#called the Oak family angst

[greylight32]

Head canon Time!!!! Victim: Henry! (since i've been hyperfixating on him since we're seeing him soon)

I think that every since everyone Henry has ever loved either died or cut off contact with him. His only motivation to get out of bed was so that he could have a staring contest with the doodler.

I imagine it was by accident too. Just up until that point he had been lying in bed staring up at the ceiling, until one day he looks out the window and just can't stop, once the pupil gets out of the line out sight of Henry's bedroom window he decides that he'll just, go outside, and well if he's going outside he might as well get dressed, and if he's getting dressed he might as well do some gardening too.

So he did, and when he got to tired to worked anymore he would lay down on the ground and stare up at the eye, squint his eyes and point at the pupil, he did this for hours until the Doodler blinked.

And ever since then that was his motivation to get out of bed (without Birdie or his BIL's help), to have a staring contest with the Doodler. Overtime it was comforting having someone who would never (could never) leave. He would look up while he was gardening, while he was eating (which he did outside), while relaxing.

This was how Henry lived his life, a constant fucking staring contest, but hey if some people can only get up out of bed and live their day-to-day lives because of coffee, then why can't his be the giant eldritch god that one of his sons released into the world by literally stabbing him in the back to get out?

Of course this is how he lived life until the teens took them out of the sky, and since if was confirmed to be around mid-day when the teens took them out of the sky I think Henry was going about his normal day of having a staring contest with and eldritch God, when suddenly it's replaced with the fucking sun.

obviously it took a moment of him to adjust, but once he did and saw that the sky is once again blue, I think he went into full freak out mode. Because how the fuck is he supposed to know who has them? How does he know that Willy doesn't have them. He calls Birdie "Heya Honey!" "Um hola papa, um have you seen the sky?" "Oh goodness you can see it too?" "Uh yeah it's kind of hard not to, I mean the whole sky changed" " Fuck does Willy have it?" "What was that papa?" "Oh nothing sweetheart I love you! I'll talk to you later bye-bye!" "Papa wai-" . He then started running through a bunch of different scenarios while walking between his garden and the graves and it went like this: *sitting criss-cross infront of the dads graves as if he was having a conversation with them* "Do the boys have it?" *Two hours later, walking in his garden pensively hands in a kind of diamond shape against his mouth* "Does Hero have it?" *One hour later, back to sitting criss-cross infront of the dads graves, one arm on his knee resting his face on his hand* "Does Normal have it?" Each one getting even more quite then the last.

and I think by the time they get to his house due to how time works it has been less then a day since the sky returned to normal by the time The Teens arrive. So they kinda just walk in on Henry freaking out in his garden, Haha won't that be fun?

[astrxq]

Hey! I love The Dragon's Bride so much, I must have read it like 5 times already. You have beautiful writing and the fact that it's 17k is even better.

If your requests are still open, I wanted to throw an idea your way. Seeing how isolated the Blacks are getting, with the Greens conquering everything around them by land, Rhaenyra is desperate to forge another alliance that will bring her more ground stability. The perfect lord that can bring this to her only wants one thing in return: for his grandson to be the future king. So she is forced to break Jace's engagement to Baela so he can marry the lord's only daughter instead. That angst because Jace has feelings for Baela before the fluff of him discovering his feelings for his new wife like fjehdhw

It's totally okay if you don't vibe with the idea and don't want to write it btw!!

Conspiracy of Hearts

jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader

words: 23k

notes: thank you sooooo much anon <33, i love long fics (as you can probably tell) and i'm so so glad you enjoyed it. non-canon events, jace x baela at times, a made up lord. a bit of angst?? - fluffy. unnecessarily long fic, i apologize. i am NOT proud of this one 😭

The air in the great hall of Dragonstone was thick with tension, the stone walls seeming to close in as Queen Rhaenyra paced before the ancient Painted Table. The room was eerily quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the hearth fire and the soft rustle of her skirts as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her fingers traced the carved coastline of Westeros, lingering over the territories that had fallen to the Greens’ hands. 

"Your Grace," a voice called from beyond the heavy oak doors. "Prince Jacaerys has arrived."

Rhaenyra straightened, composing herself with visible effort. "Send him in," she commanded, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her eyes.

The doors swung open, and Jacaerys Velaryon strode in. At nine-and-ten, he was already a man grown, with the bearing of one much older. His hands rested on his sword as he approached his mother with calm.

"Your Grace," he said, bowing his head respectfully. "You summoned me?"

Rhaenyra's gaze softened as it fell upon her eldest son. "Jace," she began, then faltered. For a moment, the mask of queenship slipped, revealing the anguish beneath. "I'm afraid I have dire news."

Jace's posture stiffened, bracing himself for whatever blow was to come.

"The Greens have taken Tumbleton," Rhaenyra continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "Our hold on the Reach is slipping. If we do not act soon, all will be lost."

Jace nodded gravely. "What would you have me do, Mother? I can fly to Tumbleton on Vermax, rally our forces–"

"No," Rhaenyra cut him off sharply. "I need you here, Jace. What I ask of you... it is not a battle to be fought with dragon fire, but with words and... promises."

A heavy silence fell over the room. Jacaerys took a deep breath, straightening his posture once again as he nodded once at his mother, silently promising to fulfill his duty.

"Lord Redfort has offered his support," Rhaenyra said at last. "His armies, his gold, his influence in the Vale. With his backing, we could turn the tide of this war."

Jace's eyes lit up with hope. "That's wonderful news, Mother. Why do you look so troubled?"

Rhaenyra's laugh was bitter and hollow. "Because nothing comes without a price, my son. And Lord Redfort's price is... steep."

Understanding dawned on Jace's face, followed swiftly by a flash of fear that he quickly masked. "What does he want?"

"He wants assurance that his family's loyalty will be rewarded," Rhaenyra said, each word seeming to pain her. "He demands that his grandson be promised the throne."

The implication hung heavy in the air. He felt a tightness in his chest, knowing what this meant for Jace, for Baela, for the future that had been carefully planned since their childhood.

"But... Baela..." Jace's voice was barely audible, a mixture of confusion and growing dread.

"I know," Rhaenyra said, and for a moment her composure cracked entirely. She moved to her son, taking his hands in hers. "My boy, my sweet boy. If there were any other way..."

Jace pulled away, his face a storm of emotions. "There must be another way. We can offer Lord Redfort something else, anything else."

"Don't you think I've tried?" Rhaenyra's voice rose in frustration. "I've offered titles, lands, positions at court. Nothing will sway him. It's this, or we lose everything we've fought for."

Jace turned away, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. The firelight cast long shadows across his face, highlighting the anguish etched there. "And what of Baela?" he asked at last, "What am I to tell her?"

Rhaenyra's shoulders sagged. "It is duty that will drive us to victory, my son."

"So I am to marry Lord Redfort's granddaughter," Jace said flatly. It wasn't a question.

"His daughter," Rhaenyra corrected gently. "She is but a year younger than you."

Jace's laugh was hollow. "As if that matters. I don't know her. I don't love her."

"Love?" Rhaenyra's voice hardened. "Love is a luxury we cannot afford in times of war, Jacaerys. You are a prince of the realm. Your duty is to your family, to your people. Sometimes that duty requires sacrifice."

Jace's jaw clenched. For a moment, Rhaenyra feared he would refuse outright. But then, slowly, the fight seemed to drain out of him. His shoulders slumped in defeat.

"When?" he asked simply.

"Lord Redfort and his daughter will arrive within a fortnight," Rhaenyra said, relief evident in her voice. "The betrothal will be announced immediately, and the wedding will take place as soon as it can be arranged after the war."

Jace nodded mutely, his eyes unfocused, staring at something only he could see. Without another word, he turned and strode from the room. The heavy doors slammed shut behind Jace as he stormed out of the great hall. His mind reeled, the weight of his mother's words pressing down upon him like a physical force. 

Without thinking, his feet carried him to the one place he knew he would find solace – or perhaps, he realized with a pang of guilt, the one place he shouldn't go.

Baela was in the dragon pit, tending to Moondancer. The young dragon chirped softly as she ran her hand over the scales, the sound echoing in the cavernous space. She looked up as Jace approached, her expression shifting from surprise to concern as she took in his troubled demeanor.

"Jace?" she called, setting down her hand. "What is wrong?"

For a moment, Jacaerys couldn't speak. He simply stood there, drinking in the sight of her – the way the torchlight glinted off her silver-gold hair, the gentle curve of her lips, the strength and grace in her movements. Everything he was about to lose.

"It's over," he finally managed, his voice hoarse. "Our betrothal. It's... it's been broken."

Baela's eyes widened, but to Jace's surprise, there was no shock in them. Only a deep, resigned sadness. "I see," she said softly. "The alliance with Lord Redfort?"

Jace nodded, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Of course you've heard. Nothing stays secret for long in this damned castle."

“Her Grace mentioned she was working with sending ravens for alliances, I only figured.” she said softly, patting her dragon’s head one last time before taking two steps towards him.

"Jace," Baela said, her voice gentle but firm. "You know as well as I do that this war demands sacrifices from all of us."

Her calm acceptance only fueled his frustration. He began to pace, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Sacrifices? Is that what we're calling it now? Throwing away the betrothal made in honor of my brother’s heirship, everything we've planned for years, all for the sake of some lord's support?"

"It's not just some lord," Baela reminded him. "It's the key to holding the Vale. Without it–"

"I know it!" Jace snapped, immediately regretting his harsh tone. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "I know what is at stake, Baela. But it is unfair."

Baela stepped closer, her eyes full of understanding and a pain that mirrored his own. "Our duty is to our family, to the realm. Personal happiness... it is a luxury we can't afford right now."

Jacaerys felt the fight drain out of him, replaced by a bone-deep weariness. 

Baela reached out, taking his hand in hers. Her touch was warm, familiar, and Jace had to resist the urge to pull her close and never let go. Jacaerys looked at her, marveling at her strength, her composure in the face of this devastating news. 

"How can you be so calm about this?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

A sad smile played at the corners of Baela's lips. "Because one of us has to be," she said. "And because I've always known that our duty might ask this of us one day. It doesn't make it easier, but... I've had time to prepare myself for the possibility."

Jace felt a wave of shame wash over him. Here he was, raging against the unfairness of it all, while Baela faced their shared loss with grace and dignity. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I should be stronger. Like you."

Baela shook her head, squeezing his hand. "You are strong, Jace. But it's alright to be angry, to be hurt. Just... don't let it consume you. The realm needs you. Your mother needs you."

Jace felt a swell of admiration for her, mixed with a deep, aching sorrow for what they were losing. "I don't know if I can do this without you," he admitted.

Baela's expression softened. She reached up, cupping his cheek in her hand. "You can," she assured him. "You must. And I'll be here, Jace. Not as your wife, but as your cousin, your friend, your ally. That will never change."

For a long moment, they stood there, the weight of their shared past and the uncertain future hanging between them. Then, slowly, Jace nodded. "I must ready for my betrothed’s arrival, then.”

The new use of the word felt bitter against his tongue, eyes refusing to meet Baela’s as he uttered the words. 

Jacaerys took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders. He knew Baela was right. It was time to face his duty, no matter how much it hurt. With one last look at the woman he had thought would be his future, he turned and walked out of the dragon pit.

The days leading up to Lord Redfort's arrival passed in a blur of mounting tension and barely contained dread for Jacaerys. Each morning, he woke with a heavy heart, the weight of his impending duty pressing down on him like a tangible force. His chambers, usually a sanctuary, felt more like a prison, the stone walls closing in as he counted down the days to the fateful meeting.

He threw himself into his work, training with his sword until his muscles ached and his mind was numb. The clashing of steel, the grunts of exertion, and the rhythm of his footwork became his solace until his hands bled in show of his efforts. But no matter how fiercely he fought, the looming reality of his betrothal was inescapable. His sparring partners, sensing his turmoil, gave him space, their concerned glances only serving to deepen his isolation.

Meals were equally oppressive. The great hall buzzed with whispered conversations and furtive looks. Jacaerys ate in silence, his appetite waning with each passing day. His brothers tried to cheer him with tales of their latest exploits, but their words fell flat, unable to penetrate the fog of his thoughts. Even the usually boisterous presence of his dragon, Vermax, did little to lift his spirits. The bond they shared felt strained, as if the beast sensed his master's inner turmoil.

The evenings were the hardest. As the castle settled into a quiet lull, Jacaerys found himself wandering the halls, seeking solace in familiar places. He often ended up in the dragon pit, watching the majestic creatures in their pens. Baela was always there, her presence a bittersweet comfort. They spoke little, their shared silence a testament to the unspoken pain that lingered between them. Yet he felt as if their bond had not changed one bit.

Often, Baela approached him. Her face was always serene, but her eyes held a sadness that mirrored his own. “This... brooding will only make things harder." she’d tell him. And everytime Jacaerys would nod and mumble about understanding what his duty is. 

Her words, though comforting, did little to ease the ache in his heart. He’d squeeze her hand in silent gratitude, then turn away, retreating to the solitude of his chambers. Sleep was elusive, his dreams haunted by visions of a future that now seemed out of reach.

————

The fortnight passed agonizingly slowly, each day blending into the next. The castle was a hive of activity, preparations for Lord Redfort's arrival consuming everyone's attention. Jacaerys found himself caught in a whirlwind of fittings, rehearsals, and diplomatic meetings. His mother, ever the strategist, drilled into him the importance of this alliance, reminding him of the stakes with every passing moment.

Finally, the day arrived. The great hall was adorned with banners and finery, the air thick with the scent of fresh flowers and polished armor. Jacaerys stood by his mother's side, his expression a mask of stoic resolve. He fidgeted with his fingers, his chest heaving every time he would steal a glance at Baela, who would simply give him a small smile and a supporting nod. 

As the hours passed, anticipation hung in the air like a heavy fog. Jacaerys stood in the great hall, the weight of his impending duty pressing down upon him. His armor gleamed under the torchlight, a stark contrast to the turmoil within. The arrival of Lord Redfort and his retinue was imminent, each passing moment marked by the echoing footsteps in the corridor beyond.

Rhaenyra, resplendent in her queenly attire, stood beside her son with an air of regal composure that belied the storm of emotions beneath. Her eyes occasionally flicked towards Jacaerys, a silent reassurance amidst the grand preparations, but he didn’t meet her gaze. The hall buzzed with whispered conversations and the rustle of silk as courtiers and advisors moved about, ensuring everything was perfect for the crucial meeting.

At last, the doors swung open with a resounding thud, and Lord Redfort entered with measured steps as the maesters announced his name and title. His presence commanded attention – a high lord of the Vale, his face weathered by years of governance and warfare. You walked beside him, your features bore a striking resemblance to your father. Your eyes, however, betrayed a hint of nervousness and curiosity as you glanced around the hall before settling on his.

Jacaerys's heart skipped a beat as his eyes met yours for the first time. You were beautiful, with cascading hair and a determined set to your jaw that spoke of your noble upbringing. He knew your name but little else. And yet, he knew you were not Baela. 

Lord Redfort approached Queen Rhaenyra with a deep bow, which she acknowledged with a nod. 

Your gaze finally settled on the figures at the far end of the hall – Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, regal and formidable, and beside her, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon. Your breath caught in your throat as you studied your betrothed. He was everything the stories had claimed – tall and handsome, with the striking features of his bloodline. But there was something else, a tension in his stance, a heaviness in his eyes that spoke of inner turmoil.

As your father bowed to the Queen, you sank into a deep curtsy, willing your voice to remain steady as you spoke. "Your Grace, Prince Jacaerys," you said, "It is an honor to be welcomed to Dragonstone."

Queen Rhaenyra's voice was warm but tinged with an underlying steel as she replied, "We are most pleased to welcome you and your father, Lady Y/n. Your presence here marks a new chapter in the alliance between our houses."

You rose from your curtsy, your eyes meeting Jacaerys's once more. His mother turned to look at him, urging him to speak. For a fleeting moment, you thought you saw a flicker of curiosity in his gaze, quickly masked by the cool formality of his response. 

"The honor is ours, we hope you find Dragonstone to your liking."

You couldn't help but notice the way Jacaerys's gaze occasionally drifted to a silver-haired young woman standing off to the side. The look they shared spoke volumes – a mixture of pain, resignation, and something deeper that made your heart sink. This, you realized, must be Lady Baela, the woman who had held your betrothed's heart until duty tore them apart.

The weight of the situation settled more heavily upon you. The challenge before you seemed insurmountable – to win the trust, perhaps even the affection, of a man whose heart clearly belonged to another.

You gazed up to your father, his serious expression settled on the Queen, arms stiffly linked and resting on his chest. “I assume my wishes were clear, Your Grace. I do not wish to impose but…”

“They were, Lord Redfort. And I assure you, your proposal is being given the utmost consideration.”

Jace’s eyes flickered to yours for a moment, his expression almost unreadable as he blinked at you, trying to gauge your own thoughts on the matter. You inhaled deeply as his eyes moved to Baela’s once again, you followed his train of sight.

Baela’s chest tightened once your eyes met, yours apologetic and Jacaerys’ hurt.

As the negotiations drew to a close, Queen Rhaenyra announced the betrothal formally. "Let it be known," she proclaimed, her voice carrying authority and finality, "that Prince Jacaerys Velaryon and Lady Y/n Redfort are betrothed in the sight of gods and men."

The words hung in the air, sealing the fate of all involved. Jacaerys glanced at you, his eyes conflicted yet resigned. You offered him a small, sympathetic smile, understanding the weight he carried upon his shoulders. He simply offered a tight-lipped smile before he followed after his mother.

Baela’s eyes traced his path down the hall, a sigh escaping her lips as she approached you. “I will walk you to your chambers, let you settle in properly.”

As you walked with Baela through the corridors of Dragonstone, her presence was a calming influence amidst the turmoil swirling within you. The castle walls seemed to echo with the weight of the recent betrothal announcement, yet Baela's gentle demeanor offered a brief respite from the tension.

"I hope your journey here was not too arduous, Lady Y/n," Baela said softly, her voice carrying a genuine concern.

You nodded, grateful for her kindness. "It was quite pleasant… I still have to get acquainted with the change of weather, though.”

She moved to link her arm with yours, the gesture surprised you, awaiting resentment and coldness from her after the broken betrothal between her and the prince. 

"Dragonstone can be quite humid to newcomers", Baela continued as she led you through the winding corridors of Dragonstone. Her touch was reassuring, her smile sincere.

"You'll find the climate more forgiving as you settle in," she assured you, her voice gentle. "It takes some time to get used to the island's rhythms, but there's a beauty to it once you do."

Her words offered a small measure of comfort amidst the uncertainty. You glanced at her, noting the resilience in her demeanor despite the obvious sadness in her eyes. "Thank you, Lady Baela," you said sincerely. "I appreciate your kindness."

Baela smiled softly. "Please, call me Baela.”

As you walked alongside Baela through the corridors of Dragonstone, her arm linked with yours, you couldn't help but marvel at her composure. Here was a woman who had just lost her betrothal to the man you were now set to marry, yet she showed you nothing but kindness and understanding.

"Baela," you said softly, testing the name on your lips. It felt strange to address her so familiarly, given the circumstances, but her gentle demeanor made it feel right somehow.

She glanced at you, her silver-gold hair catching the torchlight as she smiled warmly. "Yes?"

"I hope... I hope we can be allies," you said earnestly, “Despite the circumstances.”

Baela's expression softened, a mix of understanding and gentle sadness in her eyes. She squeezed your arm lightly, her touch reassuring.

"Of course we can," she said, her voice warm. "In fact, I hope we can be more than just allies. Friends, even. We're in this together, after all, as family."

You felt a wave of relief wash over you at her words. The tension that had been building in your chest since your arrival began to ease slightly.

"I'm glad," you admitted. "I was worried... well, given the situation..."

Baela shook her head, a rueful smile playing at her lips. "The circumstances are what they are. We can't change them, but we can choose how we respond to them. And I choose to see you as a friend, not a rival."

She stopped in front of two big wooden doors, thick and heavy at the sight. “Here we are,” she said, reaching for the handles before getting interrupted by one of the handmaids.

“Allow me, Lady Baela.” the girl mumbled, pushing open the doors before you. 

As the heavy wooden doors swung open, you were greeted by a spacious chamber bathed in warm candlelight. The room was adorned with rich tapestries depicting dragons in flight, their colors muted yet regal. A large four-poster bed dominated one wall, its dark wood intricately carved with scales and flames.

"These will be your chambers," Baela said, gesturing for you to enter. "I hope you'll find them comfortable."

You stepped inside, your eyes wide as you took in your new surroundings. A writing desk stood near a window overlooking the sea, and a cozy sitting area with plush chairs was arranged before a hearth. Everything spoke of luxury and careful craftsmanship.

"It's beautiful," you breathed, turning to Baela with genuine appreciation. 

Baela smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "The servants have already unpacked your belongings," she said, gesturing to a trunk at the foot of the bed. "But if you need anything else, don't hesitate to ask."

You nodded, your fingers trailing over the smooth surface of a nearby table. "Thank you, Baela."

She stepped closer, her expression serious. "I know this can't be easy for you," she said softly. "Coming to a new place, betrothed to a man you don't know, in the middle of a war. But if you ever need someone to converse with, simply ask for my presence and I shall come to you."

With a final nod, she departed, leaving you alone in your new chambers. As the door closed behind her, you let out a long, shaky breath, the events of the day finally catching up with you.

As you settled into your new chambers, the weight of the day's events began to sink in. The journey from the Vale, the formal introductions, the palpable tension in the great hall – it all swirled in your mind like a tempest. You sank onto the edge of the bed, your fingers tracing the intricate patterns carved into the wooden frame.

Your thoughts drifted to Prince Jacaerys. His handsome features were etched in your memory, but it was the sadness in his eyes that truly captured your attention. You had known, of course, about his previous betrothal to Lady Baela. It was common knowledge throughout the Seven Kingdoms. But seeing the pain etched on both their faces made the reality of the situation hit home.

A soft knock at the door startled you from your reverie. "Come in," you called, smoothing your skirts as you stood.

A young handmaid entered, carrying a tray laden with food and a steaming pot of tea. "Begging your pardon, m'lady," she said with a curtsy. "Queen Rhaenyra thought you might prefer to dine in your chambers this evening, to rest from your journey."

You nodded, grateful for the consideration. "Thank you," you said softly. "Please convey my gratitude to Her Grace."

As the handmaid set up the meal on a small table near the window, you found yourself drawn to the view outside. Dragonstone was unlike anything you had ever seen. The castle seemed to grow out of the very rock of the island, its towers reaching towards the sky like the necks of the dragons it was named for. In the fading light of day, you could see the churning sea beyond, its waves crashing against the rocky shore.

"Will there be anything else, my lady?" the handmaid asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

You turned, offering her a small smile. "No, thank you. That will be all."

As the door closed behind her, you were once again left alone with your thoughts. You picked at the food, your appetite diminished by the swirling emotions within you. The tea, at least, was a comfort, its warmth spreading through you as you sipped.

Your mind wandered to the task ahead of you. How were you supposed to forge a connection with a man whose heart clearly belonged to another? The political implications of this marriage weighed heavily on your shoulders. Your father's expectations, the need for this alliance to succeed – it all seemed impossibly daunting.

You’d heard all about the making of a babe, about lust and love, you’d read all about it. But the thought of bearing the babe of a man in love with another made your stomach turn, making your throat tighten. 

—————

The next morning dawned bright and clear, the sun's rays filtering through the windows of your chamber. You rose early, determined to start this new chapter of your life with purpose. As you dressed, choosing a gown in the deep red and white of your house, you steeled yourself for the day ahead.

A knock at your door announced the arrival of a servant, there to get you into your skirts and come to escort you to breakfast. As you made your way through the winding halls of Dragonstone, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of nervousness in your stomach. 

The great hall was already bustling with activity when you arrived. Queen Rhaenyra sat at the high table, deep in conversation with her advisors. Your eyes scanned the room, finally landing on Prince Jacaerys, seated at a smaller table with his siblings.

Taking a deep breath, you approached. "Good morning, Your Grace," you said, dipping into a curtsy. "I hope I'm not intruding."

Jacaerys looked up, surprise flickering across his features before he schooled his expression into one of polite neutrality. "My lady," he said, rising to his feet. "Please, join us."

As you took the seat he offered, you couldn't help but notice the curious glances from his younger brothers. Joffrey, the middle child, offered you a friendly smile, while the younger kids regarded you with wide-eyed wonder.

"Did you sleep well?" Jacaerys asked, his tone formal but not unkind.

You nodded, offering a small smile. "I did, thank you. The chambers are lovely."

An awkward silence fell over the table, broken only by the clatter of cutlery and the low hum of conversation from the surrounding tables. You busied yourself with your breakfast, stealing glances at Jacaerys when you thought he wasn't looking.

He seemed distracted, his gaze often drifting to the far side of the hall where Lady Baela’s seat was empty, next to her siste’s Rhaena. Each time, a flicker of pain would cross his face before he caught himself and returned his attention to his meal.

"Is it true you can ride a horse as well as any knight?" little Joffrey suddenly piped up, his eyes bright with curiosity as he stared up at you, his small hand reaching for your skirts before Jace pulled it away.

You blinked, surprised by the question. "I... yes, I suppose I can," you replied, a genuine smile tugging at your lips. "My father insisted I learn from a young age."

"That's amazing!" he exclaimed, leaning forward eagerly. "Can you teach me? Jace is always too busy."

Jacaerys shifted uncomfortably, but you saw an opportunity to bridge the awkward gap between you.

"I'd be happy to," you said, your smile widening. "If it's alright with your brother, of course."

For the first time that morning, Jacaerys met your gaze directly. Something akin to gratitude flickered in his eyes. "That would be... kind of you," he said softly.

Silence filled the air once again, awkward glances shared between you and Jacaerys as he quietly picked at his plate. 

As the uncomfortable silence stretched, the door to the great hall creaked open, drawing everyone's attention. Lady Baela entered, her graceful presence immediately commanding the room. 

Jacaerys's eyes lit up momentarily as he watched her approach, but the flicker of hope was quickly replaced by the familiar sadness. Baela's eyes scanned the room, locking onto his for a heartbeat before shifting to you. A small, serene smile graced her lips as she made her way to your table.

"Good morrow," she greeted, her voice as warm as the morning sun streaming through the windows. 

Baela took a seat beside you, her presence a soothing balm to the tension in the air. She nodded to Jacaerys, lingering their locked gaze in silence, before turning her attention to you.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked, her tone genuinely concerned.

"I did, thank you," you replied, a genuine smile tugging at your lips. "The chambers are lovely."

Baela's smile widened. "I'm glad to hear that. Have you had time to explore the place?"

You straightened your back, glancing at your betrothed and then back to her. You shook your head. "No, I haven't had the chance yet," you admitted, trying to keep your voice light.

Baela's eyes sparkled with genuine enthusiasm. "Then it's settled. I'll give you a tour after breakfast. There are some wonderful places I think you'll enjoy."

Jacaerys felt a surge of confusion as he watched Baela's calm and cheerful demeanor. Her willingness to extend kindness and camaraderie to you, the woman set to marry the man she once loved, was baffling. He had expected resentment, anger, or at least some form of cold distance. Instead, Baela seemed genuinely at ease, her smile unwavering.

His thoughts churned as he tried to make sense of her behavior. Was she truly alright with the broken betrothal, or was this a mask she wore to hide her pain? Jacaerys couldn't tell. He stole a glance at you, noting the slight relaxation in your posture as you engaged with Baela. The two of you seemed to connect in a way he hadn't anticipated. 

Baela's strength had always been a source of comfort, but now it felt like a reminder of his own perceived weakness. His own frustration clouding his judgment as hers only brought her closer to you.

Breakfast continued, the conversations light and courteous. You and Baela exchanged pleasantries about Dragonstone's architecture, its history, and its dragons. Joffrey's enthusiasm brightened the table as he peppered you with questions about the Vale and your life there. Jacaerys found himself mostly silent, observing the dynamic between you and Baela as he ate small bites of his food, dreading his leave. 

When the meal concluded, Baela rose from her seat, her eyes meeting Jace’s. "I hope you'll join us on the tour, Jace," she said softly, her voice holding a note of encouragement.

Jacaerys hesitated, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He glanced at you, noting the hopeful glimmer in your eyes, then back at Baela, who was giving him a look, telling him to go. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat. 

“If I am not busy, yes.”

Again, with linked arms, Baela urged her twin to join you both as she talked your ear off about the halls. Rhaena quickly following suit and giving you a polite smile. 

As Baela led you away for the tour, Jacaerys remained behind, his expression conflicted. He watched as you disappeared around a corner, arm-in-arm with Baela and Rhaena. A moment passed before he made his decision, quietly following at a distance.

Throughout the tour, Jacaerys kept to the shadows, observing the easy rapport developing between you and Baela. His brow furrowed as he watched Baela's animated gestures, her warm smiles, and your growing comfort in her presence. The lack of tension or resentment between you both stirred a complicated mix of emotions within him. He watched you laugh, hand holding onto Rhaena as she pointed at the dragon pit.

As the day wore on and you retired to your chambers, Jacaerys found himself restless, pacing the halls of Dragonstone. The sun had long since set when he finally sought out Baela, his emotions simmering beneath the surface.

You were about to drift off to sleep when muffled voices from the corridor caught your attention. Curiosity piqued, you crept to the door, quietly prying it open, the voices getting clearer.

"How can you be so... so accepting about all of this?" Jacaerys' voice, usually so controlled, trembled with barely contained frustration.

"What would you have me do, Jace?" Baela's response was measured, but there was an edge to her tone. "Treat her unkindly? Refuse to acknowledge her presence?"

"No, of course not, but..." Jacaerys faltered. "You act as if nothing has changed. As if our betrothal wasn't just shattered for the sake of politics less than two days ago."

There was a pause, and when Baela spoke again, her voice was softer. "Everything has changed, Jace. But that doesn't mean we must let bitterness consume us. She is not to blame for this situation."

"I know that," Jacaerys snapped, then sighed heavily, you could hear his frustration. "I know. But seeing you with her, so friendly, so at ease... it's like you don't even care that we're no longer..."

"Don't," Baela's voice was sharp now. "Don't you dare suggest that I don't care. We both knew our duty might require sacrifices. I'm choosing to face this with grace, for all our sakes."

"And I'm just supposed to accept that? To watch you befriend the woman I'm being forced to marry, while my heart..." Jacaerys's voice broke off.

"Your heart will heal, Jace," Baela said gently. "As will mine. But we must give it time, and we must not punish Lady Y/n for circumstances beyond her control."

The silence that followed was heavy. You held your breath, straining to hear more.

"I don't know if I can do that, Baela," Jacaerys finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You can," Baela assured him. "And who knows? Perhaps in time, you might find that Lady Y/n..."

"Don't," Jacaerys cut her off. "Please, just... don't. I could never."

You heard footsteps retreating, growing fainter until they disappeared entirely. Slowly, you backed away from the door, your mind reeling from what you'd overheard.

As you stood there, hidden in the shadows of the corridor, your heart sank with each word that passed between Jacaerys and Baela. Guilt gnawed at you, a bitter realization settling in your chest. You hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, but now you couldn’t ignore the raw emotions laid bare before you.

Jacaerys’s voice, tinged with frustration and hurt, echoed in your mind. His words stung deeply, cutting through the uncertainty that had clouded your thoughts since arriving at Dragonstone.

Any chance of him growing comfortable, even forming an attachment to you, vanished before your eyes at his words. 

Locking the door, you sat on your bed, knees to your chest as you felt your breathing break its steady pace. The rawness of Jacaerys's emotions and his adamant refusal to even consider the possibility of developing feelings for you left a hollow ache in your chest.

Rising from your bed, you moved to the window, gazing out at the rocky shores of Dragonstone. The sea churned restlessly, mirroring the turmoil in your heart. You had known this marriage was born of political necessity, but hearing Jacaerys's words had driven home the reality of your situation in a way nothing else could have.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. "Come in," you called, turning from the window.

Baela entered, her silver-gold hair catching the soft candle light. Her lips faltered as she took in your drawn expression. "I did not know you were awake."

For a moment, you considered confessing what you'd overheard, but something held you back. Instead, you forced a small smile. "Just a restless night," you said. "I'm still adjusting to the sound of the waves, I suppose."

Baela's eyes searched your face, and you got the sense she didn't quite believe you. But she didn't press the issue. “I… I cannot find sleep either, I figured I’d come to see how you’re holding up with your stay.”

As you looked closer at Baela in the dim candlelight, you noticed the telltale signs of recent tears. Her eyes were slightly puffy and rimmed with red, and there was a lingering sadness in her expression that she couldn't quite hide. Her usually perfect composure seemed fragile, as if it might crack at any moment. 

Baela's shoulders were slumped ever so slightly, betraying a weariness that went beyond mere physical exhaustion. Her fingers fidgeted with the sleeve of her nightgown, a nervous gesture that spoke volumes about her emotional state. Despite her attempt at a smile, there was a vulnerability in her gaze that tugged at your heart.

In that moment, you realized that Baela wasn't just here to check on you – she was seeking comfort and companionship herself. The strong, graceful woman who had been your guide and support since your arrival now looked like she desperately needed a friend.

You took two steps towards her, offering your hand, which she hesitantly took, and guiding her to sit on the edge of your bed. 

For a while, neither of you spoke. You sensed Baela struggling to maintain her composure, her facade of strength cracking ever so slightly. Her shoulders trembled imperceptibly, a telltale sign of the storm raging within.

Without a word, you moved closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Baela stiffened at first, surprised by your gesture, but then she leaned into your touch, a silent admission of her vulnerability.

“I’m sorry,” you spoke, “I do not wish for your burden.”

"It's not your burden to bear," Baela whispered hoarsely, her voice thick with emotion. "None of this is your fault. Jace is just… still adjusting to the idea."

Baela remained silent for a long moment, her gaze distant. Her fingers traced the intricate embroidery on her sleeve, a nervous habit betraying her inner turmoil.

"I've known Jace my whole life," Baela began softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "We grew up together, shared dreams of the future, of ruling Dragonstone side by side. Our betrothal... it felt like destiny."

You tightened your embrace, offering silent support as Baela's voice wavered and your guilt only grew in your chest. She leaned into you, seeking solace in your presence.

"I care for him, Y/n," Baela admitted, her voice trembling with unspoken emotion. "And seeing him in pain... knowing that our future together is no longer possible... I can't bear it."

Tears welled up in Baela's eyes once more, and this time she didn't hold them back. They flowed freely, silent rivulets down her cheeks, marking the depth of her sorrow.

"I would rather see him find happiness with you," Baela confessed in a choked whisper, her words heavy with resignation. "Than watch him cling to a love that can never be. He deserves that much, after everything. He deserves a love that is possible, that is as just and fair as it is real."

Her admission hung in the air between you, a bittersweet revelation tinged with heartache. You squeezed her hand gently, your own heart heavy with empathy for her plight. You watched as she curled up to the sheets of your bed, breathing steadying as she let sleep take over her. 

You tried to push away the guilt that threatened to overwhelm you. After all, you hadn’t asked for this betrothal any more than Jacaerys or Baela had asked for their separation. Yet, here you were, caught in the middle of their lingering emotions and unspoken regrets.

—————

The following weeks unfolded in a haze of polite interactions and strained attempts at forging connections. You accompanied Jacaerys to meetings and gatherings, each moment underscored by the awkward tension that hung between you. His gaze, when it met yours, was distant and guarded, a far cry from the warmth you had hoped to find.

Meanwhile, Baela remained a steady presence in your life. She showed you the hidden corners of Dragonstone, regaled you with stories of its history, and offered quiet words of encouragement when doubt threatened to consume you. Her kindness was a lifeline amidst the uncertainty that gripped your heart.

Still, you couldn't shake the feeling of being an outsider in your own betrothal. Every smile from Jacaerys felt forced, every conversation a careful dance around the unspoken truths that loomed between you. You wondered if he saw you as a reminder of what could have been, or if he simply saw you at all.

Jace and Baela kept their distance, exchanging lingering stares, finding comfort in each other but maintaining their bond as a friendship, an impossible love threatened by duty.

You felt like a young girl with a crush on a soldier, as Rhaena and Baela attempted to bring Jacaerys closer to you. Yet, it ate at you that Baela tried to conceal her own feelings to prioritize yours and Jace's.

You found solace in unexpected places. Young Joffrey had taken to following you around the castle, bombarding you with questions about the Vale and begging for horse-riding lessons. His innocent enthusiasm was a balm to your troubled heart, and you found yourself looking forward to the time you spent with him.

One crisp morning, as you were brushing down your horse in the stables, Joffrey came bounding in, his face flushed with excitement.

"Please!" he called out, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste as he ran little steps towards you. He joined his hands in a plea. "Can we go riding today? Please?"

You couldn't help but smile at his eagerness. 

Jace watched from the courtyard. His expression was unreadable, but for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something in his eyes – curiosity, perhaps, or a hint of softness.

The moment passed quickly as he turned away, leaving you to wonder if you had imagined it. Pushing the thought aside, you focused on guiding Joffrey through his riding lesson. With a hand on his lower back, holding his upwards, and another holding onto the leather leash, you guided the excited child through the gardens.

As you guided Joffrey's pony through the gardens, the younger prince's laughter filled the air. 

"Look!" Joffrey exclaimed, pointing excitedly at a butterfly fluttering past. "Can we chase it?"

You chuckled, gently reining in his excitement. "Remember, my prince, we must always be gentle with creatures smaller than us. Let's watch it instead, shall we?"

As you stood there, Joffrey perched atop his pony and you by his side, observing the delicate dance of the butterfly, you felt a presence behind you. Turning slightly, you saw Jacaerys approaching, his steps hesitant but purposeful.

"Having fun, Joff?" he asked, ruffling his younger brother's hair affectionately.

Joffrey beamed at his older brother, reaching to hold his hand, almost tumbling off of the animal’s loin. "She is teaching me to ride, Jace! She says I'll be as good as you one day!"

A small smile tugged at Jacaerys's lips. "Is that so?" He turned his gaze to you, something unreadable in his eyes. "You're good with him."

You felt a warmth creep into your cheeks at his words. "He makes it easy," you replied softly. "He's a quick learner."

Joffrey huffed as he tugged on the leather leash in your hands, “When will I be allowed to ride on my own?”

Jace let out a soft laugh, the sound unexpected and somehow comforting. "In time, Joff. You need to master the basics first."

The younger boy pouted but didn't argue, his attention quickly drawn back to the butterfly that had settled on a nearby flower.

You looked at Jacaerys, noticing the shadows under his eyes, the lines of stress etched into his handsome features. The brief moments of kindness he had shown you lately had been few and far between, but they gave you a glimmer of hope.

"Would you like to join us?" you asked tentatively, unsure of how he would respond.

Jacaerys hesitated, glancing between you and Joffrey. Finally, he nodded, a small, reluctant smile on his lips. "I could use a break from all the meetings."

As the three of you walked through the gardens, the tension between you and Jacaerys seemed to ease, replaced by a tentative camaraderie. Joffrey chattered on about the lessons you had been giving him, his enthusiasm infectious.

You caught Jacaerys stealing glances at you, his expression softer than you had ever seen it. It was as if the presence of his younger brother had created a bridge between you, allowing him to lower his guard just a little.

Sadly, he’d stayed quiet the whole time, only nodding along and responding to his brother’s enthusiasm. 

For a moment, the three of you stood there in comfortable silence, watching as Joffrey tentatively guided his pony a few steps forward. You fixed your skirts, arms dropping to your side as the small prince struggled to get down from the pony, refusing to get any help. Then, to your surprise, Jacaerys spoke again.

"I... I was wondering if you might like to join me for a ride later," he said, his voice low enough that Joffrey couldn't hear. "There's a cove on the far side of the island that's quite beautiful at night."

Your heart skipped a beat at his invitation. "I'd like that," you replied, offering him a small smile.

As Jacaerys nodded and turned to leave, you caught sight of Baela watching from a nearby balcony. Her expression turned into a supportive smile when she noticed your gaze. The guilt that had become your constant companion surged once more.

Later that evening, as you prepared for your ride with Jacaerys, Baela appeared at your chamber door.

"Here," she said, holding out a cloak with a smile. "The winds can be fierce near the cove. You'll need this."

As you accepted the cloak, your fingers brushed hers. "Baela," you began, your voice thick with emotion. "I–"

She shook her head, cutting you off. "Don't," she said softly. “Jace is trying, give him a chance."

“Baela,” you began again, your voice softer this time, “I just don’t want to hurt you more than I already have. I’m trying to understand where we all fit into this... tangled mess.”

She shook her head, “I feel no pain if you and Jace are well.”

"But I don't want you to feel like you're losing something," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Baela's expression softened, a small, sad smile gracing her lips. "Jace and I... we were a dream of what could have been. But dreams change. Life moves on, and so must we. I can't hold onto something that was never meant to be."

You nodded, feeling a mixture of gratitude and sorrow. "Thank you," you whispered, unable to find the words to express the depth of your appreciation.

Baela squeezed your hand one last time before letting go. "Go," she urged. "Don't keep him waiting."

With a heavy heart, you draped the cloak around your shoulders and made your way to the stables where Jacaerys was waiting. The night air was cool and crisp, just like Baela had said, the stars twinkling like distant beacons of hope in the inky sky. 

Jacaerys stood by his horse, his figure silhouetted against the faint light of the torches. His expression was thoughtful, almost pensive, as he glanced up at the sky. When he noticed your approach, his eyes softened slightly, almost as if he had been trying to get his mind ready.

The moonlight cast a silver sheen on his dark hair, lending him an almost ethereal quality. 

“I forgot to tell you to get a cloak,” he said, quickly noticing the cloth that covered your body, “you must have read my mind."

"Baela thought of it," you replied, mounting your horse. Jacaerys tried to hide the frown that appeared on his face for a second. The saddle creaked beneath you, and you patted the horse's neck, feeling its warmth through the leather gloves.

Why would Baela want to push him into another woman’s arms? The question echoed in his mind, gnawing at his thoughts like a persistent itch. 

Jacaerys’s thoughts churned beneath his calm exterior. Why was Baela so insistent on pushing him toward you? He glanced sideways at you, taking in the soft glow of the moonlight on your face, the way you seemed lost in your own thoughts. There was a delicate vulnerability about you, a quiet strength that he couldn’t quite grasp.

You rode in silence for a while, the rhythmic clopping of hooves and the distant roar of the sea the only sounds breaking the night. 

His gaze flickered over to you again. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he noticed your serene demeanor, your focus entirely on the path ahead. He couldn’t deny that there was something about you that stirred a part of him he thought was long dormant – a hope for something genuine amidst the political maneuvering and familial obligations.

Breaking the silence, Jacaerys spoke, his voice carrying a note of curiosity he couldn’t completely mask. “You seem at ease. Is the ride helping you clear your mind?”

You glanced over at him, the soft glow from your lantern casting a gentle light on your face. “It is,” you said, offering a small, genuine smile. “I don’t have siblings, like you do. I didn’t have much to be entertained by, growing up. I found solace in rides like this”

Jacaerys nodded, his curiosity piqued. "What else did you do to pass the time?" he asked, his voice softer than usual.

You chuckled, a hint of mischief in your eyes. "I used to sneak out to watch the soldiers train in the courtyard."

Jacaerys raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Is that so?"

You nodded, warming to the subject. "Oh yes. When I was too bored to read I would hide behind the barrels near the training yard and watch the men practice their swordplay."

"Did you ever try it yourself?" Jacaerys asked, genuine interest in his voice.

You laughed softly. "I did, actually. I'd sneak a wooden practice sword from the armory and try to mimic their movements in secret. I must have looked ridiculous, flailing about in my chambers."

Jacaerys let out a low chuckle, the sound warming you more than the cloak around your shoulders. "I can picture it," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Did you ever get caught?"

"Once," you admitted, a blush creeping into your cheeks. "My father walked in just as I was attempting a particularly dramatic lunge. I nearly toppled into my dressing table."

Jacaerys laughed outright at that, the sound echoing in the night air. It was the first time you'd heard him laugh so freely, and the sound made your heart skip a beat.

"What did your father say?" he asked, still smiling.

You sighed dramatically, "He was scandalized, of course. Grounded me from sneaking past the courtyard for life.”

As your horses ambled along the moonlit path, Jacaerys's laughter subsided into a warm smile. You loved the sound, you realized, not having heard it often because of you, moreso because of his family.

 "Well, if you're still interested in watching swordplay, you're welcome to observe our training sessions here on Dragonstone. No need for sneaking or hiding behind barrels."

You felt a flutter of excitement at his offer. "Really? You wouldn't mind?"

Jacaerys shook his head, his expression softening. "Not at all. In fact, I think the men here might appreciate having an audience. It tends to make them show off a bit more."

You chuckled, feeling more at ease than you had in weeks. "I'd like that very much. Thank you, Jacaerys."

He nodded, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that hadn't been there before. 

As the path curved towards the cove, the moonlight bathed the landscape in a silvery glow. The sea's rhythmic waves against the rocky shore provided a soothing backdrop to your thoughts. Jacaerys's earlier curiosity about Baela's motives still lingered in his mind, but for now, he chose to focus on the present moment. There would be time to unravel those thoughts later.

“Um…” you started, unsure whether your question was intrusive or not, Jace’s head turned to look at you again. 

“Yes?”

“I was wondering… about the dragons,” 

Jacaerys's eyes lit up with interest at the mention of dragons. "What would you like to know?" he asked.

“I’ve never seen one up-close.” you felt rather embarrassed as your cheeks flushed, quickly turning your head to look ahead of you as Jacaerys bit back a smile. “Would you like to?”

Your heart quickened at his question, and you met his gaze, your excitement barely contained. "I would love to," you replied, unable to hide the enthusiasm in your voice.

Jacaerys smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "Then it's settled. We'll visit the dragon pit tomorrow. I’ll introduce you to Vermax."

The path towards the cove became narrower, the sea breeze carrying a salty tang that invigorated your senses. Jacaerys's expression held a mixture of amusement and anticipation, the weight of the earlier conversation lifting slightly.

As the cove came into view, bathed in the soft glow of the moon, Jacaerys turned to you, his eyes reflecting the silvery light. "Vermax hatched when I was just a baby," he began, his voice taking on a more personal tone. “We grew together. I am sure he will be kind to you.”

The connection he described stirred something within you. You felt a growing sense of anticipation for the meeting with Vermax, your excitement mingling with a hint of nervousness at the thought of standing near a dragon.

