’s been piling a ton of new stuff on my plate.” You stopped what you were doing and looked at him, listening. “Responsibilities and projects and– He wants me to take on more of being the face of the studio, too, so lots of parties and dinners and stuff. My schedule has been out of control. I’d think he was getting ready to retire if I didn’t actually know him.” He let out a weak chuckle. When you didn’t react, didn’t join him, he put his hands up in defense. “Not an excuse, just–” he shrugged his shoulders a little helplessly and sighed, “just an explanation, I guess.”

“You told me that I could call you any time of day for any reason. That’s what you said. And then I did, and you were nowhere to be found.”

“I know,” he started, “I–”

You shook your head. It was your turn to talk. “I spent months here feeling more alone than I ever have in my life. I’ve had nothing to do, no one to talk to. I was living with someone I thought I needed to be scared of.” You paused, wondering if that would set Steve off, but he just sat there, waiting for you to continue. Like he was really trying to listen this time. “His family’s been so awful to me, his mom especially. And you know my mom's been no help. She just kept telling me to keep him happy, even though I didn't know how. And I didn't know how to talk to him and he didn't know how to talk to me. But I knew the only way I could even start to feel secure here was if we fulfilled every part of the contract. So,” you put your hand on your stomach self-consciously and shook your head. “And the only person I actually wanted to talk to was you, and you wouldn't pick up your fucking phone. It felt like I was just stuck here while you went back to your life and forgot about me.” Tears spilled past your lashes and you hurried to wipe them away.

Steve’s face, which had grown sadder as you'd been talking, completely crumpled. He crawled from his sitting position across the room to you as fast as he could. “Hey, no,” he said emphatically as soon as he was sitting in front of you. “I think about you all the time. I've missed you so much. I've been so worried about you. I know I haven't done a good job showing it. I'm so sorry I ever made you feel like I didn't care. I–” He let out a deep breath and closed his eyes for just a moment. When he opened them, they had the distinct shine of unshed tears. “Talking to you was really hard. I felt like you weren’t actually telling me anything.” Before you even opened your mouth, Steve put up a hand to stop you from saying anything. “I'm not saying any of this was your fault. I know it's all mine. But I just didn’t know how to get you to talk to me. And if you wouldn't tell me what was wrong, then I couldn't fix it. I felt so useless. Every time we talked I felt so fucking useless. And so sometimes,” he paused like he was bracing himself, “sometimes it was kind of a relief to have the excuse of being busy. To have a reason to not call or text you back right away. I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I was always thinking about you. I was always worried about you. But sometimes I just couldn't fucking talk to you.”

It took your breath away, the intense stab of hurt you felt. “I’ve never needed you to be useful,” you gasped out through your tears. “I just need you to be there for me. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I just need you to be there for me.”

“Shit,” he choked out, his voice so thick. “I know.” He moved forward, then paused, waiting for you to stop him. When you didn’t, he lunged for you, wrapping you in his arms. “I know. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry.”

You just sat like that, holding each other for several minutes. When you finally pulled apart, Steve blinked his eyes clear and said, “I hope you know that I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know,” you said softly, and took a deep breath, “and I forgive you for doing it anyway.”

You watched some of the rigidness leave his shoulders. “Thank you,” he breathed out.

Neither of you said anything, and there was still this tension in the room. You were so tired of it. You just wanted your brother back. You just wanted any normalcy you could possibly get, so you wiped the tears from your eyes and said, “You're right. I wasn't telling you anything. I think because I was afraid that if I did, you wouldn't listen past the first two words and then do something completely wild, like fly all the way across the country to punch Ransom in the face. Ridiculous, right?”

He just stared at you in shock and then clocked the wry smile on your face. He laughed despite himself, then rolled his eyes and groaned. “You're sure he didn’t deserve it?”

You pulled a small pillow from the box beside you and threw it at him, annoyed as he dodged it easily. “Yes, I’m sure, you asshole!” You scowled at him, but you couldn’t quite keep the corners of your mouth from ticking up. The whole room felt lighter now, easier to breathe in. It was such a relief.

“I can’t believe you actually like him now,” Steve whined, his whole face scrunched up in disgust.

You shrugged. “I still don’t really know him. But I’m going to try to. We both are, I hope. I don’t know, I think maybe we could be friends, eventually.” You shook your head in disbelief. “That’s a best-case scenario I never really imagined.”

Steve looked at you thoughtfully, and with a hint of playfulness, said, “Well. I’m never going to like him.” His eyes got a little more serious. “But I’m really happy, and so relieved, that things are getting better for you.”

“Yeah, me too,” you said softly. Then you both went back to unpacking, conversation ebbing in and out much easier now.

Eventually, you heard him let out a long sigh. You turned to look at him as he carefully pulled something from a box. Oh. It was Mr. Bun Bun, your favorite stuffed animal as a kid. You remembered crying as you packed it away to put into storage, Steve sitting next to you, gently rubbing your back.

He slowly took a few steps to the head of your bed and then reverently placed it against your pillows. He just stared at it for a moment and then looked around at the rest of the room. “Wow,” he said, and he sounded so sad, “I guess you really live here now.”

“What do you mean?” you asked. “I've been here for months.”

“Yeah, I know. But I guess,” he shrugged, “I guess it still sort of felt like you'd be back any day. But all your stuff's here now. It just– It feels final.”

You looked around the room as well. It wasn't exactly like your old room in your old apartment but this was the closest thing you'd had to feeling home in months. “Yeah,” you said quietly, not quite sure what to do with these feelings. “I guess it does.”

Steve sat down on your bed and you immediately joined him. He knocked his knee against yours. “I know I keep saying this, but I really do miss you. It’s so weird to not have you in LA anymore. To go to all these parties and not be able to talk to you there. Or to be able to just drop by your apartment when I need to see you. Or when you need to see me.”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “That’s why it’s so important for us to actually keep in touch.”

“I know,” he said, seriously. “I’ll be better at it. I promise.”

You hummed in response and grabbed his hand. Now that everything was out in the open, it was such a relief to just be able to enjoy his closeness, without the tension hanging over both of you.

After a few minutes, he took a deep breath and spoke again. “I’m gonna go home tonight.”

“What? Why?”

“You were right. I’m just in the way here. It’s time for me to go.”

“Ok,” you replied, your voice small. You weren’t sure how to feel about that—the last few days had been so hard and so exhausting. But you’d finally gotten your brother back and now he was leaving again? “Are you sure?”

He jostled you with his shoulder. “Hey,” he said gently with a smile. “I’ll be back. And I’ll even let you invite me next time.”

You smiled back. “Advanced notice?” you asked. “How novel!”

Steve grabbed one of your pillows and hit you with it. You collapsed into giggles, feeling lighter than you had for a long time.

You spent the rest of the day with your brother, which warmed your soul even more than you thought you needed.

You took Lola out for a short walk in the evening, while Steve finished gathering his things before the car would come to pick him up. When you came back in, you found Steve and Ransom locked in a serious conversation. They spoke in hushed tones, leaning across the kitchen island to face each other. There was no yelling. No tensing muscles ready for a fight. All the same, it made you very nervous.

They both quieted as they noticed your presence. That didn’t help to quell your worry at all. “What’s going on here?”

Steve gave you his trademarked boyish grin. “Just getting to know my brother-in-law.”

You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously then cast a concerned glance at Ransom, but he waved you off with a reassuring shake of his head. Steve was still grinning at you like everything was fine. He really could be such an asshole. “Sure. OK,” you said, resigned to whatever weird dynamic was happening in front of you. “Are you all ready?”

“Yup,” Steve nodded, gesturing to where his luggage was waiting by the door. “Car should be here any minute.”

You nodded back, trying to ignore the way your chest tightened. He pulled you into a hug quickly. He just held you for a moment before you heard Ransom clear his throat behind you. “I’ll give you two your privacy.”

You pulled away just enough to see Steve look over your shoulder so he could say, “Remember what we talked about.”

You looked over to Ransom who held Steve’s gaze and firmly said, “Yeah, you too,” then went upstairs.

“The fuck was that?” you asked Steve.

“Nothing, just a conversation we needed to have.”

“Steve,” you sighed in exasperation as you separated yourself from him.

He put up his hands in defense. “It’s fine. I’m playing nice. I promise.”

“Sure.”

He took a step back and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s one more thing I need to say to you. I should have done it yesterday when you first–” he shook his head. “My reaction when you told me about the baby was awful, I know that. And I don’t know if ‘congratulations’ is something you want to hear right now, so I just want to say that I’ll be here for you, whatever you need. And I’ll be here for the baby too. OK? I just really needed to say that.”

You searched his face, his eyes for anything that might warn you that his words were empty, but all you found was sincerity. You took a deep breath. “All I need is for you to pick up your phone.”

“I know,” he nodded quickly. “I will.”

You were so torn between the exhaustion and frustration of the last few days and just how much you'd missed your brother. You pulled him into another hug. “You’re such a jerk,” you said with a hint of fondness.

“I know,” he said, wrapping his arms around you.

“And I love you so much.”