As you reached the edge of the cove, the waves crashed gently against the shore, their rhythmic sound creating a soothing backdrop. You dismounted your horses, your boots sinking slightly into the soft sand. The moonlight cast a silvery sheen over everything, making the scene almost magical.

Even after having spent long in Dragonstone, the cold breeze still hadn’t made peace with you, you held the cloak tighter to your body in hopes of warmth. The chill seemed to seep through the layers, but the beauty of the cove and the company beside you provided a warmth of their own.

Jacaerys led you to a rocky outcrop, a perfect vantage point from which to watch the waves crash and froth against the shoreline. His hand was holding the sleeve of your cloak as he walked you, not ready to hold your hand just yet, Baela still somehow present in his thoughts. 

Jace’s gaze was fixed on the horizon, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. He seemed lost in thought, the earlier conversation about Vermax fading into the backdrop as he wrestled with his own internal conflicts. You could sense the weight of Baela's memory lingering in his mind, an echo of feelings that he was trying to reconcile with the present.

He turned to you, his expression softening. “It’s a beautiful spot, isn’t it? I’ve always found it calming here, away from everything else.”

You hummed, hands going back to pressing the cloak against your shivering body, regretting not having worn more skirts for the night. “It’s beautiful.”

A small smile touched Jacaerys’s lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He seemed to be searching for the right words, his usual guarded demeanor giving way to a more introspective side.

“Are you cold?”

“A little, yes. I should’ve worn a thicker dress.”

Jacaerys’s eyes flickered with concern as he took in your shivering form, the chill of the night evidently seeping through your cloak. The warmth of his earlier smile faded into a more serious expression.

“Come with me.” he said, his voice soft with empathy. 

He guided you away from the edge of the cove, leading you towards a more sheltered spot further inland. The sea breeze, though still present, seemed to lose its bite as you moved away from the open shore.

As you walked, Jacaerys began to explain. “The rocks here are a bit more protected from the wind, and they get the heat from the sun during the day, it retains some warmth even at night.”

You followed him, hopeful by the promise of warmth. The path became less rugged and more stable, leading to a small, secluded nook nestled between two large boulders. 

Jacaerys gestured towards the alcove with a reassuring nod. “This spot should be much warmer. It’s better than standing out in the open.”

You stepped into the alcove, trailing behind him, feeling a noticeable difference in temperature. The wind’s bite was indeed diminished, and the moss underfoot felt soothing against your tired feet. The warmth was a welcome relief, and you sighed contentedly as you settled into the corner of the nook.

Jacaerys took a seat beside you, maintaining a respectful distance but close enough to share the modest warmth of the alcove. His gaze softened as he looked at you, his earlier concerns about the chill replaced by a more focused attentiveness.

"Do you miss your home?" Jacaerys asked, breaking the silence, his voice gentle.

You considered his question, your gaze fixed on the horizon. "Sometimes," you admitted. "But I've got good company here."

Jacaerys studied you for a moment, his gaze contemplative. The alcove, with its comforting warmth and shielded position, seemed to offer a haven for both of you – a temporary retreat from the complexities of the world outside.

A faint smile tugged at Jacaerys’s lips as he broke the silence. “Joffrey’s obsessed with you, you know?”

You looked at him, curiosity piqued with a laugh. “Is he?”

Jacaerys nodded, his fingers absently brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “He always talks about you.”

“He’s rather taken with you, I would think.”

You laughed, the sound bright and genuine in the quiet of the alcove. “He’s a very kind child.”

Jacaerys nodded, his expression warm and approving. “He’s always full of stories about you – how kind you are, how brave you seem. It’s quite endearing, really.”

A smile tugged at your lips, “That’s sweet of him.”

There was a comfortable silence between you, the warmth of the alcove cocooning you both in its gentle embrace. The night outside seemed distant, its chill muted by the sanctuary you’d found together.

Jacaerys broke the silence once more, bringing his knees to his chest and staring ahead at the sea. “Baela’s been kind to you,” you couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement so you simply nodded.

“Very, she’s been really welcoming to me,” you replied, trying to match the sincerity of his tone. “I appreciate her kindness more than I can express.”

Jacaerys sighed softly, the sound barely audible above the distant crash of waves.

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments, the warmth of the alcove creating a peaceful setting around you. 

Jacaerys’s mention of Baela lingered between you like a delicate echo, and you could see the concern in his eyes. His gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon, but it was clear he was wrestling with his own emotions.

“You’ve been a good friend to her since you arrived,” Jacaerys said again, his voice soft but edged with a tinge of regret. “I appreciate that more than you know.”

The sincerity of his words struck a chord, and though you had tried to offer comfort, the mention of Baela’s hurt still gnawed at you. You understood that Jacaerys’s feelings were complex, his history with Baela casting a long shadow over the present.

You searched for something comforting to say, but the silence that followed was soothing in its own way. 

Jacaerys shifted slightly, his eyes softening as he glanced at you. “Sometimes it’s hard to balance past connections with the present. I suppose I’ve been struggling with that lately. For that, I apologize.”

“It’s never easy to reconcile what was with what is. I imagine it must be even harder when you care about the people involved.”

He nodded, a wistful smile touching his lips. “You are to be my wife.”

Jace’s admission hung in the air like a fragile, unspoken promise. His gaze held yours, his eyes reflecting a mix of vulnerability and resolve that seemed to shimmer in the soft moonlight. The mention of your forthcoming union brought a new layer of gravity to the conversation, the implications settling heavily between you.

“I know,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Despite the complexities of… my past betrothal, my commitment to you is sincere. I promise to give you a happy marriage. I want to give you a future where you feel valued, cherished, and at peace. As any wife should.”

His words carried a gravity that made your heart flutter. The sincerity in his eyes, combined with the warmth of the alcove, created a moment of shared hope and promise.

Neither of you spoke until the breeze caught up to the warmer spot, indicating the deep hours of the night. “We shall get back. I wouldn’t want you to catch a chill.” he mumbled.

You nodded, the thought of returning to the comfort of the castle appealing after the night’s lingering cold. The promise of a future together still resonated within you, a beacon of warmth amidst the crisp night air.

Jacaerys rose smoothly, offering you a hand as you stood. The gesture was simple but meaningful, a small act of support that spoke volumes to you. His hand was warm against yours, a comforting presence as you prepared to return to the castle. 

Together, you made your way out of the alcove, the cool night air greeting you with a gentle caress as you retraced your steps back to the horses.

The path to the castle was bathed in the soft light of dawn, the horizon beginning to glow with the first hints of morning. He led the way, his presence a reassuring constant beside you as the path darkened, the night making it harder to see. 

Jace offered to guard both of your horses back, while you prepared for your chambers.

As you stepped inside, a lively chatter greeted you, echoing through the stone corridors. Baela and Rhaena, vibrant and full of energy, were waiting for you near the entrance hall. Their faces lit up with excitement, their eyes sparkling with curiosity as they spotted you approaching.

“There you are!” Baela exclaimed, her voice bright and cheerful. She hurried towards you, followed closely by Rhaena, who wore an equally eager expression.

“You’ve been out almost all night,” Rhaena added, her tone filled with a mix of teasing and genuine interest. 

“We took a stroll to the cove,” you said. “It was a peaceful night. We talked, and enjoyed the quiet. It was... pleasant.”

Baela and Rhaena listened intently, their expressions shifting from anticipation to satisfaction. Baela’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she nudged you gently. “I hope Jacaerys was a good companion. We wouldn’t want you to think poorly of Dragonstone just because of a chilly night.”

You chuckled, feeling a blush of warmth spread across your cheeks at the attention. “He was,”

As you walked towards your chamber’s doors, Baela’s excitement seemed almost infectious. Yet, despite the outward cheer, you couldn’t shake a lingering uncertainty. Baela’s reactions were hard to read. 

She turned to you with a smile that seemed almost too perfect. “I’m glad you had a good night, it is important for you two to spend time together.”

Her words were kind, but the subtext felt layered. You couldn’t tell if she was giving her blessing wholeheartedly or if she was still processing her own feelings about Jacaerys. The complexity of their shared past, intertwined with the new future you were all stepping into, made the situation delicate.

As you closed the door behind you, you leaned against it, letting out a long breath. The night had been full of unexpected moments and conflicting emotions. Jacaerys's promise of a happy marriage still echoed in your mind, filling you with hope. Yet, the sadness you'd glimpsed in Baela's eyes reminded you of the complicated web of relationships you'd stepped into.

You changed into your nightgown and slipped into bed, your mind whirling with thoughts of moonlit coves, dragon pits, and the promise of a future yet to unfold.

—————

The next morning dawned bright and clear, the sun's rays streaming through your window and gently rousing you from sleep. As you blinked awake, the events of the previous night came flooding back – the moonlit ride, the intimate conversation with Jacaerys in the alcove, and the promise of meeting Vermax today.

A mix of excitement and nervousness fluttered in your stomach as you rose and began to prepare for the day. You chose a sturdy riding dress, practical yet flattering, and braided your hair to keep it out of your face. As you fastened a cloak around your shoulders, a soft knock sounded at your door.

"Come in," you called, expecting to see one of the handmaids.

Instead, it was Jacaerys who entered, looking slightly hesitant but with a warm smile on his face. His day clothes were already on, a red cape falling from his shoulders.

 "Good morrow," he said softly. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"Not at all," you replied, your heart skipping a beat at his unexpected presence, fingers struggling to tie the cloak’s strings, too focused on him. "I was just getting ready for the day."

Jacaerys nodded, his eyes taking in your attire. “Need help?" he asked. 

You nodded, grateful for the assistance. Jacaerys stepped closer, his fingers deftly working on the cloak's fastenings. The proximity sent a shiver down your spine, and you caught a hint of his scent – a mixture of leather and something uniquely him.

"There," he said softly, stepping back once the cloak was secured. His eyes met yours, a hint of warmth in their depths. 

"I thought perhaps we could break our fast together before we go, if you're amenable?"

His thoughtfulness touched you, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest. "I'd like that very much," you said with a smile.

As you walked together to the great hall, you couldn't help but notice the change in Jacaerys's demeanor. He seemed more relaxed in your presence, the tension that had marked your earlier interactions noticeably diminished. 

The great hall was relatively quiet, with only a few early risers scattered about. Jacaerys led you to a small table near one of the windows, where a spread of fresh bread, fruits, and warm porridge awaited.

"I hope this is to your liking," he said, pulling out a chair for you. "I wasn't sure of your preferences, so I asked for a variety. I hope it isn’t too much."

You sat down, touched by his consideration. "It looks wonderful, thank you."

As you began to eat, a comfortable silence settled between you. Jacaerys seemed lost in thought, his gaze occasionally drifting to the window and the view of the dragon pit in the distance.

"Are you nervous about meeting Vermax?" he asked suddenly, his eyes focusing back on you.

You considered the question, taking a sip of warm tea before answering. "A little," you admitted. "I've never been this close to a dragon before. But I'm more excited than nervous, I think."

Jacaerys smiled, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Vermax can sense emotions, he'll know if you're afraid, but if you remain calm he will be as well."

You nodded, absorbing his words. "I'll do my best to stay calm," you promised. "And I truly am looking forward to meeting him."

Something softened in Jacaerys's expression at your words. He reached across the table, his hand coming to rest lightly on yours. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, and you found yourself lost in his gaze for a moment. The connection between you felt stronger, a fragile bridge being built with each shared moment.

As you finished your meal, Jacaerys stood, offering you his hand. "Shall we?" he asked, a hint of excitement in his voice.

You took his hand, feeling the strength and warmth of his grip. "Lead the way," you said with a smile.

As you made your way through the castle corridors, Jacaerys walking beside you, you couldn't help but notice the curious glances from passing servants and courtiers. It was clear that your outing the previous night had not gone unnoticed, and you felt a flutter of self-consciousness.

Jacaerys seemed to sense your discomfort. "Pay them no mind," he said quietly, his hand briefly touching the small of your back in a gesture of support. "They'll have something new to gossip about by midday."

His touch, though fleeting, sent a warmth through you that lingered even as you stepped out into the crisp morning air. The dragon pit loomed before you, an imposing structure that seemed to dwarf everything around it.

As you approached, you could hear the low rumbles and occasional screeches of the dragons within. Your steps faltered slightly, and Jacaerys paused, turning to face you.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

You nodded, forcing a smile. "Just a bit nervous," you admitted.

Jacaerys's expression softened. "It's natural to be nervous," he said. "But Vermax is kind, do not fret."

As you entered the dragon pit, the air grew warmer, filled with the scent of smoke and something distinctly reptilian. Jacaerys led you towards a large pen, where a magnificent creature lay curled up, its scales shimmering in the dim light.

"Vermax," Jacaerys called softly, his voice filled with affection.

The dragon stirred, raising its massive head. Its eyes, intelligent and piercing, fixed upon you, and you felt a moment of panic. But then Jacaerys's hand found yours, squeezing gently in reassurance.

"It's alright," he murmured. "Just breathe. Let him get used to your scent."

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to remain still as Vermax's nostrils flared, taking in your scent. After what felt like an eternity, the dragon let out a low rumble that sounded almost... approving?

Jacaerys smiled, his face lighting up with pride. "He likes you," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "Would you like to touch him?"

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Is that... safe?"

Jacaerys nodded in a chuckle, gently guiding your hand forward. "Just here, along his neck. His scales are warm."

He mumbled words – commands – in High Valyrian, a language that you did not quite understand. As Jacaerys's gentle voice wove through the ancient words, you felt a strange calm wash over you. His hand steadied yours, guiding it towards Vermax's neck. The dragon’s scales were warm, surprisingly smooth, and a thrill of awe coursed through you at the touch.

Vermax's gaze remained fixed on you, but there was no malice in it, only curiosity. Your hand moved slowly, feeling the powerful muscles beneath the creature's skin. The dragon emitted a low, contented rumble, and Jace's smile grew wider.

With trembling fingers, you reached out, gasping softly as your hand made contact with Vermax's humid and warm scales. They were indeed warm, and smoother than you had expected. The dragon rumbled again, the sound reverberating through your entire body.

“There we go,” Jacaerys murmured, watching as Vermax responded to your gentle touch with a low, rumbling purr. It was like nothing you’d ever heard before – a deep resonance that seemed to echo within your very bones. The dragon's presence was overwhelming, a creature of immense power and grace. Yet here, in this moment, it seemed almost… gentle.

Jacaerys stood close beside you, his hand still lightly covering yours, offering reassurance through the contact. The dragon pit was quiet, save for the occasional shifting of massive limbs and the rustling of scales as Vermax settled more comfortably under your touch. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and warm metal, an atmosphere charged with both mystery and excitement. 

"He's magnificent," you breathed, unable to tear your eyes away from the dragon's gleaming eyes, which seemed to hold a world of secrets within them.

Jacaerys watched you, his eyes soft with an emotion you couldn't quite name. "He trusts you," he said quietly. 

He marveled at how quickly Vermax had accepted you, a bond forming almost instantly. In his experience, dragons were fiercely independent creatures, wary of strangers and cautious around those they did not know. The ease with which Vermax had welcomed you was rare, a testament to something intangible that Jacaerys could sense but not quite articulate.

Jacaerys had seen many attempts to win a dragon's favor and fail; it was a delicate dance of trust and mutual respect, often requiring patience and time. Yet here you were, a newcomer to Dragonstone, and Vermax was already responding to you with a gentleness that belied his formidable nature.

Vermax cooed, his big eyes closing as you ran your hand over his scales, Jace’s cautiously hovering over. 

"He really does like you," Jacaerys said, a note of wonder in his voice. "I've never seen him take to someone so quickly."

You looked up at Jacaerys, a smile spreading across your face. "Is that unusual?"

He nodded, his eyes moving between you and Vermax. "Dragons are... particular about who they allow near them. It took some of our most experienced dragon keepers months to gain Vermax's trust to this degree."

A warmth spread through your chest at his words, you turned back to Vermax, continuing to stroke his green scales gently. "Thank you for trusting me," you whispered to the dragon.

Vermax rumbled again, the sound almost like a purr. Jacaerys chuckled softly. 

"Does he understand?” you asked.

"To some extent, yes. He senses your sincerity."

You nodded, absorbing this. The dragon's massive head lowered slightly, its eyes fluttering shut as if enjoying the sensation of your touch. Vermax's breaths came in slow, rhythmic pulses, and you found yourself mirroring them, a sense of calm washing over you. 

“He’s like a pup,” you said, a smile creeping to your face. 

Jacaerys’s laughter was soft, a warm, gentle sound that seemed to blend seamlessly with the low rumbling of Vermax. “That’s a charming way to put it.”

You hummed a laugh, eyes focusing on the beast that grumbled beneath your hand. “Look,” Jace said, pressing his palm against yours to apply more pressure on the dragon’s neck. He moved both of your hands up to the back of the ear, you on your tiptoes as Vermax moved his head down, welcoming the touch. 

Jacaerys applied pressure once again, and the dragon tilted its head, eyes half-closed in a state of pure contentment. 

Jace smiled at the sight, his eyes reflecting a mixture of pride and affection. “He truly enjoys this,” he said, his voice a gentle murmur.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. You turned to see Baela entering the dragon pit, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of you and Jacaerys.

She stood near the entrance, her gaze moving from you to Jacaerys and then to Vermax. There was a moment of awkward silence as her eyes took in the intimate scene – you, with your hand resting on the dragon’s neck, Jacaerys close beside you.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, surprised to have found somebody in the dragon pit, usually only the keepers being there. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

Jacaerys’s posture stiffened, his expression slipping into a mask of polite neutrality. He took a step back, his hand reluctantly withdrawing from yours. The warmth of his touch, which had felt so reassuring moments before, was now a memory of something he seemed to regret. 

“You’re not interrupting,” he said, his voice measured, betraying none of the emotions that seemed to ripple just beneath the surface. “We were just… introducing her to Vermax.”

Baela’s eyes flickered to Jacaerys, and for a moment, the weight of their shared history seemed to press down on the space between the three of you. The warmth in Jacaerys’s expression was gone, replaced by a hint of discomfort, as if he were grappling with a conflict of emotions. 

Baela cleared her throat, attempting to bridge the gap. “I came to check on Moondancer and make sure she’s comfortable. I didn’t realize you’d be here.” 

Jacaerys shifted uncomfortably, the strain of his previous joy now visible in the tight set of his shoulders. “I should–” he began, but the words seemed to falter. He cleared his throat and straightened, trying to regain his composure. 

“I should let you be. I’ve taken up enough of your time.” Jace offered a polite, albeit slightly strained, smile as he turned towards you. His eyes held a flicker of something unreadable, a mixture of resignation and lingering affection. "I should take my leave," he said softly, his voice carrying a note of finality. 

You nodded, feeling a pang of disappointment at the abrupt change in mood. "Thank you for introducing me to him," you said, your voice sincere.

Jacaerys’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, a fleeting smile touching his lips before he turned to Baela. "I hope the rest of the day treats you both well."

Baela's expression softened as she watched Jacaerys retreat towards the entrance. As he walked away, the tension in the dragon pit seemed to dissipate, replaced by an air of quiet contentment.

After a beat of silence, she spoke, breaking the awkward moment. Baela’s gaze softened as she approached you, her initial surprise melting into genuine warmth. “I’m truly sorry for intruding,” she said, her tone sincere. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

You smiled softly at Baela, trying to ease the lingering tension in the air. "It's alright, truly. You weren't intruding at all."

Baela approached, her eyes drifting to Vermax, who was still rumbling contentedly. "He seems to have taken a liking to you," she observed, a hint of admiration in her voice.

You glanced back at the dragon, feeling a mixture of awe and affection. "Jacaerys was kind enough to introduce us. I've never been this close to a dragon before, I’m quite nervous."

Baela chuckled softly, her laughter a soothing balm that eased your nerves. “That’s completely understandable,” she said. “The first time I was near Moondancer, I was shaking like a leaf. Dragons can be intimidating. But you handled it with such grace; Vermax is usually more reserved.”

Her words felt like a quiet reassurance, a bridge between your anxieties and the reality of the moment. You could see the sincerity in her eyes, the genuine appreciation she held for this small triumph. It was as if she, too, was celebrating the bond that was beginning to form.

“Jace must have really taken to you,” Baela continued, her eyes twinkling with a knowing smile. 

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at Baela's words, a mixture of pride and embarrassment flushing your cheeks. "He's been very patient with me," you admitted, your eyes drifting back to where Jacaerys had disappeared. "I'm grateful for his kindness."

Baela nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "He's got a gentle touch, that one."

You found yourself curious about the history between Baela and Jacaerys, but hesitated to pry. Instead, you turned your attention back to Vermax, who was still rumbling contentedly nearby. 

A gentle breeze stirred the air in the dragon pit, carrying with it the mingled scents of smoke and dragonhide. You watched as Vermax shifted slightly, his massive tail curling around him in a relaxed pose. The dragon’s contentment was palpable, a testament to the bond forming between you and the creature.

Baela cleared her throat, breaking the tranquil moment. “I should get going to check on Moondancer,” she said, her tone light and cheerful. “I will see you later? For our midday meal.”

You nodded, eyes trailing after her as she walked away from you. The moment with Jacaerys had been special, filled with a blend of tenderness and excitement. His departure had left a lingering sense of something unfinished, a space where his presence had been warm and reassuring. Now, as you stood alone with Vermax, you felt a pang of longing for the ease and connection you’d shared moments before.

You glanced towards the entrance of the dragon pit. Vermax rumbled again, a sound that felt almost like a fond farewell as you turned to leave. 

—————

Days drifted by, each day settling into a rhythm that felt both comforting and, at times, monotonous. Driven by a restless energy, you found yourself drawn to the training yard one afternoon, eager for a distraction from the sameness of your daily routine.

Your eyes were drawn to the center of the yard when you arrived, settling to stand nearby. You watched as knights clashed their swords, a few of them sharpening them and others simply training. Finally, your attention drifted to the grunts and louder sharp sounds that echoed in the air, Jacaerys wore a makeshift armor, only covering his chest and part of his legs as he aimed for the man before him.

There was something different about Jace. His movements were charged with an almost palpable frustration, each strike of his blade carrying a weight of unspoken anger. You watched, entranced and a little concerned, as he danced with his partner, his footwork sure and purposeful.

But then, in a moment that seemed to unfold in slow motion, Jacaerys overreached. The blade slipped from his grasp and turned against him, biting into the flesh of his hand with a viciousness that made you wince. The clang of the sword hitting the ground was like a thunderclap in the sudden silence that followed, every eye in the yard drawn to the prince’s moment of vulnerability.

It wasn't until Jacaerys stumbled back, his sword clattering to the ground, that you realized what had happened.

Jacaerys grimaced, the pain evident in the way he cradled his injured hand. Blood trickled down his fingers, a stark crimson against his pale skin. You felt a sharp pang of concern, your instincts urging you to go to him, to offer aid.

"Your Grace!" The knight exclaimed, rushing forward as Jacaerys clutched his hand to his chest. 

“Stay back.” Jace ordered, a grunt leaving his lips again as he looked down at his bloodied hand. The knight looked around, unsure of what to do.

You watched as Jacaerys waved off the knight, the young prince's eyes blazing with a mix of embarrassment and anger. It was clear that the pain was secondary to the frustration that now simmered beneath his skin, a potent mix of pride and self-reproach that made him bristle at the attention.

He stood, still cradling his hand, and straightened his posture, his expression hardening into one of determination. He nodded at the knights who had turned to look at him, his voice steady despite the obvious pain. “Back to your swords.”

The command seemed to snap the knights out of their shock, and they quickly resumed their practice, the sounds of clashing blades filling the air once more. Jacaerys remained where he was, his breath coming in sharp bursts as he fought to regain his composure.

You hesitated for a moment, torn between respecting his pride and offering the help he clearly needed. But the sight of his bloodied hand, coupled with the raw frustration etched across his features, propelled you forward. You approached him slowly, your footsteps deliberate and unthreatening.

"Jacaerys," you said softly, your voice barely rising above the din of the training yard. He turned to look at you, his eyes meeting yours. There was a distance in his gaze, a barrier that seemed to rise between you, but you pressed on, determined to offer whatever solace you could.

"Let me help you," you offered gently, gesturing to his injured hand. The words hung in the air between you, a lifeline extended across the chasm of his pride.

For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, his gaze dropping to his hand, the blood now drying against his skin. 

"I don't need help," Jacaerys said, his voice clipped and guarded.

"Let me see."

Jacaerys' jaw tightened, a flicker of frustration passing across his features before he sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. He seemed to weigh your words, the conflict evident in his eyes as he considered your offer.

Finally, with a reluctant nod, he extended his injured hand toward you. He avoided looking at you as you held his wrist, moving him to the inside of the castle as blood dripped down his fingers and onto the ground. 

As you led him inside the castle, away from the watchful eyes of the knights, Jacaerys' frustration seemed to simmer beneath the surface, an internal tempest he struggled to control. His movements were rigid, his silence heavy with unspoken words.

The frustration that clouded his mind was more than just about the training. It was a culmination of several things – the complexities of his relationship with Baela, the unease and uncertainty that seemed to seep into his days since you arrived, and the pressures of his own expectations. The training had become his escape, a way to channel his pent-up emotions into something tangible, something he could control.

Your presence now was a stark reminder of that inner storm. The sight of you, coming to his aid with a genuine concern that cut through his self-imposed barriers, only intensified his sense of vulnerability. It was as if your intervention had torn down a carefully constructed wall, exposing the raw nerves he had been trying to shield.

Inside the castle, you guided him to a small room, a quiet space away from the clamor of the training yard. The sunlight filtered through a narrow window, casting a soft glow on the stone walls. You set him down on a bench, your movements deliberate as you prepared to tend to his wound.

With a deep breath, you took his hand gently, the blood now congealing into dark patches against his pale skin. As you cleaned the wound, your touch was steady and soothing, a balm to his troubled mind.

Jacaerys watched you in silence, the weight of his frustration palpable in the tight lines of his face. His eyes, though distant at first, began to soften as you worked. Each brush of your fingers against his skin seemed to draw out some of the tension that had gripped him.

Yet, he refused to speak.

The room remained quiet save for the soft rustling of fabric and the gentle flow of water as you cleaned and bandaged his hand. 

As you finished bandaging his hand, you met his gaze with a soft, reassuring smile. The simple act of caring for him had forged a connection, bridging the gap created by his frustrations and the barriers he had erected. The walls he had so carefully constructed seemed to crumble, if only slightly, in the face of your genuine compassion.

"All done," you said gently, your voice a soothing murmur in the quiet room.

Jacaerys nodded, the simple gesture carrying a weight of gratitude and acknowledgment. His eyes, though still distant, held a trace of the vulnerability he had tried to shield. Unsure of what to do next, you sat in silence, his bandaged hand still sitting on yours, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the edges of the cloth. 

With a sigh, you moved to stand. “I shall take my leave–” 

“No.”

You looked at him, a mixture of surprise and curiosity in your eyes. "Is there something else you need?" you asked, your voice gentle and open.

He hesitated, his eyes searching yours as if grappling with something he couldn’t quite articulate. The vulnerability that had surfaced during your care seemed to linger, a delicate thread connecting you both.

For a moment, Jacaerys remained silent, his expression a complex blend of contemplation and unease. It was clear that he was wrestling with the emotions that had surfaced – emotions that he had been trying to keep under control.

Finally, with a deep breath, he spoke. “I just… need a moment. Alone, but not alone. If that makes any sense.”

“I’m not following, Jacaerys.”

“Just… Just stay. Here.”

You studied him for a moment, the sincerity in his eyes and the depth of his request weighing heavily on you. His expression was a blend of vulnerability and longing, a quiet plea for comfort that he could not fully articulate aloud.

With a nod, you settled back into your seat, the minutes ticked by slowly, the only sounds the soft rustling of fabric as he adjusted his position and the occasional sigh that escaped him, each one a testament to the inner battle he was fighting. You watched him with quiet empathy, allowing him the space to navigate his emotions without feeling pressured to fill the silence.

Jacaerys’ gaze drifted out of the window, his eyes lost in thought. The sunlight cast a warm, golden hue over his face, and you couldn’t help but think that he looked beautiful. 

You could see the gradual softening of his features, the way his shoulders relaxed a bit more. It was as if the burden he carried had lightened just a fraction, if only because he had someone to share it with, even if only in silence.

Neither of you spoke of it since then, the needed company enough to ease the burden that Jacaerys had been carrying. 

—————

Days had passed, marked by the quiet moments of solace you'd been sharing. Jacaerys seemed to carry himself with a bit more ease around you, a small but noticeable shift in his demeanor. Though the castle continued its usual rhythm, with its clattering armor and distant roars of dragons, the moments of companionship between you had become a gentle, sincere bond.

You'd often find yourself drawn to him during those moments. It was as if the space you’d created together in the few months you’d been there had left a mark – a subtle, lingering sense of understanding that hung between you, yet not strong enough to end the awkward moments where Jace’s brain reminded him of Baela, or when he’d get nervous around her still. 

Though he didn’t have anybody to speak of it with, Jacaerys felt a stronger care towards you, slowly beginning to accept his duty and where his heart was taking him.

Whether it was through shared meals or the occasional chance meeting in the castle corridors, there was a new layer of connection that seemed to envelop your interactions.

One afternoon, as you wandered the castle grounds, you found yourself in the garden, little Joffrey laid next to you, a serene haven amid the chaos of court life. The sun was beginning its descent, casting a warm, golden light over the flowering beds. 

You had come to clear your mind, to find a moment of peace, and the small child had trailed behind you, desperate for some company.

Lost in thought, you almost didn’t notice Jacaerys approaching until he was almost upon you. The soft crunch of gravel beneath his boots alerted you to his presence, and you looked up, a smile forming on your lips as you met his gaze.

Jacaerys’ expression was relaxed, a stark contrast to the intensity you had seen in him before. He glanced at Joffrey, who was now busy examining a particularly vibrant blossom with wide-eyed curiosity.

“Hello,” the kid greeted, your tone warm and welcoming.

“Hello,” Jacaerys replied, his voice carrying a gentle warmth. His eyes flickered briefly to Joffrey before settling back on you. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

You shook your head, the soft rustle of your movement blending with the whisper of the wind through the garden. “Not at all. Joffrey’s just enjoying the flowers.”

Jacaerys paused for a moment, his gaze lingering on the child. With a thoughtful expression and a small smile, he approached and gently placed a hand on Joffrey’s small shoulder. “Joffrey, why don’t you go find Rhaena? I believe she’s somewhere near the training yard.”

Joffrey looked up at him, his expression a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. “But I want to stay with you,” he protested softly.

“You’ll find Rhaena much more interesting,” Jacaerys coaxed, his tone kind but firm. “And I promise I’ll see you soon.”

“Please?”

Jacaerys’ gaze softened as he looked at the little boy. His hand lingered on Joffrey’s shoulder, and you could see the hesitation in his eyes. With a gentle sigh, he turned to you, his expression easing into a more relaxed smile, letting you choose.

“It’s alright,” you said, chuckling. “If Joffrey wishes to stay, then let him. It’s not often we have the chance to simply enjoy the garden.”

Joffrey’s face lit up with a delighted grin, his initial reluctance melting away. He clambered back to his spot next to you, resuming his exploration of the flowers with renewed enthusiasm. 

Jacaerys settled onto the ground, leaving his sword behind and nestling next to his brother, his posture relaxed as he observed the scene before him. The child mumbled flower names he’d learned about, picking some up to hold them up to you and Jace in pride. 

As the three of you sat in the garden, the atmosphere was filled with a gentle tranquility. Joffrey's innocent enthusiasm for the flowers brought a lightness to the air, his excited chatter a soothing backdrop to the moment.

Jacaerys watched his younger brother with a fondness that softened his features. His eyes, usually guarded, held a warmth that spoke volumes about his love for Joffrey. As the child continued to explore, holding up various blooms for inspection, Jacaerys found his gaze drifting towards you.

There was something different in the way he looked at you now. The tension that had often clouded his expression in your presence seemed to have eased, replaced by a quiet appreciation. It was as if he was seeing you anew, through the lens of your kindness towards your surroundings and the gentle way you interacted with him.

He felt his chest tighten in nervousness as he reached behind his brother, who was too distracted by the flowers in front of him to notice Jacaerys’ hand itching towards yours. 

“You seem more at ease,” you remarked gently, the words barely more than a whisper, yet carrying a depth of observation. “How are you finding things lately?”

Jacaerys shrugged a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I’m well, I suppose.”

Jace shifted slightly, his fingers still hovering near yours, but he hesitated. His eyes flickered between you and Joffrey, who was now eagerly describing a particularly colorful flower to you with wide, innocent eyes. The child’s chatter filled the space between you, an unwitting barrier that Jacaerys seemed to navigate with care.

He found himself drawn more and more to your presence. The way you listened attentively to his little brother, offering gentle encouragement and genuine interest, stirred something within him. It was a softness he hadn't expected to feel, a warmth that seemed to spread through his chest.

His fingers, still hovering near yours, trembled slightly with indecision. The desire to bridge that final gap, to make that physical connection, warred with the lingering echoes of his past with Baela. But as he watched you smile at Joffrey, your eyes crinkling with genuine affection, Jacaerys felt something shift within him.

Slowly, cautiously, he let his hand move those final few inches. His fingers brushed against yours, a touch so light it could have been mistaken for a breeze. But then, with a surge of courage, he gently covered your hand with his.

The contact sent a jolt through him, a mix of nervousness and excitement that made his heart race. He kept his eyes fixed on Joffrey, afraid to meet your gaze, afraid of what he might see there. But he didn't pull away.

You glanced at him, but his eyes were still focused on Joffrey, though you could see a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

With a final, enthusiastic show of a particularly bright bloom, Joffrey tugged at your sleeve and glanced up at you. “I want to go find Rhaena now,” he said, his small voice tinged with excitement at the prospect of a new adventure.

You looked at him and nodded, smiling at his boundless energy. “She’ll be happy to see you.”

Joffrey beamed, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “I’ll tell her all about the flowers!” he declared, holding up the few flowers that could fit in his palm before scampering off towards the training yard, his laughter and light footsteps fading into the distance.

As the child’s presence disappeared, the garden seemed to settle back into its previous serenity, leaving just you and Jacaerys alone amidst the blooming tranquility. 

Jacaerys shifted slightly, his hand still resting gently over yours. He finally allowed his gaze to meet yours. His eyes, now more open and honest, held a hint of the conflicted emotions he had been grappling with. 

You could tell something ate at him, had he not wanted to talk about it with his brother present. Gazing at him, you offered a gentle, encouraging smile. “Would you like to talk about what’s troubling you?”

Jacaerys looked away for a moment, his brow furrowing as he struggled with his thoughts. His fingers tightened slightly around yours. 

“It’s just…” he began, his voice carrying a hint of frustration. “I’ve been feeling… left out. Disregarded, almost.”

You tilted your head slightly, encouraging him to continue. “How so?”

Jacaerys shifted his position, the tension evident in the way he gripped the grass beneath him. “I feel like my mother… she doesn’t trust me to take on the responsibilities I believe I’m ready for.”

His words came out in a rush, as if the weight of them had been too much to keep contained any longer. “She hasn’t sent me to war, hasn’t allowed me to fly on dragonback to our allies or to attack the Greens. I understand that she wants to protect me, but it feels as though she’s holding me back, not giving me a chance to prove myself.”

You considered his words carefully before responding. "Your mother's caution comes from a place of love, Jace.” you moved to sit closer to him. “The realm is at war, and losing you would be devastating, not just for her."

His brow furrowed, a mix of understanding and lingering frustration evident in his expression. "I know that, but–"

"She's lost so much already," you continued gently. "The thought of losing you too must terrify her."

A flicker of understanding crossed Jacaerys' face. "I hadn't... I mean, I know she worries, but..."

He brought his free hand to his hair, pushing it back before. “I just wish she’d let me act. I only wish to help.”

“It might not feel like it, but sometimes being present and prepared is just as important as taking immediate action.”

He let himself fall back, hand still in yours as he laid on the grass. You settled beside him, keeping a respectful distance but close enough to offer comfort. 

"You want to make a difference, Jacaerys," you said softly, your voice blending with the tranquil sounds around you. "That’s a noble desire."

He closed his eyes for a moment, the serene atmosphere providing a brief escape from his inner turmoil. "I want to prove that I’m capable, that I can be trusted with more than just the responsibilities here at the castle."

“I rather like having you here, at the castle.” you admitted, cheeks burning as he turned to face you, you avoided his eyes.

Jacaerys’ gaze lingered on you, and you could feel the warmth of his attention even without looking directly at him. The confession had slipped out before you could fully rein it in, leaving you feeling a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability. 

You could see him processing your words, the flicker of surprise in his eyes softening into something more contemplative.

“You like having me here?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. There was a trace of something in his tone – curiosity, perhaps, or a tentative hope.

You nodded, still avoiding his gaze as you looked out at the blooming flowers. “Yes. Your presence here has been… comforting.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he almost whispered, “I like having you here, too.”

The realization that had begun to dawn upon him – the understanding of his feelings and the recognition of your presence as something deeply significant – seemed to transform the way he’d been looking at you. 

His eyes traced the contours of your face with a mix of awe and realization, as if seeing you in a light that was both startling and illuminating. The intensity of his stare spoke of a shift in his heart, a transition from the shadow of his past desires to the clarity of his present feelings.

His fingers moved to your wrist, softly caressing the skin as he stared. You felt your heart rate pick up, nervous under his gaze.

The realization that he had been holding back, that his past with Baela had obscured the thought of the potential of something new, seemed to now weigh heavily on him. Yet, despite the tumult of his emotions, there was a serene acceptance in his gaze as he watched you.

Eventually, he was shaken out of his thoughts by one of the handmaids approaching, hands together behind her back. “My prince, your presence is requested at the court.”

Jace’s hand reluctantly slipped from yours as he sat up, the moment of shared vulnerability giving way to the demands of his role. He looked at you, his expression a mix of regret and determination. “I suppose I must attend,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of reluctance.

You gave him a reassuring smile, though your heart felt a pang of disappointment at the interruption. “Of course. Duty calls.”

He rose to his feet, his posture shifting back into the prince’s armor of composure and authority. Yet, there was a softness in his eyes that lingered—a remnant of the moment you’d shared in the garden. He extended a hand to help you up, a gesture that was both courteous and intimate.

As you took his hand, you felt the warmth of his touch and the slight tremor in his fingers. It was as if the brief connection you had shared had made him more aware of your presence, more attuned to the quiet understanding that had passed between you.

“I’ll see you later?” he asked, his voice carrying a note of uncertainty as he looked at you.

You nodded, trying to keep the reassurance in your tone steady. “I’ll be around.”

Jacaerys offered a small, genuine smile before turning towards the handmaid, his demeanor shifting back to the prince of the realm. He followed her down the garden path, his steps more measured, his gaze occasionally turning back to where you stood.

—————

The prince was nowhere to be found. The castle’s usual rhythm was disrupted as whispers of Jacaerys’ disappearance spread through the corridors. The once-familiar sounds of bustling servants and the distant murmur of courtly debates felt suddenly fraught with tension. You moved through the stone halls with a sense of urgency, the weight of concern pressing heavily on your chest.

It had been a restless night after Jacaerys confided in you about his plans. His frustration and the quiet desperation in his voice had painted a vivid picture of a prince caught between duty and desire. He had sneaked past your chambers at midnight and told you, in hushed tones, about his decision to leave the castle in search of allies, to rally forces in favor of his mother’s cause. He begged for it to be kept a secret, for his mother would not allow it if he was found out. 

Now, as you scoured the castle, each passing moment felt like a lost opportunity to stop him. You had hoped he’d reconsider, that the gravity of his actions would weigh on him enough to stay, but now the absence of his familiar presence was a stark reminder of his resolve. You felt anxious at the amount of hours he’d been gone, his dragon with him.

As the days passed without any sign of Jacaerys, the castle's atmosphere remained tense, with whispered conversations falling silent as you approached. You couldn't shake the feeling of being an unwilling conspirator in the prince's absence.

To distract yourself from the gnawing worry, you sought out the company of Baela and Rhaena. You spent time with them in the gardens, listening to Baela's spirited tales of dragon-riding and Rhaena's quieter musings on history and lore. Their presence offered a semblance of normalcy in these unsettling times.

As the week drew to a close, you found yourself lying awake in your chambers, your mind racing with possibilities of Jacaerys' fate. The silence of the night was suddenly broken by a commotion in the halls. Heart pounding, you rose and moved towards the door, straining to make sense of the muffled voices and hurried footsteps.

Emerging into the corridor, you were met with a flurry of activity. Servants rushed past, carrying linens and basins of water. The air was thick with tension and an undercurrent of relief. As you made your way towards the source of the disturbance, you overheard fragments of conversation.

"The prince has returned..."

"...wounded, but alive..."

"...flew in on a weak Vermax..."

Your steps quickened as you approached Jacaerys' chambers. The door stood ajar, and you caught glimpses of the prince through the gap. He was seated on the edge of his bed, surrounded by maesters and attendants. His face was pale and drawn, with a bandage visible beneath his torn shirt and a bloodied gash on the side of his face, from his eyebrow to his cheek. 

As you hovered uncertainly in the doorway, torn between relief at his return and apprehension about the consequences of his actions, Jacaerys' gaze met yours. He shared a small smile before the door was shut fully.

Hours later, when the halls had once again fallen silent, restlessness clung to you like a second skin. So, when you heard the soft knock at your chamber door, your breath hitched with a mix of relief and apprehension. You recognized Jacaerys’ familiar rhythm: two quick raps, a pause, followed by another. Without hesitation, you moved to open the door, ushering him inside and closing it behind him with a soft click.

“Jace,” you whispered, your voice a blend of concern and gentle reproach. “You should be resting. The maesters–”

“They exaggerate,” he cut in, a wry smile curving his lips. The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, which were shadowed with fatigue. “I can walk just fine, and these”, he gestured vaguely to his face and torso, “are merely flesh wounds. They’ll scar, nothing more.”

You took a long, careful look at him. Despite the bravado in his voice, you could see the toll of the day’s events etched into his features. The weariness was palpable in the way he held himself, slightly hunched as though to shield his injuries from the world. His normally bright eyes seemed dimmed, burdened with an invisible weight that hadn’t been there before he left.

“What happened out there?” you asked softly, guiding him to sit on the edge of your bed. You remained standing, unable to find the calm to settle.

Jacaerys sighed deeply, his hand running through his disheveled hair, pushing it away from his face. He shook his head, the gesture heavy with unspoken frustration and exhaustion. 

"It's... a long story," he said, his voice weary. "I wouldn't want to bore you with the details."

You moved closer, your eyes fixed on his face. "Jace, you could never bore me."

He looked up at you, a flicker of gratitude passing across his features. But then he shook his head again, more gently this time. "I appreciate that, truly. But right now... I just need a moment of peace. This past week has been..." He trailed off, seemingly unable to find the words to describe his ordeal.

"And I know that once my mother hears of my return, there will be no escaping her scolding," he added with a rueful smile. "I wanted to see you before that storm breaks."

Your heart softened at his words. You sat down beside him on the bed, careful not to jostle his injuries. "I'm glad you came," you said softly. "I've been worried sick about you."

Jacaerys turned to face you, his eyes searching yours. 

“We all have been,” you added. “Baela… your mother…”

A flicker of acknowledgement passed over Jacaerys' face at the mention of Baela, but it lacked the usual undercurrent of pain and longing you'd grown accustomed to seeing. Instead, there was a quiet acceptance in his eyes, as if a weight had been lifted.

"I'm sorry for worrying you all," he said softly, his gaze dropping to his hands.

Jacaerys remained quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on his hands. Though he didn't voice it, the week away had been harder than he'd anticipated, not just because of the physical trials he'd endured. He'd found himself missing your presence more than he'd expected – your counsel, your companionship, the comfort of your familiar face in a sea of uncertainty.

When he'd caught a glimpse of you outside his chambers earlier, a part of him had wanted to dismiss all the fussing maesters immediately. He'd longed to speak with you, to see you, to share the weight of his experiences, to seek solace in your understanding.

His eyes lifted to meet yours again, “What have you been doing in my absence?”

You huffed, fixing your posture and faking a smile. “Queen-to-be training, apparently.”

"Queen-to-be training?" he repeated, his tone a mix of amusement and sympathy. "I can only imagine. Let me guess – the maesters have been relentless?"

You nodded, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. "They were absolutely scandalized when they discovered I hadn't been taught to sew as a child. You'd think I'd committed some grave offense against the realm itself."

He shook his head, still smiling. Jace leaned back slightly, his posture relaxing as he listened to you. Despite his fatigue, he seemed genuinely entertained by your predicament. "And how are you faring with these... essential skills?" he asked, a teasing glint in his eye.

You gave him a playful glare. "I'll have you know, my stitches are only slightly crooked now. Though I fear my embroidered dragons look more like angry lizards."

This elicited another laugh from Jacaerys, louder this time. He quickly pressed a hand to his side, but the smile remained. "Well, I for one would be honored to have a tapestry of angry lizards adorning the castle walls."

You couldn't help but smile at Jacaerys' laughter, even as concern flickered in your eyes when he winced. It was good to see him in lighter spirits, despite his injuries.

"I'm glad you find my struggles amusing, Your Grace," you retorted with mock indignation.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

You couldn't help but smile at his fake offense. "Oh! And apparently, I've been pronouncing 'Targaryen' wrong all this time."

Jacaerys raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Oh? And how have you been saying it?"

You demonstrated, exaggerating your previous pronunciation. 

Jacaerys laughed loudly again, shaking his head. "Well, I suppose we can't have a future queen mangling the family name. Though between you and me, I think half the smallfolk say it differently anyway."

The way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the genuine amusement that softened the harsh lines of his face, was a reminder of the boyish prince beneath the layers of duty and exhaustion.

You watched him carefully, your heart aching with a mixture of relief and lingering worry. “You really should rest,” you said gently, reaching out to adjust the bandage on his forehead, which had started to peel from the corner. 

His hand came up to cup yours, linking your fingers together as he hesitated. “I suppose I should.”

As if summoned by some mischievous deity, a muffled voice filtered through the heavy chamber doors, shattering the intimate moment. The maester's call, though faint, rang out clearly in the sudden silence: "My prince?"

Jacaerys tensed slightly, his hand tightening around yours for a brief moment before he let out a soft sigh.

"It seems my reprieve was short-lived," he murmured, a note of resignation in his voice.

You both stood, reluctantly letting your hands fall apart. Jacaerys moved towards the door, his movements careful and measured to avoid aggravating his injuries. 

The door creaked open to reveal the maester, whose expression was a blend of relief and professional concern. Behind him, the flickering torchlight cast shadows that danced across the walls, adding to the sense of urgency.

“My prince,” the maester began, his gaze flickering to you with a polite nod, “You must rest.”

As he turned to follow the maester, he glanced back at you, a brief, almost imperceptible smile passing across his lips. The door closed behind them, leaving you alone in the dimly lit room. The soft rustling of fabric and the distant murmur of footsteps were the only sounds breaking the stillness. After a week of restless nights, you finally let sleep take over you.

The next day dawned with a flurry of activity in the castle. You rose early, your mind still occupied with thoughts of Jacaerys and the events of the previous night. As you prepared for your daily lessons, you caught snippets of conversation from passing servants – apparently, the prince had been confined to his chambers on the Queen's orders until his wounds fully healed.

Your morning was filled with the now-familiar routine of "queen-to-be" training, barely having time to visit your betrothed. Every time you’d tried to sneak past the maester in charge, or one of the maids, you’d be given a stern look that made you sit back down to focus on your duties. 

As you moved through the castle corridors between lessons, your path took you past Jacaerys' chambers. You slowed your steps, hoping for a glimpse or perhaps a chance to check on him. Instead, you saw Baela and Rhaena approaching his door.

You hesitated, watching as Baela knocked and then entered the room with a gentleness that seemed at odds with her usual boisterous demeanor. Through the briefly open door, you caught a glimpse of Jacaerys, propped up in bed, his face lighting up at the sight of his cousins.

A pang of something – jealousy? concern? – fluttered in your chest as you observed Baela's careful movements around Jacaerys, her hand resting on his arm, a small smile on both of their faces. But as you watched their interaction, brief as it was, you realized with a sense of relief that there was nothing more than friendship between them. The easy camaraderie, the lack of tension or hidden glances – it all spoke of a comfortable, familial bond rather than the romantic entanglement that had been haunting them for the past months.

As the door closed behind the sisters, you found yourself releasing a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. The knot of tension in your chest loosened, replaced by a warm feeling of reassurance. You continued on your way to your next lesson, your steps lighter than before.

Throughout the rest of the day, your thoughts occasionally drifted to Jacaerys, wondering how he was faring in his confinement. You made a mental note to find a way to visit him yourself, perhaps under the guise of delivering some reading material or simply to offer companionship during his recovery.

—————

Three days had gone by, Jace’s absense from the castle’s halls feeling like a palpable void. The castle's routine continued its relentless pace, but each day felt marked by the absence of the prince, who remained in his chambers as per the Queen’s decree. The usual sounds of the castle – footsteps echoing in the corridors, the murmur of conversations, and the clinking of dishes during meals – seemed muted without Jacaerys’ vibrant presence.

Your lessons, though diligently attended, seemed to stretch endlessly. The repetitive drills and the constant pressure to perfect every task left you feeling drained. 

On the third day, the weight of confinement began to bear down on you. The castle walls seemed to close in, and the routines felt increasingly stifling. You could no longer ignore the need to see Jacaerys, to offer him your support and comfort in person.

In the late afternoon, as the sun began to cast a warm, golden light through the castle windows, you decided to act. With a determined resolve, you gathered a stack of books, their leather covers and gold leafing catching the light, and made your way toward Jacaerys’ chambers. This time, you hoped your visit would be more than just a fleeting encounter.

As you approached his door, you took a deep breath, your nerves fluttering with anticipation. You knocked gently, the sound a soft reminder of your presence.

You were met with silence. 

You were about to knock a second time when the door creaked open just slightly, and you caught a glimpse of Jacaerys himself standing on the other side. His disheveled hair and the faint smile that tugged at his lips betrayed a hint of mischief.

Before you could react, he grabbed your hand with a swift, practiced motion and pulled you into the shadowed recess of the large closet adjacent to his door. The suddenness of the action left you breathless and slightly disoriented, but the familiar scent of cedar and leather from the closet’s wooden shelves quickly grounded you.

The closet was spacious enough to accommodate both of you. As your eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the small crack in the door, you saw Jacaerys leaning against the wooden wall, his face a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

“You,” he said in a low voice, a smile playing at the corners of his lips, “have impeccable timing.”

You let out a soft laugh, your nerves calming as you realized the nature of this unexpected encounter. “Shouldn’t you be resting?” you teased, trying to peer through the sliver of light to gauge your surroundings.

Jacaerys shrugged lightly, though the movement was cautious to avoid aggravating his injuries. “The maesters have been relentless. They’ve turned my chambers into a medical haven. And every time they think I’m alone, they come barging in.”

“This is not quite the secret escape I envisioned,” Jacaerys continued, his voice tinged with a playful undertone. “But I needed a moment away from the constant attention.”

You turned to face him fully, the dim light highlighting the fatigue etched into his features. Despite his light-hearted words, the exhaustion was evident. “I can imagine,” you said softly. “I’m sorry to intrude. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

He reached out and took your hand, his touch gentle but firm. Jacaerys’ smile widened, though his eyes remained shadowed with fatigue. “I’m glad you came,” he said, his voice carrying a note of genuine relief. “I’ve missed our conversations.”

“I’ve missed them too,” you admitted. 

“I’m sure they have gone to folly, they won’t let me stand from bed without making a fuss of it.” he nodded his head towards the doors, referring to the healers. Though the light was dim, you could still see some of the light hit his face, letting you see the wide smile on his face, and the less-reddened stitches on his brow.

You glanced around the small space, the closet’s confines feeling oddly intimate as you and Jacaerys stood close together, the warmth of his presence a comforting balm. You could still hear the distant murmur of servants and the occasional clatter of dishes, but the noise felt miles away from this hidden nook.

“You’ve been so diligent with your lessons,” he said, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “I was beginning to think you enjoyed them more than my company.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “Hardly,” you said. “If you could see the looks I get from the maesters when I try to sneak away, you’d know I’m barely enjoying myself.”

You heard the faintest sound of footsteps approaching, and your heart skipped a beat. The maesters, ever vigilant, seemed to be making their rounds again. The muffled conversation from outside the door grew clearer, and you could catch fragments of their voices discussing treatments and concerns.

Jacaerys tensed slightly, his hand squeezing yours for a brief moment before letting go. He brought his finger to his lips, telling you to be silent. He glanced towards the door, his face reflecting a mixture of concern and frustration. 

“We should–”

Jace cut you off by pushing the door to the closet, creaking it open just enough to let in a sliver of light, and you heard one of the maesters call out, “My prince?”

Jacaerys’ eyes widened slightly, and he moved quickly, guiding you further into the closet’s shadows. You followed his lead, pressing yourself against the wall.

The maesters’ voices grew louder, and you could see their shadows falling across the floor just outside the closet. “He must be somewhere around here,” one of them said with a hint of irritation. “He can’t have vanished into thin air.”

The tension in the small, shadowed closet was almost palpable. You and Jacaerys huddled together, your breaths shallow and synchronized as you listened to the footsteps drawing nearer. 

Jacaerys' hand, still warm from holding yours, rested lightly on your back, a comforting presence amid the growing anxiety. His face, illuminated by the narrow stream of light sneaking in through the partially opened closet door, reflected a hint of amusement.

The maesters' voices were now directly outside the door, their conversation laced with frustration. “He couldn’t have gone far,” one of them said with a note of exasperation. 

“His Lady is also gone.” you recognized the voice from the maester that ‘helped’ with your duties. 

The sound of the maesters' footsteps echoed ominously in the corridor, each step growing closer and more insistent. The air in the closet was warm and heavy, mingling with the faint scent of cedar and leather. You pressed yourself closer to Jacaerys, your heart pounding in sync with the increasingly agitated voices outside.

Jacaerys' attempt to stifle a giggle came out as a muffled snort, his shoulders shaking with barely contained mirth. The sound was so unexpected that it made you bite back a laugh of your own, though you knew it would only draw more attention. You nudged him gently, your eyes narrowing with a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

“Jace,” you whispered fiercely, “this is not the time for laughter.”

He covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of apology and suppressed hilarity. “I’m sorry,” he managed to whisper, his voice trembling with barely contained laughter.

"...The Lady must be with him," one of the maesters said, frustration evident in his tone. "It’s rather irregular for them both to be missing at once."

You could almost see the disapproving frown on the maester’s face. The idea of being found in such a compromising position made your cheeks burn with mortification. Your heart raced as you imagined the potential scandal that could arise from this misunderstanding.

“They must think we–”

Jacaerys, sensing your distress, gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. His eyes, despite their fatigue, held a mixture of amusement and tenderness. He leaned in slightly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “They’ve jumped to conclusions. Don’t worry.”

You covered your face with your hands, even though he could barely see you, he stifled another giggle. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of mortification at the thought that anyone might assume something dishonorable was happening between you. Without thinking, you reached for the doors, wishing to push them open and stop the gossiping outside that questioned yours and the prince’s ability to wait for the wedding.

Jacaerys let out a barely audible sigh, his hand still resting lightly on your back. “We should stay put,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “They’ll leave eventually.”

You nodded, stepping back and pressing closer into the shadows of the closet. The cool, cedar-scented air was a stark contrast to the warmth of Jace’s body near yours. The narrow stream of light that filtered through the crack in the door illuminated the small space in patches, casting elongated shadows that danced around you.

Minutes felt like hours as you waited in the tense silence. You could hear the maesters’ frustration mounting, their voices rising in pitch as they grew increasingly exasperated. Jacaerys was still smiling at the distress.

The voices of the maesters gradually began to recede, their footsteps growing fainter as they moved further down the corridor. You exhaled slowly, the tension in your shoulders easing just slightly. Jacaerys, still pressed close to you, let out a soft chuckle, though he quickly stifled it with a hand over his mouth.

You could feel the heat of his laughter reverberating through his chest, a sensation that was both comforting and endearing despite the precariousness of your situation. You turned to him, your eyes meeting his in the dim light. His smile, despite the exhaustion that lined his face, was infectious.

“You could try to find a more comfortable hiding spot, next time.”

“Noted,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. You hoped that by the time all the maesters were out of the room and you stepped out of the closet, the evident flush of embarrassment that showed in your stance and your face. 

As the final echoes of the maesters' footsteps faded away, you and Jacaerys remained hidden in the closet, the silence now a companion rather than an adversary. The tension that had clung to the air began to dissipate, replaced by a more relaxed atmosphere that was punctuated by Jacaerys' muffled chuckles and your own quiet, relieved laughter.

You shifted slightly, careful not to jostle Jacaerys too much, and peered through the narrow crack in the closet door. The hallway outside was empty, the earlier disturbance seemingly a distant memory. You turned back to Jacaerys, whose face was lit by a smile that softened the lines of worry etched into his features.

“Are they gone?” you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Jacaerys nodded, his expression one of satisfaction mixed with residual amusement. “I think we’re clear. Though I doubt they'll stop their search anytime soon.”

With a final glance towards the partially open door, you slowly eased out of the closet, Jacaerys following suit with a careful, measured movement. The light from the corridor spilled into the closet, illuminating the room in a warm glow that made the shadows retreat. You watched as Jace made his way to his bed, patting the spot next to him for you to sit. 

Jacaerys sank onto the bed with a sigh of relief, the weariness of his injuries evident in the way he settled. You sat beside him, careful to keep your movements gentle and unhurried. 

“I’d brought you books,” you said, pointing at the pile of books that had fallen to the floor when he pushed you into the hiding spot. 

“Would you read to me?”

The request was soft, almost hesitant, but you could see the faint hope in his eyes. 

“Of course,” you said, your voice gentle as you began to gather the books from the floor. You selected one that seemed lighthearted, its cover adorned with an intricate illustration that promised adventure and whimsy. You settled back onto the bed beside him, the book open in your lap.

Jacaerys shifted slightly, propping himself up with a few pillows to make himself more comfortable. 

The room seemed to grow quieter, the only sounds the gentle rustle of pages and your soothing voice. Jacaerys’ eyes, once shadowed with fatigue, now shone with a mixture of relief and contentment. He listened intently, his gaze fixed on you as if the story was a lifeline pulling him away from the distress of his injuries.

You paused occasionally, glancing up to see his reaction, and each time you were met with a smile or a look of fascination.

After a while, Jacaerys let out a contented sigh, his hand resting on the book as you reached a particularly gripping part of the story. 

He cleared his throat softly, a subtle gesture that drew your attention away from the book. His gaze was momentarily fixed on your face, as if seeking the right words amidst the shadows and flickering candlelight.

He paused, as if weighing his next words carefully. “There’s something I’d like to ask,” he said, his voice a soft murmur.

You felt a flutter of anticipation in your chest. “What is it?”

Jacaerys’ gaze fell to the book, then back to you. “Would you… kiss me?”

The request was almost shy, a contrast to the bold stories you’d been reading together. But there was something incredibly sincere in his tone, a plea for a simple yet profound gesture of closeness.

You didn’t hesitate. You set the book aside, letting it rest gently on the bed. You moved closer to him, your heart racing with a mix of tenderness and excitement. Jacaerys’ breath was warm against your cheek as you leaned in.

You pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek, the touch delicate and affectionate. His skin was warm and slightly rough from the healing, but there was a softness that spoke of his vulnerability. As your lips met his cheek, you felt him relax, a sigh of contentment escaping him.

When you pulled back, Jacaerys looked at you with a smile that was both grateful and serene. His eyes were bright, the earlier exhaustion giving way to a peaceful calm. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.

For a few moments, there was only the soft, rhythmic sound of your breathing and the occasional crackle of the candle flames. The evening outside continued its slow descent into night, the castle settling into a peaceful hush.

The sound of the doors opening eventually broke the silence, you almost jumped from the bed, the thought of being found in bed, unchaperoned, with Jace. 

Your heart leapt into your throat at the sound of the doors creaking open. Panic surged through you as you glanced quickly at Jacaerys, whose own eyes widened in alarm. You barely had time to react before the intruder – a young maid, her face flushed with the energy of youth – appeared in the doorway.

You froze, every muscle tensing as she looked around the room with wide, innocent eyes. The maid's gaze fell upon you and Jacaerys, sitting together on the bed. Her cheeks reddened slightly, a mix of surprise and embarrassment flickering across her face.

“I–I’m sorry, My Prince,” she stammered, her eyes darting between you and Jacaerys. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Jacaerys, still propped up on the pillows, cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure. “It’s alright,” he said, his voice steady despite the situation. 

The maid took a step into the room, her gaze flickering nervously. “The maesters are looking for you, my prince. They’ve been rather anxious, and I’ve been sent to see if you made your way back to your chambers.”

You could sense Jacaerys’ frustration at the intrusion, though he managed to keep his demeanor calm. He looked at you, a silent plea for understanding in his eyes. You offered a reassuring nod, then moved to rise from the bed.

“I’ll go,” you said gently. “It’s best if I make my exit before things get more complicated.”

Jacaerys reached out, taking your hand with a brief but tender grip. “Thank you for being here,” he said softly, his eyes conveying the depth of his gratitude.

You smiled, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before reluctantly pulling away. “I’ll see you soon,” you promised.

—————

The days that followed your clandestine visit to Jacaerys were a blend of anticipation and reflection. The castle continued its relentless rhythm, but now, each echo and murmur seemed tinged with the memory of your hidden conversation. Jacaerys’ recovery was progressing, and the tension that had initially surrounded his confinement began to ease. The maesters, though still vigilant, were less inclined to hover, and the prince’s rooms were gradually returning to a semblance of normalcy.

You had kept your promise to Jacaerys, visiting him regularly. Each visit was a delicate balance of light-hearted storytelling and quiet companionship. 

Among the many who noticed the change was Baela. The shadows of the past days had given way to a hopeful light, and Baela could sense the shift. She had seen the glances exchanged, the shared smiles, and the subtle, unspoken understanding between you and Jacaerys. It was clear to her that something had deepened between you two, and she couldn’t help but feel a sense of happiness for her friend and his newfound joy.

Your months in Dragonstone, even while its halls were rumbling with conversations about the war, were a stark contrast to the familiar, yet isolating, walls of your own castle, where being the only girl and without siblings had left you feeling like a solitary figure amidst the vast expanse of family and duty.

After having spent every given moment with Baela and Rhaena, they had become your confidantes, your sisters of choice, each sharing in the trials and triumphs of your days with an openness that was both refreshing and comforting. And the enthusiasm for company of the small Joffrey made your heart ache with care.

Little Joffrey was fast asleep with his head on your lap, both of you sitting on the grass outside of the castle, under the dappled shade of an ancient oak.

Beside you, Baela and Rhaena lounged on a cloth spread out on the grass. They chatted animatedly, their voices a melodic blend of excitement and curiosity. Baela was gesticulating with animated gestures, her laughter bright. Rhaena smiled warmly, her gaze occasionally shifting to the slumbering Joffrey with an expression of affectionate amusement.

The halt of steps beside you made you look up, a small smile creeping to your face at the sight of your betrothed. 

Without a word, Jacaerys stopped by your side, his gaze flicking to Baela and Rhaena, who had paused in their conversation, their curiosity piqued by his arrival. His expression softened as he met your eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had grown between you.

He cleared his throat softly, a gesture that drew your attention. “Could I speak with you for a moment?” His tone was courteous yet carried an undertone of urgency that made you sit up slightly, careful not to disturb Joffrey’s slumber.

You nodded, glancing at Baela and Rhaena, who exchanged curious glances but remained silent, their interest evident. “Of course,” you said, rising gently and carefully lifting Joffrey to lay him down on one of the girls, ensuring he remained comfortable.

As you moved away from the blanket and the lively chatter, Jacaerys fell into step beside you. His presence was reassuring, though his demeanor was serious. He guided you a short distance away from the others, near a secluded spot where the oak's branches formed a natural canopy, providing a sense of privacy.

Once you were out of earshot, he stopped and turned to face you, his expression a mix of anticipation and something akin to nervousness. His hand moved to the small of your back.

“What is it?” you asked with a smile.

“I figured we could use a moment alone,”  Jacaerys' demeanor shifted subtly as he faced you, his eyes softening with warmth. A hint of a playful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He stepped closer, his hand still resting gently on the small of your back.

"Well," he began, his voice low and tinged with a hint of mischief, "I've been thinking about something for a while now." His gaze flickered briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again. 

He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your cheek. "I was hoping we might... continue where we left off the other day?" he murmured, his tone filled with gentle suggestion.

“Whatever do you mean?” 

Jacaerys' fingers traced a feather-light pattern on your back, sending a shiver down your spine. His other hand came up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, lingering there for a moment.

Jace smiled softly, his eyes twinkling with affection as he gazed at you. "You know what I mean," he said gently, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand moved from your hair to cup your cheek tenderly. “I have grown to care deeply for you. You cloud my judgment.”

With a gentle tilt of his head, Jacaerys closed the remaining distance between you. His lips met yours in a soft, sweet kiss. It was brief but filled with emotion – a tender expression of the growing bond between you. As he pulled back slightly, his eyes searched for yours, filled with hope and a question.

"Was that alright?" he whispered, his hand still cradling your cheek.

You felt a rush of warmth spreading through you, your heart beating a little faster. This moment, shared in the dappled shade of the ancient oak, felt like the beginning of something precious. The playful glint in Jacaerys' eyes mixed with genuine care, creating a connection that went beyond your formal betrothal.

In the distance, you could hear the muffled laughter of Baela and Rhaena, a reminder of the world beyond this intimate moment. But for now, wrapped in Jacaerys' gentle embrace, you allowed yourself to savor this new chapter in your relationship, full of promise and sweet beginnings.

taglist: @smurfelle @earth4angels @ @sillylittlepenguin181818 (taglist link is on pinned!)

[akutasoda]

in the morning light

[part 2 here]

synopsis - what it's like sharing a bed with them

includes - aventurine, gallagher, sunday, robin, boothill

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, slight angst, i have no clue what im doing, might be ooc, wc - 1.2k

a/n: i have absolutely no clue what this is... im trying to write requests but i feel weirdly rusty and so i needed to do something random and well... this is it i guess?

aventurine ★↷

↪he has settled for a very long time to have bare minimum as his bed, practically nothing in some cases, and so now he over indulges himself. we've all seen the official art and the animation, he has one of the comfiest beds known.

↪anything you need, he's got it for you no questions asked or thought about. he does care quite abit about how he presents himself so he has quite the nightly routine but it's not that extensive, so if you wish to do yours alongside he wouldn't mind one bit.

↪naturally a light sleeper - the slightest sound or movement can wake him. aventurine is also quite prone to frequent nightmares which cause him to wake up in a cold sweat everytime. he doesn't wish to burden you however and so he tries to keep his movements to a minimum when your beside him.

↪he doesn't say anything but he always loves it when you wrap your arms around him and let him rest his head on your chest. it's very comforting to him. he feels safe in your arms and listening to your heartbeat brings him that reassurance that you are real and there for him.

↪unfortunately due to his work he can get very early morning calls which cause him to wake up early and begrudgingly leave you behind - he'd never wake you but places a kiss on your forehead before leaving. however if he has the day off, he becomes extremely clingly and refuses to move and further intertwines his body with yours.

gallagher ★↷

↪as a bloodhound, he doesn't normally stay the whole night as he might be called out to deal with whatever problem penacony has then. this can feed into a reluctance to join you in bed as he knows he wouldn't be able to leave if he did so.

↪he isn't one that cared about comfort or a good night sleep, so his bed was always bare minimum with one or two pillows and a blanket. although if you're one for more than he wouldn't mind buying anything you wanted to add.

↪doesn't really have a bedtime routine. most of the time he gets straight home from work and is very content to just collapse onto the bed beside you without even changing. most of his routine is spent in the morning trying to make himself look a bit more presentable for the day - he is very prone to drastic bed hair.

↪if he knows he wont be called out or has the next day off, he will happily join you in bed and becomes dead to the world. can be a very heavy sleeper if he knows he can allow himself to be.

↪gallagher can also be extremely clingy - on purpose. he enjoys holding you in his arms knowing that he can protect you and keep you close. so good luck if you have places to be because gallagher will have you in a tight bear hug which he won't let up any time soon.

sunday ★↷

↪he is normally very busy as the head of the oak family but he knows how important it is to keep up with things like sleeping to be able to actually function, so he tries his hardest but does has a tendency to put work first.

↪that being said, he does have a very high standard when it comes to his actual bed - he's sort of a mix because he likes having the comfiest things but he wouldn't complain otherwise. therefore he can be very accommodating to your needs.

↪he cares about his public appearance very much and so he has a very quick but efficient nightime and morning routine, he doesn't like spending time on such trivial matters but he needs to look pristine. sometimes if you're lucky enough you can see his wings looking very disheveled in the morning.

↪he probably didn't like the idea of sharing a bed to start with but he'd warm up to the idea much further into the relationship. although he isn't exactly one for cuddles, he much prefers that you have your own seperate sides of the bed - he'd be rather insistent on having his space.

↪sometimes you'd forget he's sleeping beside you. he barely moves at all and stays way too still to the point that you get a little weirded out, the only sign that he's still loving is the occasional flutter of his wings.

↪gets up super early. like way too early but he doesn't press you to get up at the same time unless you have somewhere to be. even if he doesn't have anywhere to be he gets up early because it's a habit for him.

robin ★↷

↪she can be equally as busy as her brother but most of the time she'd love nothing more than to end her day cuddled up beside you - her daily schedule can be much more accommodating to having a healthy sleep schedule.

↪as a very popular singer, she does need to keep up her appearance and so she has a very extensive and detailed nightime routine that she doesn't mind you joing her for if you wished. same goes for her morning routine.

↪robin is quite used to having many things and that translates into her bed as it has very fluffy blankets and lots of pillows. although she doesn't mind changing a few things if that isn't exactly your style.

↪a surprisingly light sleeper but she can move around quite a bit in her sleep. not exactly drastic movements but more small scale actions to readjust herself very often. she can be a massive cuddle bug so sometimes she does accidentally move you around with her.

boothill ★↷

↪chasing one bounty after another doesn't leave much room for somebody to lay low and have a proper rest. being a cyborg doesn't really help that case either as he doesn't exactly need to sleep to function - does he even need to recharge?

↪boothill really only started caring about sleep or 'recharging' when you came along. that being said, he doesn't exactly have a permanent place to stay so you might have to accommodate a cyborg into your room - but he is very adaptable and respectful of your space.

↪it becomes a moment for you two just to relax and unwind, he no longer has to worry about anything and can spend his time holding you. he probably can 'sleep' as a way to recharge but he becomes like a log and doesn't move at all until he's ready to go.

↪he does have a love hate relationship with having care routines, i do believe that he probably values his hair alot as it's the only remaining part of him from his life as a human but other than that he only looks after the rest of himself to make sure he doesn't malfunction.

↪he doesn't dare wake you unless you've specifically asked him too. so sometimes you may wake up to see him staring at you but you would learn to deal with that...

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @teddirika, @frankiesteinn

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part One - A twisted fate

I'm gonna be honest: this came to me in a tired, period induced haze and I have no idea what the hell I'm doing but the bunnies would not let me stop until I finished it. Was supposed to be a oneshot... until it wasn't XD Hoping this is just gonna be a short little pet project on the side. Lemme know if I missed any triggers!

Trigger warnings: SA (not by the 141), biting, claiming, angst, depression, self harm

[Edit 7/16/24: updated relationship tags]

The parking lot was a certified mess to navigate, a veritable winter hellscape with the continual snowfall keeping the pavement slick and churning around spinning wheels to create a thick dirty slush. Packed cars fought for spaces towards the front of the store, wanting to avoid the headache of trudging through sloppy sleet, heavy carts overflowing with expensive gifts and last minute groceries.

Parents loaded up their trunks for their upcoming banquets. Little ones chattered in youthful exuberance about brightly wrapped packages and a jolly fat man. Festively dressed bell ringers exhausted their muscles for the cause of charity, offering joyous smiles to those passing by gracious enough to offer a token. Even six inches of heavy wet snowfall were not enough to deter shoppers from their mood. Coupled with the obnoxiously boisterous music that met you at the door it was almost impossible not to get swept up in the infectious holiday spirit.

Almost.

You hadn’t bothered joining the chaotic dominance for prime parking, opting to choose the very last row towards the street instead of wasting precious minutes yelling profanities out the window to an uppity pack trying to steal your spot. The harsh wind burned your face and nipped at your skin, pulling the woolen scarf tighter around your neck and up over your bitten nose. You avoided eye contact with the chipper lady at the front, not wanting to feel guilty for not donating when you barely had enough to scrape by as it is.

Normally you avoided venturing out this close to Christmas unless absolutely necessary. Holidays haven't meant much to you in recent years since your parent’s untimely passing and you hated the constant reminder of ‘the most wonderful time of the year’. Sure, there were still your other two alpha fathers, but they’d opted for someplace warmer in their age and visitation was difficult with your busy work schedule. Your younger brother wasn’t almost worth mentioning with his new prissy family somewhere up north. That bridge was burned the day he called you a harlot.

Needless to say, you’d become something of a grinch.

You’d been miserably sick the week prior and ate through most of your stockpile of hoarded food, not enough remaining to keep blowing off shopping with the bustling crowds. If you wanted to last past New Years then a trip into town was unavoidable.

The intense blast of hot air from the overhead heaters thawed your aching bones upon entering the store, shaking the accumulated dampness from your head and shoulders but leaving the thick cloth covering the lower half of your face. It would help you in your endeavors to get through the aisles expediently without irritating your delicate omega olfactory senses. 

It got harder to distinguish the source of fragrances this time of year, when folk spent their days burrowed away from the bitter cold surrounded by the comforts of the season. A chilled glass of rich subtly spiced eggnog, smokey cedar logs crackling in the hearth, sweet woodsy pine wreaths and garlands wrapped around thick oak banisters, trees decorated with peppermint candy canes and dried strings of popcorn. 

Gingerbread, mulled wine, cinnamon, orange, clove; a bountiful buffet of complementary aromas. Your own father had smelled of cranberry sauce once upon a time (it made the holidays that much harder when he was gone). And with so many people filling the space - even with the heating fans working overtime trying to filter out most of it - it could get difficult trying to figure out whether a boozy scent originated from a lovely beta or the soaked rum cake she was placing in her cart.

Honestly if it weren't for the outrageous delivery fees you would've had the groceries dropped off instead of enduring the aggressive pheromones floating through the air. Alas this was one of your few exceptions to your hermit lifestyle.

Truthfully, it wasn’t just December that had you hesitant to leave the sanctuary of your meager apartment. 

For the past few years, you’d been battling a severe case of agoraphobia, something you’d been working on wholeheartedly with a therapist since the accident that made you so. It had crippled you to the point that even daring to have the blinds open on your windows sent you spiraling into that dark abyss of cackling distress, panic consuming every last ounce of breath until you found yourself minutes later curled up on the bathroom floor, lightheaded and queasy.

Nausea was a constant in your life, along with the cold sweat that had you sleeping on a towel just to keep from ruining your bedsheets. Lethargy was embedded in your muscle fibers. A searing ache in your throat. The painful deep tugging in your chest an ever present reminder of the uphill battle you fought each time you opened your crusty sleep filled eyes. Depression was your best friend, curled around you in a false sense of comfort where it was easier to slip into a maladaptive headspace than face the truth of your harsh reality.

But despite the physical manifestations of your trauma, you’d made good strides so far with your weekly sessions. It had been a difficult road getting to this point and your therapist praised you for your dedication to not letting it hinder the life you had ahead. You weren’t sure what it looked like, but you tried all the same.

Like a hound that heard you calling, that ominous presence that filled you with dread came crawling into the back of your skull, mittened hand discreetly itching at the wool around your neck and scratching the irritated skin beneath. Forcing yourself to take a few deep breaths until it settled, you grabbed one of the many baskets available and began the trek weaving down the rows of food.

Christmas was about a week away and the mobs were out in full force. Thankfully the items you were on the hunt for were not the same ingredients needed by everyone else. There was the occasional overlap of things like milk, eggs, bread, etc. But there was no call for a full sized turkey or spiraled ham; no sweet potato casserole or chocolate yule log to bake. Just some bologna, shredded cheese, a couple packs of ramen, and a few other household things here you were running low on. 

Maybe for the hell of it you’d stop in the frozen section and find yourself a mini cheesecake to splurge on for when you inevitably opened that bottle of fireball sitting on the shelf come next Tuesday, forced to listen to your upstairs neighbors' horrendous attempts at Christmas caroling.

Halfway through the store, your browsing was interrupted by an alluring scent swirling somewhere nearby.

Citrusy. Acidic. Sweet. Airy. 

Your scarf had slipped off your face when you bent down to grab something off the lower racks, exposing you to the freshly baked goods across the way. Someone nearby was carrying a batch of lemon cupcakes, your mouth watering as the scent invaded your tastebuds and forced a pleasant hum from the back of your throat. 

Something curled in your chest like a finger beckoning forward, begging for an acknowledgement that had you standing at rapt attention. Your body seemed to move on its own, head swiveling like a rickety chair, scanning the nearby vicinity - for what, you couldn’t say. The inner omega that prowled just underneath the surface vibrated restlessly, choking back a needy whine while your eyes swept over the closest individuals. Something primal had called out to you, throwing your hormones out of whack, piecing together invisible clues so obviously standing right in front of you. 

The summery concoction felt so out of place in the harsh winter months, swirling and nagging at the base of your spine, urgent and loud and taking up too much space until you felt like you could drown in its tang–

Your muscles locked in place, gaze affixed to something - someone - at the end of the aisle. 

A big someone. An alpha.

And he was massive.

There was a natural musculature that came with the inherited alpha genetics. Beta’s could grow to a similar size if they worked at it, but there was a casual arrogance that was impossible to mistake with the former designation. Even still, this man towered over most others in the vicinity, lesser alphas giving a wide berth to the intimidating figure currently staring down at his phone screen. Thick grey hoodie pulled up over his head, a black military jacket layered over top. Dark wash jeans led down to warm boots hefty enough to stomp a man’s skull in. Messy dark blonde hair peeked out from up top, a black surgical mask covering the lower half of his face from view.

He couldn’t have given off any more ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibes if he had it tattooed across his forehead. There was nothing sinister about his bearing per se - one hand casually shoved into a coat pocket as he leaned back against one of the dessert displays - but there was a coiled alertness that gave you the distinct impression he was more aware of his surroundings than he led you to believe.

One thing was for certain: you were never more sure of anything in your less than perfect life that that man was your scent match.

Your lungs expanded in your chest to drink in more of his scent. Palms turned sweaty, hair on the back of your neck prickled, the weight of the basket on your arm all but forgotten. Your throat parched at the prospect of getting to shove your face against his scent gland and taste the delectable lemony goodness right off his skin. 

People went lifetimes never meeting their perfect scent matches. The odds of you ever encountering one wasn’t even worth holding out hope for. Over seven billion people on the planet and you had to win an epic fucking lottery to get as lucky as you just did. Bonding ceremonies like that made the news for how rare it was. You’d never even dreamed of this happening, making peace with the idea that mates only existed in fairytale romance.

You just about dropped your groceries when he was joined shortly thereafter by another gorgeous male, slightly shorter by a few inches and not as broadly built. Rich dark skin, effortlessly cool street style, short black curls, and a dazzling pearly white smile.

This new alpha didn’t seem to flinch in the presence of the other, lemon cupcake glancing up only briefly to acknowledge the newcomer whose toasted coconut aroma barrelled right into you, colliding like a runaway freight at an unguarded intersection. Gulping down mouthfuls of air like a fish heaving on dry land, your head spun wildly at the nutty intrusion; smokey yet sweet, conjuring images of a warm evening bonfire on a lush sandy beach. 

Hope bloomed in your chest something fierce and bright. Your omega preened in unbridled delight, pawing at the surface, eager to get her hands on the two beautiful specimens whose every atom screamed ‘mine’. Tears stung behind your eyes, a mixture of relief and elation, vibrant like bursting fireworks and twinkling Christmas lights. 

What would you say to them? Do you approach them first? Should you wait for them to scent you back or try to pretend you didn’t smell them yet? What did their voices sound like? You could see their lips moving, even if the ones’ were hidden behind a surgical mask. Tenor, baritone, rumbly bass? What were their names? Where did they live? Was this really happening right now?! 

Something twisted and gnarled sunk its claws into your subconscious, rearing its ugly head in protest at the newfound revelation, but for the first time in years you didn’t fucking care. 

They were here. Your alphas. Your pack. Your salvation.

“Babes!” 

Decadent chocolate floated past you, a small apology from her lips as the omega brushed by, bumping her arm against yours on the way to her intended destination. You’d hardly noticed, too caught up in your own inner monologue and girlish fantasies to barely manage a quiet ‘no worries’.

For a split second, your eyes met coconut’s beautiful luscious brown, breath catching in your throat as the object of your desire finally seemed to take note of your existence. It was like gazing into the threads of the universe, pulling taut between you in a cosmic symphony that brought your stardust back together from whence it scattered at the dawn of time. 

A perfect part of an incomplete whole.

…until those shimmering umber pools shifted left, aimed at the bubbly figure headed right towards them. 

Huh?

Confusion as both alphas turned their full undivided attention to the dark haired omega, holding out a box of something for them to inspect and smiling when it met their approval, an affectionate pat on the head from lemon for her success that left her beaming with pride. 

That’s when you noticed it - peeking out underneath the collar of her elegant peacoat. A faint white crescent moon shaped scar, standing out against her lightly tanned skin, a matching one a little farther down. 

Mating bites. A bonded omega. 

And your scent matched alphas were gazing lovingly at her as if she’d hung the stars. 

She was theirs. They’d already found their mate. 

And it wasn’t you.

Something died in your chest, a broken scream torn silent from your soul as it condensed into a burning black hole. Agony unlike anything you’ve ever known, piercing your fragile heart and burrowing like a plague into your veins until the sickness had spread to every corner of your being. Your omega clawed at her eyes, willing the visions in front of you to vanish like a twisted mirage, begging for a bullet to erase the image of coconut planting a soft forehead kiss before wrapping an arm around her waist and turning to leave. 

A dejected whine ripped from your throat as you took an unconscious step forward, hand vaguely outreached, instincts screaming to chase after them and make them choose you instead of her. But you did no such thing. You watched helplessly as the alphas who were supposedly destined for you by the stars turned their backs on your pathetic existence.

This couldn't be happening. Why was this happening?! Please turn around!!!

With the same circulating air that had guided their scents to you, the wind in the store shifted.

Lemon cupcake went ramrod straight, whipping his head around so fast you were worried it’d go flying off his shoulders. It was uncanny the way he immediately zeroed in on your poor trembling figure, standing in the middle of a crowded aisle, uncaring to the concerned glances of the other shoppers as he unknowingly ruined your life. 

Recognition sparked deep behind voided irises before going completely neutral, steeling his expression but remaining unmoving as stone. It’s like the two of you were locked into place, orbiting each other by an invisible tether, watery eyes begging the ones staring back to please… please not leave you behind.

Coconut halted in his own step at the end of the aisle, sniffing the air for a moment with a furrowed brow, glancing over his shoulder at lemon, asking him something too far away to overhear. You can only assume the contents of his reply, the slightest shift of his mask the only tell he’d responded before coconut turned to face you as well.

This time garnered more of a physical reaction than the last, jaw dropping while staring just as unabashedly as his alpha companion. Eyes swept from head to toe, cataloging every minute detail the same as you’d done to them. Pupils dilated exponentially, nostrils flaring taking in the crisp pear scent you exuded, memorizing every facet and swallowing it down like a ravenous predator.

What a sight you must’ve made; eyes red and puffy from the tears that now flowed freely from suffering instead of the earlier jubilation, meek and sheepish and falling apart at the seams. What a piss poor impression to give the men fated to be your mates.

There was a brief moment where coconut seemed to match your initial energy, a flash of something saccharine and longing, only for it to collapse under the grueling weight of our fatalistic reality. There was an internal struggle in the crease of his brow, the downturned expression souring behind clenched teeth and tight fists. But more than that there was pity - pity at how you couldn’t have met sooner. Pity that you’d had to discover them like this, a woman on their arm and bite marks on her neck. Pity that they hadn’t had faith that they would be the lucky ones in a packed society.

You can make out a question on the chocolate omega’s perfectly pouty lips, trying to put the jigsaw together as to why her alphas were suddenly acting this way while glancing between the three of you.

Ignoring her, coconut takes a half step forward; you take two steps back. There’s an apology in your watery eyes, a hushed ‘merry christmas’ too strained for their ears. Your heart’s beating too loudly, your breath comes too shallow. You don’t even realize you’re sucking in heaving sobs until a gentle hand of a passerby lands on your shoulder, snapping you out of the chaos of your psyche. 

You can’t take it any more; the shame, the embarrassment, the gut wrenching defeat. 

The basket falls to the floor with a loud clatter, startling the people nearby who let out shrieks and gasps of surprise as the spilled contents inside break open and shatter. Eggs crack, milk pours onto the mud trekked tile, a fragile jar of strawberry jam splatters across someones pristine boots with an indignant shout.

A smooth tenor voice calls out ‘WAIT’, but you’ve already rounded the corner, barreling through the crowds of happy smiles and ecstatic giggles, too torn up inside to feel anything but desolation at the future so cruelly ripped from your fingers.

The crisp frigid air smacks the breath from your lungs, winter boots slapping on the slushy frozen ground. The squeal of brakes accompanies you as you sprint uncaringly through the bustling traffic, horns honking and voices shouting, muffled and far away as you drown in the whirlwind of your mind. It’s a miracle you’re not hit by a car, an even bigger one that you make it back to your own unscathed.

Slamming the car door shut, you smack your padded palms repeatedly against the steering wheel, banshee wailing your vocal cords raw in despair. The dark presence creeps in once more, a mocking chill down your spine as it caresses your fractured soul. The nausea comes back full force, the tugging on your chest, the burning in your throat. There’s a desperation as you tear your fitted mittens off, reaching under the woolen scarf and incessantly scratching at the irritated skin until it shreds under your nails. The pain doesn't register through your emotional torment, blocking out the inner voice until it inevitably slinks back into the shadows after its bitter lick of victory.

Panting hard, your head slumps back against the cloth headrest, stewing in the silence of misery and defeat, the distant joyful bells of Christmas the only company you have on this cold winter’s night.

It takes a few tries to fit the key in your deadbolt, blinking through tears now frozen to your eyelashes. There’s no recollection of how you even made it home in your brittle mental state. For all you knew were twelve civilians flattened like pancakes on the side of the road and a warrant out for your arrest. 

Wouldn’t that be nice? A break from having to pay bills and function like an adult.

Stumbling through the door, the sparse furnishings of your minimal studio glare at you, flipping them off as you shuck the damp outer layers from your frail form. A mess to be cleaned up another day.  

It wasn't just the rejection of your fated mates you were facing. It was the knowledge that your entire future had been ripped away and no amount of hot glue could piece it back together. Today’s revelation was the final nail in the coffin for the rest of your life.

The bathroom lights flickered with dying bulbs, something that had been on your shopping list tonight and was now being swept off the floor along with everything else you’d left behind. It didn’t stop you from locating the first aid kit under your sink, setting it on the ceramic counter and pulling out the well loved supplies inside.

You avoided staring at your gaunt reflection, not wanting to see the person looking back as you tugged at the thick scarf looped around your neck. The constricting material tore away with ease, falling into a discarded heap on the floor, revealing the torn mottled flesh hidden underneath. 

Your own set of crescent shaped scars - where the line of your neck connected to the meat of your shoulder, long since healed over and faded with time. The area surrounding it was now swollen and inflamed, raised angry red lines dotted with scrapes like a bad case of road rash, bloody from where you'd furiously clawed at your neck on the car ride home. The only time the fucker in your head shuts up - the connection tethering you emotionally gone silent once he got tired of feeling physical pain across the bond.

Memories came unbidden. Flashes of that fateful encounter coming home late from work, dragged into a sequestered shadowy overhang a few meters down the darkened alleyway. A feral alpha hopped up on something illegal, tearing into your clothes and violating the virginal space between your thighs. The muffled cries as he overpowered you, panting through a rut with his greasy fingers shoved down your throat to silence you, gagging on the musky taste. The scream as his teeth pierced your flesh, the bond snapping taut and stealing your future from you without a thought to your own wishes.

He’d fucked you ragged that night, waking up with your cheek pressed into the damp pavement and his arm slung around your waist from hours earlier. There’d been no one to turn to, no one who would care. By law now you were his - no matter the means it had been done. 

A mating bite was binding. 

You’d crawled away from him, your outfit in tatters hanging loosely over your bruised form, dried blood stuck to your neck and a stabbing pain at your apex. You felt dirty and used and wanted nothing more than to strip the skin from your bones. The unconscious form of the– your alpha flopped prone on his back, crimson stains around his mouth and his flaccid cock still half out of his trousers. The pinpricks on his arm told the tale of a junkie. It’s possible he hadn’t even been fully aware of the crime he’d committed. 

You didn’t stick around to find out.

But you paid for that decision harshly, opting for a life not attached to your abuser, at a steep tormented cost. Bonds weren’t meant to be strained for so long. It starts to cause negative impacts on the pair, the omega bearing the worst of the brunt. Nausea, sweating, pain, dizziness, fatigue. The chronic illnesses you endured day in and day out would stay with you for the rest of your life. So long as he was up and walking free - alive somewhere on the other side of the country - his greasy claws strumming your senses through the connection tethering you eternally.

Only a perfect scent match could override the original bite and free you from the oppressive bonds that shackled you to an invisible alpha - the last remaining hope you had at any semblance of happiness.

And you just lost it.

>> ✿ Next ✿ >>

[lauraneedstochill]

Can’t help falling in love

summary: 5 times Aemond was in love with you + 1 time he finally confessed his feelings

warnings: friends to lovers (at the age of 9, 10, 15, 17, 19), a pinch of angst (Aemond healing after losing his eye), but overall so fluffy and sweet you may want to skip dessert

words: ~ 5500 (I got reeeally carried away with that love confession)

1.

Aemond is weeks away from his tenth birthday and he feels as miserable as ever. That feeling is an iron weight upon his heart, his mood irritated and face features grim more often than not. He is still without a dragon — and it’s the only thing he can think of, day and night, steadfast and stubborn in his obsession that most of his family finds to be blown out of proportion. It might have stang him less if only it wasn’t for the constant teasing and pitiful jokes that added to his distress and the never-ending heartache. He learns to keep a straight face and act as if he doesn’t really care, but deep down he does, way more than he’ll ever admit.

His training sessions are a way to channel his anger, and he lashes out at a straw man, again and again, clinging to the thought that, at least in these moments, he is not entirely powerless. He keeps his focus on the target, attentive to Ser Criston’s advice — “Soften your knees”, “Keep your feet light, your hands heavy”, and for a couple of hours he forgets about his misery.

It’s when the training comes to an end, the dreaded realization sinks in again, and Aemond is lost in his thoughts, mindlessly twirling the wooden sword in one hand, his gaze wandering around the yard.

And then his eyes fall on a bright green spot — and all of a sudden, he sees you. A girl of his age, the hem of your green dress a bit dusty, boots covered in dirt, a few strands of hair fallen loose, a coy smile on your face. You meet his gaze and wave at him excitedly.

Aemond looks dumbfounded. A girl in the training yard. Waving at him. He blinks once, twice — and in the next moment, you’re standing merely a few steps away, glancing curiously at his sword.

“It looks so hefty! Is it heavy? What is it made of?” a string of questions, your voice sweet and joyful.

There’s a brief pause and maybe you mistake his stiffness for arrogance as you are quick to add:

“Oh, my manners!” gasping but showing no actual regret. “Forgive me,” you curtsy, your smile growing even wider. A timid smile appears on his face in return and he finally comes to his senses.

“It’s made out of red oak. It’s not very heavy, you get used to it,” Aemond raises the sword, letting you take a closer look. Within another blink of an eye he finds himself talking to you, your questions endless and maybe a bit naive but he genuinely enjoys it.

That’s until you both hear a loud cry.

“Lady Y/N!” your nanny comes running in, out of breath and scowling. “I told you not to wander around...,” she chokes on her words at the sight of the young prince. She curtsies, too, but it isn’t nearly as cute as when you do it.

She sprints decisively in your direction. “It wasn’t very polite of you to interrupt the prince’s training, you little menace!”

And then Aemond, to his own surprise, moves to stand in her way.

“She didn’t interrupt a thing,” he disagrees, lips thinned into a tight line.

The nanny stops and looks at Aemond dubiously, switching her gaze from him to you.