You felt him exhale, any remaining uneasiness bleeding out of him. “I know. I love you too.”

His phone buzzed loudly in his pocket. “Your car is here,” you said sadly, pulling away.

“Hey, that’s ok. It’s not like they’ll leave without me.”

“No,” you shook your head, “you should go. You don’t want to get home too late.”

“Oh, chipmunk,” he sighed. “Ok, one more,” then hugged you again. “I’m so proud of you.”

You pulled back to look him in the eye. “What for?”

He took a moment to gather his words. Finally, he said, looking you right in the eye, “For being so much stronger than you should have to be.”

You had no idea what to say to that so you walked over to the door, Steve right behind you.

At the door, he put one hand on his suitcase, and with the other, he grabbed your hand. “I’ll see you again soon. I promise.”

You nodded, searching for something to say. “Uh, thanks for coming.”

That elicited a big hearty laugh from him. “Yeah, sure.” He squeezed your hand. “Take good care of yourself.”

“You too,” you said, opening the door for him.

He gave you a big smile before he walked out the door. You watched the driver take Steve’s suitcase from him and open the back door for Steve to get in. You stayed in the doorway until the car slowly backed down the driveway and turned onto the road. After closing the door, you still stayed where you were, trying to breathe through the flood of emotions overtaking you. You already missed him so much, yet you were so relieved he was gone. What were you supposed to do with that?

You were finally jolted out of your reverie by the sound of Ransom coming down the stairs, the tinkling of Lola’s collar accompanying him. “Steve’s gone?” he asked as he came off the last step.

When you nodded, you saw the way his shoulders slumped in relief. You held back the apology desperate to crawl out of your mouth. Steve’s actions weren’t your responsibility, you tried so hard to remember. But still, Ransom had lost the comfort of his own home for days. The guilt was there.

He got himself a water out of the fridge and then looked at you carefully. “How are you?”

The reflex to tell him you were fine was strong, but you did your best to resist it and answered honestly. “I don’t really know.”

He smiled a little ruefully. “I have no idea what’s normal for siblings.”

You chuckled lightly. “Neither do I.”

He took several steps towards you and you couldn’t help the way your body swayed in his direction, just a little. “But you’re alright?’

You nodded and said softly, “I will be.”

“Good.” Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the way the fingers on one of his hands drummed against his thigh. “Well. I just wanted to check on you before I went to bed.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, strangely aware of the space between you. “I appreciate it. It was a weird few days, but I think I’m ok. Or I will be.”

“Yeah. Good,” he said again.

You both just stood there for a moment, the air around you oddly charged, until Lola pawed at your leg. “Right. Well, she needs to go out. So. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he said quietly, then turned toward the sink as you went outside with Lola.

When you got back in, there was no sign of Ransom, so you led Lola upstairs to your new bedroom. She immediately hopped onto your bed, wagging her tail wildly. As you looked around, all of your things almost as they’d been in your apartment in LA, those feelings you felt while unpacking your things with Steve grew in you even more. You smiled at your little dog. “Yeah, feels almost like home, doesn’t it, Lola?”

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leafzu · 3 months ago

Text

Yours Truly (Prologue)

Arrange marriage to Kento Nanami was so easy, so simple. You were scared. You've never been in a romantic relationship before and now you're married to someone about whom you knew almost nothing about.

Kento had his guard up you could tell. You were younger than him by four years. Did that bother him?

Did you bother him?

Well it didn't matter anyway. It's not like you're both in love.

But oh how you wished! How you wished to talk to him a little more throughout the day. How you wished to sit closer to him on the couch while he read his book away. How you wished to stand closed to him while cooking in the kitchen together.

He was always so nice to you, Kento. Aiding you in every way possible. Doing simple tasks for you, which you were more than capable of doing yourself. Making small talk with you to ease your uneasiness. He understands this is your first in everything in this relationship.

He's like a fairytale.

He's like a fairytale, you thought, every time he smiled at you. You thought that every time he messages you asking how you were doing, if you ate well. You thought that every time he brought something for you on his way home from work because he thought you might like it.

You loved it every time.

Each day the beat of you heart kept getting faster around him and you found yourself thinking about him even while asleep. What was this feeling? You liked it but you were also afraid of it. So many changes were made in your life through this marriage which scared you. You hated change, but Kento made it easier for you. Made it easy for you to accept these changes. These new feelings you felt scared you because you knew what they were. What they were going to turn into.

It was easy talking to him, telling him about things that make you smile. He only ever asked about you, how things were with you, what did you do all day, if you felt okay. It did make you a bit disappointed because there's so much you wanted to know. So much you wanted to ask, but he seemed to keep up a wall between you.

He took great care of you, no doubt. But is that all there is to your relationship with him, him caring for you and looking after you. You hated that thought. Why was he so close to you yet so far away at the same time.

You wanted to do what lovers did. Go on dates, hold hands, warm hugs, kissing under the moon.

Hot tears streamed down your face. How pathetic. You fell in love with someone who might spend the rest of his life with you but might not share his heart with you.

It hurt so much. Was love always this painful? Why couldn't you tell him how much you loved him?

Because you knew the answers. It scared you so much.

Slowly the distance started to become greater between you two. You talked a little less, only when it was necessary. Laughed a little less, forced one at that. You hated this new version of yourself. It was so vulnerable, so close to breaking.

Loneliness was a feeling you were oh so familiar with and that's exactly what you felt. Lonely with him.

I don't know how this turned out. You can it as a prologue chapter. Yes this is the rewriting of this arranged marriage fic with Nanami Kento. I hope you all like it. I poured my heart into this. I might not be that much active in updating but I will try my best, just need a little push from you all every now and then.

♡ - @brazenliar @erishishigami @ffyona1214 @patpatspatz @eliuriastwo @namikyento @keira80808 @midnightbarnes97 @yukithestar

#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #kento x reader #jjk nanami #nanami kento angst #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami kento #comfort character #nanami is everything #nanami x reader angst #jjk angst #nanami kento fluff #nanami x reader fluff #nanamin

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cherryclitgirl · 2 months ago

Text

The Gods IV

Pairings: Maegor x reader

Author’s note: Hey guys sorry for not updating, I’m working on this one and the Song of fire. Sorry but I had to restart because the app updated while I was typing and erased the work and I’m currently studying for my midterms. Anyway I hope you all have a good Christmas, Hanukkah and Kwanzaa! (and I’ll be updating soon, if you have any suggestions or request feel free to tell me:)

Summery: After the death of her son and Ceryse, the queen’s eye’s began to open to the dangers of the world. She recognizes the danger of being married to Maegor, and that as queen she must do what it necessary for the protection of her children,causing her to distrust the people she once called family. Maegor has too come to bone chilling realization that the young girl he tormented is old enough to betray him at any given moment.

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“Fueled the terror of becoming prey, see quickly we become predators.” - Dr. Volumnia Gaul

There had been a shift after the death of Queen Ceryse Hightower. The court filled the halls of the Red keep with tales about her demise. Many gossiped over her sudden death stating it had been planned. While others argued that the queen had been in poor health for long and she had finally succumbed to the Stranger whilst she slept . Even after her cold body was found by her handmaiden neither Maegor nor Tyanna visited her. The only who had seemed to act had been queen y/n, briefly ordering for the silent sisters to prepare the body. There was no ceremony in her honor, no discussion or public announcement. Her body was ordered to be returned back to Oldtown without further questioning.Soon there was not single trace that remained of Queen Ceryse Hightower.

The council meeting concluded as it would have any other day. It had been quiet and the lords kept their eyes on Maegor and the two queens. Not a brief mention of Ceryse was uttered throughout the entire meeting, leaving no room for future attempts of discussions. Maegor stayed back as everyone began to leave the room, everyone left except for y/n. She turned to look back at Maegor who sat on his chair his expression pensive but resilient.

His eyes did not move from her, he was glad she had stayed. He didn’t hesitate to hold her hand as soon as she was in front of him “I did waver… when I had to marry her” he spoke his voice cold and low “But no with you” he said his large fingers intertwining with hers.

“I do not wish to hear of it ” she spoke softly slightly leaning down . Maegor had not hesitated to take his niece as his wife after he took the throne. Not because she was another thing he had earned, but because she was just like him. He saw it, when she was still a child. When he was still her father’s hand. Her claws digging deep into face of a noble after he made a remark about her sister. Her nails so deep , his face had begun to bleed. It had been the mentioned of her sister that had always triggered something in her. The order she gave to have Lord Alton’s head removed. Now the death of Ceryse. He was no fool he had been in the same room when it happened. Hiding in the walls after Tyanna told him Ceryse she called for y/n.

She was just like him, violent underneath her act of rightouness . Her true colors were beginning to show, if she wished for it she could’ve betrayed him. Yet she didn’t. He was thankful for that. He didn’t trust Tyanna, he had seen Tyanna’s true behavior. When it came to worrying, his mind never directed itself to Tyanna.