Ser Criston is the one to resolve the conflict — he comes from behind, with a polite smile plastered on his face.

“Young lady can watch from the balcony. The guests are very much welcomed,” he calls for the maid to escort you and your nanny up there. While you’re away, he looks at Aemond with a grin:

“Already wooing the ladies, my prince? Let’s hope you are as good with your sword as she thinks you are.”

He does make Aemond work for it but the prince fights back, winning one bout after the other. He keeps glancing at you and you wave at him every single time.

Aemond is too young to know what love is, too shy and guarded to even entertain the thought of it. But when you look at him, with your childish grin and your eyes bright with mirth, he doesn’t feel lonely anymore. 2.

It’s been two weeks since Aemond lost his eye and he hasn’t left the bed. The pain is still blinding, burning and constantly making his only eye water. But what hurts even more is the humiliating disability. The triumph of claiming Vhagar died down, and now the prince was faced with the harsh reality he needed to adjust to and the process wasn’t an easy one. The fever has only recently gone down, leaving his body weak and freezing from the lack of movement, but he couldn’t bear the thought of stepping out of the room.

His mother wouldn’t leave his side and even Aegon often came to visit, clearly blaming himself for not being there for his little brother. Yet their presence barely brought Aemond any comfort and most of the time he would pretend to be asleep to avoid any conversations. He knew they only meant well and he was being cruel but he couldn’t help it as his pride was shattered and he gave in to sadness.

That is until one night he wakes up to a weird sound. He’s only half-awake when he hears a vigorous tapping that clearly comes from the outside. Except it's not from the other side of the door — but rather outside his window.

He’s startled by this guess and suspiciously walks closer. It takes him a few seconds to focus his gaze and discern a human’s silhouette — and then another few to realize that it’s you standing on the window sill. He feels like his heart will jump out of his chest as he rushes to open the window.

You climb through and clumsily drop to the floor. But before he can get worried, you are on your feet again, eyeing him with concern.

“Oh, Aemond,” your gaze and voice are both so soft, it makes his lower lip quiver. You carefully approach him and put your hand on his shoulder, gently sliding it on his back in a soothing motion and then cuddling him. He welcomes your company with a sigh of relief. You smell of oranges and you give the best hugs.

“They told me no one was allowed into your chambers,“ your hushed whisper burns his ear. “The silliest thing I’ve ever heard!” you pull away from him, still lightly panting, cheeks flushed and hair messy. “I knew I had to find a way to come see you.”

You examine his face, frowning at the scar that’s still healing.

“Does it hurt?”

He only nods, afraid that if he opens his mouth, he won’t be able to hold back a sob. You move closer, resuming the gentle motion of rubbing his back.

Ever since that day in the training yard, you kept in touch, regularly sending each other letters, chatting about everything and nothing, sharing your little secrets and observations. You recently mentioned that your parents allowed you to come see him again, but with the tragic change of events, Aemond completely forgot about the preplanned visit. 

“I will take his eye,” you say out of the blue, caressing the unharmed side of his face, your voice laced with anger. Aemond thinks he might’ve heard it wrong.

“...Whose eye?”

“Luke’s! I shall take his eye, as payment for yours,” you tell him with zero hesitation. For a girl of your age, you’re way too eager to plan such a thing, yet he somehow has no doubts that you can actually do it.

Aemond shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t,” his voice quiet but firm. “The King was very adamant about that, no payment is needed.”

“Well, maybe he is too old to think straight,” you retort. “You are his son and you lost an eye! Justice must prevail,” you tilt your head at him, clearly thinking that you’re in the right.

And he knows that you are but he also knows no justice will be served. It’s the last straw for Aemond — he looks away in shame as tears, hot and angry, start falling down his cheek. You waste no time hugging him again, letting him cry on your shoulder, and the two of you stay like that for what feels like an hour.

And then, in the comfortable silence of your embrace, he hears you asking, very seriously:

“Are you sure I can’t take his eye?”

At that moment, he can’t stop himself from letting out a laugh — a weak one and barely audible, but still, he laughs, for the first time in two weeks, and you are the sole reason for it. 

Your cheek is pressed to his, your fingers running through his hair, and Aemond realizes he can’t lose you.

He begrudgingly persuades you that taking Luke’s eye isn’t worth the trouble.

3.

By the age of fifteen Aemond becomes quite accustomed to the eyepatch and it gives him a boost of confidence. Losing an eye only made him train harder and his persistence pays off when he’s the one to win, time after time, no matter who his opponent is. His hair grows longer, now silky smooth and with no sign of his boyish curled ends, his face features sharpen. He learns to walk with his head high and hands clasped behind his back, mastering the intimidating look that makes most people want to stay away from the one-eyed prince. 

His tricks could’ve never worked on you, though.

You come to visit him a few times a year, and he eagerly awaits your arrival. All the days in between, you keep talking through letters, them getting longer as you get closer. He keeps those letters locked in a hidden compartment of his table. And sometimes, for no specific reason — or maybe for the reason he can’t yet formulate — he is drawn to reach for them, which always ends with him rereading the letters for hours. Some of them he knows by heart and yet it never stops him from having the pleasure of seeing your handwritten stories and little jokes that were only meant for him.

Today is no exception and Aemond is so enthralled by reading, he almost misses the knock on the door. The sound brings him to reality but he is in no hurry to react. The knocking comes again, and the prince groans, annoyed at the maid’s persistence. He carefully puts the letters back and goes to the door, armed with his cold gaze.

And then he opens it — and it’s you standing in front of him. 

Aemond barely has time to register what’s going on when you launch yourself at him, your arms immediately enveloping him in a tight hug, your laugh ringing in the air. He hugs you back and, while you can’t see it, he’s grinning from ear to ear.

“I swear you’re getting taller every time we meet!” you look up at him, beaming, and he lets you in. “I soon will need a ladder just to hug you properly.”

“I’ll be sure to let my body know of your disapproval,” he sneers and you stick out your tongue.

“While you are at it, shall you also work on your friendly face? I overheard the maids being frightened to go into your chambers,” you try giving him a scolding look but end up giggling at his reddened cheeks.

“I am friendly enough!”

“Yes, nobody glowers quite like you,” you snicker and flop right on the floor, the move always making him smile. Aemond tried persuading you to sit on any other surface that’s actually meant for sitting but you insisted that his fluffy rug works just as well, so he eventually gave up, deciding to join you. He never complained since.

Before he knows it, he’s immersed in the conversation while you enthusiastically share the recent news and everything that’s happened to you on the road. Only about half an hour in, he notes a small bag you’re clasping in your hands.

“You come bearing gifts?”

“Oh, I almost forgot I had it,” you laugh, abashed. “I decided I should bring you something to replace this crumpled-looking thing”.

It takes Aemond a minute to realize that you’re talking about his eyepatch. But he has no time to protest as you silence him with a gesture of your hand.

“I took it upon myself to count for how long you’ve been wearing this one already,” your tone gets serious. “I must say, that number is disturbing.”

There’s a moment of silence and then he clears his throat, his voice unsure. “Very kind of you to think of that, I shall replace it later on.”

He reaches his hand to take the bag but you quickly cover it with yours, fingers brushing over his, and he freezes.

“Are you still not convinced that I can take a look at it?” you try to make eye contact but he averts your gaze.

“Aemond, I was with you and I think I’ve seen enough back then — none of it scared me.”

“It is not a sight for the faint of heart,” the prince mumbles, his bravado faltering.

“Well, I don’t remember fainting the first time. You should have more faith in me,” you try to reason, holding his hand.

Aemond ponders for another minute — or maybe ten, he isn’t sure, and you patiently wait, not wanting to press him any further. Then he finally makes a decision and, after taking a long, sad sigh, he removes the eyepatch and looks at you, the sight of him is the very definition of insecurity.

You stay silent for about five seconds before concluding:

“Oh, it healed so nicely!” with no hint of uncertainty in your voice. Your smile reassures him a little as you peer at the sapphire, looking very pleased.

“The gem compliments your eye very well,” you give him your verdict, taking the new eyepatch out.

“We might have a different understanding of what a compliment is.”

“This is me trying to say that I really like the way it looks,” you chide him lightly. “And I consider myself to be quite understanding, thank you very much. Will you stop pouting and let me put it on?”

At this point he surrenders, giving you permission, and you move closer, giggling with excitement. You gently fix his hair, making sure it’s all combed back, and then lean to put the eyepatch on. You have a habit of biting your lower lip when you’re too concentrated on something, and Aemond can’t help but gaze at that part of your face while your teeth graze over the pillowy surface. 

He’s never let anyone this close — and not just in the sense of physical proximity. The moment is very intimate, and the softness of your movements tugs at his heart. He is suddenly very aware of the very short distance separating you two, and he holds his breath. You are oblivious to his stare and soon lean back, satisfied with the result and glancing at him with something akin to fondness.

He wishes he could paint a picture of you right at this moment, so tender and caring and sitting by his side.

He also wishes he could kiss you — and that thought scares him to death. And yet, once it appears, it never goes away.

4.

Aemond is seventeen and his life has been pure torture since you stopped visiting him. He hasn’t seen you in over half a year (seven months and eleven days, not that anyone is counting). It’s not your fault as your father has unexpectedly fallen ill and you couldn’t leave his side. The prince exhausted the maester with questions, asking for advice to write back to you, worried sick that your separation would be stretched for way longer than he could handle.

Luckily, the Gods took pity on him, and he was glad to learn that your father got better, and you will come to King’s Landing soon. Your visit coincided with Aegon’s birthday, but Aemond didn’t care about the feast, his mind only occupied with the thought of seeing you. He was both nervous and excited to the point of not even hiding it, which led to Aegon teasing him relentlessly. Helaena, on the other hand, wholeheartedly supported Aemond’s feelings for you.

“She will be delighted to see you, too, I am sure of it,” his sister tells him the day before the event.

“But the reason for it might be of a different nature,” Aemond remarks, and Helaena gives him a compassionate look.

“You will never know her true feelings unless you ask,” she encourages. “The two of you are so close, I consider her part of the family.”

Aemond knows that he’s of age and his mother hinted that, despite him showing no interest in courting, some ladies still found him attractive. He dismisses the idea but then finds himself thinking of it from time to time. When the realization forms in his head, it’s nerve-wracking but oh so compelling — he thinks he would’ve really wanted to marry you. He just doesn’t know how to tell you about it.

The day of your arrival comes, and Aemond wakes up at dawn in anticipation, determined to confess his feelings. He tries to come up with a speech, but it feels wrong and sounds weird, and he decides it will be better to improvise. He all but runs to the courtyard to be the first one to greet you. However, when you step out of the carriage, smoothing your dress, and your eyes meet, Aemond stops dead in his tracks and the world around him stands still.

His confidence might’ve blossomed — but not nearly as much as your beauty did. Somehow in those recent months, you’ve matured into a woman that takes his breath away.

It’s not a drastic change, it’s all in the details: the contours of your face are more defined, the cheekbones prominent, your hair knotted up high in a perfect style and even your pace is much slower and gracious. You walk towards one another, both suddenly cautious. But when you are a couple of meters apart, a well-known smile appears on your face and you hold your arms out to him and he finally hugs you again, after all this time. Aemond relaxes, inhaling the familiar scent of fruits that you undoubtedly munched on your way here.

“You look exactly as I remembered you,” you say as you slip from his embrace.

“And you are a sight to behold,” he breathes out, taking you in, and your cheeks heat up at the compliment. You’ve never been shy with him before, so this is also new. He wonders what might’ve caused this change.

As the two of you walk around the castle, it feels a bit awkward at first, and you keep glancing at him with emotion he can’t read. But Aemond is too happy to see you to give it much thought, and within an hour you ease into the conversation, too. By the time the evening comes, the tension disappears, and you are laughing at his sarcastic remarks again, and he savors every second of it.

The feast in honor of Aegon is lush and crowded, but you stay by Aemond’s side, enjoying each other’s company, and he only has eye for you. When the music gets too loud, you sneak out and soon find yourselves in his chambers, just like in the good old days.

Aemond is in the middle of telling you about Aegon’s recent foray to the Flea Bottom, when you say. “It’s just the two of us,” your fingers sink into the fluffy rug. “You don’t have to wear it with me. You know it, right?”

He wears the eyepatch with everyone, only taking it off before going to sleep. Moreover, he actually cherishes it because it’s a gift from you.

Aemond hesitates. “I thought you quite liked it.”

“I only gave it to you because yours started to look like it was pulled off a dead man’s body!” you laugh.

Before he can think of an answer, you lean closer — your shoulder brushing his, your hand touching his face, the same gentle warmth he remembers so well, — and remove the eyepatch yourself. The sight doesn’t bother you in the slightest as you confess:

“I accept you the way you are, Aemond,” and then, a moment away from him opening his mouth and saying the thing that’s been on the tip of his tongue for the duration of the day, you add, “That’s what friends are for — and you are my best friend.”

And just like that, with this word alone, his plan goes out the window.

A friend. Aemond can’t even be upset at the reveal, because, honestly, being your friend feels like a blessing in itself and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. How could he be so selfish and foolish to even think about risking it all, risk losing you?

So he keeps his feelings to himself, locking them away deep in his heart, and doesn't argue with you.

Maybe he should have.

5.

By the age of nineteen Aemond reaches the conclusion that he wants to take the risk. Otherwise, he thinks he might actually die as his heart can not hold all his feelings anymore. In two years' time, there isn’t a single thing about you that he hasn’t come to love, and keeping it a secret becomes harder with each day.

Aemond is ridden with doubts to the point where he can’t hide it any longer and he decides to seek advice — and the prince can’t think of a better person to talk to than his mother. Unbeknownst to him, Alicent was the first one to notice. Years ago, when you were kids, she quickly sensed the effect you had on her son, and it brought her joy as she watched the two of you get closer with time.

So when Aemond bursts into her room, anxiety radiating off of him as he starts jabbering away, his pacing erratic and voice trembling, it takes her about a minute to realize what's going on.

“My dear, I think you must talk to her,” she approaches him, an understanding look on her face.

Aemond cuts his speech short, eyeing her with wonder:

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“Your affection for her is as bright as a fire blazing,” Alicent chuckles. “I believe she is the only one who doesn’t see it.”

“Should I tell her...?” he doesn’t dare say it out loud, not yet.

Alicent briefly takes his hands in hers, squeezing them. “You should tell her the truth.”

Her encouragement gives him a dash of hope, lifting a weight off his chest. Aemond knows in an instant that the letter won’t cut it, and you must have the conversation face-to-face. Fortunately, your next visit is in a month, so his suffering won’t last for much longer.

Aemond almost reaches the door but then sharply turns to his mother again, his cheeks flushed:

“Will you give me your approval?” and this time, he looks straight at her as he wants to see her genuine reaction.

Alicent smiles, quick to reassure him. “Yes, Aemond. Your betrothal would only make me happy.” The prince feels elated, almost euphoric, as he finally goes to meet you and runs the remaining distance from his chambers to the yard. But when he sees you, the smile disappears from his face because he notices that something is wrong.

You look visibly upset, your eyes watering and fingers fumbling with the dress, even though you try to force a smile in return. The hug you give him is weak and you keep looking at your feet.

“What is the matter?” he’s never seen you this sad, but you brush him off.

“It’s just a headache, no need to worry.”

Yet that’s exactly what he does, offering to call for the maester, or to prepare you a warm bath, or bring you some tea...

“A cup of water would be nice, thank you,” he leaves you in the hallway to go and get it himself, the task only takes a couple of minutes. When he returns, you stand with your back to him, your shoulders are shaking — and he hears quiet, muffled sobs. If it wasn’t for the nearby table, he would’ve thrown the cup away, his focus on you alone. As he rushes to envelop you in a hug, you don’t fight it, instead nestling your face against his chest, not hiding your tears anymore.

Aemond gives you some time before asking again.

“This doesn’t look like just a headache. What is the cause of your anguish?” now he’s the one running his fingers up and down your back.

You let out a sound that’s a mix between a groan and a whine.

“My father says I am to be betrothed soon. He says I am of age already and... and he wants me to meet some of my cousins,” you sniffle. “I told him I have no wish to get married but he refuses to listen,” you bite your lip, not wanting to cry again.

Surely, that’s not how Aemond wanted to ask you. But he decides to take his chance.

“Mayhaps there is another way out that could make you feel better.”

“Please don’t tell me Vhagar will burn them down,” you jest but the smile doesn’t reach your eyes. Aemond thinks your idea isn’t that bad — but he has to try his first.

“If he insists you should marry but doesn’t have a particular candidate, maybe you can pick one yourself?”

“I’ve met all my cousins — and half of them are imbeciles, the others are too old to survive a wedding,” you scoff.

“Then pick someone you are not related to,” Aemond suggests.

“Do you have a particular candidate in mind?” when you ask with a tinge of annoyance, you don’t think he will answer. And then you look at him — and see him grinning before he says:

“Me”.

You glare at Aemond with eyes wide and mouth agape, the expression frozen on your face for a good minute. 

“Are you laughing at me?” you manage to say.

“I wouldn’t dare,” his nerves are as tight as a wound-up string.

In the blink of a moment, your face lights up. You are looking at him indecisively, searching for words, agitated. But Aemond mistakes your confusion for rejection.

“At the very least you will marry someone you know,” he tries to reason — but it backfires, wiping the joyfulness off your face.

Taken aback, you inquire. “You pity me?” He doesn’t grasp the poor choice of his words yet.

“You pity me and that’s why you want to marry me?” you give him a look of disbelief, your eyes glossy, and he can’t get his head around what just happened.

“Oh, it was so silly of me to think that...,” you choke back a sob, putting your hand over your mouth.

Never in his life he thought he would be the reason for you looking so heartbroken. Aemond covers your hand with his palm — and you let him, as he tries to gather his courage.

“I only meant to say that I —”

And then you recoil, snapping your hand back.

“Aemond, don’t,” you take a step back from him, then another one. “You have said enough. Please, let me be,” you turn away and leave the hall in a hurry before he can utter another word.

... 1.

He finds you at your usual spot, under the blossoming cherry tree. You’ve always said you liked the color of it, little white flowers reminding you of early spring, your favorite time of the year. You don’t know that Aemond insisted on planting that tree specifically for you. Just so he can sit nearby and, as you were basking in the sunlight with your eyes closed, he would get a chance to look at you with all his unconditional love and have those moments engraved in his memory.

Come to think of it, he had so many memories of you — and every single one of them was bliss, and he can recall them so easily like it was yesterday.

And so he does.

“When we first met, you wore a green dress,” his voice startles you, but you don’t turn to face him, sniffling with your arms folded. “It was the color of forest trees. Black lace around the hem of it, the matching hair ribbon that you kept losing,” he keeps his distance, his hands shaking.

“Yes, I remember it pretty well,” you sigh, avoiding his gaze, baffled by his sudden outburst.

“The second time was when you climbed through my window, almost gave me a heart attack,” there’s a hint of a smile in his voice that you catch even without looking. “Blue dress, you tore a huge piece of it and couldn’t care less. You were the first person to make me laugh in two weeks even though it seemed impossible. But not with you.”

He sees your eyebrows furrowing, hands sliding down to rest on your knees.

“Helaena’s name day came next, your dress was bright pink. Luke tried to make fun of it and you threw a cup full of water in his face. To this day, it’s one of my fondest memories.”

You dare to look up at him, perplexed, your eyes wet from crying. 

“Three months after was the light-blue dress, then the peach one and the brown one. Then the white one which didn’t survive the horse riding lesson, and Helaena gave you one of hers. Light green, too long for your liking, even though you pretended otherwise to please her,” the corners of your lips tremble, your face softening.

“Then for a year you only wore violet, much to your nanny’s dismay as she thought it made you look ill. And I thought you were the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, no matter what dress you were in,” he can’t take his eye off you.

Your face expression melts into a stunned one.

“I didn’t realize it back then. Or maybe I didn’t know how to call it. I just knew that your visits only brought me happiness,” he takes a step toward you, uncertain, but you don’t move from your spot.

“When you were fourteen, you picked the autumn colors — orange, dark yellow, deep red. Your started braiding your hair, tried to braid mine,” you can’t hold back a smile. He was fussy when you first voiced the idea but he ended up loving the process so much, he would allow it just to feel your fingers flowing through his hair.

“I think you actually enjoyed it,” you mumble, and Aemond smiles, too.

“I did. I enjoyed every minute that I got to spend with you.”

You stand up then, feeling your pulse quickening.

“The day you brought me the eyepatch, you wore emerald green. I was terrified to show you the scar,” he pauses, catching his breath. “You assuaged my fears with your kindness. But then I was terrified to learn that I wanted to kiss you.”

You think you are dreaming. Is it possible that you fell asleep under the tree? You don’t want to get your hopes too high, but when he looks at you like this, your own fears start melting away.

“Then was the black dress, the grey one, another white one. The golden one you wore to meet Vhagar,” when he saw you that day, he almost forgot how to breathe. You showed no sigh of apprehension as you fearlessly approached the dragon. He was absolutely besotted.

“And then came the agony of not seeing you for over seven months,” he closes his eye for a second, overwhelmed. He almost misses it when you speak:

“Seven months and twenty-five days. Not that I was counting,” his eye snaps open, instantly on you again.

You gravitate toward each other without even noticing. Aemond’s heart skips a beat when you’re at arm’s length, your eyes shining and lips slightly parted. Even in the state you’re in, you look so beautiful, it’s mesmerizing, and the words are stuck in his throat. You are the one to break the silence.

“Aemond, please don't give me false hope,” your heartbeat is too loud, you don’t hear your own voice. He does.

“I do not wish to marry you out of pity,” Aemond takes the last step. “I want you to be my wife because I am in love with you,” he wipes away the remaining tears off your face, his fingers linger, making you shiver. “I’ve been in love with you for quite some time. For a few years, actually,” his voice gets low. “For what feels like an eternity,” Aemond murmurs.

“Why haven’t you told me?” you pout, nervously toying with the collar of his shirt.

“I was afraid you didn’t feel the same. I still am but maybe... Maybe I am wrong?” his gaze is fixed on you, one of his hands following the contour of your waist, your body warming at the touch.

“Tell me that I am wrong,” he whispers, begging.

You look at his lips, the soft curve of them that you’ve dreamt of for so long.

Aemond always thought yours were the most kissable he’s ever seen.

You don’t know who closes the distance first — but his mouth is suddenly on yours and the sensation leaves you disarmed. Kissing him is like being swept with a wave of tenderness, and you’re floating in it, his lips so fervid and supple — truly perfect — your head is spinning. The kiss is not awkward nor modest as you hastily cling to each other, his hands gripping your waist, your chest pressed into his.

Aemond feels like he’s drowning, and he wants more of you — all of you, and then your fingers tug at his locks, eliciting a groan from him, and it is simply a miracle that his heart doesn’t explode. You move in impeccable sync, in the passionate harmony that erupts from years worth of mutual pining. His lungs burn but he resists the urge to break the kiss and stretches it out the best he can until you are breathless, too.

“Never knew that you were so fascinated by my wardrobe choices,” you tease, and his hum turns into a chuckle.

“You know what my favorite memory is?” you ask, your forehead resting against his.

“When we were ten-and-three, and you were teaching me how to hold a sword. I tackled you to the ground and scraped my knee,” you both smile at your then enthusiasm. “And you set everything aside to spend the rest of the day with me even though it was hardly a wound. And I remember thinking,” you hook your finger under his chin, “that there’s nowhere else I would rather be than with you, with this favorite boy of mine.”

The air around you is tense, and you are enchanted by each other.

“Did that help to prove you wrong?”

“I may need some convincing,” his breath fans over your lips.

“You can take your time,” you laugh — and then the sound of it is muffled by his athirst mouth. His favorite memory will be this.

And every other moment with you that’s to come.

author’s note: I’m sorry if this came out messy and rushed. I tried my best to write a shorter fic (this is short for me lmao) and idk how I feel about it. I much rather prefer them longer because I’m a sucker for stories about two people getting to know each other and falling in love BUT I get it that others don’t want to read long ass fics (which kinda breaks my heart but I'm being so very brave about it) anyways, thank you for reading! 💙 the longer version of this fic might have looked like this (yes, this is a shameless plug! because I adore this one to pieces!! bite me) 🎵 the title is a quote from Elvis Presley’s song (duh). there are quite a few covers of it but one of my favorites is by Twenty One Pilots. there’s also a female version — by Ingrid Michaelson — and I think both of them fit the story really well. 💞 my masterlist P.S. I’m also on AO3 (lol, who isn’t), in case you prefer to read fics there.

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part one

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part One - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 1.3k

The mansion is a war zone. Screams and gunfire echo through the halls, mingling with the sickening stench of burning flesh and molten metal. Blood splatters the walls, once lined with family photos and cherished memories, now smeared with the desperate last stands of my friends. My heart hammers in my chest, a relentless drumbeat urging me forward as I sprint down the corridors I once knew like the back of my hand. Now, they feel like the intestines of some dying beast, twisting and turning as it thrashes in its final moments.

I skid to a stop outside Logan’s quarters, nearly slipping on a pool of blood. The heavy oak door is reduced to splinters, gunshots carved deep into the wood. Logan isn’t there. Damn it. Where the hell could he be?

Of course, he’s been in one of his foul moods all week, growling at anyone who dared get too close. Typical Logan, retreating to the nearest bar when things get too heavy. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I rake my brain, trying to picture him—his location. There has to be something, some clue that could lead me to him before it’s too late. The X-Men are losing. They’re being slaughtered, and the only chance we have lies in Logan’s bloodied hands.

I force myself to see it, a twisted sort of daydream: Logan tearing through our enemies, me getting to him just in time. My thoughts race faster, my vision blurring with desperation. It’s not enough. He could be anywhere in this town, and my friends—my family—are dying.

“Kurt!” I scream, the name ripping from my throat, a raw, desperate plea. “Kurt, where the hell are you?!”

I stumble into Kurt’s room, eyes wide, hoping for a flash of blue, the familiar scent of brimstone. Nothing. The room is a wreck—furniture overturned, shards of glass glittering like ice in the moonlight, blood smeared across the floor in haphazard patterns. How much of it is Kurt’s? How much of it is anyone’s?

A cold dread grips my insides, gnawing at my heart. I can’t lose them. Not like this. Not now.

“Kurt!” I call out again, the name choking in my throat as I stumble forward, deeper into the room. My eyes scan the wreckage frantically, desperate to catch even a fleeting glimpse of him.

Suddenly, the world around me shifts. Time fractures, and I’m flooded with chaotic visions, flickering images of what could be, what might have been, and what is. It’s my curse—my gift. Chrono-Perception. I see Kurt laughing, his smile wide and genuine. Then, in another vision, he’s gasping for breath, his eyes wide with fear as a blade plunges into his side. The echoes of possible futures assault my senses, each one more horrific than the last.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the noise in my mind to settle, to focus. But when I open them, the reality of the present hits me harder than any of the potential futures. Just beyond the overturned bed, a familiar blue hand sticks out from beneath a collapsed bookshelf.

My breath catches in my throat, and I rush over, time seeming to slow around me, each step dragging as if the universe itself is dreading what I’m about to find. When I reach him, my heart sinks.

Kurt’s body is twisted at an unnatural angle, his once vibrant blue fur now matted with blood. His gentle, kind eyes are wide open, staring into the void. I reach out with trembling hands to close them, my fingers brushing against his cold skin. The sensation of his lifeless body under my touch sends a shiver down my spine. He wasn’t supposed to die like this. Not here. Not now.

A flash of another potential future assaults my mind—Kurt, alive and well, teleporting behind me with that infectious grin, teasing me like he always did. But it’s just an echo, a cruel reminder of what could never be.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice breaking as I gently close his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

I know I don’t have much time. The echoes of the future still buzz in my head, warning me of the impending danger. But it isn’t just my perception of time that sets me apart. My Time-Linked Vitality means my body ages slowly, each year passing like a drop in a vast ocean. It makes me resilient, gives me strength, but it also means I’m cursed to watch as the people I love die around me, one by one.

The pain of losing Kurt, of seeing him like this, is almost too much to bear. But I can’t let it consume me. Not now. Not when there are others still fighting, still clinging to life.

With one last look at Kurt’s lifeless form, I force myself to my feet. I wipe the blood from my hands on my tattered pants, my resolve hardening with every breath. The mansion is still under attack, and my friends—my family—need me.

I turn to bolt to the next room when a strange shift in the air makes me freeze—a ripple, like reality itself hiccupped. This isn’t my doing.

I spin around, but before I can even process what’s happening, a door materializes out of thin air. It hovers there, glowing with a light that feels wrong, like it belongs to a place that doesn’t give a damn about things like hope or mercy. My heart lurches, adrenaline spiking as I instinctively reach for my powers. But they fizzle out, sputtering like a dying flame.

The door swings open, and a figure steps out. Cloaked in shadow, they bear the insignia of the Time Variance Authority on their chest, a symbol of cold, unyielding authority.

“Y/N,” the figure speaks, voice smooth as polished steel. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“What?” The word comes out more as a snarl, anger sparking to life within me. I have no time for this. “What the hell are you talking about? I need to stop them—my friends—”

“—Are meant to die,” the figure interrupts, their tone as final as a tombstone. “This timeline is not yours to change.”

The words hit me like a blow to the gut, driving the breath from my lungs. “What?”

Another figure appears beside the first, blocking my path. “It’s not your decision,” the second figure says, calm and detached. “You’re disrupting the timeline, and for that, you must be removed.”

“Removed?” I echo, my voice quivering with fury now. Cold dread coils around my chest, squeezing tight. “You can’t just—”

The first figure raises a hand, and my world goes dark. My muscles lock, frozen in place as a swirling portal opens beneath my feet. Panic surges, but it’s too late. The world dissolves into a whirlpool of shadows and chaos, the cold hands of the TVA agents the last thing I see before I’m dragged into the abyss.

The Void is worse than death. As I fall, time twists and warps around me, past, present, and future bleeding together in a nauseating blur. Memories crash over me in waves—Logan’s gruff voice, the X-Men’s laughter, the mansion bathed in warm sunlight. It all slips through my fingers, distant echoes swallowed by the darkness.

I hit the ground hard, the impact like a sledgehammer to my spine. Pain explodes in my ribs, but I grit my teeth and force myself up. The world around me is a desolate wasteland, an endless expanse of lost possibilities and forgotten timelines. Cold, lifeless, devoid of anything remotely human.

I stagger to my feet, my body aching, the emptiness of the Void pressing in on me from all sides. It’s suffocating, the silence so loud it’s maddening. I am alone—truly, terrifyingly alone.

My chest aches as I push through the underbrush, my hand pressed firmly against my side where the pain throbs persistently. I can’t see my future here—my control over time-slipping is erratic, even on a good day. The uncertainty only makes the situation worse. Each step through the dense forest feels like I’m wading through thick, invisible mud, the oppressive silence wrapping around me like a heavy shroud. My breath comes in ragged gasps, the crushing weight of despair threatening to overwhelm me.

A flicker of movement catches my eye, a brief flash of light piercing the gloom. My heart skips a beat as a figure materializes from the swirling smoke, gradually solidifying. I squint at the fiery glow surrounding him, a stark contrast to the dark, oppressive forest. Fear grips me, and I instinctively reach for my powers, but nothing happens. I’m powerless, feeling utterly useless.

“Hey there!” The figure calls out, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and curiosity. “You look like you’ve seen better days. Want a hand, or are you planning on moping around all by yourself?”

I blink, trying to process his presence amidst the chaos. “Who are you?”

He grins, flames dancing around his fingers. “Johnny Storm. You know, the Human Torch.” His casual tone does little to soothe my fear, and I take a step back, distrust etched on my face. “You look like you could use some company. So, what’s your story? Lost and hopeless, or just taking a scenic tour of the void?”

I scowl, irritation mingling with confusion. “I’m not in the mood for jokes. I’m having a really bad day—dragged into a cosmic wasteland and all.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement still lingering in his expression. “Ah, a bad day. I’ve had a few of those myself. So, what’s got you all twisted up?”

I swallow hard, my mind replaying the horrifying scenes from moments before—Kurt’s lifeless body, the screams of my friends and family. “I was trying to save my friends when these… guys in suits showed up and sent me here. Why are you here, anyway? Cosmic firefighter?”

“More like a cosmic firestarter,” Johnny retorts with a wink, his flames flaring playfully. “Anyone the TVA deems as trash ends up here—the lost and abandoned. Now, how about we get you out of this mess? The Borderlands is a decent place to catch a break.”

I narrow my eyes, skepticism etched on my face. “Borderlands? Sounds like a place where people go to get even more lost.”

Johnny smirks, his flames casting flickering shadows on his face. “Well, it’s got its charm. Plus, we’ve got a few folks there who might be able to help you out. But if you’re expecting a five-star resort, you’re gonna be disappointed.”

“I’m not picky,” I reply with a hint of weariness.

Johnny’s grin widens, but there’s a hard edge to it now. “Oh, and just so you know, there’s a delightful lady named Cassandra who’s been making a little shit storm. To put it mildly, she’s a real cunt.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I’ve encountered a few of those in my time.”

Johnny’s expression darkens further. “She’s a real menace. And then there’s Alioth, a cosmic entity that thrives on chaos. Think of it as a hungry monster that devours everything in its path.”

“That sounds… cheerful,” I deadpan. “What do you do here, anyway? Fight monsters and avoid psychopaths?”

Johnny chuckles, the sound a welcome break from the heavy silence. “Pretty much. But don’t worry. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, and from what I can see, you can handle yourself just fine.”

I look him over, nodding grimly, quick to expect my fate.

Next Part

A/N: Will maybe consider making a taglist! But lmk what you think!

[kotoku]

ꜱᴜɴᴅᴀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀɪɴᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴏʟᴅᴇʀ ꜱɪʙʟɪɴɢꜱ

pairings - older sibling! sunday & reader / older sibling! aventurine & reader

content - reader is gender-neutral/not a lot of angst/mainly fluff/sibling dynamics

warnings - none, besides the occasional swearing

⋘ ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ... ⋙

↻ Being the head of the Oak Family, he has a lot of responsibilities and is frequently busy attending meetings and managing the Charmony Festival

↻ Despite not having too much free time, he always tries to make room for his younger siblings

↻ If you find yourself needing something, Sunday will always drop what he is doing to help you with whatever it is you need help with ↺ A meeting? He'd excuse himself by saying something family-related requires his immediate attention ↺ Helping guests with their room arrangements? He'd say something urgent had come up and would call over another member of the family to solve the issue

↻ Sunday would be a supportive brother, as seen with Robin, encouraging you to pursue opportunities that would aid you in your career or simply being happy that you are happy with whatever you are doing (as long as it isn’t something questionable, otherwise he’d be concerned and a little stressed) ↺ Something I imagine that could happen if you’re doing a particularly dangerous job (and he hasn’t heard from you) is that he’d pace around in his office, stroking or picking at his wings out of stress ↺ You or Robin would walk in to see feathers scattered around and have to scold him for mistreating his wings, helping him with taking care of his disheveled wings

↻ Speaking of wings, if you have a pair of your own, he’d love to help you take care of them ↺ You know those bird videos where they are helping preen the other’s feathers? He would be exactly like that

↻ Considering Sunday is your older brother, he would be a bit overprotective of you ↻ You would be able to tell just by observing his wings and how they’re puffed up, a smile could be on his face but his wings would try to unconsciously intimidate the person who is making you uncomfortable

↻ If you introduce your older brother to a significant other..he’d be a bit wary at first, slightly interrogating them to observe their actions before coming to a final judgment ↺ Again, his wings would be a dead giveaway to his approval if he’s relaxed and asks you to invite them over to dinner with him and Robin ↺ Otherwise, he’d be tense and would confide in you later about his own thoughts but being respectful of your own opinion (...However, he would try nudging you into a direction if they’re truly not a good person)

↻ As children, if you approached him with something you did that you were proud of (whether it was an artwork or trophy), he’d be swelling with pride and happiness

↺ You would see it being displayed in his office or room later on when you’re older, leading you to nag at him for the embarrassment if other important figures saw them ↺ He would not budge if you asked him to take them down since it makes him smile when he glances at them

-----

“Why do you still have the old drawings I gave you since we were kids!?” Gaping at the messy portrait you made of your siblings, you could feel your face flush with embarrassment when you saw them encased in a nice gold ornate frame.

“Well, I couldn’t just throw them away… It would be quite sad if I threw away something you were so proud of when we were little.” Sunday hummed, arms crossed behind his back while looking up at the artwork. A small pleasant smile graced his face, reminiscing the time you hurried up to him with a slightly crumpled paper in hand.

“But displaying it in your office!? Just how many people came in and saw.. that!?” Pinching the bridge of your nose, you looked down and sighed.

“The value of this artwork is priceless. It is something you cannot replicate the meaning of.” Sunday simply chuckled, coming up behind you and staring back at it. “Looking at it reminds me of how far you’ve come, and to say I am proud of your achievements would be an understatement.”

“You’re so corny, brother.” “I’m glad to know I am fulfilling my duties, dear ____.”

-----

↻ Overall, Sunday is a very caring and doting older brother. ˆˆ

↻ Aventurine as an older brother came as a surprise to a majority of his peers, if not all (perhaps it’s because of his background or personality)

↻ However, he wouldn’t have met his younger sibling until later due to being separated from his family when he was a kid (I’m trying to use some of his lore that we know so far..but it won’t be entirely accurate, apologies!)

↻ This would lead to him being a very doting older brother once he met you and learned that you were blood siblings ↺ He was skeptical at first… Even if he had faint memories of his siblings he didn’t think he would have the chance to come across one of them

↻ It would take a while for Aventurine to be comfortable around you, not because you aren’t someone he can’t really trust, but because he isn’t used to familial bonds and this was something unexpected

↻ He would feel a bit insecure about himself because the expectations of being a good role model for you are now placed on him

↻ When the two of you were more familiar with each other, he would try spending his free time learning about you and what happened when the two of you were separated ↺ It would then transition to lighter topics, such as what is your favorite food? What places have you traveled to? Do you like your career?

↻ Aventurine would try to be a good older brother for you, wanting to be there to support you throughout the rest of your journeys and missions ↺ Whether you are a nameless on the express, a resident of a distant planet, or a traveling merchant, he’d try to keep in contact with you and share updates on what he has been doing

↻ Eventually, Aventurine would open up about his trauma or past to you, about being taken to the IPC, how he became an executive for the Strategic Investment Department, etc… ↺ Being vulnerable in front of others was difficult for him, but you didn’t mock or distrust him, you were willing to open up and find him so he wanted to do the same

↻ After all, his work could be quite lonesome for even someone as eccentric as him so this was a nice change

↻ The time spent getting to know each other would not only bring you two closer together but introduce you to how much of an asshole (affectionate) your older brother could be

↻ Considering that you’re his younger sibling, he’d probably take you around Penacony to gamble or see popular events ↺ When the two of you are playing any game, he’d use his 'older sibling' card to go first which irks you ↺ When he ends up winning the game, you affectionately start slapping/arguing with him, drawing attention to the both of you

↻ Because Aventurine often gains a lot of money from unfortunate players who gamble with him, he’d spend it on stuff that reminds him of you or things that you wanted ↺ You would be shocked and scold him since some of the stuff he bought you was a pretty hefty price, but he just waves you off

↻ Aventurine would tease you a lot, resulting in many (non-serious) arguments which always amused curious bystanders (standard sibling relationship) ↺ The majority of the time these arguments consisted of random topics that popped out of nowhere, leading to a debate

↻ If someone were to taunt and speak lowly of you, especially if it’s because of you being a Sigonian, he’d be incredibly defensive and say things that would have them reevaluating their own values and sense of self (attacking their self-esteem lol)

↻ Aventurine would also treat you to different restaurants, containing different atmospheres and settings but he’d try to stick to what made you feel most comfortable

-----

“Have you ever been here before, Aventurine?” You asked, looking around the cozy restaurant inquisitively. The lights were a soft yellow and the booths had a red velvety cushioning to it, giving the place a welcoming feeling. You wondered where he had heard of this place…

“Well, no not really. I’ve only passed by this place a couple of times while on my way to the casino.” Aventurine spoke, folding the menu and placing it at the end of the table. “..Do you like it?”

“I do! It has a nice atmosphere and the food looks good.” You hummed, skimming through the menu and setting it down once you’ve decided what to order. “Thank you for taking me here, brother.”

Aventurine hummed, twirling his fork between his fingers. A small smile ghosted his face.

“Don’t mention it, ____.”

“... By the way, you’re paying right, Aventurine..?” “Hmmm, I think I left my wallet at home.” “Aventurine!”

-----

↻ He’s an older brother who’s trying his best to be there for you ˆˆ

⋘ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ⋙

note - hope you guys enjoyed reading (˘◡˘) ! it's been a bit since i wrote something so hopefully this isn't too bad lol.

[krirebr]

More Than This 1

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x f!reader, Steve Rogers & f!reader

Word Count: ~4.1k

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: Heavy angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, a very brief conversation about the possibility of abuse, explicit language, the slooowest burn - 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: And here we go! A huge thanks to @drabblewithfrannybarnes for helping me nail down some of the worldbuilding details and @paperweight91 for reading so much of this and especially telling me how to fix the scene that refused to be fixed. You're both the best!!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Even if it's just screeching at me. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

It was uncommon to be called to your stepfather’s office. The high rise on the edge of Studio City had housed the heads of his family since the silent film era, give or take a remodel and expansion or five. You’d only been here a handful of times, mostly left out of the family business. When his assistant opened the door for you, you were surprised to see a small group of people, all in expensive business attire, surrounding your stepdad, Joseph Rogers, at his desk. Even more surprising was the figure standing in the corner, staring out the window – your mother. 

“Mom?” you asked, unable to hide your confusion. She just gave you a tight smile in return and turned her attention to her husband.

“Sweetheart,” he called to you. It’s what he’d called you since you’d first met him as a child and it had always felt patronizing and empty. You were well aware that you were an annoyance he’d been saddled with when he’d married your mother for her late first husband’s connections. Eighteen years later, you wished he’d drop the pretense already. “Please, have a seat,” he gestured to the leather chair in front of his large oak desk. 

You sat down across from him. “What’s going on?” you asked, an uneasy feeling building in your gut.

“Congratulations are in order,” he said, smiling at you. “You’re engaged.”

Years of experience at bullshit industry and society parties had you pasting on a benign smile. This was your fourth, no fifth engagement, the first one dating all the way back to when you were 10. They’d all dissolved for one reason or another, the business arrangements at the heart of them disintegrating too. But looking around the room at all the extra people in attendance, you knew better than to dismiss this outright. You were older now. Many of your friends from school had found themselves married as part of business deals in the last few years. Love matches were uncommon in the circles you frequented. There wasn’t much patience for love when this much money was at stake. But still, just because it was expected, that didn’t make you any more ready for your turn. 

“That’s wonderful,” you said, putting all your effort into keeping your tone even. “May I ask whom I’m engaged to?” 

“Ransom Drysdale,” Joseph said. “He’s the grandson of Harlan Thrombey, the mystery writer. We’ve been trying to secure the movie rights to his works for years and this should finally cement it. It’s fantastic news for our family and this studio. The joining of our families should create many opportunities for all of us. Ransom is one of the most eligible bachelors in Boston. You should feel very lucky.”

Lucky was the last thing you felt right now, but you kept your face schooled as you ran through your mental Rolodex to try to figure out if you had any social connections to this man. The fact that he lived on the other side of the country made it less likely but not impossible. 

“So,” he continued, sliding a stack of papers across his desk to you, “all you need to do is sign and initial the contract where it’s marked, and we can get started finalizing the details for the wedding next month.”

At that, all your poise disappeared and the smile dropped off your face. “Next month?”

Joseph nodded. “It’s important to strike while the iron is hot with deals like this. So go ahead and sign so that we can all move on to the next stage.”

Your heart thumped wildly in your chest. This was happening. This one was real. “Shouldn’t I read it first?” you asked, somewhat desperately.

He shook his head, “No need,” he said, gesturing to the man you recognized as one of the family lawyers standing beside him. “Julian has already gone through it with a fine-toothed comb. All of our interests are well represented. It’s all in legalese anyway. Impossible to understand if you aren’t a lawyer.” He chuckled and many of the people standing around the desk, staring at you, joined him. 

“I just–” you stammered. You didn’t know what to do, but you knew you couldn’t pick up that pen.

Irritation bloomed on your stepfather’s face. “Lydia!” he called. 

Your mother stopped staring out the window and stepped up to your chair. “Honey,” she said gently, putting her hand on your back. “This will be such a good thing. And then we can get to all the fun parts of planning the wedding!” She picked up the pen and held it out to you. You took a moment to look at her. Her features were drawn and her eyes looked exhausted. She’d looked that way as long as you could remember. It did nothing to reassure you. 

You glanced at the door behind you. You knew you weren’t getting out of this room without signing the contract. You took a deep breath and took the pen from your mother. There was nothing else to do. No other choice. You quickly flipped through the papers, initialing where indicated and signing the last page. Your hand was shaking so badly you weren’t sure any of it was legible.

When you turned over the last page, Joseph clapped his hands together. “Excellent!” He took a large binder off the desk and passed it over to you. “We’ve put some information together for you on your new fiance. Ransom will be in town next week to take you to dinner so that the two of you can get to know each other. Now, I’m sure you want to go celebrate, so we won’t keep you any longer.”

At the clear dismissal, you stood up. Many people in the room offered their congratulations and you nodded to them, forcing a strained smile. Then you made your way out on shaky legs, needing to see the one person who might be able to help you process what had just happened.

You’d been six years old when you and your mother had moved into the Rogers mansion. You were terrified, already able to sense Joseph’s indifference towards you. But your comfort during that time, and all the time after, had been his son, Steve. Twelve years old, still reeling from the death of his mother and just as deeply lonely as you, he’d named himself your protector, shielding you from his father’s annoyance and your mother’s sorrow. He guarded you from monsters when you woke up in the middle of the night after a nightmare and would stare down your bullies on the playground. You were very quickly inseparable. 

When you became engaged the first time when you were ten, sixteen-year-old Steve had taken you out for ice cream, telling you not to worry too much, there was so much time before anything would happen and that everything would be ok. When the arrangement had fallen apart, he’d hugged you and whispered in your ear, “See? I’m always right.”

That was the memory you couldn’t stop thinking about as you let yourself into your stepbrother’s apartment, using the key he’d given you on the day he’d moved in. He wasn’t in his front room, so you moved all the way to the back, to the spare room he used as an art studio. You lightly knocked on the doorframe as you entered, trying not to startle him. He was standing with his hands on his hips, staring at a half-finished painting, but looked over his shoulder as soon as he heard you. There was a warm smile on his face, but it dropped as soon as he took in your expression. “What happened?” he asked as you flopped down onto his couch.

“I think I might be really fucked, Steve,” you said quietly, your hands still shaking. You couldn’t get them to stop.

“What happened?” he asked again, more forcefully this time, as he dragged a chair from the corner of the room so that he could sit right across from you.

“Your dad, he–” You stopped and shook your head. Steve’s face darkened. “I’m engaged,” you said with a helpless shrug.

“Okay,” he said evenly. “That might not be the most dire thing. You’ve been engaged before. Nothing ever comes of it.”

You sighed. “They’ve set a date this time.”

“Oh,” was all he could say at first, surprise on his face. “That’s new.”

“Yeah.” you nodded. “A month from now.”

That had Steve sitting up straight. “The hell?!”

“It’s happening this time. I can feel it.”

“Hey, no,” he said, reaching out to touch your arm. “Let me try to talk some sense into him. Buy you some time. He might listen to me.”

You shook your head. “Everything’s already signed. They made me sign. I don’t think there’s any getting out of it.”

“He give you a name?”

“Ransom Drysdale.”

Before he was able to stop himself, Steve grimaced.

“Fuck,” you muttered, briefly covering your face with your hands.

“No, it’s– I’ve only met him once or twice, ok? I don’t actually know anything about him.”

“But you don’t like him.”

“He’s–” Steve paused, clearly trying to find the words that wouldn’t upset you even more, “a strong personality.” He looked at you carefully. “And he’s older than you. Older than me, even.”

“I know,” you sighed, reaching for your bag and taking out the folder. “They gave me this.”

You handed it to Steve and he paged through it. “This is intense. Do you think they gave him one about you?”

You shrugged. “Dunno. Probably. Can’t imagine it says anything interesting.”  

Steve nodded, seriously. “It’s probably pretty thin. Just the story of that time you completely freaked out when you weren’t allowed to bring Mr. BunBun to school with you.”

You grabbed the pillow next to you and hurled it at him. “You’re such a dick!” you laughed. “I’m very upset!”

He batted the pillow back at you and cackled when it hit you in the chest. “He deserves to know the kind of person he’s marrying. The kind who throws a five-alarm tantrum when she’s separated from her stuffed bunny.”

“I was eight, asshole!” You laughed again but then your brain caught on something Steve had said. “Holy shit, he’s marrying me. I’m getting married. I don’t know anything about him. He could be anyone. You don’t even like him! He could hurt me and–” 

“Hey, no!” Steve interrupted quickly. “I might not know much, but I know that. He won’t do that. I’m sure of it. And if he ever even tried, I’d be there so fast. They’d never find his body.”

“Will he be kind to me?” you asked quietly. He opened his mouth to say something, but you stopped him. “Be honest with me. Please.”

He sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” you said, trying so hard not to cry, “I guess at least now we know exactly how your dad feels about me.”

Steve closed his eyes and quietly said your name. When he opened them, there was a resolved look on his face that was painfully familiar. His ‘I’m going to fix this’ face. He was intractable when he got like this. He set his jaw. “I’m going to talk to Dad.”

You shook your head. “Steve.” Your stepfather was just as intractable as his son. This would only result in a shouting match that wouldn’t go anywhere.

“It’s going to be alright,” he said resolutely.

All you could do was say “OK,” with a wan smile, knowing it was a lie. You lay down on the couch and curled up on your side. “Do you mind if I stay here for a bit?”

“Of course not. Lola good on her own for a while?”

You nodded. Your little dog was probably asleep in her kennel. “Yeah, for a while.”

“Do you mind if I keep working on this?” he asked, gesturing to his painting.

“I like watching you paint,” you said, trying to find comfort in the familiarity of something you’d done since you were small.

He stood up and turned back to his easel, and you did your best to focus on watching him paint and not think about how, if this went through, you’d have to move to Boston and you wouldn’t get to have this time with your brother anymore.

As expected, Steve’s talk with Joseph yielded no results when it came to your future. The only thing it seemed to have any effect on was their own relationship, Steve announcing to you that he was no longer speaking to his father the next time you saw him. You hadn’t expected anything else.

For your part, you spent the next week vacillating between going overboard preparing for your first meeting with Ransom—pouring over your folder on him, making salon appointments, shopping for a dress that would make the right impression—and pretending your problems didn’t exist. As such, the day of the dinner still snuck up on you. You were a nervous wreck. 

The plan was for him to pick you up at your apartment, but an hour before he was supposed to arrive, you got a text from an unfamiliar number telling you to meet him at the restaurant instead. 

So now you sat at the table, alone, in a new dress with your hair done. You’d arrived ten minutes early, and he was now 20 minutes late. You took a deep breath, staring at the empty seat across from you. He would show up. He had to. 

Another ten minutes passed and, as you waived off the server for a third time, you let yourself consider what it would mean if your future husband had stood you up. You should go. It’d be pathetic to stay. And even if he did show up after you’d gone, it’d make a point. Show you had a backbone. You should definitely go.

Just as your hand began to inch toward your handbag on the table, the hostess came through, leading a tall, handsome man to your table. She stopped beside you and then ducked away. The man looked at you critically. He said your name like a question and, when you nodded, he sat down. He didn’t introduce himself, but he could only be Ransom. 

He was dressed nicely in an expensive sweater and slacks, but much more casually than you were and looking around the restaurant than most of the other people there, too. And when he sat down, you could see the places in his sweater where it was threadbare or torn. You tried very hard to not take it as a sign of how he felt about this dinner, felt about you.

You cleared your throat to say something, you weren’t entirely sure what when he glanced at your glass of water. “You don’t drink?”

“No, I do,” you said, but when he smirked you realized how that sounded. “I can,” you amended, but that sounded odd too. “I mean, I don’t have anything against it. I was just waiting for you.”

He snorted. “Well, aren’t you polite?”  His tone made it feel like the worst thing you could possibly be. He flagged down the server and ordered a glass of the Macallan 18, then huffed impatiently while you asked questions about their wine selection. You didn’t know how he could be half an hour late and make you feel bad for taking your time ordering. 

Once you’d finally made your choice and the server left, you tried not to squirm as he gave you a once-over with his eyes. You felt disappointing without really knowing why. You tried to shrug off the feeling, but then Ransom said, “How old even are you?” with scorn in his voice.

You cleared your throat. “Twenty-four,” you tried to say with confidence.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

You did your best not to shrink in on yourself. Maybe he was just nervous too. It was a weird situation. But, “Didn’t they tell you about me?”

He snorted again and rolled his eyes. “Gave me a whole binder. I never opened it.”

You looked down at your empty place setting, embarrassed. You’d studied every inch of what they’d given you, hoping to show him how seriously you were taking this and he couldn’t care less. “Oh,” was all you were able to say. 

He grinned a little meanly. “You got one too, didn’t you? Don’t tell me you’ve memorized facts about me that you were ready to rattle off to impress me.”

“No,” you growled out. You weren’t going to let him make you feel small just for trying to show interest in the person you were going to have to spend the rest of your life with.

He swiped one hand over his mouth and chin. “My god,” he muttered, “this whole thing is fucking ridiculous.”

The waitress came back and set down your drinks. Ransom immediately took a large gulp of his scotch. You itched to do the same, but you suddenly felt like proving a point. Even if you weren’t entirely sure what that point was. 

You were ready to order, but Ransom hadn’t glanced at his menu yet. Just as you were about to ask for a few more minutes, he said, “Go ahead and bring me another one of these right away,” and gestured with his drink in dismissal. She nodded and left.

Fuck it, you let yourself take a large drink of your wine. “Do you know what you’re going to have?” you asked, nodding to his menu.

He shook his head. “I have dinner plans after this.”

Heat shot through your whole body. “I thought these were the dinner plans.”

He rolled his eyes again. “Getting a head start on the nagging?” he asked, dryly. “Wow, it’s like we’re already married.”

You opened your mouth to do something, you weren’t sure what. Everything in your mind had gone white. But once again, Ransom beat you to it. “Alright, let’s get this done. You’re moving into my house. Fine. But I already have everything we need, so I expect you to pack light. I don’t need your shit cluttering up everything.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You didn’t know how to have a conversation with him. Someone who left no room for you and seemed not to care at all about anything you had to say. And then there was the voice in your head that kept shouting about how incredibly important this dinner was to the rest of your life. And now it wasn’t even dinner. So when you opened your mouth to speak, what came out was, “I have a dog.”

He stared at you for a moment, seemingly surprised that you’d spoken at all. “What? No. Absolutely not. You’ll have to get rid of it. I hate dogs.”

You didn’t even bother to try to think through the static in your head. “She’s coming with me. I don’t care what else happens, I’m fucking bringing my dog.”

Ransom just narrowed his eyes and stared at you for a moment, then, “Fine. Just keep it away from me. And if it destroys my house, you’re getting rid of it. I’m serious.”  

“She won’t,” you said, as sure of that as anything. “She’s a good girl.”

“Whatever,” he said, as the server returned with his second drink. He slid his empty glass to the end of the table, then said, “The bill,” without looking at her. As she took his empty away, he continued to you, “I don’t know why you want to deal with a dog and a baby, but…” he shrugged.

You just blinked at him, trying to catch up with the massive leap he’d just taken. “Baby? What? Who said anything about a baby?”

He laughed, loudly. “Oh my god, they didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” you asked, harshly, panic starting to build up in your chest. 

“Of course, they fucking left that to me. There’s a clause in the contract,” he said, “requiring you to get pregnant with my child within the first year.”

You stared over his shoulder, you couldn't look him in the eye, horrified and speechless. You couldn’t breathe. How were you supposed to breathe?

“You seriously didn’t read your own marriage contract?” The judgment in his tone had you shrinking in on yourself. You couldn’t help it.

“They didn’t give me any time,” you said, quietly. “They just made me sign it.”

“And you always do what you’re told, don’t you? Yeah, you look like a good girl.” He said it the same way he’d called you polite when he’d first sat down with you. Like it made you weak. Stupid. You’d never thought so before, but now you wondered if he was right.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

He chuckled humorlessly. “We agree on that,” he said. “This whole thing is fucked.”

At some point, without your notice, the server had returned with Ransom’s card and the receipt. He signed it quickly, then stood up. “Listen, now, at least, we can go back to our parents, tell them we met, chatted, got to know each other. Everything is hunky dory. And then do whatever we want for the next three weeks. Right now, I’m going to try to salvage my night. You go do,” he gestured vaguely at you, “whatever you need to do. I’ll see you at the wedding.”

And then he was gone and you were alone.

You sat in the back seat of the car on the way back to your apartment, running over every moment of your evening. You kept thinking about the way he’d looked at you, talked to you. A baby. You were supposed to have a baby with him. A child that you’d have to raise. By yourself, judging by how invested in all this he seemed to be. Forty, fifty years of him looking at you like that, talking to you like that. And a baby. You leaned forward and asked the driver to take you to your parents’ house instead. 

Once you arrived, you said you needed to speak to your stepfather urgently and were shown to his study. You stood in the middle of the room, too anxious to sit down, and waited. Everyone was making you wait tonight. 

Several minutes later, Joseph finally came in. “We weren’t expecting you tonight,” he said. “How did it go?”

You ignored his question, which you guessed was an answer in itself. “Please don’t make me do this,” you pleaded. 

“Sweetheart,” he sighed, disappointed, and moved over to his bar, pouring himself two fingers of decanted whiskey. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“It was. It was awful. He’s– I can’t do this. Please, please don’t make me.” Your voice broke, but you couldn’t be embarrassed about it, not when you were staring down an entire lifetime with him. 

“Everyone gets nervous before their wedding. You’ll be fine. This is important. To all of us.”

“It’s not nerves!” You were close to shouting, suddenly. “You weren’t there. You don’t know. There have to be other families we need things from. It doesn’t have to be this family, does it? It doesn’t have to be right now. Please, please, anything else. I’m begging you, don’t make me marry him, have a child with him.”

He chuckled lightly. “Oh, that’s what this is about. It won’t feel as scary once the baby is here. You’ll make an excellent mother.”

You just stared at him, agape. He wasn’t listening to anything you had to say. “How could you not tell me that was part of the contract? I deserved to know. I wouldn’t have signed!”

His face hardened at that. “You were naive to not expect it. Of course, children are part of this. I admit that the timing is a little fast, but Harlan insisted.”

“Joseph, please listen to me. I can’t. I can’t. Please. If you care about me at all, you won’t make me do this.”

“You’re being ridiculous. It’s done. Everything’s signed. You signed. Now,” he said and took a drink, “it’s getting late. It’s high time you went home. Hopefully, you’ll be able to calm yourself down there.” And then he left the room, ignoring you as your whole world fell apart.

As you left, you passed your mother in the hall. Neither of you said anything.

When you got home, Steve was waiting for you, having already let himself in, holding Lola in one arm. “How did it go?” he asked seriously. You shook your head and finally let the tears fall. He pulled you into his arms, smushing you against your dog, and gently guided you into your home.

Part Two

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[rafeskai]

Life as We Know It — Rafe Cameron

Epilogue

Two opposites must navigate love, loss, and unexpected parenthood to discover the meaning of family.

Summary: When tragedy strikes, two very different individuals find their lives unexpectedly intertwined as they become the guardians of an orphaned child. As they navigate the challenges of co-parenting, balancing careers, and confronting their pasts, they discover that family can form in the most surprising ways. Through heartfelt moments and unexpected humor, they explore what it means to build a life together—one step at a time.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Character deaths & angst.

Author's Notes: That marks the end of this series :( thank you guys so much for all the love and feedback! I’m so proud of this series and I hope u guys love it as much as I do.

Masterlist: Here

It had been a year since the custody battle, since Rafe and you had found yourselves standing side by side, figuring out this whole "family" thing. A year since both of you issued a restraining order against Ward, and the judge granted it. A year since you stopped pretending you didn’t feel something for him, and he stopped acting like he was too good for anyone, especially you. Now, the chaos of life had settled into a strange, beautiful rhythm. It wasn’t perfect—far from it—but it was yours.

And, somehow, against all odds, the three of you had made it work.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The morning sun streamed through the kitchen window, where you stood trying to assemble breakfast. You had learned, over time, that cooking for Willa was an Olympic sport. Every time you managed to whip together a simple meal, she somehow managed to flip the situation on its head—literally.

"Willa, no!" you heard Rafe call out from the living room. You looked up just in time to see him frantically trying to stop her from scaling the couch like some sort of tiny, diaper-clad Spider-Man. “You can’t climb up there!”

But Willa was undeterred. She gave a small shriek of triumph, her baby legs scrabbling up the cushions like she was born to conquer furniture. You had to admit, you were impressed.

"I swear she’s part monkey," you muttered under your breath, flipping pancakes with a practiced hand.

Rafe stumbled into the kitchen, his hair sticking out at odd angles, the look of a man who had given up on ever having a decent morning.

“You say that like it’s a surprise,” he deadpanned, rubbing his face. “We’ve had this conversation a hundred times. No more couch climbing. She’s already an inch away from that giant coffee table, which, let me remind you, is made of solid oak. And do you know what happens when Willa decides gravity is optional?”

You snorted. “We end up on the floor with her holding a half-empty juice box like she’s just conquered the world, while you scramble to pick up the pieces of your dignity.”

He shot you a pointed look. “Exactly.”

You set the pancakes aside and wandered over to rescue Willa, who was now attempting to climb up the back of the couch like a small, determined mountain goat. Scooping her up with one hand, you held her up in front of you. “You know, kid, you’re lucky you’re so cute, because if I had to stop doing my work every time you decided to do a backflip off a chair, I’d be in therapy by now.”

Willa gurgled, her eyes wide and innocent, as though she didn’t have a single rebellious bone in her tiny body.

Rafe leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. “I’m just saying, if she’d stop doing that, maybe I could get ten minutes of peace. But no. We live in a house of chaos.”

You smirked, watching as Willa grabbed his shirt and yanked. “If she’s chaos, you’re the tornado that hits right after,” you teased, making Rafe roll his eyes dramatically. “Just admit it—you love it.”

He groaned but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah, I love the chaos. But you have to admit it’s a lot of work. I mean, who’s going to put together her tiny little rocking horse without accidentally breaking something?”

“Not me,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure I broke that rocking horse three times already.”

At that, Rafe laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, I’ll take that as my cue to fix it. You keep trying to make breakfast, and I’ll figure out what’s going on with the toy horse that’s apparently haunted.”

Willa babbled in your arms, and you kissed the top of her head. “I’m not saying this to be dramatic, but I’m pretty sure she is a secret agent in training. I’ve seen her figure out how to break into places she’s not supposed to be like she’s in a spy movie.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow. “Spy movie? She’s more like a tiny burglar who knows how to manipulate you with her big eyes and unstoppable giggle.”

You chuckled, nodding. “Fair. But I still think she could make a killing in espionage. Maybe we should start saving for her college fund in case she ends up needing a fake passport.”

Rafe grinned, his mood visibly lightened by your banter. “I’m pretty sure we’re going to need therapy more than we need a college fund. But I’ll get started on that fake passport idea, just in case.”

You grinned back at him, feeling that familiar warmth settle in your chest. There was a time—just a year ago—when you had no idea what your future would look like. Now, here you were, a family, even if it didn’t look like any family you had ever imagined.

“Well,” you said, turning back to the pancakes, “we better get our act together before she eats all the syrup by herself.”

Rafe snorted and shot you a grin. “You think she’s not going to try that already?”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Later that day, after Willa’s nap (which, let’s be honest, was more of a battle than an actual nap), you and Rafe found yourselves in the backyard, taking a breather after the chaotic lunch you’d just survived. Willa was happily playing in her little sandbox, tossing sand like it was confetti at a New Year’s party, while you and Rafe collapsed onto the porch swing, exhausted but content.

"How the hell did we get here?" you asked, your voice quiet, more to yourself than to him.

Rafe leaned back with a sigh, staring up at the sky. "I’m pretty sure we got here because you’re too stubborn to admit you love me," he said with a grin.

You nudged him with your elbow. "Excuse me, but it’s not just me that’s stubborn. Have you seen the way you try to resist her puppy-dog eyes? You can’t even handle Willa when she does her sad little face, and you know it."

He groaned. “It’s my kryptonite. I’m weak. I’ll admit it.”

“Good. Because that means you’re finally accepting that she’s the boss around here. We’re just along for the ride.”

Rafe chuckled, nudging you back. “If that’s true, then I’m okay with it. Besides, she has the best team behind her, right?”

You smiled softly, watching Willa scoop up a handful of sand and drop it like a tiny little sandstorm. “Right. And we’re the best team for her.”

There was a pause, a quiet moment where both of you watched Willa. The future was still uncertain—life always was—but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t seem so scary.

“Well,” Rafe said, standing up and stretching, “I guess we better go make sure our future crime boss doesn’t eat the sand. You know, for her health.”

You snorted, laughing as you stood too. “You mean for the safety of our sanity?”

“That too,” Rafe said, laughing as he grabbed your hand and pulled you into a warm hug.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. And for once, that was enough.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

And so, life continued. Chaotic. Messy. Full of love. Your newfound family was far from conventional, but it was undeniably theirs—and somehow, that made it all the more beautiful.

Plus, Willa? She’d definitely grow up to be a world-class agent of chaos, and Rafe and you would have to learn to live with that.

But at least you’d be together.

© 2024 rafeskai | All rights reserved. This fanfiction is a work of fiction inspired by characters from Outer Banks, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[utterlyotterlyx]

Wicked Game

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.

Eris x CassianSister!Reader

Summary - Eris did everything, everything he could to protect you. He'd never thought that he'd ever have a mate, that he wasn't worthy enough, until he met you, Cassian's sister and everything fell into place.

Warnings - death, blood, mentions of torture, heartbreak, kidnapping, shattered bonds, angst.

I'm so sorry.

Eris would find any reason he could to not leave you. No reason was good enough to pull him from your arms, to disrupt the bubble of serenity he had made with you.

He had been dumbfounded, the shock evident on his face, when he had met you, spied you across the ballroom wedged between Cassian and Azriel, both of whom growled at any lingering eye. It was obvious that you felt uncomfortable as you trailed behind the inner circle, with your shoulders slightly hunched and eyes glued to the floor. You were too beautiful to feel so out of place, forest green fabric clung to your figure with shimmering gold embellishments hanging from your shoulders, and a high slit up your right thigh, exposing golden skin and tight muscle.

It had snapped for him then, the moment your scent soared through the room, fresh rain and rosemary with a hint of oak that he inhaled, gulped in and held onto, allowing it to drown his lungs.

That night was the first night he had spoken to you, the bond hadn't snapped for you yet, and he was rather content in listening to you, learning about you without the pressure of the mating bond in your words. He watched your full lips move as you told him who you were, Y/N, a sister of the inner circle, Cassian's little sister, Rhys' and Azriel's by proxy.

No wonder they were snarling at any male who tried to get close to you.

Eris couldn't keep his eyes off of you, ones that reminded you of aged whisky, swirling pools of amber and speckled gold. You told him about your love of helping others, evident in the school you had opened for orphaned Illyrian children where you taught them how to bake and paint, to sing and dance, you helped them heal from the trauma inflicted upon them in the Illyrian camps.

After that night, Eris had found any reason he could to venture to the Night Court, citing political cooperation as the reason for his visits which wasn't exactly a lie. Mor wasn't happy about it at first, but Rhys had told her they were working on a way to usurp Beron, to change the course of the Autumn Court for the better, that Eris wasn't as bad as he seemed.

Eris had visited you at your school that Rhys funded without question, your wings were cruelly taken from you as a child, no one could stop it, and the crescent moon scars peaked out from the back of any dress you wore. You had assured him it was fine, that they rarely ever caused you pain whilst you rubbed small circles into the skin of the small child wrapped up in your arms, soothing his anguish away with your touch.

He had noticed your gift on his first visit to the school, how the small girls whimpering in pain found immediate peace after your touch, you were able to take the pain away, able to bring peace upon the most tormented of souls. It made him adore you even more, as if those spheres of brown and sage green didn't have him in a chokehold already.

"You're her mate?" Cassian's hazel eyes ignited with rage, his fingers dug into the arms of his seat, threatening to rip the leather apart if he'd apply just a whisp more pressure.

Eris had told Rhys on his fifth visit, he had told the High Lord that the bond had snapped for him at the Autumn Ball six months ago, how he hadn't told you and was happy to wait until it snapped for you too. Then the cavalry had been called in, and he found himself sat in front of the entirety of the inner circle, all of them present but you.

"Yes," Eris couldn't show his nerves, telling your family of the bond was something he foresaw you doing together, as a couple, but you were still none the wiser to his affections. "She doesn't know, and I have no intention of telling her. I would have already."

Azriel thought about it, how much happier you were when Eris was around, which had become often for the heir. The wide smile that showed your gleaming teeth, the twinkle in your eye as you answered his genuine questions, the more often than not moments where you dazed into the sky with that lovestruck vacancy whilst holding one of his letters in your fingers.

No one was particularly thrilled about it, not after what had happened to Mor, but amongst all of the bickering Azriel was the voice of truth, "She loves you, Eris," it pained him to say it, to say that he saw it even if the bond hadn't snapped for you yet. Azriel turned to Nesta, the closest thing you had to a sister, "You know it."

Nesta nodded sadly, you were everything to her, her best friend, a sister by extension, you understood her pain and torment, you had helped her to heal, to put herself back together piece by piece, "Yes," she looked to Cassian, "She does. She told me."

Hope jolted in Eris' chest, his heart beating a thousand miles a minute, the need to reach you almost overwhelming him. Eris didn't see the eldest Archeron sister stand to soothe her mate, he didn't hear her tell him that this was what you wanted, what made you happy, that it was what you longed for.

Cassian looked to the Autumn heir, a softer expression falling over his features, "Y/N deserves the best, she deserves everything good and pure. Can you give that to her? Can you give my sister the life she deserves?"

"I can," Eris showed no doubt, and suffered under the gaze of the inner circle, he'd suffer for however long he needed to if it meant you, gloriously perfect you, were waiting on the other side.

"Not right now you can't," Mor stood at the back of the room, arms folded against her chest as she looked down on Eris with a mixture of disgust and fear, "Not when Beron is still ruling over Autumn, she wouldn't be safe with you, not when Beron suddenly decides he wants to hurt us."

"I can protect her-"

"You couldn't protect me."

Eris had always carried guilt with him for how things had played out with Mor, but this was different, you were his mate, his fated companion.

"I couldn't stop what happened to you, and I'm sorry that I was the cause of so much pain for you, for all of you. I wish I could go back and say no, that I would be brave enough to spit in his face and defy him," Mor knew he was telling the truth, that deep down he did regret everything that had happened, and her gaze softened, "Y/N is my mate, I have spent months getting to know her. Y/N is bold and beautiful, the most caring soul I've ever encountered, parts of all of you live within her. The best parts of you. She has Cassian's humour and Mor's wit, she loves painting and reading and nature, she welcomes the shadows like old friends, and she's consumed by her love for you all. She loves you all so much."

"He's right. I do," gravity fell from beneath Eris as he turned to see you standing in the doorway, no one had noticed you creep in, no one had heard the door open and shut, no one had heard the padding of your feet sound across the floor.

The sun surrounded you, almost illuminating your figure as you leaned against the doorframe, your long pale green dress brushing against the stone floor and eyes flittering across the room before finding Eris. Your mate.

"You stupid male," you told him with a smirk, a curled strand of hair fell over your shoulder, your arms rested at your sides and your eyes held a playfulness to them.

It clicked, that golden thread tying you to him that was once quiet, searching for the other side, now hummed, no, it sang. "You knew?"

"Since your first visit to the school when you scooped Pippa up into your arms and sang that Autumn lullaby to her, she's never let anyone hold her like that. I knew you were meant to be mine from that moment," you tugged on the bond and his hand shot to his chest at the sensation.

"Yours," the word fell from his lips and the room pulsated with that uniquely vibrant power that radiated from the fulfilled mating bond, it was stifling, nothing anyone could move against.

Eris had moved to you then, you pushed yourself from the doorframe as he approached, allowing him to take your face in his hands and run them through your hair whilst you became lost in his whisky amber eyes. He pressed his forehead to yours, the tips of your noses touching and his breath fanning across your face, "We can wait, I don't want you to feel pressured into accepting this."

"Just kiss me, Eris," your voice was barely a hush above a whisper, you peered up at him with pleading eyes, telling him that you were ready, that you wanted this. Him.

The gap between you closed and his lips met yours in an embrace that could only be described as reality shifting. It was like your soul had ignited, like it was now entwined with a twin flame and they danced together in perfect sync. Eris' lips were soft, and his kiss was so tender and gentle as his tongue swept against your bottom lip, it savoured every piece of you that you offered to him, and he drank you in without doubt, with no care at who was watching.

You were his forever, and he was your eternity.

Eris couldn't breathe as he hurtled through the halls of the Forest House.

You were meant to be in Velaris, you had told him you'd be there waiting for him.

It wasn't safe to leave you in Autumn without him, it had been decided that you'd reside with your family whilst he was away dealing with treaty issues with Spring and Day by order of Beron, which had become easier now that Tamlin and Helion knew of your mating bond.

Eris had entered the House of Wind with only one thing on his mind, you.

The bond between you was muted, he hadn't felt you for a couple of weeks, which was normal. You had decided to mute the bond, turn it off, whilst he was away, he didn't need to be scared and pulled away from another meeting when pain passed down the bond toward him. The pain you took from others seemed to travel to him and he had always thought something had happened to you. So, it was easier to turn it off, to send the odd tidal wave of adoration down it every now and again so he'd know you were waiting for him.

His world tumbled when he entered the house to bewildered expressions once he asked where his mate was, only to be told that you had returned to Autumn two weeks ago, that you had received a letter from him and disappeared with a love sick grin of barely contained excitement on your face.

"I never sent that letter," he told Cassian whose eyes widened with horror and fear, he screamed for Rhys and Azriel, for Mor and Nesta, telling them what had happened and that Eris hadn't felt her in two weeks.

Eris disregarded Rhys' words, to find her together, as a family, he couldn't wait. Eris winnowed right into the main foyer of the Forest House, sniffing like a bloodhound for a speckle of your scent.

It lingered in the air, rosemary and oak, the freshness of last nights rainfall mixed in with something else he couldn't quite decipher, and he sped toward it. Eris ignored all of the guards and servants who looked at him with pity and sadness, he ignored the solemn tinge to the atmosphere, he just needed you. His mate. The love of his life. His everything.

"I love you," the words fell from your lips, you couldn't stop them. The fire roared beside you from the place on the floor, your body entangled with your mates as he traced faint circles around the crescent moon scars on your back and peppered kisses into your hair. "I love you more than the wildflowers crave the autumn breeze. I love you more than the ocean loves her creatures."

Eris rolled you over as tears pooled in the corners of your eyes, he caressed your cheek and ran his thumb over your wobbling bottom lip, "I love you more than you could ever love me, my sweet, perfect mate," he pressed a kiss to your lips, his warmth wrapping around you like a blanket, "I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you, I never thought I deserved a mate, or anyone for that matter. Then you came, you came and made my life make sense, you gave it a purpose."

You listened intently, you felt his touch rolling down you arms and across your stomach, already so familiar with every scar and perfect imperfection of your body as you told him, "If I ever one day leave this world, I will look ahead to the next adventure and hold its hand, and I will look back with my other entwined in yours. Wherever my soul may wander, I know it will always find you. Our love isn't made to last just one lifetime, it's made to extend across universes and worlds. Even when I am stardust, floating around in nothingness, when the last part of my soul begins to fade away, I will love you."

Eris followed your scent, that melody of beauty, all the way down the deepest parts of the Forest House, his stomach twisting in agony as he realised where you were beckoning him.

Turning a corner, all the air in his lungs was ripped from him, he called your name, pleading you to sit up from the stone table where you lay. The room was covered in blood and discarded weapons, iron clung to it. To you.

Eris took a step forward, the only light in the room was on you, the light had always found you. It came from a skylight that displayed the stars above, it illuminated you in their glow, and your head was tilted to it, as if you were idly staring at the sky and dreaming like you usually did.

A sob caught in his throat, "No," his face twisted and he reached for you, taking your cold hand in his own as he forced himself to look at you.

Your eyes were open and staring at the world beyond the skylight, your lips were bloody and chapped, there was no light in you, no golden hue to your skin, no joy in your eyes. There was nothing. Eris wasn't breathing as he looked at your body, as he looked at the fourteen long tally marks that had been carved into your stomach and the purple bruises coating you hips and legs, as he found your still tear stained cheeks and the emerald ring he had proposed to you with still on your finger with a depleted shine.

Eris cried, he roared as he felt that fire consume his body, "I love you. Please, I'll do anything. Please," he begged as he pressed his forehead to yours, stroking your matted hair with his hand, tucking it behind your pointed ears of which the tips of had drooped slightly.

He pressed his lips to yours, that burning fire that caused your own to dance now waltzed alone.

Then he felt it, he felt the bond completely shatter, he felt that tendril of golden thread pang back to him like broken elastic. A once burning love that consumed everything he was, now a broken tether dancing in a storm cloud with nothing to attach to, with no light on the other side.

Eris was broken.

He didn't feel the bodies enter the room behind him, he didn't hear their sobs, he didn't hear Cassian's cries as he collapsed into Nesta. Eris looked at you, he looked at the side of your face and remembered you lying next to him, hands raised to the ceiling as they played with his own, he remembered how your chest vibrated when you laughed, he remembered the love you gave him in your eyes and all of the promises of ruling together and creating your own herd of beautiful red haired children. Promises of changing the world.

With a strangled voice, Eris whispered to you, tears streaming down his face and pattering against the stone where your lifeless body lay, "Even when I am stardust, floating around in nothingness, when the last part of my soul begins to fade away, I will love you. It was always you, my sweet, perfect mate."

Authors Note

Ngl, I actually cried writing this. I think I got a bit carried away.

I apologise to myself and to you all profusely.

[gyummigon]

like when we first met, i hate you and i love you | beomgyu

beomgyu x fem!reader | playlist

୨୧ word count: 6.8k ୨୧ genre: angst, slight smut ୨୧ warning: non-explicit sex (or so i think), unspecified mental disorders and illnesses, depressive thoughts, thoughts of death, thoughts of loneliness, verbal incitement to suicide, very mild violence (not dating violence), unstable and unhealthy relationship, emotional dependency, mild family strife, and lots and lots of anguish. i don't suggest reading to anyone under 18, in fact don't read it if you are under 18. ୨୧ a/n: writing this was a challenge, but i consider it to be one of the writings i put more of myself into. thank you in advance to the people who are encouraged to read, and i hope i will not disappoint you. my native language is not english, so i apologize for any errors or inconsistencies in the text. have a nice weekend!

It was easy for Beomgyu to feel trapped in his own mind, to mourn the days that were more than just lost; he swore that he remembered nothing of them, and yet they could bring him down at any moment.

He had spent nearly a quarter of his life living in hospital rooms, moving from one to another, but in the end remaining within the same four plain, pale walls. No matter how many times the morning came to him, or how long the night before, they meant nothing when all he could see was a ceiling that could only be distorted in the recesses of his mind. 

On this particular morning, the ceiling he saw as he lay sprawled on his bed was not the usual one. The sun's rays struck him from a different direction, the comfort of the mattress was not what his body was accustomed to, and the gentle puff of your breath beside him sent his mind wandering to alternatives that would save him from his growing need to flee your uncomfortable presence. 

Your situation was not entirely unfamiliar to you. You knew him too well to have any idea what was going through his mind. The guilt overflowed from the brown of his eyes and hit you almost as hard as the reality of waking up in the same situation again. As you felt the warmth of his body next to yours, you wished bitterly that he was a stranger, that way you could let him go without claiming the warmth you lost the moment nakedness stopped meaning anything.

"Beomgyu," you called him with an uncertain tone. You slid your head from the pillow to his chest and let his heartbeat against your ear flood your mind with fear. You wished you could control it and make it keep beating even if it wasn't for you. "Promise you won't let this happen again."

Beomgyu closed his eyes. The yellow color of your walls was too cheerful and always made him feel depressed. 

"I'll visit you tomorrow," was his answer. He gently put your head back on the pillow and started to get up.

A lump in your throat kept you silent as the raw fragility of his nakedness escaped the sheets. Even as he finished dressing and turned to look at you, you kept your attention on the place farthest from her eyes, afraid to get too close and discover that there were demons lurking there.

You and Beomgyu met in seventh grade, in the fall of 2016, under the rays of a bright sun and the orange hue of the leaves of an old oak tree. He had just transferred to the same school as you, but with his bright and enthusiastic personality, he had no shortage of friends, attention, or the furtive glances your curiosity encouraged you to give him. The first time you spoke to each other was after an embarrassing skateboard fall at school, but a handshake and a few awkward smiles sparked a bond that made you inseparable.

Aside from similar musical tastes and an interest in hiking, you didn't have much in common and were constantly having not-so-serious discussions about your differences. It was this contrast that made Beomgyu so eager to spend time with you. You were the respite from his usual routine, the color that was missing from the memories in his mind; the shade that waited to protect him from the sun, even though you were completely unaware of his difficulties. And things should have stayed there, in an innocent and uncomplicated friendship, but your childish need for romance and his urge for compression turned you from friends to lovers in a matter of months.

It was an inevitable fact from the beginning. He was a young man full of life carrying a heavy secret, and you were a naive young woman who didn't know what she was getting into when he opened the doors of his heart and you walked right in. By now, after six years of relationship, both of your hearts were worn out and the constant barriers that Beomgyu's unstable mental health put between you widened a distance that even monotony could not close. Beomgyu felt his soul heavy and dirty even when he was near you, the color of your life itself made him feel like a gray stain, and the shadow that once comforted him now burned him every time he tried to cling to its coolness.

"If I don't come tomorrow, don't go to the hospital until you've finished your homework, okay?"

The pain hidden in your silence made Beomgyu feel miserable and almost made him give in to your earlier request. Promising you was the right thing to do, but with him being meaningless, purposeless and pretending, how could he control himself not to come back here?

"You'll be all right, won't you?" he heard you say in a weak, languid voice.

He couldn't do anything but look at your grieving body under the sheets. He felt terrible, like a piece of trash. Every time he looked at you, he realized how disgusting he was for coming here and making you do all those things. He wanted to get down on his knees and beg for your forgiveness and at the same time berate you for letting him do it, for giving him your body even though it made you both feel dirty.

"I love you."

He wasn't sure if those words came out of his mouth and reached you, maybe he had buried them, forgetting their meaning and now they were just a broken compass. What day was it, could he go on or back? Was this the end of the story or had it just begun?

He hated himself so much.

A small smile that didn't reach your eyes spread across your face, you pressed the sheet to your body and propped your knees up on the bed so you could touch him. "Will you be okay?" you repeated as you traced the softness of his cheek with your fingers.

In a losing battle against despair, Beomgyu leaned his face into your touch and closed his eyes. He could not stop pretending that you were not the vessel into which he poured his misery. Every word out of his mouth seemed to weigh tons and lying was the only way to be with you more than just physically. 

"I'm trying."

"How long will you keep running away?"

Hearing you, Beomgyu opened his eyes and you sighed as the familiar feeling of fear and uncertainty washed over you as you looked into them. There was a heartbreaking fragility and desperation in them, the same one that was present every time he touched you and made love to you; the same one that remained when his lips moved slightly upward, giving you a faint glimpse of the hidden dimple on his cheek.

"I'm not running away, the hospital doors are always open."

"Beomgyu." You tried to sound stern, but the quiver in your voice at the mention of his name was noticeable.

"Don't worry," he murmured, putting his hands over yours to pull them away from his face. "You have enough burden with school, so avoid distractions and study hard, okay?"

"Then don't come back here, please."

"I'm so sorry." Beomgyu, with his eyes closed and a lump in his throat, placed a hand on your head and pulled you close to him to plant a kiss on your forehead. "Get some sleep before you go to school."

A helpless expression appeared on your face as Beomgyu gently stroked your hair before pulling away. You closed your eyes and bit your lower lip to stifle any more pathetic pleas from your mouth, listening to his every footstep taking him away from you.

An impulse made Beomgyu turn on his heels and look at you again. For some reason, when he saw the way you hugged yourself and closed your eyes tightly, a deep urge to die washed over him from head to toe. He thought he owed it to you after all he had put you through, that there was no other way to give you a chance to escape him.

With a sigh, he took one last look at you and turned his feet toward the exit of your room, offering you the only comfort of his absence and his silence.

And as every time you watched him leave, you felt that he took a piece of your soul with him.

"You have to stop for a moment." You heard Hanna say as you both walked to your next class.

Walking across campus carried a weight that felt thicker in that moment. The weight of the morning was reflected in every step you took, shuffling your feet with the characteristic reluctance of one who has crossed an already too long college day. 

Your path to your next class is a routine one, but you have never been able to get used to the distance between one classroom and the next. As you made your way along the path of worn bricks and open spaces where the bustle of students mixed with the sound of car engines, you felt overwhelmed and anxious to get home as soon as possible.

"Take a break." Despite the weight of her guitar on her back and the art portfolio occupying her hands, Hanna moved forward beside you with lighter steps, keeping a calm tone in her voice. "You're starting to rub off on me with your negativity, if you're too tired to study then rest."

You sighed and looked at the time on your watch, your class had started five minutes ago and you still had a long way to go to get to the building where the class was. 

"You just don't get it, I rest every day even when I shouldn't," you said as you picked up your pace and Hanna mimicked you without any difficulty. 

"Procrastination is not rest, you have to really relax."

If your breathing hadn't been so fast due to the intensity of the walk, you would have sighed. From your perspective, the situation was more complicated. Your current emotional state was beginning to affect your academic performance, and you hated it. As a student of letters and a lover of reading, you had never fallen so far behind in your academic reading and homework. You were used to reading for school as much as for yourself, but in the last few weeks, it was impossible to even hold a book without being a matter of time or will. You couldn't find the concentration to be yourself anywhere, and you feared that if you didn't overcome the block and regain some focus, you would have to drop out of your classes before you failed. 

  The thought of doing poorly in school made you feel absolutely worthless and nervous.

"I'll try to change, just... don't tell Beomgyu. He's been a little intense lately about the idea that I'm doing well here."

"Why, is he pressuring you or something?"

You paused and thought about all the times Beomgyu told you to stay focused in school, to study hard and get the best grades. It always seemed to you that he said it in a sad rather than a demanding way.

"No, but the situation has been difficult since his relapse," you replied.

Hanna looked at you for a moment with her big, thoughtful eyes before she let out a sigh. "Y/n, since I met you your relationship has been difficult." 

"As long as he was under observation he would study online, but he became an irregular student. I guess that's thwarted his plans a lot and knowing my current situation will probably make him sensitive..." you tried to explain in a hurry, but stopped yourself when you couldn't ignore the little conviction in your words. Hanna gave you a reassuring smile and maneuvered her hands to free one of her arms for a few seconds and wrap it around yours. Both your legs slowed in unison and your body relaxed as you tilted your head and rested it on her shoulder.  "Do you love him?" 

Her question didn't surprise you, but you let a few minutes of silence pass between you before answering. For some reason, it was always difficult to talk about your relationship with Beomgyu; either they didn't understand it at all, or they understood it too much that you started to get the pity treatment. 

"Of course."

"As a boyfriend? I mean, do you love him romantically, not as a person you've known since puberty?"

You turned your head away from Hanna's shoulder and brought your gaze to an imprecise point in front of you. It wasn't always up and down with Beomgyu, the stability you both once had and kept you both so alive was as tentative as the current instability, the love manifested was as strong as the doubts. What did it matter how you loved him now, there was no way to know that it would make a difference. The two of you were bound together by more than love, you had a history with too many loose ends to tie up, words whispered in silence that needed to be heard and answered, wounds deep enough to choose to bleed without trying to close them. Yes, the distance was frightening, but you weren't defeated, you could take what you needed from each other to survive, and that wasn't necessarily wrong.

Except for the fact that neither of you were alive. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Hanna's voice broke through your thoughts and brought you back to reality. You let out a sigh, each question weighing you down with exhaustion. "I just... I want to understand you."

"Does he seem bad to you?" you replied without a hint of anger or concern. 

"No, I like Beomgyu, I just... since I know him, he's kind of scary to me." 

"No, gosh... He's... the nicest, most sensitive guy I've ever met."

"Not that type of scary." 

When you heard these words, you felt frustrated. You didn't understand, even though you were also scared, you didn't understand what it was that Beomgyu reflected when he was with you that you couldn't see; because you were also absolutely terrified and couldn't identify the cause. 

"He's fine, Hanna." 

"And I'm so glad, but what about you?

You wished you could answer that question without your heart trembling with hesitation, but you were at a point where you doubted even your own words. What your mouth was saying and what Hanna could surely read in your eyes were contradictory things. If only you could have at least known which was true...

"I'm fine, okay?"

Your eyes glided over each word on the page with an almost exaggerated slowness, you had read the same paragraph over and over again in the last few minutes, your head was throbbing and fatigue irritated your eyes, but they were not the reason for your lack of concentration, at least not the main one. 

Beomgyu sat a meter away from your desk, and you could feel his attention on every twitch of your facial muscles, on the movements of your hands, on the restless tapping of your foot on the floor. Those silences were the ones you hated the most to share with him, they made you insecure and any chance to approach him in a way that didn't make you feel suffocated slipped through your fingers. 

You closed the book with a sigh and turned in your chair to look at him. The dark circles under his eyes hardly surprised you, they seemed as dull as the last times you saw him, barely a spark to show they were still screaming inside.

"Are you done?" he asked, slurring his words, but you were sure he already knew the answer.

"I'm tired," you replied instead as you stood up and sought a safer position on your bed, away from his eyes.

"Me too..."

You sighed as you saw him shrink back into the chair and averted your eyes to the floor. You couldn't shake the desire to be silent that came over you every time you saw him, even you couldn't describe the feeling, it made you sick, afraid to say the wrong thing, to push down the hopes he could barely hold in his hands. You were so afraid of breaking him. Despite your caution, you admitted that you were one of those guilty of endangering the stability of the thin rope he was walking, because as long as you were together, you would be the person Beomgyu held his hand and led him to discover the worst ways to sabotage him. It was as if he was testing your criminal mind and inviting you to watch from the front row as he murdered his own dreams and hopes for life.

You snapped out of your thoughts as you felt the weight of his body sink into the mattress. You turned your face in his direction, slightly dazed as you watched him kick off his shoes and curl up into a ball under your sheets. You sighed, not resisting the urge to bring a hand up to his face and caress his cheek, the way you knew he liked it. 

"Lie down," he asked you in his little whisper. 

There he was, like a ghost in the darkness, looking at you with a longing that made your body tremble. Though he was overflowing with an inexhaustible weariness, and his features bore the nostalgia of the stars that once shone, he was heartbreakingly beautiful. His smooth skin had the feel of a misunderstood canvas, his eyes, deep and enigmatic, carried unreadable pleas. It was sadness embodied in the skin of an ethereal being, unable to be torn away. 

Your eyes closed unconsciously as Beomgyu leaned towards you after you obeyed his words, hiding his face in the curve between your neck and shoulder. The warmth of his body was always overwhelming, but his words had the power to slip between the trembling crevices of your heart and freeze its beating at will. 

"I miss you..." he murmured against your skin, the roughness of his fingers clinging to your hips and his nose sliding along your collarbone, enveloping your skin with his breath and stealing layers of your scent. "I miss you so much."

How many times had he said those words to you? You wanted to scream at him that you were here, that you hadn't gone anywhere, that he had you, that nothing would tear you from his side, but even you weren't sure of that anymore. 

"Me too, babe," you replied, lowering your face to his as his eyes sought yours. Damn it, you thought, it will happen again. 

Within minutes, Beomgyu's lips left your neck and traced a path down your belly. Silently, you gave his hands permission to roam beneath your clothes, to trace the curves of your breasts and massage your soft flesh. More than one sigh was stolen from your mouth as his fingers slid to the pointy centre of your breasts, sending a stream of emotion through the gentle pressure. You couldn't explain the emotion that was marked by the trace of his touch on your skin, it wasn't lust, it wasn't need, it wasn't passion, but it was soft and comfortable, just enough to seem like love, just enough to reduce the agony and inappetence of longing to something subtle. 