“Lord Tymond rides for Kings landing, you summoned him?” He asked his fingers beginning to caress her hand. “I ordered it” she said resting her forehead against his. Maegor closed his eyes letting out an exhausted sigh, he was frustrated with the current events of the kingdoms. The faith militant was dying down, no longer were they allowed to carry weapons. But there was more to do, so much more. “We also need a new master of laws “ her murmured his eyes closing for a moment.

“I’m sure any Lord will be please to take that place” she said her forehead still resting against his. “Would you?” He asked his eyes opening to meet hers.

“Why on Earth would I do that” she scoffed softly pulling her head away his. She leaned back against the table her fingers still intertwined with his. “You’ve used your power to punish Lord Alton, you have been a good advisor, you’ve earned your seat” he told there.

She didn’t regret her decision Lord Alton was to die sooner or later. However it had been the first time she used her power as queen if she became mistress of laws there was no telling what she would do. “Do you know why I took the throne?” Maegor asked his young wife. He felt her body tense beneath her touch, it was sore topic for her. He had killed her two brothers, usurped the throne and forced her to marry him. “You sought power “ she replied.

Maegor rose from his seat and leaned closer to her. His large frame towering over her body “I sought greatness. ” he corrected her “The realm was weak. You know it. They all did” he hissed his hands slowly reaching for her neck. “I did not hesitate to spill blood to create stability“. His hand wrapped around her neck with a gentle grip he was not trying to hurt her, his thumb gently caressed her skin “It was necessary “ there was no remorse in his voice just empty words.

His eyes were focused on hers. Her big beautiful purple eyes. They were filled with many emotions, sadness, anger and bitterness. “Even Viserys?” She asked him.

“Even Viserys” he replied. “Your mother’s defiance could not go unpunished” No matter what he said the murder of her young brother was not justified even if his hand was on her neck, even if she was at his mercy. She tried to move away but the once gentle grip on her neck suddenly tightened.

His expression had not darken nor changed but his grip had “Your father was weak, your brother would was to ” he spoke his harsh yet his expression was still unreadable “My father did not conquer the seven kingdoms just for power…He created justice and stability “ His grip was not meant to hurt her but it could. “You are no fool y/n” he spoke firmly “yet you choose to be”

“You have the will and the ability to make decisions and you’ve showed it” he spoke his voice filled with venom “Sooner or later Jaehaerys will want the iron throne and to secure his claim he will put our children to the sword”He hissed at the girl.

She was well aware if Maegor were to die, her brother would want to reclaim the throne. The lives of her children would be at stake, there would be no one on her side to protect her. If Maegor was gone any protection he gave her would follow . “You prepare our son to rule …or you cling to Jaehaerys for mercy” he spoke his hand letting go of her neck. Queen y/n eyes began to sparkle , but tears did not fall from her eyes. For she knew the cold truth…Maegor was right.

“Will you stand by me when the time comes?” He asked the girl “Or will you cower away like your mother and father”. Both of his hands found their way to her cheeks. She looked into his eyes, She had begged for mercy when her child was murdered, and she would be damned if she pleaded once more. “I will” she said softly.

Maegor hummed and placed a kiss on her lips “Good” her murmured against his soft lips. He pulled away and stared at her for a moment admiring her beauty. As long as he had her by his side there was nothing to worry about, after all they shared more things in common than she realized.

Maegor left her to ponder, she began to realize that she had to ensure not only the protection of her children but her own. She was the queen, the power she had was enough to maintain stability in her own right. But it was not enough to prevent Jaehaerys from putting her children to the blade. He was her young brother, still a child but he was actively hiding. Along with her mother, her brother was surrounded with those that opposed Maegor. Those who would not hesitate to kill her children— to kill her. She would not succumb to that faith, not after what she had endured.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Where is Aella?” Baelon asked his mother as he waltzed into the room his eye landing on Rhaenor. He was very fond of his younger sister Rhaella, he was fond of both of his siblings and the three had a close bond as they were close in age . Y/n often wondered if Baelon had forgotten about Aegon. He was practically a babe when it happened, part of her was relieved that Baelon did not have such horrible memory. “Abandoned your custom already, sweet boy?” His mother smile pausing her embroidery.

Baelon grinned making his way to his mother “Grand maester Benifer allowed me to leave early” he spoke looking for something in his pocket. He took out a small scroll and held up to his mother “He said it’s from Lord Tymond”. Y/n did not recognize the wax stamping on the scroll, but she did recognize that it must be important. Grand maester Benifer always personally delivered news and letters . “I’ll see to it later “ she smile discreetly taking away the scroll.

Baelon happily ran to play with his brother while his mother remained seated. Often she felt as if she were being watched. She looked at the balcony and pondered about stepping out to read the letter. But she would not risk the danger of stepping out in opened. Instead she continued embroidering moons and starts on her daughter’s new dress.

Grand Maester Benifer was concentrated writing on his book. His study smelled of natural herbs mixed with the odor of his experiments. There were large piles of parchments and medical equipment cluttering his room. His head perked up as he heard the door opened. Her grace queen y/n stood holding the small parchment on her hand. It was still unopened and he was almost aware of the reason of her visit.

“Would her grace like to sit down?” He asked gesturing a sofa in his study. She shook her head and walked to his desk her hand clutching the unopened scroll. “Care to explain?” She asked unamused.

Maester Benifer gave her a weak smile exhaling as he began to speak “My apologies your grace, it would’ve have been risky if I had delivered it personally “ he explained “For the contents of the letter come from across the narrow sea”.

Her eyes fell on the small scroll she was well aware of a certain someone who resided across the narrow sea. Someone she had not seen in years “Are you sure?” She asked slowly almost afraid of having misheard.

“A maid from Dragonstone received it…there are those who still are loyal to your mother and brother” He told her hoping the love for her family had not disappeared.

“ Traitors of crown” she spoke to herself as she began to open the seal. She her hands were trembling slightly as she began to unroll the small scroll. Her stomach began to fill with both excitement and fear “It’s from Rhaena” she whispered. She tried to hide a smile but it soon betrayed her as she began to read.

“ y/n… there are many things I wish to say, and not enough room for the amount of words I wish to write . I pray for you to forgive me. I abandoned you on that wretched day, it was not in my best judgment to leave you. I did only what a mother thought was needed. I took my daughters and sought refuge away from Maegor. By doing so I abandoned you, it is something I carry with me all these years…. I pray you read letter and the rest that follow ”

She had stopped reading the letter even before the grand maester spoke. She did not blame her sister for leaving, she had forgiven long before she send the letter. Her sister was protecting her daughters, and y/n would’ve have done the same But writing back to Rhaena would be foolish, anyone who was not currently in the realm acknowledging Maegor as king was enemy of the crown. She would not put her and children at risk by going against Maegor. She simply swallowed the emotion that had build up on her throat and crumbled the scroll.

“Your grace?” The grand maester asked confused as he watched her toss the letter into the fireplace. “Might I ask..are you not pleased with the words of your sister?” He asked the queen.

Y/n shook her head as she watched the paper burn into ashes “I am grand maester, but if that letter were to get in the wrong hands”she said pausing as her hands fiddled with her necklace. Already picturing Maegor’s grip “Our heads would on spikes “ she warned him . The grand maester dropped his gaze, he had been guilty of many crimes. He gave the queen the moon tea, he had searched for allies that were loyal to Jaehaerys. He had given her that letter. “Our sins will haunt us” he whispered.

There were not sins in the eyes of y/n. She had refused to acknowledge her actions as immoral. For all she knew she had no plans, no motive to act against her family. But that was before Maegor warned her. She was allowed to mistrust her brother and he probably shared the same feeling. It was had seen years since she saw him last, he was child when she left and now nearly a man grown. Yet part of her was filled with a feeling that suppressed any other. The motherly rage that grew inside her. It made her distrust everyone, even Rhaena. She would do her duty as queen and ensure Baelon sat on the iron throne. She would put traitors to the sword the way her child was. Morals were set by knights and honorable people. But she was neither a knight nor honorable.

“If any letters arrive, see that they’re delivered to my chambers by Kiara” Y/n said heading to the door. The grand maester nodded unsure if he should speak. He had many regrets but his deepest regret would always be failing to advise his queen before Maegor corrupted her.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Across the narrow sea in the far end of the city of Volantis stood a large house. With large towers and high windows and Ionic columns that held it up. Its white lime stone walls guarding its owners. The night was quiet and peaceful, the only sound came from the fountain in the gardens. In one of the rooms paced a white haired woman, her simple blue dress trailing behind her. She looked at the parchment on her hand, tears swelling in her eyes she clenched it tightly. It would take days before her message arrived. It was not the first nor the last.

However no matter how many letters she sent none were answered. She could only cry and pray for a word back. Anything would sooth her heart. The guilt of knowing she fled with her daughters and left her sister behind ate alive every day. She would picture her face when she left, and cried herself to sleep. Oh her poor sister. She wished back in the Redkeep. Sharing a bedroom with sister, sneaking out down to the kitchens for cakes. Riding their dragons all over the Crownlands. She even missed when her sister dragged out to the rain. She was far away from her sister, far away from her best friend.