You whispered his name and cupped his face in your hands to draw him to you. Despite the suffocating emotion in the air, your bodies met in an anxious embrace, seeking solace and a cure for the raw hopelessness they could only express through gestures and silent caresses. The weight of his lips against your forehead made you close your eyes, almost begging him to never let go. Your lips ached with the need that filled them as the cold enveloped your body and replaced your clothes. But he did not kiss your lips, though they cried out in supplication, nor did you kiss his, knowing you would find the bitter taste of apology in them. 

You also helped him get rid of his clothes. You imitated his lack of shame and suppressed any negative emotions that would make you believe that seeing and touching him as you did was wrong. How could it be so wrong when you had Beomgyu in your hands, gentle, vulnerable and intense? Trembling sounds escaped his throat and bound your hands, begging for more. His hands tightened around you, his fingers sliding down each side of your neck and his thumbs pressing against the softest, most vulnerable part of your shoulders. You leaned into his direction, letting his warm breath brush against your ear. 

"My sweet Y/n..." Despite your skepticism that such a thing was possible, the sweetness in his voice made you believe that he really could feel the lost, that your body and voice could soothe his pain.

You kissed his hips with your fingertips, touching the roughness of his bones, holding him close as he wriggled against your touch. He responded just as sharply and slid one hand over your belly and the other between your legs where he pressed his fingers to your most sensitive spot, where pain and pleasure intertwined and sent a tightening sensation to your chest. "Beomgyu..."

"Shhh... it's okay."  He took hold of your knees and, as if he had forgotten his own frailty, he exposed you and adjusted your position for him. Your eyes sought his, eager to hold on to something, to reassure you that it wasn't a stranger touching you; to remind you that all was well, that you were safe. You wanted to find security and familiarity away from this quiet, reserved, sleepy version of himself, you wanted a smile of encouragement, one that would light up the night but not set the moon on fire. 

Beomgyu held your waist, preventing the involuntary, violent jerks of your pelvis. You swallowed saliva, dizzy and anticipating the raw invasion of his being inside you. 

"What's wrong?" you asked as you watched him look at you motionlessly. 

"You're not wet enough."

"It's okay, just do it."

 Beomgyu's lips brushed your cheek, his voice a whisper in your ear as he leaned closer. "I just want you to relax," he said. "Let me take care of everything." 

With a gentle tug around your waist, he sank you deeper into the bed, your head back against the softness of the pillow as he parted his body from yours to give him an open path for his hand to the shy, sensitive place between your legs. His fingers traced the inside of your thighs and slid down to the slit of your crotch, where he made circular motions with his fingertips for a few seconds before penetrating you.  

You closed your eyes and gasped for air. It was as if he was lulling you and slapping you at the same time. Part of you wanted to take it with or without pain because you didn't think you could take it much longer; another part of you, the more disillusioned part of you, wished it was him who gave up and ran away. You tried, you really hoped it would work. For a while, sex had been the relief for this raw ache, but nothing really cured it. No matter how many nights you devoted your body to Beomgyu's desires, there would always be a night when you would lock yourself in your room and cry for all that he lacked, for all that you couldn't give him, for all that you didn't want to give him. And he would know, he always noticed these things, the tears burning under the flesh of your cheeks. But he would not caress your heart as you cried, nor would his hands wrap around you as your mind and soul had done a thousand times with him. For Beomgyu would still be miserable, and neither you nor he was ready for him not to drag you down with him. 

Your body responded to the demands of Beomgyu's fingers and gave him what they were looking for. He clung to you as if he didn't want you to escape. You could feel his muscles tense and tremble, his breath in your ears, his heartbeat and breath on your skin. It was the only thing you could hold on to so that you wouldn't collapse right there. 

Beomgyu slid back, his fingers suddenly far away from the spot between your legs. The feeling of his emptiness inside you was such a familiar pain that you almost reached out for him for a moment, but the caress of his lips on your shoulder and that voice you missed so much brought your focus back to him.

"You're not leaving, are you?" he asked as he slid slowly and carefully inside you.

You didn't answer, you both already knew the answer.

The silence in the room was overwhelming. You were lying on the bed, minutes had passed since your breathing had returned to normal, and now the only sound in the room was the pattering of the rain against the glass of your window. The sweat had dried on your skin and the sheets; your muscles, now relaxed, felt a slight sense of fatigue that made you want to stay in bed. 

You looked at Beomgyu's back and traced the curve of his posture with the pad of your index finger. The delicate contours of his vertebrae were illuminated under the dim light of your desk lamp, lacking muscular strength, with a fragility palpable in every stroke your finger outlined. 

"Don't come back tomorrow."

"Y/n..." he said in a vague form of protest, but you cut him off before he could say anything else. "I have an exam and I really need to study.

I'll visit you on Friday." There was a minute of silence in which you thought he would try to protest, but he just nodded.

"Well, uhm... Are you hungry?"

"Not really."

"You're thinner."

"Maybe."

"Have they been feeding you well?" He gave you a sideways glance and raised his shoulders reluctantly. "It's hard, I have no appetite."

"Hospital food is terrible, isn't it?"

"I guess."

You sighed and looked at the back of his head as if you could see through it. 

"It's not the kind of food we were made for," you replied, trying to lighten the mood. Beomgyu finally moved, turned around and his head landed right on your chest. You could feel his hands touching your ribs, his lips in your hair, your feet on his. "I could make you some fried rice," you continued. "So you can eat something."

"It's okay, just stay with you. I don't need any-"

Your eyebrows furrowed as he interrupted himself. He had raised his gaze and was now staring at you. 

"What's wrong?"

"You look pretty."

Pretty.

The mood in the room changed when he said those words. You held your breath. Everything around you seemed weaker, as if it would fall apart at the wrong sound. You wanted to speak, but you dared not, out of weakness, your absurd cowardice, to show what you were thinking inside. You didn't feel beautiful. You didn't feel loved. Oh, what a relief it would have been to be able to express it to him at that moment, what a different and less complicated way it would have been not to wait for your surroundings to collapse in order to tell him all that you were hiding inside. Maybe if habit did not keep you silent when misery hovers around you, maybe if darkness was not the only stimulus urging you to seek the light, maybe you would have said it. 

I feel lonely. 

"Let's cook something, you know, like old times, but this time without burning anything. Let's make gimbap, but not just any gimbap. We can look up my grandmother's recipe, remember? I made it once for your birthday, haven't made it since, but I don't think I've lost the touch. The recipe has to be out there somewhere. My mother..."

"Okay," he interrupted, surprising you with a kiss on the cheek. "Forget the gimbap, fried rice is fine."

"Do you... do you want to join me or would you rather stay here and rest?"

"It's okay, your sister could meet me any minute."

"I'll be back in a few minutes."

With an overwhelming hope growing in your chest, you left your room and went to the kitchen. The house was plunged into a terrible silence and you had to fight the urge to return to the room, knowing that you would not find a warmer atmosphere inside. But the silence didn't last long, just as Beomgyu had predicted, Leah, your older sister, closed the front door as you finished descending the last flight of stairs. You were wearing only a plus size t-shirt and your panties, so you weren't surprised by the annoyed look she gave you.

"Looks like the rain caught up with you after work." 

"He's here, isn't it?"

You weren't even surprised that she ignored your attempts to start a conversation away from Beomgyu. You rolled your eyes and headed for the kitchen without looking at her. "Oh, not again, Leah."

"That bastard," you heard her curse as she nipped at your heels. "He thinks he can do whatever he wants to you because of his illness?" 

"He didn't do anything to me."

"That's the problem, y/n. In your opinion, he never does anything."

"Mind your own business, Leah." You told her as you tried your best to look busy, moving your hands around the closet, but the truth was your hands couldn't even remember what they were looking for. You opened one of the cabinets, then another. By the third, you felt a little discouraged, so you opened the fourth. Your hands began to despair, until finally a small package of rice wrapped in plastic caught your eye. You gently picked it up and placed it in your lap as you pulled a wooden stool closer to the side of the counter and sat down.

"I'm minding my own business." She replied, standing behind you for a few moments, a tense silence settling between the two of you, and you didn't dare look her in the eye. You felt a pang of embarrassment.

"Leave me alone."

Leah took one of your hands and forced you to face her. "You know I don't like to keep quiet when it comes to this, I didn't before, I won't now. Even if my words are in vain, even if I don't have the right to tell you what to do, I won't swallow my disapproval of you continuing this story in which you are clearly not a heroine. You are a fool, just like mom, don't you see? You witnessed her long years of misery for what? To repeat history? What is broken only hurts."

"Stop." You pulled her hand hard. "This is between Beomgyu and me, no one else has any part in this. How many times do I have to explain myself to you?

Leah let out a frustrated sigh, she seemed to be debating your words and your back stiffened as you waited for her next attack, but the tension in your body turned to surprise when you felt her hand tugging at the collar of your shirt.

"Leah!" you screamed, but your attempts to push her away faltered as you became aware of what she was looking at with such displeasure. You didn't even remember the purple marks on your collarbone, they were old and therefore barely noticeable, but her sharp eyes hadn't missed them and her expression made it clear that he knew who the culprit was; which was just one more reason to increase her displeasure.

"I'm going to... God, that idiot..." After a few seconds of silence, you heard her sigh and turn away. You felt your stomach sink. "Is he upstairs?" 

"Leah, don't..."

Your reflexes were fast, but not fast enough to catch her before she came out of the kitchen. Less than a meter from the stairs, your fingers clutched at her clothes, perhaps too tightly, perhaps so desperately that it left your sister and you in disbelief. 

You thought of Beomgyu waiting for you in your room, vulnerable and feeble with his own thoughts. Maybe he agreed to let you cook for him because he wanted to be alone, maybe he called you pretty because it was easier than saying anything else. Maybe you loved him and it wasn't right. Maybe you hated him and he knew it. Maybe you took his sadness for granted, or maybe you should have understood that he wasn't worth it. But there was more, something darker than all possible answers, something you suspected but were afraid to admit to yourself, afraid to face it. 

Beomgyu didn't need you, it was you who needed him.

Your hand loosened its grip on Leah's clothes and you stepped back. A tremor went through your body as you looked down at your hands, suddenly afraid of yourself, your own demons. "I'm sorry, just... leave him alone."

For a few seconds you thought she would say something, argue, scream, or just try to move on as if she didn't hear you. She did none of these things, instead she turned back to the stairs and said those words that hit every sensitive nerve in your body. 

"If your disease doesn't kill you soon, you should kill yourself."

At first, her words were like an attack that you couldn't digest for the first few seconds. They hurt, they stole your breath, and you heard the crackling of something weak, something sensitive breaking; but it was only when you saw where the attack was directed that fear and a searing anxiety invaded your body and made your knees fight against a wrenching weakness.

"Leah!" the scream tore at your throat. 

Beomgyu was standing on the stairs when he met your sister's gaze. His jaw was clenched, but his tired expression made him look almost expressionless. But he wasn't. He was shaking, more than you. He was suffering, more than you. He had never looked so small, so fragile, so far away. And you had never felt so helpless, so frightened, so unaware of your impulses.

"How... how can you say such a thing?" Your palms slapped Leah's back, once, twice, three times, as if to force her to spit out an answer. You were distraught, desperate, about to burst into tears. "How can you be a human being and say such a thing? How can you be my sister and..."

"'Whoa, whoa, take it easy... Just calm down..." Beomgyu's arms, who seemed to have rushed down the stairs at full speed at the first of your attacks, wrapped around your waist and pulled you back. You tried to pull him away, even though you had no intention of returning to your sister, but he clung to you tightly. "Come on, outside." 

You didn't resist as he led you outside your house. His hands released you only when he closed the door behind him and you turned to him with a pleading expression. Beomgyu said nothing but shook his head in a gesture you could not decipher and the fear that shook every part of your body could not have been worse.

Silence.

You parted your lips, desperately wanting to say something, anything, but nothing came out. Beomgyu gave you a dejected smile and shrugged his shoulders, a gesture he always made when he wanted to play things down and cheer you up. You had to look away to keep from collapsing. 

The raindrops on the pavement were bright white under the streetlights. The streets were empty, the only sounds being your accelerated breathing, the pattering of the rain, and the rustle of the trees in the wind. The air was tinged with damp bark and earthy moss, a smell that for the first time you found more devastating than comforting. 

"I'm going home, back inside." 

Your breath caught in your lungs and you made an incredible effort to get the words out of your mouth. 'If your disease doesn't kill you soon, you should kill yourself'. These words kept going over and over and over in your mind. How could your sister tell him that, how could she even think about it? Beomgyu, who had lived in a body full of anxiety, instability, impulsiveness, confusion, and paranoia since he was sixteen. Beomgyu, who had to live with an incurable diagnosis and inexhaustible medication. Beomgyu, in whose confused mind, behind a thick layer of emotions, there was only a genuine desire to be loved, accepted and valued by himself and others. Beomgyu, insecure, bright, dull, happy, depressed, who started a new war against himself every day. If your sister had known all this, would she have said those cruel words? If your sister had seen the sharp, cutting impact that melted into Beomgyu like a heavy anchor that prevented any hope from floating, would she really have stayed at home so calmly?

"She doesn't know what she said," you whispered, lifting your gaze from the floor to look deep into his eyes. "She's... selfish, arrogant, completely irrational. She thinks she knows you. They think they know you. But they don't know anything about you! They don't know you like I do, no one...no one..."

"It's okay."

"Nobody does."

"I know." Beomgyu took your face in his hands, his intense eyes never leaving yours. "You know me better than anyone."

"Stay."

Beomgyu shook his head sadly.

"No, I..."

"I love you."

Your interruption seemed to shake the ground beneath Beomgyu's feet. The boy sighed shakily and leaned his forehead against yours. His eyes, now wet and shiny like the concrete of the long avenue, were hidden under his eyelids and closed with the force of something burning to be seen. 

"Do you sometimes... do you sometimes not have the urge to die together? To throw us in a lake and drown? Something like that?"

A sob escaped your throat and your hands cupped his cheeks, almost as if you were holding his heavy soul with the edge of your fingernails to keep him from slipping from your grasp. Nothing was ever more frustrating. "No, God, of course not, how can you say such a thing? I want nothing more than to live by your side, to synchronize your heart with mine, to hear you breathe, to see you smile... I want to calm you down and for you to calm me down. I want to survive with you.

Beomgyu let out a soft snort that resembled an attempt at laughter. "Always giving me the cold shoulder. Go back inside, you'll catch a cold."

Your hands grabbed his clothes. You didn't want to let go, your whole being told you not to, not to let him go, not like that, not with those words still echoing in his head. Beomgyu gently pushed your hands away and you trembled. You were afraid for everything, for him, for yourself, for the future. You feared his departure and that he would become unreachable. For the first time, you feared that you didn't love him. 

Beomgyu's breathing was steady now, only the faint, clear outline of his body pressed against your chest told you that he was still there, still present. "I'm scared," you whispered. 

"Me too."

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Friday, I'll see you Friday." 

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Finally, you stepped back, still wanting to say many things, but lacking the right repository of words to get them out. Beomgyu hesitated for a moment, his mouth opened slightly as if he wanted to speak. But he didn't. You took a deep breath and stepped back again, your face blank and your hands hanging limply at your sides. Your lips trembled, but then, almost out of nowhere, you smiled. It wasn't a happy smile, nothing like that, given the situation. It was desperation eating away at your life, the wind hitting your body and telling you how empty your hands were now. It was Beomgyu, tired and in pain, making his way into the distance.  

You smiled even more when the sky began to rain.

masterlist - txt

© gyummigon | all rights reserved. copying or adaptation prohibited

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Pulled by the Scarlet Reins✨

Witch Trial! Joel x fem! reader

A/N: I came up with this one-shot idea by listening to “Cassandra” by Taylor Swift! I hope you enjoy, and please give me all your feedback and thoughts 🩵 This one is a bit angsty. No beta readers. Nervous and excited to share this one!

Summary: In the hate filled town of Salem, no one is safe. With accusations flying daily, no one is spared from speculation. When the blame is pointed at you, who will be there to defend you?

Rating: 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 9.1k

Tags: So much angst, hurt Joel, soft Joel, switching POVs, witch trial au, talk of death, grief, smut, oral receiving (fem), unprotected piv, creampie, protective Joel, yearning, pining, Joel seeks revenge, religious trauma

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The weather is cloudy, the sky full of windblown fire ash as another innocent woman is burned to death. You can smell the flesh rotting, hear the excruciating screams fill the amber colored sky as you mourn the loss of Cassandra.

It happened months ago, but you still hear it. The agonizing pleas as she begged for someone to save her, but she couldn’t be saved, not here. She was the only friend you had in this godforsaken town called Salem. She was your best friend, your soul sister, family.

They’re all gone now. Dead, murdered. Now you have no one. You’re all alone in a town hellbent to burn all the innocents they call witches. And you hate it, despise everything about this evil place. You just want to run far, far away from here. What a dream that would be, to get away from the gut wrenching noise of the town named for murders.

   David is the worst of them. The priest of the ungodly church, with his cold blue eyes, a snarl that bites anything he touches, slicked back blonde hair that sets fire to innocent women. He’s a devil disguised as a savior, tricking any man into following him into the depths of despair. You hate the man, hate this fucked up town, but escape is death, too. But what’s worse? Getting mauled by a bear or getting burned to death at the stake? You’d take the bear mauling over all of it.  

   It’s simple enough. You break the rules, do anything to get noticed by the Protestant men of the town, and you get executed. It doesn’t matter if you plead a case, doesn’t matter if you can prove you’re innocent, doesn’t even fucking matter if you’re a member of the goddamn church. If you do anything any of them don’t like, you get hung or worse, burned. 

   So now all you have is this little wooden house made by the rough hands of dirty men, men you’d rather not speak about. All you have are memories of Cassandra sharing your space, her essence still swirling around this lonely room as you pace back and forth day after day trying to hold on to memories that once belonged to you. When you had a friend, when you weren’t so alone, but now you were left with the haunted ghosts of this town. 

   Sometimes they show up at your doorstep when it’s calm and quiet after midnight, spreading their cries of warning to flee the area. But where would you run to? Who would you have? No one. But you don’t have anyone now, so what does it matter? You’re dead either way. 

   You lull around your house, assessing the various shapes and colors of bottles you hold your collected herbs in, twisting the lids on tightly and lining them up neatly across the tall oak shelf. Green lush vines and pink tulips hang across the wide layout of the large glass window, where the sun kisses their gorgeous leaves and makes them grow and thrive in a state of wonder. This house is your only safe haven. Outside is a blood soaked warzone, filled with snakes and gossips that you’d rather avoid. 

   You don’t engage with the toxic church in town; you stopped going right after Cassandra was accused and sentenced to death. Nothing could make you go back to those haunted paint covered church pews, listening to the priest that spews venom about anything and everything he can. You’re a prisoner to this town of hatred, mourning losses of fallen friends and family members who you’d never see again. You’d never conform to this, you’d find a way out. Someday, somehow. You’d get the freedom you so desperately seeked.

   Just when you start assessing some sprouting lilac petals, the wooden door slams open with a bang, making the entire house quiver under the sudden strike. You jump back, watching the potted lilacs fall to the floor as the ceramic pot smashes to tiny pieces. You feel cold, icy hands push you against the wall, holding you back as you watch the hateful men tear apart the only thing you have left in this sunken town.

   “What’s this, hmm? Practicing magic in my town?” David seethes as he holds up a bottle of fresh sage and smashes it to the ground, the glass shattering into tiny pieces like your own heart feels like. 

   “No, those are my plants!” You scream in horror as he continues to smash each bottle one by one, piece by piece. 

   “They don’t look like just plants to me, sunshine. Looks to me like you’ve been meddling in the devil’s affairs,” David snarls as he breaks another bottle of lavender. 

   “No, that’s not it! Please, STOP!” You yell as the men push you back against the covered blue wallpaper. You fight with all your might to break away from their hold, but it’s no use. You have to just stand there in shambles watching your entire life fall apart before your tear soaked eyes. 

   “Shut up, witch! Bite your tongue, you little devil,” he snarls as he comes over in front of you and fists the front of your dress as you see violent, icy eyes stare into your soul. “Now, you’re going to see what the consequences of being friends with Cassandra are. Following in her footsteps, pathetic! Just watch what happens to witches who don’t pay attention in church.”

   He tosses you back against the wall as you watch him slowly destroy your safe little haven. He breaks every single glass bottle in the house, tears apart every vine and flower that sits atop your kitchen counter, flips over granite tables, and destroys everything you ever loved in this space you called home. 

   You feel completely defeated, your silent screams making you dizzy as you plead for him to stop, crying out until your throat runs dry and wet tears stain your crimson cheeks. You watch him pull apart the last of Cassandra’s things, watch him murder her all over again as he lights a match and sets her golden heart locket necklace ablaze. 

   “No!” You shout, scream till your throat is completely on fire as you watch him spread the flames to your destroyed treasures. 

   He grabs a fistful of your hair and drags you out of the house, your white dress snagging on the ground as you become covered in grass stains and dirt, your scalp feeling like it’s about to be pulled off completely as you thrash against his hold. 

   “Witch!” He screams to the growing crowd as they all gather around to watch the next innocent life be taken from the haunted town, except none of them even offer to help. They just stand silent or yell accusations at you as you sit fragile on the soaked grass, feeling the weight of all the hate crash down on you like you really are guilty. You’re not though, you’re just an innocent girl whose life got ripped in half by a lying devil of a man. 

   “Burn it down! Destroy it! Kill the witch!” The horrible words come bellowing out of the community’s mouths, feeding David hate as he smirks your way and nods at the men. 

   “Do it,” he snarls. And they listen, just like they always do. They set your house ablaze, lighting matches and pouring gasoline until you see nothing but orange flames dance across the entirety of your house.

   “No, no, NO!” You muster up all your strength and push yourself off the damp ground, planning to make a run towards the crumbling house as it starts to topple from the hot flames of the ignited fire. 

   “Stay back, witch! We aren’t done with you yet.” One of the men pushes you down, and you feel your palms scrape against the rough ground, feeling blood soak the green grass as your fingernails dig into the cold dirt. You try to get a grip on reality, try to drown out all the screaming chants your way, but it’s no use. They’re echoing all around your mind, stabbing stakes into your body as you feel their filthy nails dig like chalk into your skin, smothering you in hate that you can barely tolerate. Your ears bleed, seep blood as you muster all of your strength to lift your aching head off the dirt covered ground. 

   You see the hateful snarls of the people, see the way they point accusing fingers and call you witch again and again until your brain starts to fog over like a thick mist. You feel the warm tears spill down your embarrassed cheeks, feel the weight of the world come crashing down on you as they cast you down in shame with scornful threats and vulgar gestures. And you’ve never felt more alone than you do now in this little town of deceitful fools.

   You feel the kick of someone’s boot, feel your shoulders being pushed down into a clump of wilting grass as you grunt and lay flat against the hollow earth. You feel as if you’re a tiny insect, its wings being torn off and ripped to shreds as the beautiful monarch butterfly dies in the hands of the vengeful enemies. You’re nothing but a speck of dried up filth now, and that makes you feel so defeated. 

   With every ounce of energy you have left in your frayed body, you dig your nails into the dirt, grunt out in pain as you lift yourself on your hands and knees, trying to ignore the rustling of burning wood and screams of past ghosts that were burnt in the flames time and time again. 

   You slowly lift your head, feeling a bit dizzy as the town lifts their semblance of pitchforks and dusty bibles in their hands, shouting angry chants at you to “Burn the witch” as they spit and crowd around you. Every single one of them follows David’s advances, snarling and bellowing death threats your way as you stare hopelessly into the sea of misled bodies. All of them twisting their words and spewing violence your way. 

   Your teary eyes scan the crowd, looking around for someone, anyone to help you, but there’s no one. No one that’ll take the risk. Your gaze covers the sea, eyelashes drenched in wet tears as your bottom lip quivers in fright. All you see are monsters in front of you, all around you, their claws lashing against your innocent skin as they spill blood over the town of Salem. Not a lick of remorse in their bodies as they continue to take innocent lives again and again. But that’s what they want, what they were taught to do. They never learned it was all a false lore to kill the ones who didn’t obey him. David. A false god on an altar made of death and bones of burnt bodies. 

   You hear the chants continue, feel the warmth from the bitter flames that took everything from you in an instant as your house sits in ash behind you. You can barely look up, barely keep your fingernails embedded in the soft grass, but you do. You can’t let them break you, even if you are already broken when they took it all away from you. Starting with Cassandra, then your family, then your home, your plants, your precious memories that were tucked away safely in that house. Now you have nothing. So maybe dying won’t be the worst thing because you already died the moment they took it all away from you. Now you’re just a corpse among this godforsaken town. They already burned everything you loved, what was another body in an ashy fire? 

   Your throat burns, no more tears left inside you as you feel the sting of bloodshot eyes scan the angry crowd again, enduring the weight of hatred sitting on your chest like you’ve been covered in gravel rocks, the heaviness consuming your insides until you can’t breathe, can’t speak. You’re just there, unalive, drowning in hate filled screams. 

   Your heart slows as you drown out the shouting voices, eyes swarming the sea of people until you see one that stands out amongst the others. In the very back, unmoving, not screaming death threats like the others, not making a sound as he watches with remorse covering the dark shadows of his sorrow filled eyes. 

   Your eyes grow wide as you stare at him, your gaze finding a safe haven in those flecks of honey colored irises that shine a little light down on you. He’s not like the others, no. He’s gentle, kind, a little rough around the edges, but it’s him that pulls you out of the flames, if only for just a few seconds. Joel Miller. The man that was never like the others. 

   He may be broken, may be hollow and bruised beneath his broken military watch, a mere ghost dragging his worn leather boots through the dirt just to get by in this miserable town day after day. The entire town may think little of him, may think he’s scum underneath their shiny church shoes, but you never did. No. He was the only thing that kept your head above water. The only light you saw.

   He watches you carefully, brows furrowed and arms crossed tightly over his broad chest. His fingers flex, jaw clenching as he looks at you with pain in those flecks of warmth. You feel the sadness and agony reflect in your teary eyes, feel exactly what he must’ve suffered when they took the life of Sarah, his only daughter, his only family, but now she’s gone. Just withered ashes in the blowing wind. And you feel it then as the sorrow takes over those cloudy dark eyes, can see it in the way he holds his tired muscles as he hunches his large shoulders. He wants to help, but he can’t. They’d just pull him by his grey threaded tousled curls and throw him in the grave, bury him alive while he suffocates in the damp dirt that holds the bones of his now dead child. 

   You feel a leaking teardrop escape one of your glossy eyes, your gaze never leaving his even as some men start to drag you away towards the haunted church. They pull your hair, digging their rough cut nails into your damaged skin as you watch Joel’s brows knit together, the lines mapping out on his forehead as he fists his clenched fingers at his sides. 

   While everyone else follows to the church, Joel stays behind. His large silhouette fading away when they drag you up the rough staircase and into the dimly lit church, throwing your body into the middle of the pews as they laugh and cast evil remarks your way. 

   You keep your head down as David reprimands you, tossing you against the dusty white walls while your fingernails rip into the fading paint. There’s nothing you can do or say, they’ve made up their mind. You’ll be burned at dawn the next day. This is it. They might as well give you a noose, let you tie yourself to a tree and end it all. You’d rather it be that way than watch the people you hate burn you alive. 

   You just face the blood soaked wall, curling your body into a tight ball as they tear you to shreds. You never were meant to be in this town, with these people. You just got unlucky, and now you’d die with the innocent souls of the lives they took day after day. And now you’d burn with them.

   Joel watches them take you away, dragging you to the church by your lifeless arms and your long locks of hair. He doesn’t follow, can’t bear the sight of watching another innocent life be thrown into the flames. His fingers flex, jaw clenched into a tight fist as he flares his nostrils. He can’t stand to see you hurting, could barely watch as they took everything from you and burned your house to black ashes. And your face. That beautiful, innocent face he was so captivated by. He can’t even muster the anger that sits in his heavy soul. 

   You don’t deserve this, any of this. You didn’t do anything wrong, didn’t say a damn thing to draw attention to yourself. It all started with Cassandra, the first innocent woman that ever lost her life, and then it spiraled from there. 

   He knows the feeling of loss, knows exactly how it feels to have the most important thing snatched from his own rough hands. He went through that hell, watched his own daughter get accused of witchcraft in the walls of the unholy church. He fought like hell, throwing his body over his Sarah as they dragged her from his reach and held him back so they could tear her to shreds. 

   He cursed them out, damning them all to hell while they bound her hands and spilled holy water all over her body. He still hears her agonizing screams night after night, still sees her body alight with flames while they held him down against the mud and made him watch while he screamed in suffering with tear soaked eyes. He remembers it all, remembers them threatening his life after he got up and almost beat a man to death. His knuckles were bloody, body broken as they pushed him down and knocked him out with the back of a wooden plank. 

   He remembers everything. The pain, the loss, the absolute horror of living day after day in a town full of demons. And now he bleeds himself dry night after night, day after day. He has nothing left to give, no fight in him now. Now he’s just a hollow body, a broken man cursed to live in a place he so desperately despises. He wants out. God, does he want out. 

   But now there’s you. The woman he’s pined after for months. The rare beauty that captured his black heart, a ray of sunshine that showed him the light. It was the small smiles and grazing of skin, the gifted flowers, the afternoon small talks in the wildflower fields. He wishes he got the chance to kiss you, to tell you how much you saved him after his daughter was taken from him. But now it’s too late. He couldn’t save Sarah, and now he can’t save you. And it kills him, it fucking kills him. 

   He hears your gut wrenching screams, hears the crowd chant “Witch” repeatedly as his ears bleed dry. He covers his ears, kneels on the ground as dirt covers the fabric of his worn pants. He can’t hear it, can’t bear to know they’re torturing you. He wants to murder all of them, burn the whole goddamn town down, and maybe he will. Maybe this will push him to his last straw. He certainly won’t watch them burn you. No. He has to do something, anything. 

    He knows they’ll either throw you in a jail cell with venomous snakes or they’ll tie you and leave you in the field overnight. Where bears, creatures of the night, or monsters can take you out before the crack of dawn. He knows they’ll burn you early in the morning, crowd your body with hateful accusations and weapons they use like pitchforks. They won’t give you a chance to explain or to show you’re not guilty. They’ll just swallow your cries whole with their fiery tongues and amber ashes as they set your body alight. 

   He can’t see it, can’t hear it, can’t stand the thought of it. But what can a broken man do in a ruined town filled with cult following people that call themselves saints. He hates them, all of them. But he hates himself the most for not being able to save the people he cared most about. 

   He has to save you, even if it gets himself killed. For he’d rather stand on the thresholds of death with the fiery flames than see your gorgeous face melt into the depths of red embers. He’d walk through the black mist of hell, cross the fiery lakes of no return just to touch the softness of your skin.

   You were innocent, a pure angel in a broken world. He wasn’t going to watch you die. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever. 

   

They leave you tied to a post in the middle of the field, a little ways out from the sparkling lights from the little town. They gave you no room to move, gave you no remorse when you whined at the sharp rope digging into your skin. They only laughed at you, spitting hateful words as they left you alone in the chill of night. 

   Now you sulk against the rough bindings, tears streaming down your now wet face, nowhere to go, no one to call. You’re just here. Alone. Hours away from being burned in the field. The one where lost lives cry into the darkness of night, their haunted pleas and screams still filling your ears. You’d cover your ears if you could, drown out the noise with your own cries, but it’s too late. Soon enough you’ll join in on the chorus of the dead.

   You rest your head on the rough post, look up at the blinking stars in the night sky, try to relax and calm your mind. Soon you’ll float up there while your body burns alive. Maybe there you won’t feel any pain, won’t feel anything that might hurt you. And that’s all you can think as the numbness drowns the anxiety out of your frail body.

   Your mind starts to slip to a warmer place, an untouched place that hasn’t been quite explored. A nook deep in your mind that reflects soft brown irises and scents of freshly brewed coffee. Somewhere where you wished you could’ve spent more time, got closer, pushed aside all boundaries and slipped against his plush lips.

   Joel Miller, the only man that had been remotely kind to you in this tainted town. You remember that day in the flower field. That warm, sunny day. He had been so close, his breath blowing against your cheek, his crooked smile shining rays of light against your delicate skin. You felt it, the tension, the longing, the raging desire that almost spilled out of the cracks of broken skin on his calloused fingers. God, you wish you could’ve felt those warm lips melting into yours. All you wanted was one kiss, but now it was too late. You’d never feel his touch again.

   You groan into the worn post, feel the tears begin to lick the sides of your eyes, dig your hands against the jagged rope that cuts into your reddening skin. The more you tug, the more the rope shreds your aching skin. You wince, struggling to stand comfortably in this position. You finally give up, relax as much as you can and kiss tomorrow goodbye. You won’t last long after the sun rises high in the sky. 

   Minutes tick by, the seconds struggling to give you an ounce of redemption. This was it. You were going to die alone, no dreamy sunkissed brown irises to soothe you to sleep, no gravelly voice to tell you everything would be alright. He wouldn’t be there to save you in the end.

   The tears crash over you, silent cries to the fading ghosts of Salem, begging for them to send a message, pleading for one to slip their cold whisps of fingers to untangle you from this rope so you can run far away, far from Salem.

   You close your eyes and pray to anyone that may be listening to send someone, anyone. This can’t be the end, it just can’t.

   You slump your head low, feeling your tears dry on your cold cheeks, eyelashes wet with old tears. This is it, this is… 

   You hear a loud snap in the near distance, hear leather boots crunching against the green grass. Your head shoots up, eyes searching for whatever made the pacing noises in the middle of the night. Your eyes go wide when you see the large form emerging from the shadows, broad shoulders pulling at the blue flannel button-up with each step he takes, rough hands balled into tight fists. Joel. 

   Your mouth drops open, and you suddenly forget to breathe. He stands in front of you, deep brown eyes that reflect sadness of his warm irises, furrowed brows as he slides his eyes over your weathered form, your frayed dress, the claw marks that run down to your bound hands. His lips flinch, jaw clenches as he takes in just what they did to you inside the church. It’s like he consumes your pain, bathes in it, shares your scars that David and the town marked you in. 

   “Joel,” you whisper in a broken tone as a fresh tear slides down the side of your face. He sighs, feeling the sting of a tear in the back of his throat. He tries to speak, but nothing comes out. Just a muted mutter that sounds a lot like your name spilling off his tongue. 

   He huffs, clambers over to you and cuts the rope with one slice of the silver knife, freeing your burning wrists as you stumble from the post and fall against his broad chest, his arms stabilizing you from falling to the ground. 

   You flick your eyes up to his slowly, letting his calloused palms linger on your skin as he grounds you back to earth. You’re so cold, the chilly air marking your skin, but he’s so warm, even with just his hands on you. Warm sunlight, that’s what he is. 

   “Joel, you saved me…” you whisper, voice unstable as your shaky breath escapes your lungs.”Why did you…”

   He stares at you, amber flecks glimmering in the moonlight as he takes a deep, steady breath. “You’re innocent. I couldn’t jus’ stand back and watch ‘em torture you like they did with… well, you know. Sarah… I wouldn’t, I couldn’t. I jus’… couldn’t watch you burn, too,” he says sadly, his shaky breath blowing against your face.

   There’s a second of tension in the air, a breath of something different between the two of you. Just two bodies that simply burn for the other, even if no words are said. It’s there. It’s right here, right now.

   “You never were like the others, you know?” He takes one hand and cradles it on your cheek, taking the tip of his calloused thumb and sliding it up and down gently as you lean into him, into his warm embrace. 

   His eyes flick down to your lips, your eyes begging him to lean in, to take exactly what he’s wanted to do for so very long. Your hand is clasped around his wrist, not willing to let go until his lips are on yours. 

   The air around you stills, the forest behind you now quiet, only the sounds of yours and Joel’s ragged breaths coming in waves, only the quickening heartbeats that quake with every touch of his calloused fingers to your skin.

   Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.

   His forehead rests on yours, lips brushing carefully against yours. You’re so close, so close to him pressing all his weight into you. He practically shouts your name as his lips draw near. One more move and he’d close all the way in. 

   Just when you close your eyes and wait with anticipation biting at your heels, he’s pulling away from you and running his fingers through his disheveled curls. You try to reach out, but he steps out of your reach and nods his head in the direction of the dark forest. 

   “Go on, get out of here. Before they come lookin’ for ya. Go, now.” His voice is deep, rugged, tormented, his dark eyes glistening with held back tears like he’s fighting himself from telling you to leave. 

   “But…” 

   “Please, jus’ go. If they found you they’d…” His voice drowns out as he hangs his head low, the shadows fading against the greying scruff of his patchy beard. 

   You turn your head and look towards the muted forest. The one that holds tormented ghosts and creatures of the dark. A place you don’t want to go alone, but anywhere would be better than this horror town. But Joel… you can’t seem to leave him behind.

   You snap your head towards him and whisper, “Come with me.”

   He lifts his tired head and stares at you, all wide-eyed and searching your anguished face. “What?” His voice is strangled, like he can’t believe what you’re asking him to do. 

   “Come with me,” you repeat slowly. “There’s nothing here holding you back. I… you… we both had everything taken from us. And I don’t want to leave if that means you’re stuck here alone. You and me… well, we’re the same.”

   He takes a beat to register your words, dips inside his own mind as he relives the day they took Sarah, the day they forced him to watch while his world got torn to shreds. You hold out your hand, and he just stares wide-eyed at it, his fingers curling out, just like he wants to take your hand. He does, he really does, but there’s just one thing holding him back. David.

   He flicks his eyes to the sleeping town and then back at you, as if he has an agenda to get to. He nods his head and looks your way, a plan already set in motion in those flecks of honey. “There’s jus’ one thing I need to do first.” 

   “What’s that?” you ask, interest arising with your quiet voice.

   He looks back to the hollow town, and his eyes narrow and slit together as he sets fire in his mind to this haunted place. His hand clenches into a tight fist, and he spits venom from his tongue. “We’re gonna burn it all down.”

   Your mouth gapes open in shock, eyes wide, but then he’s grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him. The wind whips through your hair, your heart thunders through your chest when he drags you along back into the dark town. 

   He wastes no time and grabs a large container of gasoline and starts spreading it all along the houses and buildings of the eerie town. You follow along, grabbing your own container and spilling it over bells of hay and wooden boards. You douse everything you see, wanting to burn every single inch of this religious town, wanting to destroy David, the culprit of all this land of turmoil and destruction. 

   You move quickly, barely making a sound as you soak a large ring around the town, watching Joel march up to David’s closed door with a deep scowl on his face. Your eyes go wide as you watch him go through, barely waiting a minute before he’s dragging David by the scruff of his neck, giving him no breath to himself. 

   “What the fuck is this, let me go!” David screams as he kicks and claws at the denim of Joel’s jeans.

   “No,” he growls as he shoves David’s face into the dirt and kicks him hard in the gut, David’s face contorting into blind rage and pain. 

   “This is for my daughter, for not lettin’ her go when she was an innocent little girl,” he seethes as he lands a strong kick under David’s chin, spewing blood every which way. 

   “This is for holdin’ me down and makin’ me watch as you burned her alive. This is for murderin’ my only child, the only thing that kept me sane in this fuckin’ church goin’ town.” He punches a fist against his nose, hearing the crack of bones as David topples over and holds his broken nose. 

   “This is for tryin’ to take away the only other woman that ever shined sunlight in this godforsaken town. This is for burnin’ all her plants, her house, for killin’ everyone she had left. This is for tryin’ to take her away from me.” 

   There’s tears streaming down his worn, tanned face now, pieces of grief and exhaustion reflecting off his glassy brown eyes, hurt mapped along the wrinkled lines on his forehead, pain bleeding from the surface of his now bruised knuckles. 

   You stand there watching him silently, feeling a wet tear fall down your cheek as you consume the pain he’s felt all these years, all the grief that’s hung like a dead weight on his broad shoulders. And you suddenly feel like you understand him completely. He’s broken, just like you are, and all you want to do is wrap your arms around his neck and tell him that you’re here for him, he’s safe with you, always. 

   Another kick and another punch to the face, an endless cycle of taking all his rage and hate on David, the man that took everything from him. After a few seconds he looks up from the ground, a large hand wrapped around David’s bloody collar, a fist hanging just inches from his bruised up face. He stops dead in his tracks as his glistening, tear filled eyes look up at you, and that’s when you feel everything he’s ever felt.

   You take a few cautious steps in his direction, feel another tear lick the corner of your eye, feel your heart shatter with every step you take closer to him. He just watches you, deep breaths leaving his lungs, his tired eyes pleading for someone, anyone to help. 

   One more step and you’re right beside him, reaching a hand out to run calmly through his dark, tousled locks, Joel searching your eyes for a way to escape his misery. He leans into your touch, allows your fingers to slide through his hair, even closes his eyes as a low groan escapes his plush lips.

   Another moment passes gently by, and then he’s rolling David out of the way and wrapping his strong arms tightly around your legs, letting hot tears slide down his face as they hit your bare skin. You let him bury himself in you, let him take the comfort he needs as he grasps you tighter, his quiet tears filling the space between the two of you. 

   This is what he needs, what he always needed. Someone that would listen, that would help take the pain away, someone that would understand what he’s gone through. And that’s you, it’s you. 

   He drags you down to the ground with him and wraps his arms tightly around your back, nuzzling his face into the side of your neck as warm tears fill the cotton of the front of your dress. You wrap your arms around his neck, push your fingers gently through his tousled locks, giving him all the comfort he needs right now from you. He can have it all, it’s his, it’s all his. 

   “It’s okay, Joel. I’m right here. Let it out. All your pain, lay it on me. It’s going to be okay. You’ve got me, I’m not going anywhere. It’s alright,” you coo into the shell of his ear, feeling him relax into your hold, letting his fingers cling around the back of your dress. “You’re safe with me,” you whisper, and that’s when he leans back and looks you dead in the eyes, all glossy eyed and teary from the weight of the world crashing down on him.

   He opens his mouth, looks softly down at you and smiles warmly at you, even through all the pain he still smiles. For you. He smiles for you. 

   “You’re so… good. You’ve always been so good. I should’ve… I should’ve…” He’s rudely interrupted from a coughing, blubbering mess of a man behind him, and he turns sharply over his shoulder to look at David.

   “Well, ain’t that sweet? Sharing a moment together? Please, makes me want to vomit,” David coughs, blood splattering all over the ground from his throat. “Why don’t you two love birds just burn in hell where you belong?”

   Something snaps in Joel, his eyes go pitch black and his scowl digs into the side of his mouth as he gets up and drags David to the church by his bloody ankle. Joel throws him inside the white peeling doors and drenches him in gasoline until he can barely form a coherent sentence.

   “No, you burn in hell,” Joel growls, lighting a match and throwing it on his body. 

   Joel takes your hand and backs you up slowly, watching David writhe in pain while the church starts to topple and crumble on top of him, the worn walls collapsing from the amber fire that starts to consume the haunted town.

   “Run,” Joel pleads as he takes your hand and leads you to the dark forest, only looking back to hear the horror screams and watch the burning flames swallow the entire town. 

   Your breath is shaky, your feet burning with every step you take, but Joel keeps you upright as his fingers lock around yours and pulls you through the thick, foggy night. You don’t look back, block out the dying screams like you did with Cassandra, just focus on your quick breath and your tired feet.

   You run and run and run, escaping anything that can hurt you, anything that can claw your skin and drag you back into the burning flames of the lost town. They’re gone now, vanished in the fiery flames, burned alive just like that did to all those innocent women. 

   It’s over, done, you escaped, you got out. All because of Joel. Joel. Your savior in disguise. 

   Joel, Joel, Joel. He’s all you see, all you know, all you feel. It’s here with you right now, he’s here. Joel is here. 

   He takes a moment to catch his breath as moonlight shines down on the sweat of his thick brows, cascading off the reflection of his tanned skin beneath a towering oak tree. You focus on him, his quick breaths, his dark eyes that seem to cast shadows over you, thick hands grasping against the rough bark as he slowly looks up, hovers just a little closer and then stares, mouth partly open as he takes in your windblown hair and your stormy eyes.

   Another drawn breath and he’s sucking it back in. “Are you alright?” he asks quickly, eyes piercing into yours with worry.

   “I’m… I’m alright,” you answer, still dazed from what happened minutes ago. The fire, the angry ambush of David, the whole town now scorching in the flames where they belong, where they should’ve been long ago.

   He takes another step forward, the worn leather of his boots meeting your scraped toes. “I should’ve known they were gonna do it. I should’ve fuckin’ known they were gonna burn your house down, accuse you of bein’ a witch, should’ve fuckin’ knew they planned to murder you in the break of daylight under flames.”

   He hangs his head in defeat, like he didn’t already save you, like he could’ve done more, and your heart breaks from the guilt that eats him alive. “If I would’ve jus’ kept goin’ to that goddamned church. If I would’ve fuckin’ listened to what the people in town were sayin’ ‘bout you. If I would’ve jus’ been a better man I could’ve saved you. Maybe I could’ve…”

   You press a palm to his heaving chest, curl your fingers around the soft blue flannel, engrave yourself just a little into his damp skin, enough to feel yourself in his fast beating heart. He stills beneath your touch, looks down and puts his entire attention on you, waiting with tear stained eyes right on the verge of spilling.

   “Joel, you did save me. You got me out before they could burn me. You took David out, you put the town of hell to rest. You freed me from my bindings, you came with me, you didn’t leave me alone. You saved everything about me…”

   His eyes bore into yours, something like desire and fate twisting together, an inkling of relief leaving his doe eyes as his fingers cautiously trace against your bare arm, slow circles of the pad of his calloused thumb dancing across your wrist like a tide full of warm waves lapping against your body. It’s comforting, magnetic even as his skin connects with yours so slowly, so steadily, almost like a lazy river rippling through the forest. 

   He sighs, slowly lifts his large hand to cup your cheek, calloused fingers gently drawing lines against your soft skin. You lean into it, breathe in his pinecone scent, almost taste what his lips might feel like on yours. Like a breath of fresh air, a breath of life. 

   “I had to save you. You were the only thing left that kept my heart beating. The only sunshine I saw under those cloudy grey skies,” he breathes, glossy eyes slipping into yours as they flick down to your mouth. 

   Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.

   “I should’ve kissed you back in that flower field when I had the chance. The way your hair flowed behind your shoulders, your sparkling eyes, your fuckin’ breathtaking smile. I jus’…” He leans his forehead down against yours, lips skating across your mouth as he passes them by, his gentle caress of your face as soft as a feather. 

   And he’s so soft, like a red rose petal beneath all the thorns and vines that disconnects him from anyone else. He doesn’t show this side of himself to anyone else, but he shows you. He shows you.