She had gotten the courage to finally write to her mother, she tested her luck and wrote to her sister. She knew the message was send discretely and her sister would face no trouble receiving it. Still she worried, would her sister resent her for abandoning her?

- - - - - - - - - - - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- -

The role of mistress of laws was not a task given to anyone. Many lords who spend years around the politics of the realm constantly battled for the position. The last master of laws had been established when her father was still king, he kept records of all sorts. Books and parchments that granted her knowledge of what she needed to know. Still she was not sure why Maegor had appointed her.

“Countless shelves filled with the knowledge of men” A voice spoke. Y/n looked up to see Tyanna standing by the door looking into the small study “Mayhaps the knowledge you accumulate will help Maegor keep some stability “ she said in a slight confident tone.

“Mayhaps” y/n said returning her gaze to a scroll dated during her grandsire’s reign.

“It seems like an eternity ago Aegon conquered the seven kingdoms and created his small council-“ Tyanna began but quickly stopped as she noticed y/n’s bored look. “Have you heard the story one too many times?” She smirked

“He told me the story” she corrected her, she seen the great conqueror alive. He was her grandsire, she once sat on his lap while he sat the iron throne. “I am not lost with the story, I have memorized it whole” she muttered.

“Then you understand the significance of this position? “ Tyanna raised an eyebrow “you understand there is more to the realm. The realm is difficult and to truly know it…..it’s to truly experience it.”

Y/n looked up to Tyanna for a moment watching her careful she stood carefree by the door “You speak to me as if I am new to Westeros and its laws…… I am not…you are” she cringed

Tyanna’s expression faltered for a moment but quickly smile as she left the comfort of the door “I came into this strange country as nothing but a mistress, soon a wife and now a queen, the quick change did not bestowed me with sudden knowledge “ she spoke her smile vanishing once she was close enough to y/n. The only barrier between them being a wooden desk and a silent hatred for one another.

“ Knowledge?” She asked Tynna her cold gaze meeting hers “One can read many books, listen to many lectures but one cannot fully grasp the harsh reality…Power is what keeps the realm from tearing itself. Had Aegon not conquered the kingdoms men would’ve waged war with one another. “ she told the pentosi woman.

“What is your purpose? By all right the Iron throne is yours and your sister’s…yet you’ve served Maegor and soon your son…I doubt you will have much power” Tynna spoke her fingers pressed against the desk.

“Power resides where men believe it resides”. The young queen told Tyanna. “If I have enough power..then power will be power.” Tyanna hummed and looked at the girl her expression slightly changed “How will you use that power exactly?” Tyanna questioned “Kill all those who deny the throne to your son? Avenge the death of Aegon? Or will you see this country burn for your own pleasure?”

Queen y/n simply shrugged at the her questions “Any mother would see the world burn for her children “

Tyanna scoffed slightly “What stops you from seeking revenge, ending your brother to secure Baelon’s place on the throne”

Tyanna never failed to irritate her and her constant bothering deeply annoyed her “I would be a fool to kill an innocent, but I would be a fool if I didn’t secure my son’s claim”

“Ceryse is gone, we have a mutual goal and mutuals must work together “ Tyanna proposed

“I would also be foolish to trust you” she replied her response as cold as her gaze. Tyanna sneered at her comment but deep down she knew the girl had the right to distrust her. “We kept our distance you and I” Tyanna noted as she moved away from the desk “If there was a need for us to stand together as the storm approaches…it would be now” Tyanna left but her presence still lingered

Y/n knew the conversation would be resurface again, she was no fool when it came to playing Tyanna’s games But for now she would be playing alone, as queen y/n had notice both Tyanna and Maegor were cautious and paranoid. Silently worrying and insinuating something she could not yet realize. Both of them had been correct in their statements, the throne was hers by right, and to become king Jaehaerys would have to but get rid of any active threats. She had no desire for the throne however she knew the realm needed a good monarch. She had three children and despite Baelon being the oldest, the three of them would be shaped into the crown. She would have her son on the iron throne, she would protect her children no matter the cost.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Queen y/n stopped reading letter before she tearing up the parchment. It was the fourteenth letter her sister had sent. All the same, all expressed their regrets over the last years. She would be lying if she said the first letter made her happy. Each letter had been thrown into the fire moments after reading them. Her heart was not cold, or broken. It was busy. She stood up from her seat and threw the letter into the fireplace. After the death of Ceryse there had been an obvious shift her attitude towards those around her. She had appointed new council members and even punished certain members of the court. Her visits to the small council were frequent and she became an ambitious member. She worked in the shadows- as some would call it scraping for power and clinging to whatever was beneficial.

—————————————————————————

“A marriage between Prince Rhaenor and my youngest granddaughter would strengthen the bond between both houses “ Lord Daemon suggested. The topic of marriage was not always discussed during the council meetings. Today was among the rare occasions where the topic was debated. “The queen is not only my niece but a daughter to me, having her son marry into my family would follow our traditions “ his pathetic attempts did not surprised the council. Y/n ignored her uncle, he never spoke to her and if he did it was to gain favor.

“We should consider foreign strength “ Tyanna said. “I believe marrying into a powerful family from the one of the free cities will send a good message “ she said eyeing Maegor.

“Are you suggesting Pentos?” Questioned y/n. She was leaned back on the chair her body physically in the meeting but her mind somewhere else. She had already opposed the betrothal between Aella and Baelon. Tyanna by no means came from a wealthy family, y/n never even bother to learn the story of how she met Maegor. She knew nothing about the woman and it only added to the hatred and suspicion that already lingered. If Tyanna suggested Rhaenor should be betrothed to a family from Pentos then Tyanna would choose her own kin.

“Over the past year and a half …much has happened “ Tyanna said “and…over the past months I have grown fond of the children..I might not be their mother but I wish to give when what is best “ she said calmly her eyes looking around the rest of the members. She sought their favor and Maegor was no fool at detecting it. Tyanna held no lover for any of his children but he kept quiet and simply watched as the situation unfolded. Y/n bit the inside of her cheek. Her children were hers and hers only and Tyanna had tried to kill them, now she wished to take her son Rhaenor, the only one that still looked like Aegon. Tynna had her gaze on everyone but y/n , she was well aware of her actions and she knew it infuriated Queen y/n…but she held to remorse.

Before: No matter how often she paced around with Rhaenor he simply cried even more. He would cry in her arms , the arms of the wet nurse, and in the arms of the maids. She was running out solutions and was scared her son cry for all day. She did not have a clue what it took to be a mother, she believed she would’ve already learned as this was her third child yet it was more difficult. Rhaenor was fussy and disliked many things unlike Aegon and Baelon who were often calm. Her soothing did not seem to calm him, the fact that she was pregnant yet again only filled her with overwhelming dread.

When Rhaenor was barely four moons old Maegor threw a large feast for her seventeen name day. The day was neither joyous nor pleasant for her. She simply remained seated at the royal table while she watched nobles drink and dance in her honor. They seem to enjoy the day more than she did, she did not care if they toasted her name and thanked the old gods and the new for granting king with three healthy male babes. She knew how the celebration would end.

Without fail Maegor took her to his chambers, he did want he could and what he wanted. She was still as he worked on top of her. His massive body fully covering her as he pleased himself. She never enjoyed it and it never brought her any pleasure. She felt dead while he felt alive.

Soon the poor girl became pregnant with yet another child.There she stood comforting her son while she had a small growing bump beneath her gown. She swallowed the knot on her throat , there were times where she wished to be back in the arms of her mother. But the feeling would vanish when she saw her children, she now the mother and her children needed their mother just as much as she needed hers.

“Having Pentos, one of the richest cities as allies…would send a message to a certain resident in Volantis” Tyanna spoke finally gazing at y/n. “I have chosen the family, one that is both beneficial and trusting” she finished.

Maegor exhaled rubbing his temple, the constant growing headaches plague his body. He felt his body beginning to feeble at times. The crown had enemies and as long as they lived the headaches will remain. He couldn’t care less about marriage proposals but he did found Tyanna attempts interesting as he could tell his wife was not pleased.

“The king and I will discuss it” Queen y/n spoke firmly but calming. She stopped leaning against the chair at once when Volantis was named and had visibly irritated expression .

“The queen is right” Daemon Velaryon spoke out “Let us not rush into marriages…the children are young and there is enough time ahead”. He spoke against Tyanna once his plans were made to compete with hers.

“Let us be finish then” Y/n said raising up from her seat, the rest of the lords followed each of them ready to leave the small council when Tyanna spoke “We are two queens” she declared her voice sending the lords back into their seats. Queen y/n was the only who still stood not interested in Tyanna’s words“Under one house..just like Aegon the conqueror and his two queens .”

Maegor watched his favorite wife who once was too frighten to look at him, stand against his other wife. He was fully aware that she had been young and he doubted if she would become a dutiful wife but as the years went by she was now a woman grown of twenty, advising the council and him. It made him realize she could handle the proposals, a high contrast to when she first joined the small council, were she would quietly sit and listen. “Targaryen Queens under the Targaryen house” Y/n replied reminding Tyanna she was neither high born nor Targaryen but simply Tyanna from Pentos. She turn her attention to Maegor who was trying to sooth his headache while paying attention to the banter .

“You must rest now, husband “ Queen y/n told Maegor as she moved to his side completely disregarding Tyanna’s words. The council members left the room leaving Tyanna alone, for the past half year she felt her power slipping away. Although the court did not deny her the tittle of Queen, it was y/n who they considered the true wife of Maegor. They were both from old Valyria and had been married under the faith of the seven with approval of the high septon, she had given him Targaryen children and was influential with both the common folk and the nobles. What she felt were the same feelings Ceryse once did . She held no true power except for being the mistress of whispers but even that seemed to vanish.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“You are no fool, husband “ Y/n spoke her arm wrapped around Maegor’s as they walked side my side back to his chamber. Each noble passing near by bowed their heads respectfully, it was a rare sight to see couple together and it only fueled to their support for the Queen. “You see right through her yet you refuse to speak against her ridiculous proposals! ” She scoffed softly. “She is desperate” she said looking at her husband.

Maegor’s head pounded with a throbbing pain he was in no mood to discuss with his wife about marriages “What would have me do?” He asked pausing his steps. He would let her to decide the faith of the proposal, one which he truly did not care for.

She looked at him and shook her head “To not marry my son off to one of her — courtesans” she said bluntly. She never bit her tongue in matters that included her children. Maegor only sighed as they continued walking, he never saw Tyanna as wife. She was tavern dancer that learned the secrets of many wealthy individuals and he was in need of someone with that availability . He was fully aware of her ambition, she never made an effort to hide it from him. She had failed to do many things such as giving a child and she lacked y/n’s dutiful nature. He could agree with his wife that Tyanna’s choice was not the best.

He could not deny that his niece was a dutiful wife. She cared for both him and her children. In his mind that made her vulnerable, yet when their son was murdered she sought sanctuary in him. She had searched for him and only him.

Though Maegor had a different perspective on how his young wife viewed him. He lacked the ability to distinguish her love and duty. For she loved her husband and cared for him. But she was not in love with him.

————————————————————————

“I do not milk of the poppy” He said firmly. He laid on the bed his head on her lap as she sooth his headache. The night was dark and the castle walls trapped the cold air. The soft candle light barely illuminated the room creating comfort for the two of them. He had summoned her to his chambers not for pleasure but for company.

“I was told I would never have children” Maegor told her, his eyes focused on the ceiling above him “That was I damned with a rotten seed…”. He closed his eyes picturing the day the high septon dammed him for marrying Alys. He kept the fear of never having an heir buried deep in his heart. “I no longer believe that ” he spoke his eyes returning to the ceiling.

There was a moment of silence between the two of them. The only noise being the cracking of the fire burning into the wood logs and the soft whispers of the wind.

“I dreamt once “ Y/n spoke softly She dreamt, a lot and as she grew older the dreams became clear and frequent but not clear enough to warn her about her future. The first dream she ever experienced happened long before her father became king. The wolf man, she called it. The body of a man but the head of wolf. Her sister Rhaena had been disturbed when she walked into her sister day dreaming, her eyes simply staring at the wall. Her second dream was the dream of the man with a golden hand cursed to love his match, that dream had been short but clear and would come soon, but not during her time.

“Of four dragon eggs and their mother…the loss of one fueled a fire within her…… so strong the three remaining eggs hatched…but it was in her story to live in sorrow …until only a single one remained “. Her soft fingers gently massaging the side of his head providing him with comfort.

“Our children?” Maegor asked his wife. The dream followed the order of their children… four babes and their mother and only three remained. He did not wish for the dream to become reality.

She shook her head “No” she spoke softly “It’s all a story” her voice creating calmness in the room “And you’re but one part in it”. His wife’s words send an uncomfortable feeling down his neck and body. Although he was glad her dream did not apply to their children, he did find her ability induring and chilling.

She had lived in misery for years in his grasp. He often wondered how she found a new strength after the death of their son. Her growth was no longer a duty but a need. She had her own ambition , she would put her son on the iron throne not because it was his birthright but she wanted it. To him her motives were clear, she would soon rather burn House Targaryen than have her children slaughtered by her brother. She would take the throne even if she had to spill her own blood. She would decide who sat on it and it would not be her brother.. the history books will always remember her. Her tragic life abandoned and doomed by the gods .

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - -- - - -- - - -

She stood overlooking the training yard watching Baelon train. He was seven summers old almost eight and had begun his sword training. He sparred against young squires and sometimes Maegor would personally instruct him. His resemble to his brother Aegon had faded. He has his own looks that imitated his father’s. Had Aegon lived past the age of four mayhaps he too would’ve look like Maegor.

“You still mourn Aegon” Tyanna’s voice spoke as she stood next to y/n. It has been nearly four year since the death of Aegon and even when the days passed and the new season began to emerge ,she still dreamt of her son. He wondered if Bealon remembered his brother or if he simply believed it had all been a dream. However she never failed to talk about her son , afraid her children will grow thinking he never existed.

“It’s a condition of motherhood” y/n replied her eyes not moving away from Baelon. She loved her children dearly and no one denied it. Unfortunately for the past year and so she had began to show her true colors at court, she was the queen consort, what little power she had she made sure to use it all.

“Come the good years Baelon will become king wear his father’s crown and rule Westeros “ Tyanna said. Y/n had spend the days shaping her children to wear the crown , some would say she loved her children but her love did not stop her from using her children as pawns. “Aegon will simply be washed into the history books and be forgotten by most”

“He will be a good king” Y/n spoke “A decent king” the firmness in her voice lingering for a little longer. “Aegon’s memory will die when I die”. There was acceptance in her words ,she knew better than anyone that it was only she who kept her son’s memory alive.

“He will soon ride for the Dorne “ Tyanna said referring to Maegor who had decided his presence is needed to at marches to put an end to the dispute between the stormlands and Dorne.

Y/n hummed in response , her husband always decided his presence was needed where there was conflict “He will leave you as regent?” She asked Tyanna. Having Tyanna as regent meant what ever power y/n looked for Tyanna would have it. Maegor did not trust the Hand of the king to have him as regent. Tyanna scoffed as if y/n had insulted her “These people do not consider me their queen, even if he left me as regent there would be anything put respect “ the hostility towards her position was noticed by both Maegor and y/n.

Y/n was able to hide her smile at Tyanna’s discomfort mayhaps Maegor would leave old Lord Edwell Celtigar as his regent. It would less of a challenge for her.

“He plans to remarry” Tyanna’s voice caused her relief to vanish. She knew well that Tyanna was no content with his wishes, he plan to marry widowed woman with children. The windows of the man he killed, whose children were the future lords of their fathers land. Having them close allowed him to have control over any potential threats and traitors. She knew of his future two wives, Jeyne Westerling and Elinor Costayne women who she felt pity for but not enough to welcome them with open arms, as no women should be punished in such cruel way. Rhaena’s letter became less frequent even though she never wrote back she knew the reason why her sister no longer wrote to her…she would soon see her.

“I know” y/n replied not fazed by Tyanna’s news . She had gained what little power she currently had and she would grasp to it even if she had remove obstacles. Seeing her carefree demeanor made Tyanna realize mayhaps she too should care less. “He’ll grow into a senile man paranoid of his own shadow should you join him as well ?” Y/n faced Tyanna.

Something beneath Tyanna seemed to tingle with eagerness. She had hatred towards her and y/n felt the same way. But Tyanna could not ignore the fact that she was beautiful, she had constantly lied to herself but she knew the truth. She could plot against y/n and curse her with misfortune…and it would all be just to get her attention. She looked at her plump lips..so soft and bitable, no wonder Maegor could not keep his hands off- Tyanna thought.

“I follow our husband where ever he wishes..but not that extend “ Tyanna joked nervously. She was never the flustered type, the way y/n tilted made her eagerness throb even more. “ our? Husband? “ Y/n scoffed in disbelief. Tyanna had never shared Maegor and made it clear Maegor was only her’s. She no longer considers me competition - Y/n thought as she gave Tyanna a not so subtle eyeroll.

Tyanna swallowed and looked back the training yard. It had been so long since Maegor bedded her and the feeling of pleasure was beginning to become foreign to her, she found herself missing the nights she spend with Alys, and now she yearned for y/n’s touch. “We will soon share him with multiple women, there is no mine or yours” Tyanna said. Without a word she left y/n’s side her steps becoming quicker the further she was from her.

Puzzled y/n watched her leave. Normally Tyanna would’ve pushed her buttons with a witty comment or tried to infuriate her. But she simply left without another word, holding the skirt of her dress to walk faster.

She looked at her ring for a moment, there would be time where either Tyanna would betray her or she would betray Tyanna. There was no probability that she would ally herself with Tyanna, there could be only be one queen when Maegor died and it would be her.