   “You just what?” you whisper, holding your breath as he cages you against the trunk of the tree, one hand still caressing your face with his rough palm while the other wraps around your waist.

   Another breath, another touch from his thumb as it traces along your bottom lip. He looks down, focuses in on your lips as he wets his own, hazel eyes staring down at you as he gulps down any fear he may be holding on to. 

   “I jus’ need to… need to… fuck, jus’ need you on my lips, sweetheart.” 

   Before you can move an inch he crashes down on your lips, cradles your face with his large palms as you sink into his broad chest, your fingers twisting into the flannel fabric that clings to you. 

   The kiss is slow, desperate, hungry. You feel as if this is the first time you’re breathing life into your body as Joel gives himself to you. He pulls you in by your waist as your arms circle around his neck, one hand combing through his messy curls as he groans into your mouth.

   You part your lips, allow him to slot his tongue in as you taste all of him colliding against your own tongue. You moan into his mouth, let his tongue chase yours as you down the whisky taste of him, lapping him up like he’s your only oxygen supply left. You think you feel forever in his taste. 

   He tugs at your worn dress, slides the cotton material down your arms until it hits the dirt on the ground. You quickly pull his flannel free, tugging the leather belt loose while his tongue licks feverishly into your mouth. 

   He brings you down gently to the ground, makes sure your body lands on top of his fanned out flannel, makes sure you’re okay when he disconnects from your lips and looks down at you with a hesitant stare.

   “Is this okay? We can stop if it’s too much. We don’t have to…”

   “Joel,” you stop him, give him a small smile as you nod up to him. “It’s okay. I want you to. Please, don’t stop,” you plead.

   He takes your answer and swallows it down, sits back on his heels as he gazes down at your splayed out, bare body under the glistening moonlight, looking starstruck from just how absolutely breathtaking you are under the glow of the moon. He thinks you look angelic, like you’re made of glitter and gold, like you’re made just for him.

   He takes his hand and runs it along your jawline, down your neckline, over the dip of your hips, stopping at the top of your thigh. He lets a sigh escape his mouth as he stares at the goddess that’s before him, and he thinks he’s so lucky to be alive, to have you in front of him, unharmed, in his arms where he can keep you safe. 

   “You’re so beautiful, jus’ like that field full of flowers you stood in, with your hair all tangled in the wind.”

   Your breath hitches, eyes widen as you take in just what he said to you. He thinks you’re beautiful. “You think I’m beautiful?” you ask quietly, lips parted as his hazel eyes glisten down to yours. 

   “Yeah. I do, darlin’. Gorgeous.” 

   Then he’s leaning down and kissing you again while his large hands push your thighs apart. It’s like your mind carries you off into the clouds as his lips drag down your neckline, quiet moans blowing through your lips when his warm lips take your breasts into his mouth, pebbling your nipples as he sinks down down down and lands right between your thighs.

   You moan, feeling him lick a thick strip up your core, making your head knock back into the softness of the flannel while he spreads your folds and slowly starts to circle your buzzing clit. 

   You card your fingers through his tousled curls, hear him groan into your dripping core while he laps up all the slick between your thighs, tugging your bundle of nerves into his wanting mouth, sinking his tongue deep into your dripping hole, feeding all your desires as he gives you pleasure like you’ve never felt before. 

   You feel the white hot heat slide down your spine, feel your breaking point about to come loose, feel every stroke of Joel start to unlatch the tidal waves in your core. You feel as if you’re kissing the stars as he pulls you closer to his mouth, wraps his strong arms a little tighter around your thighs, laps his wet tongue up and down your core like he’s been starving for you for months. And now he has you, right on the edge of breaking.

   “Joel,” you moan, “I’m gonna… gonna…” 

   “Go on, sweetheart. Come for me. Let me take you all the way. Show me jus’ how good I’m makin’ you feel,” he groans between the licks, taking his time to slide his tongue in slow circles around your aching clit.

   You feel two thick fingers curl up into your heated core, feel him press up to heights you never could yourself, feel him collide with that spongy spot against your wall that makes you see stars. One more lick against your sensitive bundle of nerves and you’re arching your back and calling his name while your slick spills down your thighs, into Joel’s waiting mouth.

   It feels electric the way he laps all your slick up, his hot mouth blowing against your core, eliciting another moan from your parted lips as he licks and licks and licks until you’re a writhing mess beneath his mouth. 

   He looks up from between your legs, sticky slick coating his thick beard, eyes glossy from pulling an orgasm out of you, hands planted firmly against the top of your thighs as he looks up at you, out of breath from diving into you. 

   “You taste jus’ like honeysuckle, beautiful. Like sugar on my lips,” he smiles, the edges of his hooded eyes glowing under the moonlight. And you swear you’ve never seen anything more magical in your life. 

   “Joel, need you…” you whimper out, reaching for his body.

   “What do ya need, darlin’? Tell me what you want,” he whispers into the chill of the night. 

   You take a breath and blow it out, hoping your nerves won’t get in the way. “You, Joel. Want all of you. Inside me. Want you anyway I can have you,” you whine, desperate for the friction of his body against yours.

   He smiles up at you, pushes his dark jeans down, his boxers trailing after them until his hard cock is pressed against his stomach, red tip smothered in precum, his thick vein traveling along the underside of his cock, ready to split you in two. 

   Your eyes grow wide watching him crowd your body, his thick cock pressing against your soaked folds, rubbing up and down to collect your slick all over his massive length. He’s huge, but you can take him. You want him, now. 

   “Slow breaths now. Might be a stretch. Jus’ relax, I’ve got you, baby,” he coos, relaxing your body while he slowly enters inside your dripping core. 

   He gradually plunges into you, drowning out your moans as his lips land on yours, swallowing your gasps as he stretches you to the brim, his thick width rutting in and out of you, bottoming out until you can’t feel anything, can't taste anything but him. Joel, Joel, Joel. He’s everywhere, consuming you, bodies twisted together while he rocks back and forth, both sharing moans that get swallowed by the other, like you’re magnetized together. 

   It’s like you’re one in the same, two broken bodies that mend each other back together, two fragile souls that burn for the other, dance in the flames while your bodies get lost in the other’s, lost souls that found each other through pain and grief, Joel colliding into you like a star crossed lover, someone you’ve waited years for.

   You break again, nails scratching down his tanned back while your walls hug him tight, pouring out hot liquid that covers him in you. 

   “Ahh fuck. Squeezin’ me so tight, can’t hold on, sweetheart. Feels so fuckin’ good,” he grits through his teeth, trying with all his might to slip out of you before he spills himself inside of you.

   You lock your legs around his hips, make him stop before his warmth disappears, letting him know that it’s okay, that you want him to stay. “It’s okay. Let go. Come inside, Joel. Need you, need all of you,” you beg, long lashes batting up at him as you coax him to stay.

   “You sure?” he asks, eyebrows knitting together into concern as he hears your plea. 

   “Yes,” you breathe, your voice panting from the come down of your intense orgasm. “Inside me,” you repeat, a little louder.

   He hears you loud and clear. He thrusts inside of you, as deep as he can go, kissing your cervix as he grunts and grits his teeth together, eliciting another moan from you as he speeds up his pace.

   Once, twice, three more times and he’s throwing his head back, a low moan slipping from his clenched teeth as thick ropes of cum spill inside you, filling you so full that you moan out in bliss, completely saturated with his seed inside you, and that’s what does it. What consummates the two of you together, like stars in the night sky, two lovers that burn for each other.

   He falls against your side, scoops you up and sews you to his broad chest as his fingers trace the side of your sweat covered face. 

   You’re both panting, both exhausted from the love making, no room to do anything else but drown in the other’s ecstasy. You’re just two warm bodies now, a false witch, a beaten man, two bodies that bleed together who slowly mend one another’s wounds. 

   He traces your lips, his calloused thumb perfectly dancing across your face as he stares down at you, the woman he’s pined after for months, the one he knew he’d eventually fall for. And he did. He fell hard. 

   “What do we do now, Joel?” you ask quietly, while he continues to trace the lines of your skin. 

   “What we always do. Survive. But we do it together this time. This time, we thrive.”

   The way he’s looking at you with big doe eyes, and the way he’s touching you all soft and tender makes you feel things. Things you’ve never felt before. Like your heart swells just at the faint glow of his smile, his caramel eyes swirling into yours, his body crowding yours with the softest touch you ever felt before. Maybe you love him, you do love him. And you think maybe he loves you, too. But that’s for another night to uncover because right now this is where you are, bathing in each other’s moonlight, feeling sparks like the fireflies that dance in the forest light surrounding you, almost like this is magic. Joel is magic. He’s your safe space, your equal. 

   You sink into his chest, wrap your arms a little tighter around him while his lips graze across your forehead, telling you that it’ll be alright, that both of you will be just fine. 

   “Joel?” 

   “Hmm?” he hums, his deep voice reverberating through your entire body like cords connected to an acoustic guitar, like he used to play.

   “Promise me the worst is over, that we can make it maybe to the coast, find a new town, build a new life. A life that maybe isn’t so broken?”

   He sighs into your hair, scoops you closer into his arms and kisses you softly across your lips. “I can promise that the worst is over. No one’s ever gonna lay another finger on you, not on my watch, sweetheart. We’re free. I’ll take you to the coast. We’ll build a new life together. You and me. We’ve got the whole world in our hands now, and nothing can stop us now. No more flames, no more embers, it’s jus’ us.”

   You lean into him, as close as you can get while his hand traces up and down your back soothingly. You think this is exactly where you belong, in Joel’s arms, taking on the world together. You can do anything as long as you have him by your side, your guiding light out of the flames.

Tagging some friends who seemed interested 😊 @ozarkthedog @alltheirdamn @covetyou @chronically-ghosted @sawymredfox

@littlevenicebitch69 @604to647 @joelmillerisapunk @milla-frenchy @aurorawritestoescape

@vivian-pascal @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @msjarvis @mountainsandmayhem

[mononijikayu]

as the world caves in — ryomen sukuna.

In an instant, the peace you had cherished was shattered, replaced by the harsh reality of war. With a sense of dread knotting in your stomach, you looked at Sukuna who nodded back at you resolutely. Your uncle led the way, his voice ringing through the compound. There was no way back. There was only kill, or be killed.

GENRE: Heian Era to Shibuya Arc, 2018;

WARNING/s: Alternate Universe ─ Canon Divergence, Romance, Emotional Hurt, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining, Domesticity, Friends to Lovers, Character Death, Grief, Mention of Depression, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Depiction of Mental Anguish, Depiction of Violence, Depiction of Harm, Depiction of Blood and Wounds, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Harm, Pseudo-Incest, Adoptive Cousins, Portrayal of Misogynist And Degrading Acts and Language, Smut, Detailed Depiction of Sex, Depiction of Sexual Foreplay, Sexual Penetration, Consensual Sex;

masterlist

ashes of love

song: as the world caves in by sarah cothran

note: beyond what i usually write, but i ended up doing it because i dont think it would be easy to fit in the next chapter. the next chapter is already decided. so i dont think i have the heart to add another chapter. the series is already long as it is. but still, i hope you enjoy it. i hope you enjoy the ride. buckle up, the chapters change from this on to absolutely brutally painful. anyway, i love you!!!

YOU HATED BEING HERE. In the tranquil expanse of neutral territory, where the boundaries blurred between the domains of the Ryomen and Fujiwara clans, an uneasy gathering took place. Here, beneath the boughs of ancient trees and amidst the whispers of nature, the destinies of two families intertwined. Families bound by bad, spoilt blood —blood that unites in misery, meet to unite again. 

Your bright colored kimono felt tighter as the air disappeared from your lungs. The weight of the fabric, usually a symbol of your clan's pride and dignity, now seemed like a constricting shroud, amplifying the suffocating tension that surrounded you. Each breath became a conscious effort, a reminder of the expectations and pressures bearing down on you from all sides.

You stood beside your father, Ryomen Isamu, his presence as imposing as the ancient trees around you. The towering oaks and cedars, with their gnarled trunks and sprawling branches, seemed to echo his steadfastness and strength.

Isamu's broad shoulders and firm stance radiated a quiet power, a testament to his unwavering commitment to honor and duty. His face, lined with the wisdom of age and experience, remained calm, though you could sense the undercurrent of resolve that lay beneath his composed exterior.

In stark contrast stood Fujiwara Ankoku, your grandfather. His cold eyes, sharp as a hawk's, pierced through the air with a severity that made the spring day feel like the dead of winter. His proud demeanor, honed by years of wielding power and influence, seemed to draw the very warmth from the surroundings, creating a palpable chill.

The lines on his face were etched deeply, not just by time but by the burdens of maintaining his family's supremacy. His robes, richly embroidered with symbols of the Fujiwara clan's authority, only amplified his intimidating presence.

The neutral ground, chosen meticulously to symbolize a chance at reconciliation, felt anything but peaceful. The tension between Isamu and Ankoku crackled like a storm ready to unleash its fury.

The air, thick with unspoken words and historical grievances, seemed almost tangible. Every rustle of leaves and every distant bird call felt amplified in the heavy silence that followed each exchange.

Your father spoke with measured calm, his voice steady and deliberate. "We seek an alliance built on mutual respect and honor, Ankoku-dono. This marriage is a chance to mend our….past wounds. We are kin, after all. We must move forward united."

Ankoku’s response was an apprehensive snicker. "Respect and honor, you say? Words often spoken too easily, Isamu-dono. It is a matter of them being upheld. What guarantees can you provide that your lineage is worthy of our name?"

Each word from your grandfather felt like a blade, slicing through the fragile hope for peace. His dismissive tone stoked the simmering anger within you. Your clansmen felt the same, you knew that too well. There was pride in all of you—the Ryomen were older, bolder, more ancient than the Fujiwara. 

Even so, to say that you were unworthy of your cousin Koku was entirely foolish. The clan had wondered in hushed whispers if Koku was even worthy of you. The Fujiwara had only been in such power for such a short time, one could consider it a blink.

You felt the burning pride for your clan call to you.You and your brother were born to such a glorious name. You were both worthy. You have no need to prove it. Your blood was noble. It will always be. 

"The same one which you had wrought upon me by marrying me to your daughter," your father retorted, his voice firm but edged with a restrained anger. 

Hiramu’s lips trembled with laughter, but he bit his lip.Your mother’s glare bore against your father’s head and then your uncle’s. The tension in his words was palpable, a clear challenge to Ankoku's authority. 

“Do you question me so, Ankoku–dono, that you forget thus?”

Ankoku's eyes narrowed, the lines on his face deepening as his expression turned icy. "My daughter brought honor and strength to your clan, Isamu-dono. It is you who must prove that your bloodline is worthy of continuing this legacy."

Isamu's jaw tightened, his composure fraying at the edges. "We have upheld our end of the alliance with dignity and strength. You see my daughter, as you have seen my son. They had grown to be the pride of our clan.  It is not our lineage that is in question here, but the sincerity of your intentions, Ankoku-dono."

A cold smile curled at the corners of Ankoku's lips. "Intentions, Isamu-dono? My intentions are transparent. I seek to ensure the superiority of the Fujiwara name. That is my duty. If that means questioning the worth of those who wish to align with us, so be it."

You could feel the air grow heavier with each passing moment, the space between your father and grandfather crackling with unresolved tension. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing the intensity of the confrontation.

"An alliance built on mutual respect cannot thrive under a cloud of suspicion and disdain, Ankoku–dono." your father pressed on, his voice steady but with a hint of frustration. Sukuna catches your uncle’s eye for a moment. 

"Things as of late, it must be known as regretful. But we must move beyond these grievances if we are to secure a future of peace and prosperity for both our families. Have we not proven this with my own marriage?”

Ankoku's eyes flashed with a dangerous glint. "Peace and prosperity are earned, Isamu-dono, not freely given. Prove to me that my granddaughter can uphold the honor of the Fujiwara name, and perhaps then we can speak on the completion of this alliance.”

A sharp intake of breath from Sukuna caught your attention. His eyes, usually filled with warmth when meeting yours, were now cold and hard as he glared at Ankoku and then towards your cousin Koku.

The anger simmering within him mirrored your own, a shared defiance against the oppressive authority of your grandfather. Sukuna’s usually calm demeanor was replaced by a visible tension, his jaw clenched and his fists tightened at his sides.

Koku, seated beside you, seemed entirely unfazed by the turmoil around him. He sat with an air of smug confidence, his back straight and his chin lifted slightly, exuding an aura of superiority that only served to stoke the fires of resentment burning within you and Sukuna. The pride in Koku's eyes was unwavering, a clear indication that he felt secure in his position and indifferent to the suffering or discord that his family's actions caused.

As Sukuna's gaze bore into him, Koku met it with a condescending smirk, a look that spoke volumes about his sense of untouchable entitlement. He was the first born son, the symbol of Fujiwara pride, and he seemed to revel in the conflict, basking in the glow of his perceived invulnerability. And he was seeping in — destroying the peace, by forcing Fujiwara peace through a putrid marriage that should never be.

The tension was palpable, an invisible thread stretching taut between Sukuna and Koku, threatening to snap at any moment. The space between them crackled with unspoken animosities, the air thick with the weight of ancestral grudges and personal vendettas. You felt caught in the middle, the pressure of the moment making your kimono feel even tighter, your breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts.

"My daughter has proven his worth time and again, Ankoku–dono." Isamu countered, his voice rising. "It is not my daughter’s honor that is in question here, but your unwillingness to see beyond your prejudices.”

Ankoku's cold smile vanished, replaced by a stern, unyielding expression. "Choose your words carefully, Isamu-dono. This marriage is not just a union of individuals but a merging of legacies, of clans. Any misstep could bring dishonor upon us all."

Your father took a deep breath, steadying himself before responding. "We will honor this union, Ankoku-dono, but it must be based on mutual respect. If we continue down this path of mistrust and animosity, we doom ourselves to repeat the mistakes of the past."

The silence that followed was heavy, each second stretching into an eternity. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears as you watched the two patriarchs lock eyes, their wills clashing like titans in a battle for the future.

Ankoku finally broke the silence, his voice cold and measured. "Very well, Isamu-dono. We will proceed with this marriage. We will keep the peace. But know this: I will be watching closely. Any sign of dishonor or weakness, and the consequences will be severe."

As Ankoku turned away, the tension in the air began to dissipate, leaving behind a sense of uneasy resolution. Your father exhaled slowly, the strain of the confrontation evident in his eyes. You exchanged a long, meaningful glance with Sukuna, your silent vows of defiance and determination reaffirmed.

Ankoku, sensing the tension still lingering, paused and turned back towards Isamu, his cold eyes narrowing. "Do not mistake this agreement for weakness, Isamu-dono. The Fujiwara name demands nothing less than absolute loyalty and unwavering strength."

Isamu met Ankoku's gaze, his voice steady but edged with a simmering intensity. "And do not mistake our willingness to unite as submission, Ankoku-dono. We are equals in this alliance, and respect must be mutual if we are to succeed."

Ankoku's lip curled in a slight sneer. "Respect is earned, Isamu-dono. Your family has much to prove."

Isamu's jaw tightened, but he remained composed. "And we will, through actions and honor, not through empty words and hollow threats."

A tense silence followed, each word hanging heavily in the air. Ankoku's gaze flicked to you and Sukuna, his eyes narrowing with suspicion and challenge. "See that you do. The future of both our clans depends on it."

Isamu nodded, his expression unyielding. "Indeed it does. Let us hope that our children can bridge the gaps that we could not."

Ankoku turned to leave once more, but this time Isamu’s own voice stopped him. "Ankoku-dono, understand this: the Ryomen clan will not tolerate disrespect. We come to this union with duty in our hearts, but we will not be subjugated."

Ankoku's eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and grudging respect. "Very well, Isamu-dono. Let us see if your actions can match your words."

As Ankoku finally walked away, the atmosphere remained charged with the remnants of their confrontation. Your cousin Koku stood from his position, his movements deliberate and measured. His smug expression never wavered, and he approached you with a condescending air that made your skin crawl.

"Well, little cousin." Koku began, his voice dripping with feigned politeness, "It seems we are to be bound by fate and duty. I hope you are prepared to uphold your part. To honor our family, despite your… humble origins."

You bristled at his words, but you held your ground, meeting his gaze with defiance. "I am ready to do what is necessary for our families' future, Koku–dono. I trust you will do the same."

“Oh so formal with me. Are we not family?” Koku's smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and disdain. "Of course, I will. After all, it is my duty to guide and protect you, to ensure that you do not falter in your responsibilities."

His patronizing tone grated on your nerves, but you refused to let him see your frustration. "I must do well by my family. I shan’t be degrading. I am sure this must reflect that I am perfectly capable of handling my responsibilities, Koku–dono. You need not concern yourself with such acts.”

Koku chuckled, a low, mocking sound that only served to heighten your irritation. "Ah, such spirit. It will be interesting to see how long it lasts. Remember, little Hiromi, this union is as much a test for you as it is for me. Do try not to disappoint."

Before you could respond, Sukuna stepped forward, his presence a solid wall of support beside you. His voice was cold and measured as he addressed Koku. "Hiromi-sama does not need your condescension, Koku-dono. Hiromi-sama is your equal, an heir of her lord. You must respect my lady."

Koku's eyes widened slightly, the surprise quickly masked by a sneer. "Respect, Sukuna? Respect is earned. Your Hiromi-sama may have the title, but she has yet to prove she deserves the honor that comes with it."

Sukuna's expression remained steely. "Hiromi-sama's worth is not for you to judge. My lady has shown strength and grace under immense pressure. That, in itself, commands respect."

Koku stepped closer, his gaze flicking between you and Sukuna, his voice dropping to a low, mocking tone. "It seems you have quite the protector, little cousin. But remember, loyalty can be a fleeting thing, especially when tested by the harsh realities of our world. One of course, your pet will never understand.”

You could feel Sukuna's anger simmering beside you, his body tense with barely restrained fury. You placed a hand on his arm, a silent plea for calm, and stepped forward to face Koku directly. You shook your head at him and mouthed an order, telling him to move away. Sukuna glared at you, as though he wishes to resist. Your eyes glared back, hardening at his indulgence. His face contorts and bows swiftly, before he walks off.

"My loyalty to my family and to this alliance is unwavering." you said, your voice steady and clear. "And I expect the same from you, Koku-dono. Do not let your arrogance blind you to the importance of unity. That is your hubris.”

Koku's sneer faltered for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features before he masked it with a condescending smile. "Very well, little cousin. Let us play this game. Let us hope that your confidence is not misplaced."

He turned away, the tension in his posture revealing more than his words ever could. As he walked off, you exhaled slowly, the weight of the confrontation settling heavily on your shoulders.

At that moment, Your father Isamu had slowly come to approach you. You bowed before him, but he raised his hand, releasing you from that obligation to formality. He looks to you, before turning to order the servants away, to give you some privacy. In that moment of lonesomeness, the lord’s face withers to reveal a father’s.

Ryomen Isamu expressed a mix of pride and worry as he approached you. His gaze held a depth of concern that spoke volumes, revealing the inner turmoil he grappled with. "Daughter."

"Father." You smiled at him, but you knew, as he did, that it was never full. There was a weight to his words, a heaviness that lingered in the air between you. "I am glad to serve you and your will, father."

Isamu's expression softened, but the worry remained etched in the lines of his face. "Hiromi, you do not have to do this. I do not want you to sacrifice anything for the sake of peace."

You opened your mouth to argue, to reassure him of your commitment to the alliance, but before you could speak, Isamu's next words stopped you in your tracks.

"I know about you and Sukuna," he reveals quietly, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "And if being with him is what makes you happy, then I will allow it. I would do anything for you to be happy, my dear. So that you may not suffer as much as me.”

Shock washed over you, mingled with a pang of guilt. You had thought your feelings for Sukuna were a secret, carefully concealed from prying eyes, but now you realized that your father had known all along. The realization was both comforting and heartbreaking, knowing that he had seen the turmoil within you and had chosen to support you nonetheless.

Tears welled in your eyes as you shook your head, your heart breaking at the thought of disappointing him. "Father, I... I cannot…" you whispered, the words catching in your throat. "As much as it pains me, I must do my duty to you, to our family, our clan. For the sake of peace. You know this.”

“Daughter—”

You feel tears prickle your eyes. “Father, please.”

Isamu's eyes glistened with unshed tears, his voice filled with a mixture of pride and sorrow. "I understand, my dear. Your sense of duty has always been your strength, and I am proud of the woman you have become."

His words wash over you like a balm, soothing the ache in your heart even as they deepen the resolve within you. You hold onto his embrace, seeking solace in the warmth of his love and understanding. It's a rare moment of vulnerability between you, a reminder of the unbreakable bond that ties you together as father and daughter.

The weight of his acceptance and support is both a comfort and a burden, knowing that he sees the sacrifices you make for the sake of peace, for the sake of your family's legacy. But in this moment, you also feel a flicker of hope, a glimmer of light in the darkness that surrounds you.

"Thank you, father," you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion. "For everything."

Isamu pulls back slightly, his hands cupping your face as he meets your gaze with unwavering love. "You are my daughter, Hiromi. And nothing will ever change that. No matter what challenges lie ahead, remember that I will always be here for you."

You nod, a lump forming in your throat as you try to hold back tears. "I know, father. And I will always strive to make you proud."

He enveloped you in a warm embrace, holding you close as if trying to shield you from the weight of the world. In that moment, you felt the depth of his love and sacrifice, and you vowed to do everything in your power to honor his trust and uphold the legacy of your family.

As you pulled away from the embrace, wiping away your tears, you met Isamu's gaze with a renewed sense of determination. "I will make you proud, father. I promise."

Isamu smiled, a bittersweet expression tinged with pride and love. "I know you will, my dear. And remember, no matter what challenges lie ahead, I will always be here for you."

With those words lingering in the air like a comforting embrace, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. Whatever trials awaited you on the path ahead, you knew that with your father's unwavering support and your own sense of duty guiding you, you would face them with courage and resilience.

TIME PASSED TOO QUICKLY FOR YOU TO KEEP UP. The past few weeks had been a blur of unspoken words and lingering heartache. But you could not say it out loud. You couldn’t cry out or sob about it. Not anymore. Your personal life could not get in the way, you knew that. But you couldn’t help it.

Not in the lonely nights when you long to brush your fingers against fuschia hair. Not when you long for the warmth that brings you the sun on cold nights. Not when you long for the rare smiles that truly only belong to you. 

These past weeks, Sukuna and you had not exchanged a single word. When you saw him, you tried to look away. When he looks at you, he lowers his gaze. Between the two of you, the silence between you grows heavier with each passing day. 

He has maintained that he is loyal to you, that he is your right hand man. That he only belongs to you. Yet, he cannot call you with all the loving names he has made for you. He cannot hold you, he cannot love you as you wanted him to. And it breaks your heart over and over.

You had tried to focus on your duties, to bury your sorrow in the preparations for your upcoming wedding to Koku, a union that you loathed. You tried to sleep it off, to bury out the sound of whispers.  But nothing had settled you. Not duty, not stifling your sorrow, not resting. The weight of duty pressed down on you, stifling your spirit and filling you with a sense of despair.

Uncle Hiramu had tried to speak to you, so did father. It was easily noticeable that you were unhappy about your day to day. They worried, you knew that much. But in each conversation that comes between you, you consistently said that you were fine.

You parrotted words that expressed the same thing — you must do your duty. A Ryomen must do their duty.  But you knew, they did not buy it one bit. Yet they kept their tongue tied and mouth closed.

In a desperate bid to escape the suffocating atmosphere, you saddled your horse and rode out into the countryside, the wind whipping through your loose dark hair as you sought solace in the open expanse. The rhythmic pounding of your horse's hooves against the ground provided a temporary reprieve from your thoughts, but no matter how far you rode,  no matter how fast, no matter how the pressure of your horse’s weight dove against you, you couldn't outrun the pain. 

Eventually, you slowed your pace, coming to a halt near a secluded grove of trees. Your kimono had all but become wrinkled, your hair tattered. You thank your horse in a small mumble, your breath echoing exhaustion. You dismounted and led your horse to a nearby stream, letting it drink as you sat on a large rock, your heart heavy with the burden of your unspoken sorrow.

Hours passed, the world around you a blur. Soon enough, your mind began to drift. Laying your head against the tree, closing your eyes from the image of the secluded grove. The stillness of the place wrapped around you, offering a brief respite from your pain.  The voices around you faded into the background, replaced by a distant hum as you retreated into the sanctuary of your memories.

You saw Sukuna’s face, his eyes filled with warmth and mischief as he teased you about a particularly clumsy moment during one of your training sessions. You remembered the way he laughed, a sound that felt like sunshine breaking through the clouds, lighting up even your darkest days. There were stolen moments in the garden, where he’d lean in close, his voice a soft murmur in your ear as he shared his dreams and hopes with you.

A particular memory surfaced, one of the two of you riding through the countryside, the wind in your hair and the world spreading out before you like an endless tapestry of possibilities. You recalled how he’d reached out to steady you as your horse stumbled, the warmth of his hand a comforting anchor. In those moments, with Sukuna by your side, the future seemed bright and full of promise.

But now, those days felt like a distant dream, a cruel illusion that had slipped through your fingers. The reality of your impending marriage to Koku, a man you neither loved nor respected, loomed over you like a storm cloud, darkening every corner of your heart.

The memory of Sukuna’s smile, his touch, his laughter, was too much to bear. Desperate to escape the suffocating weight of your duties and the impending wedding, you decided to steal a few moments of freedom. You sighed, not knowing or caring what the hour was. What propriety was as you lay against the grass. You could only want, you could only dream. You could only yearn. You wanted to pretend that your world isn’t falling apart. 

Moments later, the sound of approaching hooves reached your ears. You blinked, slowly returning into reality. With a heavy sigh, you sat up. You turned to see Mikoto Masaomi, your loyal guard, riding toward you. His expression was one of concern as he dismounted and approached you.

You felt like he had aged in just a small time, just looking for you. But then again, you had disappeared for so long. He got off his horse, and settled the animal beside your own. He walked towards you and bowed.

"Hiromi–sama." Masaomi said softly, his voice filled with worry. "We've been looking for you. Are you all right?"

“I’m alright.” You retorted, tight lipped. “I was just….”

Masaomi sighed, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of his concern. “Hiromi-sama, you do not have to lie. It is alright… to be honest with me. It is just me. Your loyal friend.”

You looked at Masaomi for a moment, searching his eyes for any sign of judgment or doubt, but found only sincerity and a deep, abiding loyalty. His presence, a constant in your life, offered a rare moment of solace amid the turmoil. For a moment, your brother’s face tethered in your mind as you looked at Masaomi. 

“Masaomi, I just....” you began, your voice trembling with the effort to hold back tears. “I… I feel so lost. Everything is falling apart. Sukuna is gone, and I am being forced into a future I never wanted. It feels like I am being crushed under the weight of everyone's expectations, and I don’t know how much longer I can bear it.”

Masaomi nodded, his expression understanding and patient. “I know, Hiromi-sama. I see the strain this is putting on you, and it pains me to see you suffer. You have always been so strong, but even the strongest hearts can break under such pressure.”

His words struck a chord deep within you, and the tears you had been holding back spilled over. You turned away, trying to hide your vulnerability, but Masaomi gently took your hand, his touch grounding you in the present.

“It is alright to feel this way,” he continued softly. “You are not weak for wanting something different, for longing for happiness. You are human, and your feelings are valid.”

You took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling the dam within you finally begin to break. “I miss him so much, Masaomi. Sukuna… he was my anchor, my hope…..my heart. And now, without him, I feel adrift, lost in a sea of expectations and duties that I never wanted.”

Masaomi’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, a reassuring pressure that reminded you of his unwavering support. “Hiromi-sama, your happiness is important. You deserve to find joy and peace, not to be shackled by obligations that only bring you pain.”

A fresh wave of tears blurred your vision, and you looked down, the words spilling from your lips in a torrent of despair. “But how can I? I am bound by duty to my family, to this alliance. My brother’s duty is mine. I cannot abandon them. If I refuse, it could mean disaster for everyone I love. How can I be so selfish as to choose my own happiness over the well-being of my clan?”

Masaomi’s voice was gentle but firm as he responded. “Choosing your own happiness is not selfish, Hiromi-sama. It is necessary. A leader who is broken and unhappy cannot effectively lead or bring peace. Your well-being is the prosperity of your clan, of all your vassals. Of me.”

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of hope and uncertainty. “But what can I do, Masaomi? How can I find a path that honors both my duty and my heart?”

Masaomi’s gaze was steady, his expression filled with determination. “We will find a way, Hiromi-sama. Whatever it takes, we will forge a path that allows you to fulfill your duties without sacrificing your soul. And if that means defying tradition or challenging those who stand in our way, then so be it. As I was with your brother, Akimu–dono, I am with you. Always.”

His words lit a spark of resolve within you, a flicker of hope that had been nearly extinguished. You squeezed his hand, drawing strength from his unwavering support. “Thank you, Masaomi. You have never abandoned me. I am grateful to you. Truly.”

Masaomi smiled, a rare expression that softened his usually stern features. “You will never have to find out, Hiromi-sama. The Mikoto will always stand with you. If we must go against the Fujiwara, then we will. Until death, Hiromi-sama. We will join you.”

The sincerity in his voice, the unwavering loyalty, filled you with a newfound determination. But there was still the lingering pain of separation from Sukuna, the unresolved feelings that gnawed at your heart. Masaomi seemed to sense this, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he studied your face.

“You need to talk to Sukuna when he returns,” Masaomi said gently but firmly. “You need to tell him how you feel, Hiromi-sama. Keeping these feelings locked away will only cause more pain. He deserves to know the truth, and you deserve the chance to find peace, whether it be with him or through closure.”

The idea of facing Sukuna after all this time, of baring your soul to him, was both terrifying and exhilarating. Your heart ached at the thought, but deep down, you knew Masaomi was right. Avoiding the truth had only prolonged your suffering.

“What if he doesn’t feel the same?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “What if… what if I’ve lost him forever?”

Masaomi shook his head, his expression resolute. “You will never know unless you speak to him. And even if his feelings have changed, at least you will have clarity. You cannot live in this state of suffering, Hiromi-sama. It is not fair to you, and it is not fair to him.”

You took a deep breath, the enormity of the decision settling over you. “When he returns… I will talk to him. I will tell him everything.”

Masaomi’s smile broadened, a rare show of genuine happiness. “That is all I ask, Hiromi-sama. Be true to yourself and to your heart. No matter the outcome, you will have the support of the Mikoto and of those who love you.”

As the last light of the setting sun bathed the grove in a golden glow, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. The path ahead was still uncertain, but for the first time in a long while, you had a clear direction. You would confront your fears, face the truth, and fight for your own happiness, whatever that might look like.

You and Masaomi mounted your horses and began the ride back to the estate, the cool evening air washing over you. As you rode, you allowed yourself to hope. To imagine a future where you could find a way to honor both your duty and your heart, where you could find peace and perhaps, even happiness.

YOU TOOK MASAOMI’S ADVICE. The days stretched into weeks since you last saw Sukuna, the silence between you growing heavier with each passing moment. The engagement to Koku felt like a noose tightening around your neck, suffocating the very essence of who you were. You missed Sukuna terribly, his absence a constant, aching void. Finally, you could bear it no longer and summoned him to your chambers.

The night air was cool as you waited in your dimly lit room, the flickering candle casting shadows on the walls. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the sound of your own breathing. When Sukuna finally arrived, he entered quietly, his presence filling the space with an intensity that made your heart race.

“Hiromi-sama,” he said formally, bowing slightly as he stood before you. “You called for me. Why am I here?”

The formality in his tone cut through you like a knife, a stark reminder of the chasm that had grown between you. You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. “We need to talk, Sukuna. There are things we need to say… things we need to understand.”

He nodded curtly, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Very well. Speak.”

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “I… I’ve missed you, Sukuna.” you began, your voice trembling. “I’ve missed us. This engagement…duty as it may be – it's tearing me apart. I can’t keep pretending that I don’t feel anything for you.”

A flicker of emotion crossed his face, but he quickly masked it. “You chose your duty, Hiromi-sama. You chose Koku.”

“I had no choice!” you cried, your voice breaking. “You know that…. My family, the clan… they all depend on this alliance. Peace depends on this. It’s not about what I want. It’s about what I have to do.”

“The Fujiwara care little for honor and you know this.” He hisses back at you. He shakes his head. “Do you honestly believe that they will not do some trickery, some game upon us?”

Your eyes narrow. “Sukuna, they are my kin. They shall honor–”

“Blood means little to the greedy.” 

“You know I cannot….” You whisper, lowering your gaze. You knew he was right. You knew that he was honest about it. When has Fujiwara been honorable? “You are not the only one suffering this, Sukuna.”

Sukuna’s eyes flashed with anger. “And what about me? What about what we have? What we had together, our love? Does that mean nothing to you? Do I mean little to you?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. “Of course it means something! It means the world to me. You mean everything to me…..But I’m trapped, Sukuna…..I…”

He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t feel the same way? You’re not the only one suffering here, Hiromi.”

The raw emotion in his voice broke something inside you. It burns to hear only your name from his lips. Not his endearment. Not his token of love. The tears you had been holding back spilled over, and you turned away, trying to hide your vulnerability. 

“I hate this.” you whispered. “I hate all of it…..I don’t want to,....I don’t want us to fight. I don’t want to do away with this. From the person I love.”

Sukuna’s expression softened suddenly. It hurts him to see you in tears. To see you in pain. He sighed. He loses to you, he always does.  

He reached out, gently turning you to face him. “Night flower… look at me.”

You met his gaze, your heart breaking at the sight of his own anguish. “I don’t know what to do, Sukuna.” you confessed, your voice trembling. “I feel like I’m losing myself. I want to follow my heart but I just….”

He pulled you into his arms, his hold possessive and desperate. “You’re not alone in this, night flower. I told you, I will not abandon you.” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “We’ll find a way against the Fujiwara. Trust me.”

You felt the heat of his body against yours, the familiar scent of him enveloping you. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in the quiet, intimate space. He tilted your chin up, his eyes searching yours.

“Night flower,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You belong with me. You know that, don’t you?”

A sob escaped your lips as you nodded, the tears streaming down your cheeks. “I know.” you whispered back. “I’ve always known.”

Sukuna’s eyes darkened with a fierce possessiveness as he leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing, desperate kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of longing, of frustration, and of a love that refused to be denied. Your initial resistance melted away as you clung to him, pouring all your pent-up emotion into that single, searing moment.

His hands roamed over your back, pulling you closer as if trying to meld your bodies into one. The intensity of his kiss left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. You could feel his desperation, his need for you, mirrored in your own.

When he finally pulled back, his breath ragged, he rested his forehead against yours. “I can’t let you go.” he whispers to you tenderly, shutting his eyes.. “No matter what it takes, night flower.  I’ll do it. Just….just stay with me.”

You nodded, the tears still streaming down your face. “I’m sorry, my love.” you agreed, your voice a whisper. “I really am.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“But I—”

He says, his eyes opening once more. “I’ll kiss you.”

You looked at him, tears spilling from your eyes. “Do it.”

“Beg for it.”

In the heat of the moment, your words dissolved into a needy moan, your fingers tangling in his hair as you surrendered to the overwhelming desire that pulsed between you. "Don't tease me." you pleaded, your voice husky with need, unable to deny the magnetic pull of his touch. “Please, my love.”

“Hm… what does this little flower want?”

“You.” You moaned, weak against his warmth. “Only you, my love.”

Sukuna’s response was immediate and primal. He growled deep in his throat, the sound reverberating through you and igniting a fierce, uncontrollable hunger. His hands gripped your hips with bruising force, pulling you flush against his hard body. The intensity of his need matched your own, a raw, animalistic force that threatened to consume you both.

With a low, guttural sound, Sukuna's lips crashed down on yours, not gentle or tender, but demanding and feral. His kiss was a storm, fierce and unrelenting, his teeth grazing your lower lip as if to mark you as his. You gasped into his mouth, the pain only heightening your desire, and he took the opportunity to delve deeper, his tongue tangling with yours in a battle for dominance.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him. His hands roamed your body with a possessive urgency, his touch setting your skin aflame. He pushed you against the wall, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat of his body, and you arched into him, a desperate whimper escaping your lips.

Sukuna's grip on you tightened, his nails digging into your flesh as he growled against your mouth. "You're mine, night flower." he snarled, his voice rough with possession and desire. "All mine."

The ferocity in his words sent a shiver down your spine, and you moaned, your body reacting instinctively to his dominance. You clawed at his clothed back, needing to feel him closer, to be consumed by the fire between you. Sukuna responded in kind, his mouth leaving a trail of fiery kisses down your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin, marking you as his own.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, the world narrowing to just the two of you, lost in a whirlwind of passion and need. Every touch, every kiss, was a desperate claim, a refusal to let go. The line between pleasure and pain blurred as Sukuna's teeth grazed your collarbone, your back arching in response, pressing your body harder against his.

He pushed you back against the wall with a force that left you breathless, his body pressing firmly against yours. The hard, unyielding surface behind you contrasted starkly with the searing heat of his touch, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins. Your back arched instinctively, seeking more of the delicious friction he offered, as your senses were overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. 

His hands roamed possessively over your body, igniting flames of desire wherever they touched. The sensation of his fingers tracing the contours of your skin sent shivers down your spine, awakening a hunger you hadn't realized was lying dormant within you. With each caress, each brush of his lips against your skin, you felt yourself surrendering to the primal need that pulsed between you.

Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you pulled him closer, urging him to deepen the kiss. Sukuna's lips trailed down your neck, leaving a burning path of bites and kisses in their wake. Each touch was like fire against your skin, sending waves of pleasure cascading through your body and making your head spin with dizzying delight.

With a rough, almost desperate motion, he tore at your clothes, his hands exploring your skin with a fervent need that sent shivers down your spine. Fabric tore away under his touch, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to his hungry gaze. The air crackled with anticipation as he hungrily drank in the sight of your bare skin, his eyes ablaze with an intensity that made your heart race even faster.

You tear at his clothes eagerly, happily — not caring about the cost, the damage. Such fine clothes do not need to exist. You wanted him. You wanted your lover. You did not care for much else. You wanted it off. You wanted to feel him. Skin to skin, the advent of bare worlds merging together in the flesh. 

"I've waited long enough," he growled, his breath hot against your ear as he pressed his body closer to yours, his lips tantalizingly close to yours. The heat of his words sent a surge of desire coursing through you, igniting a fire that threatened to consume you both. “I can’t do it anymore.”

The raw hunger in his voice stirred something primal within you, awakening a need that mirrored his own. You found yourself responding to him with an urgency you couldn't deny, your body arching into his touch as you surrendered to the overwhelming passion that pulsed between you.

His hands moved with purpose, exploring every inch of your exposed skin with a reverence that made your breath catch in your throat. Fingers traced delicate patterns along your curves, sending electric currents dancing across your flesh and setting your nerve endings ablaze with sensation.

"I won't let anyone else have you," he vowed, his words a fierce declaration of possession as he claimed you as his own. There was a primal possessiveness in his touch, a certainty that you belonged to him and him alone, that sent a thrill of excitement racing through you. “No one, not any man. No one.”

In that moment, there was no room for doubt or hesitation, only the wild, untamed passion that burned between you. You surrendered yourself completely to him, giving in to the irresistible pull of desire that drew you together like moths to a flame.

As his lips crashed down on yours once more, sealing the union, that vow with a searing kiss. You knew that there was no turning back. You were his, body and soul, bound together in a love that defied reason and logic, a love that would endure for eternity.

As Sukuna's lips claimed yours in a fervent kiss, his hands continued their exploration of your exposed skin, tracing every curve and contour with an expert touch that left you trembling with anticipation. With each caress, he seemed to stoke the flames of desire within you, igniting a burning hunger that threatened to consume you entirely.

His touch was electrifying, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body and leaving you yearning for more. Fingers danced along the sensitive skin of your neck, trailing down to your collarbone before wandering lower, teasing the edges of your desire.

With a skillful motion, Sukuna's hands roamed lower still, tracing the outline of your hips before slipping beneath the fabric of your remaining clothing. His touch was bold and confident, fingers dancing lightly over the heated flesh of your thighs as he moved ever closer to the source of your need.

You gasped as his fingertips brushed against your most intimate parts, sending waves of pleasure rippling through you. Each touch was like fire against your skin, igniting a wildfire of sensation that threatened to consume you entirely.

Sukuna's touch was relentless, brutish. You feel like you would burn at each motion. His fingers expertly coaxing forth the symphony of pleasure that lay dormant within you. With each stroke, each caress, he pushed you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy, his lips claiming yours in a heated kiss that mirrored the fervor of your desire.

As the intensity of his touch reached its peak, you felt yourself teetering on the brink of release. Moan after moan, your entire being was consumed by the flames of passion that raged between you. With a final, exquisite touch, Sukuna pushes you over the edge, sending you spiraling into the depths of pleasure as you surrender yourself completely to him.

Your reaction was one of pure ecstasy, a symphony of pleasure that swept through every fiber of your being. As Sukuna's skilled hands and lips worked their magic, you felt yourself unraveling, surrendering to the overwhelming tide of sensation that threatened to consume you entirely.

Every touch, every caress sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, igniting a fire that burned hotter with each passing moment. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your heart pounding in your chest as you teetered on the edge of release.

When Sukuna finally pushed you over that edge, sending you spiraling into the depths of ecstasy, it was like nothing you had ever experienced before. You felt like you were seeing the stars for the first time.

The way he made you feel, the way his fingers played through your confines made you quiver, shake over and over. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, each one more intense than the last, until you were lost in a haze of pure bliss.

As the intensity of the moment began to ebb, Sukuna's voice cut through the haze of pleasure, his tone husky with desire. "You're mine," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. He bites against your neck. “Mine, mine. Forever mine.”

You let out a soft moan of contentment, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. His possessiveness could only ever make you even more pleasured.

"’kuna," you whispered, your voice barely audible. You felt broken against him, so deliciously broken. And he loved it. “I’m…gonna…gonna…ah!”

The air crackled with raw intensity as Sukuna's gaze bore into yours, his eyes dark with desire. "Say it," he demanded, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down your spine. “Say it, night flower.”

"I'm yours," you replied, your voice filled with a mixture of passion and submission. “I’m….oh…I’m yours! Yours!”

Sukuna's grip tightened on your waist, his fingers digging into your skin with an almost painful urgency. "Louder, little one." he commanded, his voice tinged with a hint of dominance. “I don’t care if they hear us. Louder.”