There was a sudden change in the training yard as chaos erupted ,guards and squires shouted and scrambled to separate a quarrel between two people. Y/n could barely see who was fighting until she looked closer and she saw silver hair. Ser Olyver was pulling Baelon who had his hands deep into a squires face, digging into his eyes so hard blood was dripping from the squire’s face. Baelon’s grip on the poor squires was so tight Ser Olyver struggled to get him off. “SAY IT AGAIN!” Baelon shouted as was dragged away from the bleeding boy “SAY IT AGAIN!”

It took several tries but Ser Olyver finally managed to get Baelon off the squire. He pushed the prince back shoving him into the dirt. The poor squire laid on the ground bruised and bloody barely moving. A large pool of blood dripping from his eyes. The guards were unsure what to do with the squire , afraid that if they touched the body they would be punished by the king. The boy was older and taller than Baelon. A few years older than him and somehow the squire had fallen. Albeit the boy had no choice as he would serve a severe punishment if he fought back. “Gods be good” Ser Olyver gasped as he knelt down by the squire, his eyes bloody and scratched. Bealon had dug his fingers so deep into the boys the skin was peelings off. Ser Olyver could not tell if the boy was alive , the boy’s eyes they were tightly closed dripping with blood. He looked back at Baelon who was still in the ground his hands were bloody and dirty, his face filled with hatred while clutching something on his fist.

“Come on Lad” Said Ser Olyver his voice rough and stern. Ser Olyver pulled him off the ground by the back of his collar. He pushed him forward almost knocking him off his feet. No King’s guard would have the guts to treat the prince in such way, but Ser Olyver had seen Aeny’s children grow up and gained the experience of a second father…and more of grandsire to Baelon and his siblings.

When Baelon was dragged off to his mother he had a sour expression refusing to look from the ground. He was afraid to face his mother, he had never seen her angry or disappointed in his actions. He was still clutching something so he carefully hid his fist.

“See him to his chambers “ Queen y/n ordered a standing King’s guard. She was furious and frustrated and unable to stand by Baelon any longer. She made her way down the to training yard where the squire laid. She was unsure if the boy was dead, his eyes were unrecognizable making it difficult for her determine if they were even opened. She felt nauseous watching the boy twitch in pain, her stomach twisting and her throat tightening in disgust.

“Why is he still here?” She hissed at Ser Olyver “Help the boy!” She ordered a guard who without another word gestured for help.

“We thought the king might want to see the boy” Ser Olyver explained not being able to look away from the body.

“He has suffered enough” she said covering her mouth with her hand. “Who was he?” She asked her gaze following the boy as he was carried off.

“The son of a steward squiring for Ser Dylan Farman” Ser Olyver told her. The squire was a simple boy working to earn his knighthood, a something many dreamed of but not many achieved. The boys mother would see her son return a walking dead man. A blind man cursed by a spoiled prince. “No amount of gold will enough for that boys mother” y/n said solemnly.

She looked at ser Olyver for a moment, she could let the boy heal and return home to his mother, but the current state of the boy would not allow it. She considered giving the order to have the boy put out of his misery it would be a quick clean death with no struggle.

“Fetch the grand maester “ she ordered as she made her way out of the training yard. The boy was would return to his mother, it was not in her heart to take the life of a woman’s child, her heart will not allow it.

Baelon sat on his bed his hands stained with blood, his eyes looking at the ground with anger and hatred. He knew his mother would soon come through the door, yell at him for the first time. He knew the consequences of what he had done, but he would be dishonest if he claimed he would not do it again. He loved his mother and did not wish to disappoint her, but there were certain things he must do. Things he could get away with thanks to his father. He knew he would not face punishment. But his father could no save him from his mother’s wrath.

The doors of his chamber opened, he slowly rose his gaze to see her standing with a cold hard gaze. “The boy….will be a blind man ” she her tone calm but firm.

“I didn’t mean to make him blind” Baelon murmured trying his best to keep his gaze on his mother. He had acted out of anger but he knew he wanted to hurt the boy, not matter how severe the result was. Baelon was not violent, his mother had made sure of it. But his feelings were not easily sooth by the love his mother granted him.

“You think your father will forever let you walk free with no punishment?” She asked him. He didn’t respond which earned him a scoffed “Your father won’t always be here, you know that ” she told him walking to his bed.

“I will be king” Baelon said his voice firm and defiant. “When father dies I will be king”

“You think the realm will accept a cruel arrogant king?” She scoffed “As we-as I see it , you will ascend the iron throne” she said “There are other’s who will put their claim forward, and your very life…the life of your brother and sister could be forfeit, Jaehaerys will not hesitate to get rid of those who oppose his succession“.

“It is my birthright-“ her hand shot out and gripped his face so tightly he winced as he felt her nails dig into his face “your birthright! “ she snapped “Will not matter!. Simply by being HIS son you are in danger! ” she hissed her nails digging on his cheeks tightly sending a stinging pain, her grip did not falter causing his eyes to water “your father did not care about my brother’s birthright! He usurped the throne, Jaehaerys will not care either , ” her voice filled with venom angry and bitter. It had been the first time Baelon had seen rage in his mother’s eyes, she was angry at him, she was hurting him. He winced trying to protest but his mother let go of his face “That did not compare to the pain you inflicted upon that boy” she exhaled.

“You will send your regrets, fall to your knees and beg the boy’s for forgiveness “ She scolded. “I will not beg-“ Yet again Baelon was silenced by his mother with a gentle but slightly firm slap that caught him off guard. “Do I make myself clear ? Or do you wish for me to slap you again?” Baelon shook his head and held his cheek.

“Wash up, your father wishes for us to have supper together “ she said firmly and left without a word.

No one was sure what the squire had said to the prince that caused such a chaotic response. Some believed the squire had offended the young prince, but no squire would be brave enough to offend the heir to the iron throne. Other’s said Baelon had seen the boy wearing an emblem of the faith of the seven. Leading to Prince Baelon to attack the young boy over his bitterness towards the faith. The story changed often but the history books remembered the incident as the first act of cruelty in the hands of Baelon the bitter.

Baelon knew it would not the last time his mother would lay a hand on his face. But as he took out a small seven pointed star pin from his pocket he silently vowed to avenge the death of his brother. His mother would have to understand even if it created a drift between them. He stared at the silver pin on his stained hand, he will punish those who wronged the crown, Rhaenor will be his hand and Aella his queen. They would rule together as his mother preordained.

A maid entered his chamber will a water bowl and rags she bowed her head at the young prince before speaking “My prince, the queen has requested for you to tend your own wounds”. Baelon simply nodded as he watched the maid place the bowl on the table, he said nothing nor protested against his mother’s orders. The maids and guards had seen him grow up and most likely heard what he had done. Mayhaps his mother was right…the people will se him differently.

Before : With help of Dowager queen Visenya, y/n made her way into the wheelhouse. To the surprise of both of Tyanna and Ceryse the young girl would attend the hunt. “You should be coming along? It is not safe “ Ceryse warned y/n who sat down with the help of a maid. Y/n gave a half smile before holding her large bump “His grace the king wished for me to attend our son’s Name day celebrations “ she replied. It was not his wish, it was his command for her to attend the joint Name days of both Aegon and Baelon. He ignored the warnings of the maester yet again and successfully impregnated his young wife the girl was pregnant shortly after birthing Rhaenor “The grandmaester says nature should do good for her and the babe” Visenya added gesturing for another pillow to be added for y/n.

Ceryse had hope y/n remained in Dragon stone during the duration of her pregnancy. She resented the girl for getting in the way of her planned bonding with Aegon and Baelon . Yet again the girl was pregnant with her fourth child, the girl would have her fourth child before the age of twenty. The thought became bitter in Ceryse’s mind as she watched Visenya take Aegon from his wet nurse.

“The Mother is quite the generous” Ceryse smile examining the large pump on the girl.

“Is she?” Tyanna snickered eyeing Ceryse with a subtle mockery.

“My grand-niece has given my son healthy babes so effortlessly - while others have struggle and failed miserably “ Visenya said proudly keeping a sharp look on both Tyanna and Cersye. “Even if she is at the age when most girls are enjoying their early stages of womanhood” she said placing a kiss on Aegon’s head, she acknowledged what her son did to y/n. The constant pregnancies made difficult to remember a time where y/n was not pregnant. It was concerning to many members of the court. Even if the young queen has already bled and turned into a woman, in the eyes of many it had she had awfully young and she gave birth to Aegon.

“The days are not easy…but in no time the babe is born” y/n replied carefully holding onto the seat as the wheelhouse drove through hard paths. “Even if it’s a struggle” she said softly avoiding the pity gazes of the maids who were among many who opposed the constant pregnancies, strongly believing it would be the death of young girl.

The carriage reminded silent expect for the noises of both Aegon and Baelon. Rhaenor still being a babe remained in the Redkeep. Despite having wet nurses it was y/n who was slowly learning the ways of being a mother.

The King’s woods appeared to be a small village with the amount of tents and stands set up for the nobles. Jousting and combat arenas were installed for the two princes. Dancing and drinking, large tables with feasts laid out for Maegor’s court. Great houses traveled to celebrate the occasion, all but Baratheon who simply granted both princes with large piles of gifts. The Targaryen colors were displayed proudly and the people gathered as the wheel houses came to a halt. Cheers were received by Maegor who had ridden Balerion despite being such a short flight they watched as he dismounted his dragon with ease. The large beast towering over the camp that now appeared insignificantly smaller.

Ceryse stood up ready to open the door of the wheelhouse when Visenya spoke “The princes should go first along with their mother and I”. Ceryse’s smile faltered as she had planned to exit the wheelhouse with Aegon. She simply nodded and watched as Visenya and the maids help y/n leave her seat.

“Your attempts are no longer admirable but pathetic “ Tyanna whispered whisper to Ceryse as loud clapping erupted once queen y/n and Visenya stepped out of the wheel house. Maegor smile at his mother as he took Aegon and Baelon from her arms. His large stature guarding his sons in his arms. He named his first born son after his father, and his second son after his dragon. He displayed them both with pride, pride in his accomplishment when it came to defying the gods.

“Here is to the princes of the realm!” Lord Daemon Velaryon toasted as he rose his large goblet of wine. Soon the rest of the nobles followed imitating the toast. Daemon Velaryon was a proud man, having he niece married to the king only added to his ego and did not waste his time parading the topic around.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The room was lit with candles and the fire that granted them warmth. The large oak table filled with variations of foods for the royal family. At the head of the table sat Maegor and Baelon by his side. Rhaenor only a few months younger than Baelon sat on the opposite side drumming his fingers with a slightly bored expression. The doors opened and queen y/n with her daughter Rhaella by her side. She was a happy child with her mother’s eyes, she was often seen day dreaming just like her mother and had taken an interest at the night sky.

Queen y/n noticed there were only fives chairs in the room , Tyanna would not be attending the supper. There were rare occasions when Maegor wished for his family to be together and enjoy supper, in some past occasions even Visenya would attend. “As it should be from now on, a united house under one roof” Maegor said waiting for his wife to take a seat on the opposite side next to him.

“I did not take you for a man who upholds his family values “ she replied dark red dress trailing along with her as she sat next to him. Maegor smirked admiring his youthful wife “Certain things make a man change his mind” he said taking her hand.

“How dreadful it is to know you ride for the marches soon” She said sarcastically as he kissed her knuckles. “You will see it soon wife , I plan to have Dorne on its knee before the new moon” he said proudly.

“Unbent, unbowed , unbroken “ she replied “You fail to remember certain places are better as foes than allies”. Aegon the conqueror himself had failed to conquer Dorne and Maegor would be defeated even if he tried.

“I am well aware of their words, what are words when fire and blood rains upon them” he said mockingly. “I will also take Baelon” he said smiling at his son

“That is out of the question “ Queen y/n said frowning “He’s too young, I will not let him ride to a battle he did not start.”

“I’m not sending the boy to die , he’s my squire and he will learn when he’s in the battle ground” Maegor said firmly “If needed he will ride along with me atop of Balerion “ He said proudly.

“You’re keen to have our son rain fire upon the innocent “ Y/n sighed. “Innocent?” Maegor laughed “Those people are mongrels “ he said in disgust “Baelon has proven himself to be a notable sword mans despite young” he said referring to the accident from earlier.

“Do not congratulate him- he blinded a man” y/n disagreed “But that does not mean he should go to battle”

Baelon who had been quiet finally spoke “I wish to fight, earning my knight hood means a great deal to me” he said his voice betraying his eagerness.

“It’s settled” Maegor said satisfied. Y/n she could no longer protest and ultimately decided to not.

“What about us?” Aella asked her father “you will remain in Red keep” he said observing his wife “under the care of my chosen regent, whilst Rhaenor squires for Lord Edwell and learns what it takes to be hand of the king “ his eyes then landing on his son. “Won’t you lad?” He asked his son. Rhaenor nodded proudly content with his father’s choice. “I will” he grinned

The dinner continued with the occasional chatter and bantering of Aella and Rhaenor, all y/n could think about was what she would do during her husbands absence, he would leave Tyanna and mayhaps return to a dead wife and a sole queen until he married Jeyne Westerling and Elionor Costayne. The thought of no longer dealing with Tyanna was refreshing, she could send Maegor’s wife to Dragonstone whilst she dealt with the succession. Everything would go her way, for once.

She was about to leave the room after dinner concluded when she felt his hands on her waist. It irked her when she felt his touch “Eager , when you have two brides riding for King’s landing” she muttered taking his large hands off her.

“I did not take you for a the jealous wife” he sneered his firm not letting go off her as he sank his face in the crook of her neck “I did not waver when it came to marrying you - to think I will replace you with them is foolish..even for you” he said turning her around to face him.

“Do as you wish” she said dryly“I have done my duty “ she hissed as his hand gripped her chin “you are a hateful woman, our son does not only take after me but you as well” he taunted her. Deep down she knew she was also filled with bitterness something she tried to hide but always lingered.

“You will receive Lady Jeyne and Lady Elinor in my absence “ he told her his hand still firmly gripping her face. “You will do so with no complaint. If you wish to remain in your position , you will do as I tell you”

She clenched her jaw and nodded “As you wish it”. Over my dead body- she thought to herself, when Maegor left the city gates things would change and she would be sure of it.

————————————————————————

Maegor rose from his seat while the council members watched. “You are all well aware of my soon departure “ he spoke his voice rough and cold. “The conflict at the marches will be resolved and soon Dorne will join us” he scanned the room for anyone who wished to speak but all sat quietly listening.

“Lord Edwell” he turned to the hand of the king. The old lord looked vigilant waiting for the king to speak. “Your grace?” He replied clearing his throat. He was visibly nervous as he felt Maegor cold glare on him.

“You will council my son, Rhaenor will be the future hand of Baelon” he instructed to the old lord. “It is my honor your grace, to instruct the prince “ The old man bowed his head.

“It should be” Maegor replied looking at his ring before speaking again “My dear lady wife, who has stood by me for as long as I have been king” he spoke his gaze still on his ring.

Tyanna seemed more relaxed at his comment, he had acknowledged her and her devotion to him. Something she never expected but always craved. After years at his service he would name her regent and the court would deal it with.

“Only a cunning woman as her should be named regent” his voice filled with admiration as his eyes landed on her. The eyes in the room landed on her as well. It had been expected and unexpected. The once tense room seemed relaxed, the members could not oppose his choice. He locked eyes with her and gave her a nod of approval. He did not considered anyone else as regent, the choice there the whole time. His mind never changed.

“Y/n” he spoke firmly pulling his chair so she could sit. She will sit in judgment and rule for him during his absence. As she took her seat the head of the table she held her gaze. Everything had fallen in order as she had hoped, even better than she had. As regent she no longer needed to grasp for power. It had been delivered to her by her king himself.

Tyanna face was hard only watching as Maegor whispered something to y/n. Having the woman she hated as regent was worse than having Lord Edwell, she will cling for mercy something she knew y/n no longer had for those who wronged her. Tyanna had wrong her as much as Maegor had and in her heart she knew she would not be spared.

Tymond Lannister and Daemon Velaryon gave each other knowing glances. Daemon was her uncle and now a trusted ally, only adding to the desperation of being at the high table of nobles. Tymond was a friend, she had appointed him herself and he supported her son’s claim, with her as regent they need not to worry about Maegor.

Only Grand maester Benifer, her longest ally who knew having her a regent meant she had all the power. Something she had searched for since the death of he son, only the gods knew what y/n would do once Maegor left.

The horses and men were ready and so was Baelon, his armor shone under the sun light and clanked as he walked. Dark sister tightly stripped on his waist, his father had given him the sword as a name day gift ,he approached her mother eh “I’m sorry” he spoke quietly. Long it had been since his outburst and was unsure if his mother had forgiven him. “For what sweet boy” his mother asked brushing some hair off his face.

“I truly did not wish to blind him…but I did want to harm him” he confessed. His mother kissed the top of his and whispered to him “If you to harm those who hurt us, let it be them and not the innocent”. He nodded upon hearing her words. “I don’t have a dragon what use would I be to him” he sighed.

She smiled and patted his shoulder “I have not seen my dragon in years only from afar. But one day, you will get to have one and experience the feeling of soaring through the skies. “.

“I heard Skyfyre’s song is filled with sadness, she’s taken home in Dragon stone waiting for you” Baelon said “She has three eggs that she guards with her might…selfish” he rolled his eyes.

His mother chuckled as guided him to say his goodbyes to his brother and sister. “Aella” Baelon said taking out a small ring from his pocket “I will be back soon enough”. “I know” She smiled as she accepted the ring.

“I trust the iron throne will be warm when I return” Maegor said pulling his wife aside.

“Anything else you wish for me to warm? Such as your bed for Jeyne and Elionor “she raised an eyebrow.

Maegor smirked “I would venture to say it was I who you are protective of, but if it’s your role as queen you so worry about” he said holding her hand. “You will not be supplanted, you are the queen regent do as you wish “ he placed a kiss on her. He was confident on his future victory, his wife had made sure to grant him pleasure before he rode off. He almost regretted his choice on leaving. “I will return “ he reassured her.

“I know” she replied letting go off his hand as he placed his helmet on his head. He would ride Balerion with his son. He looked at his wife before both him and Baelon made their to the dragon pit.

————————————————————————-

Rhaella sat on her mother’s lap , the had iron throne always intimidated her. The sharp blades poking out, thousands of swords forged into a large throne meant for the king. So mighty it seemed to never end. Yet there she sat with her mother as if they were both ment to sit comfortably . Listing to the request and petitions of both nobles and small folk. Her brother Rhaenor stood by lord Edwell as they gestured for another petition, Rhaenor had learned fast and he grinned at his sister every now and then both finding their roles boring but interesting. Their father had been gone for months now and their mother had been running kingdom smoothly, even forcing to common people and nobles to coexist if they wished for an audience.

“Good morrow you grace” a small old man bowed to queen y/n.

“Good morrow Kevan” queen y/n nodded, it was the third time the old man had asked for an audience, first time being when a member of the guards had assaulted his bread stand. The second when noble had been tormenting his daughters. Even if the request was minor the small folk sought refuge in the queen who defended them.

“I heartily hesitated on asking for another audience , your grace” he said ashamed.

“You are to ask for as many audiences as you please” she reassured him. “How might I be at your service?” She asked.

The old man swallowed hard “I come representing the small folk who..are afraid of facing the nobles and the faith “ he spoke quietly but bravely. She raised an eyebrow at the mention of the Seven, her husband had banned the militant from carrying weapons and all she knew they currently roamed the streets as they please with no arms or weapons.

“There had been…unfair attacks on us your grace, we are accused of sins we have not committed and terrorized by nobles who envied our new privilege of exposing their actions” Kevan said his voice raising slightly.

Y/n nodded as she listen his petition “There is a new self proclaimed high septon, he calls himself the Lord of the seven, he claims he was chosen by the gods. He accepts coins from the nobles who seek to make the small folk pay for their own punishment.” The queen was well aware of the result when it came to prioritizing the common people, many nobles has been exposed by both the small folk and the servants themselves yet she never expected for the nobles to form an alliance with the faith militant. The people who took her son.

“I assure you Kevan, you problems will be dealt with” she spoke firmly. “Where would I might find this so called Lord of the seven?”.

“You sit so comfortably “Tyanna said bowing her head. The throne was completely empty and only y/n sat the throne lost in her thoughts, her body completely leaning against the throne fully relaxed. The day was late but it was yet to end “it’s a chair” y/n replied. Tyanna rolled her eyes walking closer to the bottom of the steps her heels clicking and echoing in the empty hall. “A throne, one which your brother is currently desiring “ Tyanna corrected her.

“You have not been of much use lately” she told Tyanna her voice slightly annoyed.

“I tell her grace what she should hear” Tyanna smirked “Not what she wants to hear”. It was clear she kept information from the queen, the only thing she could do as an act of defiance.

“Within a fortnight Lady Westerling and Lady Costayne will arrive. Yet you refuse to cooperate, even though your tittle and power are diminishing” y/n muttered. “Tell about me Rhaena…Will she be the third bride” Y/n had not received a letter from her sister which only filled her suspicions.

“He send a message..pardon her for her acts if she married him, and bend the knee“ Tyanna told her “It was just answered and she has agreed”. It felt strange that the once defiant sister had easily accepted such ridiculous proposal. But she had her own daughters to protect and for that y/n did not blame her. Tyanna was not by all means pleased with his decisions, she was jealous having to share Maegor but seeing y/n not care for the king and only worry about the throne made her feel something.Feelings she struggled to hide, feelings that would make the hatred for her vanish.

Y/n did not care for Tyanna let alone Maegor. Though having Tyanna as a spy was a useful benefit her, she would not side with the woman that killed her brother. “That will be all” she dismissed her.

The place reeked,even if she held her scented handkerchief close to her nose she still could smell the decaying stench. They had made the outside of the Grand Sept their home, and even in the outdoors the smell of facies was potent enough to make her gag. She had the king’s guard by her side an and few guards ready to defend her if any of them attacked. As she was about to climb the steps a group of men dressed in grey robes blocked her path. She had not come to discuss peace terms with the lunatics that terrorized the streets she had come to put an end to it. The men did not say anything simply blocked her path not flinching or moving. She looked back Ser Olyver standing behind her, his sword tightly held on his hand.

“Clear it out” she ordered not bothering to look back at the group. Without hesitation the white cloaks took out their sword and swooped to clear out the steps. She did not look back as heard the agonizing screams of the faith militant. The sound of crushing skulls and the clanking of metal attracted the attention of the common folk. They watched in horror as the King’s guard stained their cloaks. Leaving no room for escape each guard cut through them swiftly and each body fell one by one.

It was Ser Olyver who climbed the steps of the sept clearing his path with his sword in hand. He looked for the so called Lord of the seven ready to take his head. He stopped at his tracks instantly spotting a knelt man praying to the Father above. Ser Olyver took off his helmet the only noises were the screams and clacking of metal . The king’s guard would clear not only the sept but the Red keep. In his pocket was a list of names of nobles who conspired against the throne. He would help queen y/n restore greatness to Westeros.

The lord of the seven had his eyes closed and silently prayed, his voice coming out in rigid whispers. He swallowed knowing soon his head would fall from his shoulders, but he will meet the gods and they would reward him. He was wrong.

He gasped as his lungs filled with water. Burning his nose and throat as his head was shoved into water. He was about the scream but his head was submerged again. He coughed loudly unsure of where he was. “What?” He breathed loudly trying to fight off the dizziness. He felt a sharp pain on his jaw that made his eyes focused on a woman who stood next to a guard. “Leave us” she ordered. The old man had his hands and feet tied up and could not move even if he tried. He was shoved into the dirty floor his face slamming hard against the stone. He felt the drool mixed with blood pour down his mouth. He spat out a tooth, his mouth full of the metallic taste of blood.

“I always pictured this moment “ the voice said. He was on the ground and the only thing visible was the dark red dress she wore. “Only it was you who had me at your mercy” she said dryly, her dress circling around him. “You were reason I never slept, the reason I was paranoid of everything, I was afraid to close my eyes. Afraid you would come take my children” she said pausing her steps for a moment. The old man looked up and was met by a white harried maiden. Dressed in beautiful red and black gown, her hair neatly done and her hands fidgeted with her rings. “I was, so consumed with grief my daughter did have a mother for the first months of her life ” she said biting the inside of her cheek.

“Your child” he moaned In pain his limbs suddenly aching “was an abomination “ his voice weak and fragile.

“Yes but was mine!” she snapped her eyes filled with anger, her teeth dug in the inside of her cheek so tightly she too could taste blood. “He was not a monster, he was a child!” She hissed. The man did not respond, the man simply lay on the ground twitching in agony. “My child”

The lord of the seven began to drag himself across the floor, the little strength he had used it to try and sit up. “I’m, not much of a believer, I never was. But I do believe that if you could, you would kill the rest of my children.”

The man let out a painful groan as struggled to reach the wall. “You were out for.. a week mayhaps “ she said “the king’s guard made sure to torture you even when your eyes were closed.” She said her hands folding together unsure what to do with them. She wanted for him to feel pain, her pain. “You will at no one’s mercy and you will beg for forgiveness. Not it is sufficient “

The old man spat out again this time more blood came out of this mouth “You” he gasped “Will have to KILL me!”. She hummed almost finding his outburst amusing. Her hands folding together unsure what to do with them, she would not touch him

“Kill you?” She sneered “no, I won’t kill you but the days will stretch and you will wish I did ”. She wanted him to suffer and he would be locked in the smallest chamber and be tortured severely but still he kept alive. The old man had not been caught by Maegor which only made the interaction more satisfying for her. She was avenging her son but it was not enough in her eyes. “The heads of your followers are currently on spikes but you won’t join them, not any time soon”. She looked at him with disgust as he watch him finally sit up. It was pathetic how long it took him, she simply knocked him back down with her foot.

“For Aegon” it was the last thing the man heard before she turned blew out the torches . Leaving him trapped in the cramped cell with nothing but his pain and that rats that would soon eat him.

————————————————————————

She stood overlooking the gates watching the last lord be hang for treason. She stood and watched more than twenty nobles hang from walls, she had spared the lives of a few of them and instead of hanging them she send three lords to the wall, where they will forever rot without titles or lands.

She would welcomed Elionor Costayne and Jeyne Westerling and even her sister Rhaena. But she would not care for them they wound fend for themselves just as she had. It had taken many losses and years for her to be forged into the woman who currently sat the iron throne in her husbands absence. Maegor was cruel , heartless and a tyrant, she had hid behind him, devoted her life to him. But she now clawed her way up the wheel clinging to power. Crushing anything beneath her path that could risked the lives of children.

It was her nature to protect the innocent.

#a song of ice and fire #asoif/got #house of the dragon #king maegor #maegor targaryen #maegor x reader #maegor the cruel #house targaryen #game of thrones

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