"I'm yours!" you exclaimed, your voice rising with each word as you surrender yourself completely to him.

A fierce hunger burned in Sukuna's eyes as he claimed you once more, his touch rough and possessive as he took you to heights of pleasure you had never known before. Every movement was charged with an intensity that left you gasping for breath, his hands exploring every inch of your body with a relentless urgency that drove you to the brink of madness.

As the crescendo of passion reached its peak, you felt yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy, your senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the moment. And then, with a cry that echoed through the room, you came undone in his arms, waves of pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, leaving you trembling and spent in the aftermath of your shared release.

In that moment, there was no past, no future, only the present - a fleeting instant of pure, unadulterated bliss that bound you together in a timeless embrace.

And as you basked in the afterglow of your shared passion, you knew that this was where you belonged - in the arms of the one who had awakened the deepest desires within you.

Sukuna's lips curled into a smug smirk as he watched you, his eyes alight with satisfaction at having brought you to such heights of pleasure. His chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, a silent testament to the intensity of the moment.

"Was that everything you hoped for?" he asked, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

You could only nod in response, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your release. Words failed you in that moment, lost in the overwhelming sensation of being utterly and completely consumed by him.

Sukuna's smirk widened as he leaned in to press a lingering kiss to your lips, his touch gentle now, a stark contrast to the rough intensity of moments before.

"You belong to me, night flower." he murmured against your skin, his words a promise and a vow all rolled into one. “You are mine to love, to have, to live, to breathe. To bow to. To yearn for. You are only mine.”

“Make it so.” You huff tenderly at your lover. “I am truly yours.”

As Sukuna's hands skillfully undid the fastenings of his pants, releasing his arousal, a surge of anticipation coursed through your veins like wildfire. The sight of him, his eyes ablaze with unbridled desire, set your heart thundering against your chest with an intensity that matched the rhythm of your racing breaths. In that electrifying moment, the confines of the room seemed to shrink, the air thick with the palpable tension of longing and need.

With a hunger so primal it bordered on desperation, you met his lips once more in a pulsing kiss, your bodies melding together in a fiery embrace.

The world dissolved into a blur of sensation as you drowned in the heady rush of his touch, every caress like a flame igniting your skin, sending ripples of pleasure cascading through your entire being. Each brush of his fingertips against your skin was a symphony of ecstasy, each stroke leaving you gasping for more.

Your hands moved with a frenzied urgency, exploring every inch of his body with a fevered passion. Fingers traced the contours of his form, memorizing every dip and curve as you surrendered yourself to the intoxicating pull of desire.

There was no room for restraint in this tempest of passion, no need for words as your bodies spoke the language of lust and longing, entwined in a dance as old as time itself.

When you parted for air, Sukuna moved slightly and you watched as he towered before you, even in his kneeling position. His presence was overwhelming, commanding the entirety of the room. His figure exuded an aura of raw power, every sinew and muscle of his sculpted physique hinting at the strength that lay beneath. 

Your eyes trailed down his form, taking in the breadth of his shoulders and the defined lines of his torso. He was a towering figure, his height accentuated by the sheer magnitude of his presence. And as your gaze lingered on the bulge straining against the fabric of his pants, you couldn't help but marvel at the sheer size of him.

He was a man of undeniable stature, you had always known so. But to see him in full, to the bareness of his person – you found that he was possessing a primal magnetism that drew you in even more with an irresistible force. And as he moved closer, the intensity of his presence seemed to envelop you, filling the air with an electric charge that sent shivers down your spine.

In that moment, you were acutely aware of just how small you felt in comparison, and yet, there was an undeniable allure to his size, a primal instinct that stirred within you at the thought of being consumed by him entirely.

And as he drew you into his embrace, you couldn't help but surrender yourself to the overwhelming sensation of being enveloped by his sheer magnitude, knowing that in his arms, you were safe and utterly, completely his.

As Sukuna stood before you, his presence looming large, you couldn't help but remark, "You're so... big."

A smirk played on his lips as he leaned in, his voice low and husky. "And you like that, don't you?" he teased, the heat of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks as you admitted, "Yes, I do."

Sukuna's smirk widened into a grin as he closed the distance between you, his arms enveloping you in a strong embrace. "Good." he murmured against your ear, his voice laced with desire. "Because I'm going to make you feel every inch of it."

As Sukuna positioned himself above you, a primal hunger burned in his eyes, mirroring the fierce desire coursing through your veins. With a rough urgency, he slid inside, the heat of your connection igniting a wildfire of sensation that threatened to consume you both. Your eyes locked in a fierce gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the raw passion that bound you together.

His thrusts were relentless, each movement driving you both closer to the edge of oblivion. With each powerful thrust, he claimed you as his own, his dominance asserting itself with every primal urge. Your body met his roughness as though a thunderous wave against a cliff. You surrendered to him, every touch igniting sparks of pleasure that sent shockwaves through your entire being.

Before you could react, Sukuna closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, his hands gripping your shoulders with a possessive strength that left no room for escape. His touch was rough, demanding, as he pinned you beneath him, a primal force of nature unleashed. In that moment, there was no denying the intensity of his desire, no escaping the magnetic pull of his dark desires.

The hard, unyielding surface undernearth burnt you as his thrusts pushed you against the tatami floor and over roughly. It was a sharp contrasted with the searing heat of his touch, heightening the sensations that coursed through your body. Your hands instinctively reached for him, fingers tangling in his hair as you returned his kiss with equal fervor.

As Sukuna positioned himself to bottom out, his eyes ablaze with hunger, he whispered huskily, "My darling wife, my little bride. My night flower.”

Your breath hitched as you met his intense gaze, feeling a surge of arousal coursing through you. "Yes, yes….y’r wi’e, ah, ah yo’r bri’e!" you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “M’ husb’d, my husba’d!”

With a primal growl, Sukuna claimed your lips in a battering kiss, his hands gripping your shoulders with possessive strength. "Good little wife." he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with desire. " I'm going to show you what it means to belong to me."

As Sukuna's desire intensified, so did his movements. With a growl of primal need, he increased the force of his thrusts, driving himself deeper into you with each powerful movement. Your body responded eagerly to his rough dominance, every thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing through you.

You gasped at the intensity of his actions, your nails digging into his back as you surrendered yourself completely, honestly, truthfully, to the raw passion of the moment. "Mo’e," you moaned, your voice thick with desire. “Faster, fast’r…oh, oh!”

Sukuna's lips curled into a feral grin as he complied with your plea, his movements becoming even rougher, more primal. Each thrust was a declaration of his dominance, a reminder of the unbridled passion that burned between you.

With each thrust, Sukuna's control slipped further, consumed by the primal urge to possess you completely. His movements were primal, bordering on savage, as he claimed you as his own with each powerful thrust. The room echoed with the sound of your moans, a symphony of pleasure that filled the air as you surrendered yourself to the intoxicating rhythm of his desire.

You arched your back, meeting each of his thrusts with equal fervor, your bodies moving in perfect harmony as you sought to satisfy the insatiable hunger that burned between you. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, a whirlwind of sensation that threatened to engulf you both in its fiery embrace.

As Sukuna's primal desire surged, he growled against your ear, his voice thick with lust. "You feel so good, so tight around me," he rasped, his breath hot against your skin.

Your own voice was lost in a symphony of pleasure, your moans mingling with his as you surrendered to the primal rhythm of your bodies. "Hard’r!," you pleaded, your nails digging into his skin as you urged him on. “I’m feeling….I’m feel’ng… Please!, ‘on’t stop! ‘Kuna, ah!”

With a primal grunt, Sukuna complied, his thrusts becoming even more forceful, more desperate. Each movement sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, building towards an inevitable climax that promised to consume you both in its fiery embrace. 

You were certain that you could no longer think. Not about propriety, or who ever could hear. It doesn’t matter. Only he did. He was your world. And you know you were his.

As the intensity of your pleasure peaked, you felt yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy. "’m cloooose…" you gasped, your voice strained with the impending release. Tears flow through your face freely.  “‘Kuna, it…oh, oh!”

Sukuna's movements became even more relentless, driving you towards the brink with a primal urgency. He bites against your neck hard, causing you to mewl. 

 "Come for me," he growled, his voice rough with desire as he urged you on. “Come, little wife. You could do it. Give your husband one more.”

With a cry of ecstasy, you shattered into a million pieces, waves of pleasure crashing over you in an overwhelming crescendo. Your body trembled with the force of your release, every nerve ending ablaze with sensation as you surrendered yourself completely to the pleasure that consumed you.

But Sukuna wasn't far behind. With a feral roar, he followed you over the edge, his own release tearing through him with a savage intensity. You felt him pulse inside you, each throb of his hot release sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. 

As you both rode out the aftershocks of your shared climax, you collapsed into each other's arms, spent and sated. In that moment, there was no room for anything else but the raw, unbridled passion that bound you together. 

As you lay entwined in the aftermath of your passionate encounter, Sukuna held you close, his breath still ragged with desire. "I never want to be separated from you." he whispered, his voice husky with emotion. “Not in this lifetime, not the next. Never.”

You melted into his embrace, overwhelmed by the intensity of his declaration. "I don't ever want to be apart from you either." you murmured, your heart swelling with love.

Sukuna's arms tightened around you possessively, as if afraid to let you slip away. "Promise me you'll stay." he pleaded, his voice tinged with vulnerability. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

You looked up into his eyes, seeing the depth of his love reflected in their depths. "I promise, my love." you vowed, sealing your commitment with a lingering kiss. “Now and forever.”

IT WAS TERRIFYING TO STAND BEFORE YOUR FATHER NOW. You and Sukuna knelt side by side in the grand hall, the tension thick in the air. Before you stood your father, Lord Isamu, and his brother, Hiramu, Sukuna’s own adoptive father — your uncle. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on you, it now feels real. But you had made your decision. It was time to face the consequences of your actions.

The grand hall, with its high ceilings and ornate decorations, seemed to close in around you. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional rustle of clothing or the distant murmur of servants. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a reminder of the enormity of what you were about to confess.

Sukuna's hand in yours was a small comfort, a reminder that you were not alone in this. His presence, solid and unwavering, gave you the strength to meet the stern gazes of the men before you. Lord Isamu, your father, looked weary, the lines on his face deepening with concern. Hiramu, Sukuna's father, wore a mixture of curiosity and amusement, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

"Father," you began, your voice trembling slightly, "we have come to confess something important."

Isamu’s eyes narrowed slightly, a subtle indication of anticipation His gaze, warm and reassuring, also held a hint of wariness as he studied you, as if trying to decipher the truth behind your words. It was a look you had seen before, often preceding moments of stern reprimand or heartfelt advice.

You swallowed hard, the weight of his scrutiny bearing down on you like a heavy burden. Despite the urge to look away, you met his gaze head-on, determined to convey the sincerity of your words. There was no turning back now; you and Sukuna had made your decision, and you were prepared to face the consequences, whatever they may be.

"Sukuna and I... we've... we've performed all the acts of marriage," you confessed, the words spilling from your lips in a rush. Each syllable hung in the air, heavy with implication, as you awaited your father's reaction.

For a moment, there was silence—a pregnant pause that seemed to stretch on indefinitely. Isamu's expression remained inscrutable, his features a mask of carefully controlled emotion. It was as if he were weighing your words, measuring them against some unseen standard of judgment.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. "Is that so?" he said, his voice deceptively calm. There was a sharpness to his tone, a subtle undercurrent of disapproval that sent a chill down your spine. It was a tone you knew all too well—a warning that you were treading on dangerous ground.

You felt a pang of guilt at the thought that it was disappointment in his eyes. Yet, beneath the veneer of reproach, there was something else—a flicker of understanding, perhaps, or even a trace of resignation. Isamu was a man of duty, bound by the traditions and obligations of his station, but he was also a father, with all the complexities and contradictions that entailed. You were his only child left. What should he let you suffer more? 

As you awaited his response, you couldn't help but wonder what thoughts were swirling in his mind. Was he disappointed in you? Angry? Or did he, in some small corner of his heart, understand the depth of your love for Sukuna, despite the circumstances?

Whatever the case, one thing was certain: the road ahead would not be easy. You had chosen to defy convention, to follow your heart in the face of overwhelming opposition. But as you looked into Isamu's eyes, you knew that you would face whatever challenges came your way, you would not forsake Sukuna. He was yours. He was your heart. He was your soul. Your husband. You would not forsake him, even if your father did.

Sukuna took your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "Ryomen Hiromi, the most noble of your blood, is my wife." he said clearly, his voice unwavering. "In every way that matters, we are husband and wife, my lord. I will not….I will not forsake my wife. Not even if you put me to death for it.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. Ryomen Isamu sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping with the weight of the revelation. He felt a headache pulse through his head. The hubris of love between the youth. He could only wonder what it was like.

"This means the marriage with Koku cannot happen." he said, his voice tinged with weariness. The strain of the past weeks was evident in his eyes, the conflict between duty and his love for you tearing at him. “After all the work we put into it….”

“Father, I know that I….that I insisted on doing my duty.” You gulped as you held tighter to Sukuna’s hand. “But I cannot forsake my heart. I love Sukuna. I do. And my heart, it is stronger than anything else. I cannot live without it. And I cannot live without Sukuna. Please, father. I shall do anything you ask of me.”

“I too will do the same.” Sukuna added hastily as he held his head high in front of your father. He looks to you for a moment, before he returns his attention to his new father-in-law. “I am devoted to your daughter. Only to Hiromi. If there must be consequences, I will bear it with my wife, as she insists. We are yours to command, my lord.”

Hiramu laughed, breaking the tension with a hearty sound. "At least the kids are honest with us now, eh, brother?," he said, clapping Sukuna on the shoulder. He turned to you with a warm smile. "Welcome to the family, daughter-in-law."

You blushed at his words, feeling a mixture of relief and embarrassment. Holding Sukuna's hand tightly, you looked up at your father. You let go of your husband’s hand and slowly lowered yourself to bow towards your uncle. “Thank you, father-in-law.”

Isamu's stern expression softened slightly, and he slowly nodded. “Well, what is there for me to do, brother? We have no choice….They have consummated marriage. It is known. It is done.”

“I shall try to be worthy of your trust, father-in-law.” Sukuna too humbled himself, bowing before your father, who sighed heavily at his act.“I will not let you down.”

“You best not.” Isamu retorts back, his words stern. “My daughter risks ruin, the clan risks war. There is much that costs us. You both followed your hearts more than your brain’s logics–”

"Now calm down, brother. You act like you aren’t happy that your daughter is happy." Hiramu said, snickering.

“She is my only child left, I am happy. But as clan leader, I simply cannot—”

Hiramu waved his elder brother off. "We'll deal with it. As long as Hiromi and Sukuna are happy. I don’t think anything is to be frowned upon.”

Isamu sighed, nodding resignedly at his younger brother’s words. “Perhaps your grandfather would be satisfied with a plausible marriage peace between your future children and Koku’s own children.”

“Or if there is a war—”

“Brother, we will not seek war just because our children wed.” Isamu sighed at his younger brother, who rolled his eyes. “There is more logic to Ankoku–dono than that.”

“We shall see.” Hiramu snickers bitterly. 

Tears welled in your eyes at his words, a flood of emotions overwhelming you. The fear, the uncertainty, and the relief all mingled together, leaving you momentarily speechless. Sukuna squeezed your hand, grounding you, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of your feelings.

"Thank you, father," you finally managed to say, your voice thick with emotion. "I know this isn't what we have planned, but I promise we'll make it work. We'll find a way to honor our families with the duties you endow on us now.”

Isamu nodded again, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "You always were strong-willed, little one." he said softly. "I told you. I have always known you would find your own path."

Hiramu chuckled. "And it's a good path." he said, his eyes twinkling with pride. "No paths are bound, after all. The Ryomen will be stronger for this. Do not worry.”

As you knelt there, holding Sukuna's hand, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. The road ahead would be challenging, but you were not alone. With your family’s blessing, and Sukuna by your side, you were ready to face whatever came next. Nothing is hard now.

YOU ENJOYED THE PEACE IN SUKUNA’S ARMS. In the serene embrace of marital bliss, the world outside seemed to fade away as you and Sukuna basked in the warmth of each other's love. With every tender caress and whispered endearment, you found solace in the sanctuary of each other's arms. 

Your father and uncle's decision to delay the announcement of your marriage felt like a reprieve, a precious respite from the tumultuous currents of politics and conflict that swirled around you. In these quiet moments, you reveled in the simple joys of the companionship of your husband. In these slowly drifting days of joy, you happily yearned for finding refuge from the storm that raged beyond the confines of your shared quarters.

The prospect of a public declaration of your union loomed on the horizon, promising both joy and uncertainty. You do not know how the whole world will react. But for now, you were content to linger in this private cocoon of happiness, savoring each stolen moment together.

The world does not sleep in your bed. Your husband does. And you wanted to indulge into the privacy of your world as much as you could. You wanted to belong to each other before you did the world.

Wrapped in the soft glow of candlelight, you and Sukuna exchanged tender glances and gentle smiles, your hearts overflowing with love and gratitude. In each other's presence, you found strength and reassurance, a beacon of hope in a world fraught with uncertainty.

As you lay intertwined in a tangle of limbs and whispers, the outside world faded into obscurity, its worries and conflicts distant echoes in the hush of the night. Here, in the sacred space of your love, you found sanctuary from the chaos that threatened to engulf the world outside. And for a fleeting moment, all was right in the world.

As the moon cast its gentle glow upon the room, you lay beside Sukuna, his warmth a comforting presence beside you. Thoughts of the future danced through your minds, visions of a family together, of laughter and love filling the halls of your home.

As Sukuna's whispered desire lingered in the air, his voice carrying the weight of his affection and longing, you felt a blush tinge your cheeks, a telltale sign of the emotions stirring within you.

His words, filled with warmth and tenderness, ignited a spark of joy in your heart, the prospect of sharing in the joys of parenthood with him filling you with a sense of profound happiness.

“I should like a daughter.” He whispers to you in the dawn of moonlight, kissing your cheeks tenderly. “One that looks like you. With all your warmth and your beauty. I should be satisfied with spoiling a tender girl from you.”

"I would be happy with that." you confessed, your voice soft and filled with love, your heart overflowing with adoration for the man beside you. The thought of bringing a daughter into the world, a precious soul to cherish and nurture, filled you with a sense of purpose and fulfillment. “But I want her to look like you too.”

“We can have a few.”

You pouted at him. “But that shall take effort.”

He laughs, pinching your cheeks. “Who says I shan’t have the effort to make it possible?”

“Oh, you are so happy to enjoy being in bed with me so well.”

Your husband nudges his head against your head. “Is it too bad for a happy husband to indulge in his little wife?”

“No,” You can only sigh with that, letting him hold you closer. “I shall indulge my husband as he pleases.”

Sukuna had a small playful glint danced in his eyes, his smirk betraying a mischievousness that never failed to elicit a chuckle from you. “Then my little wife shall be spoiled as can be by my affections.”

“Hm…I shall let you do so.”

“Oh, you must or I shall be forceful with it.” He presses kisses across your neck, inciting giggles out of you. 

"But I should like a son. One that takes after you," you admitted to him, your voice laced with affectionate teasing, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. “With your sharp eyes and your impatience. Your cheeky nature. I shall like that so much.”

Sukuna's smirk widened into a playful grin as his fingers brushed against your loose locks, his touch sending a shiver of delight coursing through you. "You desire such a boy swaddling against your chest the way I do?" he teased, his voice tinged with amusement. “Oh, you shall like that won’t you?”

You couldn't help but laugh at his jest, swatting his hand playfully as a blush colored your cheeks. "Oh, you are insufferable, my love." you chided, though the fondness in your voice betrayed your true feelings. “All too much.”

In moments like these, surrounded by Sukuna's playful banter and affectionate teasing, you found yourself falling even deeper in love with the man who held your heart. The thought of starting a family together filled you with a sense of purpose, a shared dream that bound you together even more tightly.

Sukuna's playful smirk softened into a tender smile as he gazed at you, his eyes alight with affection. "Only because I love you, little wife." he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. “My only night flower.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, the warmth of his love enveloping you like a gentle embrace. Despite the teasing banter, there was an undeniable depth to Sukuna's affection, a steadfast devotion that anchored you to him in a bond that transcended words.

"I love you too," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of Sukuna's embrace and the soft glow of the moonlight, you felt a sense of completeness wash over you, as if all the pieces of your soul had finally found their rightful place. “More than you know.”

As the night wore on, you both drifted into a peaceful slumber, the rhythm of each other's breathing a comforting lullaby. In each other's arms, you found safety and serenity, the worries of the world fading into insignificance.

But the tranquility was short-lived. Abruptly, you were jolted awake by urgent shouts and the clamor of weapons clashing. Your uncle's voice pierced through the darkness, his words heavy with urgency.

“Rouse from your bed, make haste!”

“What has happened?” You pondered as you scrambled to your feet, with your husband’s help.

"The Fujiwara are attacking." he exclaimed clearly, with no hesitation.

Sukuna mumbles. "They never intended to keep the peace. They intended a distraction.”

Hiramu shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter now. There’s a lot to be done.”

“What must we do, uncle?” You whispered to him, your brows furrowing.

“Kill.” Hiramu uttered with tension. “In the way a Ryomen knows how.“

In an instant, the peace you had cherished was shattered, replaced by the harsh reality of war. With a sense of dread knotting in your stomach, you looked at Sukuna who nodded back at you resolutely. Your uncle led the way, his voice ringing through the compound. There was no way back. There was only kill, or be killed.

THERE WAS NO TIME TO WORRY ABOUT YOUR PROPRIETY. Emerging from the confines of your residence, still clad in the elegant folds of your inside kimono, you stepped outside hand in hand with your husband, Sukuna. The air crackled with tension, and the acrid scent of battle hung heavy in the air, mingling with the subtle fragrance of cherry blossoms that drifted on the breeze.

As chaos erupted outside, the once serene courtyard transformed into a battleground, the urgent clangor of battle reverberating through the air like a thunderous symphony. The sounds of metal meeting metal, of shouted commands and desperate pleas, filled the space around you, drowning out all other noise.

With a sense of grim determination, you and Sukuna rushed forward alongside your uncle, your footsteps quick and purposeful. The courtyard was a hive of activity, clan members standing shoulder to shoulder, their faces set in expressions of fierce resolve as they channeled their cursed energy to create a protective dome shield against the relentless onslaught of the Fujiwara attacks.

Amidst the chaos, voices rose in a cacophony of sound, some screaming encouragement and rallying cries, while others spat curses and insults at their adversaries. The air crackled with a palpable tension, each member of the clan fully immersed in the gravity of the situation, their commitment to defending their home and their loved ones unwavering.

For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still as you took in the scene before you, the tableau of bravery and sacrifice etched into the very fabric of your being. With every beat of your heart, you felt the weight of responsibility pressing down upon you, urging you to stand tall and fight for what you believed in.

With Sukuna's hand clasped tightly in yours, you steeled yourself for the battle ahead, drawing strength from the unwavering support of your loved ones. Together, you would face whatever challenges lay ahead, united in your determination to protect everything you held dear.

With determination etched into your features, you turned to Sukuna, your eyes meeting him with unwavering resolve. "I'll go and release cursed energy to reinforce the shield," you declared, your voice firm despite the tremor of fear that lingered in the depths of your being.

“You go with uncle Hiramu. There’s so many sectors of the manor that remain unshielded. They need you more than I do right now.”

Sukuna's gaze softened with concern, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. "And I'll go and fight in areas the shield can't reach," he vowed, his voice resolute as he met your eyes with unwavering determination. “Be safe, wife.”

You nodded in silent agreement, a silent understanding passing between you as you shared a brief, tender kiss. In that fleeting moment, you conveyed a wealth of unspoken promises and emotions, a silent vow to stand together against the tide of adversity.

With one final, lingering glance, you and Sukuna parted ways, the weight of the impending battle heavy on your shoulders. Each determined to do your part in the raging conflict that threatened to consume your home, you rushed towards your respective duties, the urgency of the moment propelling you forward.

As you sprinted towards your kin, your body thrummed with an electrifying surge of cursed energy, its power coursing through your veins like a raging torrent. Every step forward was fueled by a fierce determination to protect those you loved, to stand firm against the tide of adversity that threatened to overwhelm you.

Your kin turned to you, their eyes alight with a mixture of hope and desperation as you approached, the aura of your cursed energy pulsating around you like a halo of light. With a determined focus, you joined your palms together, the air crackling with anticipation as the energy around you intensified, thickening against the encroaching darkness.

As you unleashed the full force of your cursed energy, a blinding white light erupted from your palms, enveloping those around you in a protective barrier of pulsating energy.

With each passing moment, the barrier expanded, its formidable strength pushing back against the relentless onslaught of the Fujiwara attacks, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos that raged around you.

“Be careful, Hiromi–sama!” One of your kinsfolk says to you, his strained voice echoing across the courtyard to you. 

"I will," you called back, your voice firm with resolve. With a final wave, you turned back to face the fray, your focus fully on the task at hand.

As you continued to channel your cursed energy, the strain of maintaining the protective barrier began to take its toll on your body. Beads of sweat formed on your brow as you poured every ounce of your strength into the effort, the weight of responsibility pressing down upon you like a heavy burden. You knew this cannot be kept up for too long.

You can give as much as your cursed energy as much as you can, but the other kinsfolk would not last. If you don’t have them, the barriers would fall.

As the chaos of battle unfolded around you, your voice rang out with commanding authority, cutting through the clamor like a clarion call. With a fierce determination burning in your eyes, you singled out one of the guards amidst the fray, his sword gripped tightly in his hand.

"You!" you shouted, your voice echoing across the courtyard with a commanding force. "Rally all the women and children towards the tunnels. Alert an evacuation now!"

The urgency in your tone left no room for hesitation as you issued your orders, your gaze unwavering as you met the guard's eyes. Every word was imbued with a sense of purpose, a stark reminder of the gravity of the situation at hand.

Around you, the chaos of battle continued to rage, but amidst the turmoil, your voice served as a beacon of clarity and direction. With swift efficiency, the guard nodded in acknowledgment of your command, his movements quick and decisive as he set about carrying out your orders.

As you turned back, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination, a scene of horror unfolded before your eyes. One by one, your kinsfolk fell to the merciless onslaught, their cries of pain and desperation echoing in the air like a haunting melody of despair.

Shock and disbelief washed over you as you watched in horror, your gaze fixed on the figure responsible for the carnage. It was your own mother, Akiko, her features twisted with a madness that chilled you to the bone.

Tears welled in your eyes as you struggled to comprehend the betrayal unfolding before you, the realization of her treachery cutting deep like a dagger to the heart.

The protective barrier you had worked so tirelessly to maintain began to falter, the cursed energy of the Fujiwara merging and multiplying with each passing moment. As the shield came crashing down, a sense of dread settled over you like a suffocating blanket, the full weight of the impending doom bearing down upon you like a relentless storm.

In the chaos and confusion that ensued, you found yourself paralyzed with shock, your mind reeling as you tried to make sense of the nightmare unfolding before you. The once tranquil grounds of Ryomen Manor were now engulfed in a maelstrom of violence and destruction, the air thick with the stench of death and decay.

With a heavy heart, you realized that the battle was lost before it had even begun. As the cursed energy of the Fujiwara swept over the manor like a tidal wave of darkness, you knew that there was little hope of survival in the face of such overwhelming odds.

You stumbled backward, disbelief etched on your face as you locked eyes with your mother, Fujiwara Akiko, amidst the chaos. "You…... how could you?" Your voice quivered with a mixture of hurt and betrayal, unable to comprehend the depths of her actions.

Akiko's gaze bore into yours, devoid of any remorse or empathy, her expression twisted into a cruel sneer. "Oh little foolish girl." she hissed, her voice dripping with malice. "You were always too weak, too sentimental. You have no place in the new order I am creating."

Tears welled in your eyes as her words cut through you like a knife, the realization of her betrayal striking you like a physical blow.

"But... why?" you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper.

A bitter laugh escaped Akiko's lips, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Why, you ask? Because power is all that matters, my dear. And I will stop at nothing to seize it, even if it means sacrificing everything I once held dear."

As the shock of betrayal rooted you to the spot, you watched in horror as your mother, consumed by madness and darkness, charged towards you with lethal intent. The air crackled with tension, each heartbeat echoing in your ears like a drumbeat of impending doom.

Just as despair threatened to consume you, a sudden rush of movement caught your attention. With a sense of surreal relief, you saw Sukuna appear beside you, his presence a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. Without hesitation, he unleashed his devastating technique, Cleave, with a swift and powerful strike aimed at your mother.

Time seemed to slow as the force of Sukuna's attack collided with your mother, the impact sending shockwaves rippling through the air. You watched in awe as the sheer power of the technique tore through the darkness that had consumed her, dispersing it like a veil lifted by the wind.

As your mother staggered back, her form wavering and flickering like a candle flame on the verge of extinguishment, he sent another wave of Cleave towards her. Finally, she fell dead. She was a traitor. And he would not forgive her.

You stare at the lifeless corpse of your mother, your pupils shaking. Sukuna rushed to you and held you. You looked at him, in a state of delirium as everything burned around you in intense flame.

“S-she…”

“It’s okay.”

“Where’s father?” You asked him frantically, “Uncle Hiramu?”

“They’re on their way here, night flower. Do not worry.” He whispers to you. “They are keeping the Fujiwara at bay, so the others may leave.”

“Then….”

“We must fight here.”

As the once tranquil grounds of Ryomen Manor erupted into chaos, the air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke and the sounds of battle. The double heron banner of the Ryomen clan, a symbol of pride and honor, burned amidst the turmoil, its flames a grim reminder of the devastation that had befallen the once-proud estate.

You and Sukuna stood side by side, your backs against each other as you faced wave after wave of attackers. With each strike of your enemies, your resolve only grew stronger, fueled by a fierce determination to defend your home and protect your loved ones.

As the battle raged on, the air thick with the stench of smoke and the cries of the wounded, you stood amidst the chaos, a beacon of power amidst the turmoil. With a fierce determination burning in your eyes, you reached out with your mind, tapping into the primal forces of nature at your command. 

Eyes turning purple, your gaze turns narrow.

Hunger. Anger. Bitterness. Cruelty. Hatred.

You do not know what you were right at that moment.

 But one by one, you longed for more bloody hands. 

More and more until nothing was left, until nothing was there.

With a forceful command, you summoned torrents of water from nearby sources, the liquid crashing down upon the raging inferno with a deafening roar. The flames hissed and sputtered as they were doused by the relentless onslaught, steam rising into the air as the inferno was quenched.

But your control over the water was not gentle; it was a violent deluge, tearing through the flames with a ferocity that left nothing but charred remains in its wake.

Meanwhile, gusts of wind whipped through the battlefield at your command, their force amplified to hurricane-like proportions. The wind howled and shrieked as it tore through the air, sending debris and bodies hurtling through the air like ragdolls.

Your enemies were caught off guard, their movements hampered by the violent gusts that buffeted them from all sides. Limbs were torn asunder, screams of agony drowned out by the relentless roar of the wind.

The scene was gruesome, a tableau of chaos and destruction wrought by the sheer power of your manipulation. The ground beneath your feet trembled with the force of the elements, the air thick with the taste of blood and the metallic tang of fear. But amidst the carnage, you stood resolute, a force of nature in your own right, your power unchecked and untamed.

As the battle raged on, you continued to wield the elements with ruthless efficiency, your every movement a testament to the raw power at your command.

With each torrent of water and gust of wind, you pushed back against the encroaching darkness, fighting tooth and nail to defend Ryomen Manor from its relentless onslaught.

Beside you, Sukuna became a whirlwind of destruction, his every movement a lethal dance amidst the chaos of battle. With Cleave, he unleashed devastation upon the enemy ranks, each slash a precise and calculated strike that cut through flesh and bone with merciless efficiency.

The air around him seemed to crackle with the energy of his fury, his movements fluid and deadly as he carved a path of destruction through the opposing forces.

With each swing of Cleave, Sukuna left a trail of carnage in his wake, mutilated bodies falling in his shadow as he moved with unparalleled precision and ferocity. His attacks were swift and relentless, each strike finding its mark with deadly accuracy.

It was as if he was a mad man as he clubbed one man after another — as he brutalized one after another. He drowned in blood, he drowned in vengeance. He was a beast.

As the battle raged on, hand-to-hand combat merged seamlessly with the elemental onslaught, the clash of cursed energy bursts through each and every stone.

The roar of brutality, the cannibalistic nature of survival danced in vicious harmony,  in a cacophony of chaos and destruction. Amidst the din of battle, Sukuna's presence was a constant, a beacon of strength and determination amidst the turmoil.

Together, you and Sukuna fought as one, your movements synchronized as you danced upon the battlefield. With each strike and each spell, you pushed back against the encroaching darkness, your combined efforts a force to be reckoned with amidst the chaos of war.

As the chaos of battle raged around you, your uncle Hiramu finally arrived, bloodied and broken, a grim expression etched upon his weary face. He threw his broken sword, grunting as he picked up another one from a mutilated corpse. From the way he looked, it did not seem promising. The whole world had turned into madness.

“You brats shouldn’t be here anymore!” Your uncle says with a voice hoarse with exhaustion. “Everyone else has fled! You both need to go, now!”

But you objected, your resolve unwavering even in the face of adversity. "A Ryomen stands his ground, no matter what, uncle." you insisted, your voice ringing with determination. “Hida cannot fall. Not in our hands.”

Hiramu's gaze softened, a mixture of pride and sadness in his eyes as he regarded you. "And what is there left to stand for if a Ryomen is dead?" he countered, his voice tinged with resignation. "Sometimes, little girl, survival is the only victory worth fighting for."

Turning to Sukuna with eyes full of emotion. “Be a good son for once, hm? Your old father here needs you to do as he asks.” Sukuna's expression wavered, torn between loyalty to his adoptive father and his desire to protect you. “Go. Now."

“Uncle—”

After a moment of internal struggle, Sukuna took your hand, his decision made. You looked at him, your face shattered into grief at what he intended to do. 

With a heavy heart, he looked to his adoptive father “Don’t you die yet, you old geezer. I swear, if you die—”

Hiramu snickered at Sukuna's words, a bitter smile playing upon his lips. “Have trust in your father, brat. I’ll live to see my first grandchild!" he admitted, his tone laced with grim determination. He smacks his son’s head. "But for now, escape. Go! Take her! I’ll hold them off!”

As you scream for Sukuna to put you down. Over and over as you fight against him, as your throat grows weary and pained, he will not relent. Not as the sounds of battle continued to echo behind you, a cacophony of clashing steel and crackling magic filling the air. With each step, the weight of your uncle's sacrifice hung heavy upon your heart as you screamed for him. 

You caught a glimpse of Ryomen Hiramu, standing tall amidst the chaos once more. He grins at you, waving his sword. Tears fell as easily as his enemies did. His sword was all you could see through the flames, flashing in the dim light against the belly of a Fujiwara one after another. But as one fell, another came and they surrounded your uncle soon enough. Until it was all disappearing, until he was gone from your reach. Until there was nothing.

With a heavy heart, you tore your gaze away from the battlefield, focusing instead on the path ahead. Beside you, Sukuna remained silent, his hand tight around yours as you navigated the maze-like corridors of Ryomen Manor.

You thought of your father, you wondered where he was. You wondered about Masaomi, who had gone missing as the attack went through the compound. You could not fight back the tears as they came. Not even if you wanted to. 

The air around you crackled with tension as you pressed forward, each step bringing you closer to safety and yet further from the home you had always known.

Though the way ahead was uncertain, you clung to the hope that your uncle Hiramu's sacrifice had bought you—the chance to live to fight another day. Even if you didn’t want to. Even if you didn’t think to. 

As you and Sukuna finally emerged from the chaos of battle, the cool night air washed over you like a balm, a stark contrast to the heat and violence you had left behind. With one last glance back at the manor, now engulfed in flames and shadows, you and Sukuna turned away, leaving behind the echoes of a life once lived as you set out on a new path, together.

It was then from the bitter dusk did the first drops of rain begin to fall. From afar, it had cast a somber veil over the charred remnants of Ryomen Manor. The cool droplets mingled with the tears that streamed down your cheeks, their gentle patter against the scorched earth a mournful lament for all that had been lost.

Sukuna knelt beside you, his expression one of uncertainty and helplessness as he watched you wrap your weary arms around your shaking legs. He didn't know what to say, nor did he know how to dry your tears. All he could do was offer his silent presence, a steady anchor amidst the storm of emotions that threatened to engulf you both.

The rain continued to pour, harsher and harsher — a relentless downpour that mirrored the torrent of grief and sorrow that threatened to consume you. With each passing moment, Sukuna felt the weight of your pain pressing down upon him, a burden he couldn't bear but refused to abandon.

In that eve of the year 953, in Hida Province,

The proud Ryomen Clan of old, ancient blood;

Had all but fallen to the hands of Fujiwara's cruelty.

Of the Ryomen’s main bloodline remained two.

Husband and wife, Ryomen Hiromi and Sukuna.

facts about this chapter

this was entirely a chapter i saw from the beginning happening. the destruction of the ryomen is something i believe is the reason sukuna is the only ryomen we know.

this chapter took me the longest to write than any other of the series thus far. this was also the most emotionally taxing to write. so i had to come back and write some fluff and then drink matcha to calm down.

hiromi and sukuna's marriage was a last minute addition after my beta reading friend suggested that the idea of their marriage have consequence. but since it was never announce, only the ryomen know.

the fujiwara planned that they were going to destroy the ryomen the moment sukuna defeated koku. they think that koku being humiliated was the whole clan being humiliated. moreover, there's bitterness with the 'lowly' marriage of fujiwara akiko. this was a correction to the fujiwara.

masaomi is just the same age as koku, akimu and suzaku. masaomi was akimu's childhood playmate. and by extention, hiromi's own playmate. upon the death of akimu, hiromi became the focus his loyalty. hiromi considers him a friend.

heian culture doesn't really have a strict conduct of marriage, except in the in the nature of the noble's blood. if the marriage was ever announced, people would view hiromi to have married down even if sukuna took the ryomen name. because hiromi has noble blood and sukuna does not.

isamu and hiramu already knew that hiromi and sukuna would end up getting together because they knew too well that they were too in love to let go of each other. they already had contingency plans, if that happened. they knew that the kids being happy mattered more.

akiko is obsessed with power. and it was her end. i always wondered what i could do with her and her wanting. but its quite easy to see too that she's a victim of her family's own culture. if she had broken free from that, she would have ended up not dying.

hiromi's power introduced here is called 'heaven's bounty' which allows hiromi control of the surrounding and nature itself for a limited amount of time. she combines this with hand to hand because she doesn't know how long her cursed energy could last.

hiramu doesn't have that strong of a cursed energy, but he makes up for it with his strength. which has been noted since 'the night we met' when they first met sukuna.

fujiwara ankoku in a way is inspired by zenin naobito but worse. he'd commit to the destruction of his own family. blood and innocents to have satisfaction and revenge. i think he'd get even worse with time passing by.

with ryomen manor burned to the ground, the whole of hida is under occupation by the fujiwara. hiromi and sukuna are wanted alive by the fujiwara, the rest of the ryomen and their retainers have bounty in their heads, but to death

the ryomen family tree looks like this

lord ryomen - his wife

|

isamu hiramu

m. | (adoptive)

akiko sukuna

|

akimu hiromi

the fujiwara family goes like this

fujiwara ankoku - his wife

|

lord fujiwara akiko

| |

koku akimu hiromi (married) sukuna

[slut4evanpeters]

Bound By The Dark

Tate Langdon x Reader loosely based on Romeo and Juliet.

song i recommend listening to: living legend by lana del rey

warning: very angst, suicide, using medication to commit, romanticizing of death, tragic ending, themes of isolation, depression, emotional distress, do not read if ANY of these are triggers.

word count: 2.7k

notes: please read this with caution. if you are struggling with suicidal thoughts, please know that you are loved and supported. its never to late for help:)

The house had a history.

You learned that almost immediately after stepping foot inside the large, looming structure. It towered over the street, its cracked façade barely hidden behind sprawling vines and overgrown bushes. The real estate agent had brushed off any concerns you or your parents had, but there was a feeling. A thick, suffocating tension. That settled over the place, clinging to your skin like humidity. It smelled old, like mildew and stale air, and as soon as you crossed the threshold, you knew you didn’t want to be there.

But your family didn’t care about how it felt. They cared that the house was cheap, and that it was far larger than any other home you’d ever lived in. Your father said it was a “fresh start” for all of you. A new life in a new city. It was the kind of lie that parents told when they didn’t want to admit that things had been falling apart for a long time, and now this move was their last-ditch attempt to piece things back together.

But no matter how much you tried to embrace that optimism, you couldn’t shake the chill that seeped into your bones as you walked the long, winding halls of the house. Something was off, like the house was waiting for something, or maybe for someone.

The first few days were relatively uneventful. Boxes were unpacked, rooms were organized, and your parents seemed to settle in without much concern. Your room was large, with a window that looked out onto the overgrown backyard, where a twisted oak tree stood tall and crooked, like it had been there longer than the house itself.

But even in the bright light of the afternoon, the house felt wrong. Its walls creaked and groaned in the night as if it had a voice of its own. Sometimes, when you were alone, you could swear you heard footsteps echoing down the hallways, but when you looked, no one was there. The isolation was suffocating, and though you had tried to distract yourself with new schoolwork and social media, nothing could fill the growing void inside you.

It was late one evening when you first met him.

The rain had been pounding against your window, relentless and unyielding, when you decided to venture down to the basement. Your parents had explicitly warned you to stay away from it, but something about the basement called to you. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was fate.

The stairs groaned under your weight as you descended, the air growing colder with each step. The basement was dimly lit, the shadows casting strange shapes along the walls, and yet it felt strangely familiar. Like you had been there before, though you knew you hadn’t.

And then you saw him.

He was leaning against one of the brick walls, his blond curls falling into his eyes, his arms crossed over his chest. His clothes were simple, almost dated—a worn sweater and jeans that looked like they belonged to a different era. But it was his eyes that held your attention—dark, hollow, and full of something you couldn’t quite place.

“Hey,” he said softly, as if he’d been expecting you. His voice was calm, almost soothing, despite the eerie atmosphere of the basement.

You froze, unsure of what to do. This was your house—wasn’t it? Who was he? How had he gotten in?

“Who are you?” you asked, your voice steady but your heart racing in your chest.

He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Tate.”

“And what are you doing in my house?” you demanded, trying to sound braver than you felt.

Tate shrugged, pushing himself off the wall and stepping closer to you. “I live here.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. He lived here? That couldn’t be true—you and your family had just moved in. The house had been empty for years. Or at least, that’s what the real estate agent had said.

“No, you don’t,” you said, frowning. “We just moved in. No one’s lived here for years.”

Tate’s smile widened, though there was something almost sad about it. “Not in the way you think.”

There was something about the way he said it—so matter-of-fact, so final—that sent a chill down your spine. You opened your mouth to ask what he meant, but before you could, the lights flickered, plunging the basement into darkness for just a second. When the light returned, Tate was gone, leaving you standing alone in the cold, silent basement.

You tried asking your parents if they knew anything about the previous owners of the house, but they shrugged it off. “No one important,” your father had said, brushing past the question as if it didn’t matter. “Some old family. The house has been empty for a while.”

But you knew that wasn’t true. Tate had been there, and somehow, you felt like he had been there for a long time.

It wasn’t long before you saw him again. It was late at night, after your parents had gone to bed. You were restless, unable to sleep, so you wandered the house, hoping to quiet your thoughts. As you passed by one of the unused rooms on the second floor, you felt a strange pull, as if something—or someone—was calling you.

You pushed the door open, and there he was, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, his knees pulled up to his chest. He looked up as you entered, his dark eyes meeting yours.

“You came back,” he said softly, as if he had been waiting for you.

“I didn’t come back for you,” you said, though even as the words left your mouth, you knew they weren’t entirely true.

Tate smiled that sad, knowing smile again. “You don’t have to lie. Not to me.”

You hesitated, unsure of how to respond. There was something about him—something that drew you in, even though every instinct in your body told you to stay away. He was dangerous, you could feel it in your bones, but you couldn’t help yourself. You wanted to know him. You needed to understand him.

“Why are you here?” you asked, stepping further into the room.

Tate sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. “Because I can’t leave.”

“What do you mean?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if the weight of the answer was too much to bear. “I’m tied to this house. I’ve been here for a long time. Longer than you could imagine.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine. “Are you… are you dead?”

Tate’s eyes opened slowly, and when they met yours, they were filled with a sorrow so deep it took your breath away. “Yes.”

You weren’t sure how to process the fact that Tate was a ghost.

You wanted to deny it, to rationalize it, but the more you spoke with him, the more real it became. Tate had died a long time ago, but his spirit remained in the house, bound by some invisible force that kept him there.

At first, you were scared. You avoided the rooms where you had seen him, trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t real—that he wasn’t real. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were meant to know him. There was something about him, something tragic and beautiful, that pulled you in.

And so, slowly, you began to seek him out.

It became a routine: you’d wander the house late at night, knowing you’d find him waiting for you somewhere. Sometimes in the basement, sometimes in that forgotten room on the second floor. You’d talk for hours, sharing stories of your life, your dreams, your fears. And Tate, in return, told you about his.

He had been lonely for so long, trapped in the house with no one to talk to, no one to understand him. But with you, he felt alive again, even if just for a fleeting moment.

One night, as you sat together in the attic, Tate reached out and brushed his fingers against your cheek. His touch was cold, but it sent a warmth spreading through your chest, igniting something deep inside you.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered, his voice trembling with something you couldn’t quite place. “This house… it’s not safe.”

“I don’t care,” you said, your heart pounding in your chest. “I want to be with you.”

Tate’s eyes darkened, filled with a mix of desire and fear. “You don’t understand, Y/N. I’m dangerous. I’ve done things… horrible things.”

“I don’t care,” you repeated, your voice firm. “I love you.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and electric. Tate stared at you, his expression filled with shock and disbelief. “You… you love me?”

You nodded, your throat tight with emotion. “Yes, Tate. I do.”

For a moment, Tate didn’t say anything. Then, slowly, he leaned in and kissed you. His lips were cool against yours, but the kiss was filled with an intensity that took your breath away. It was desperate, almost frantic, as if he was afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear.

But you didn’t pull away. You kissed him back, pouring every ounce of your heart into that single, stolen moment.

When you finally broke apart, Tate rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “I love you too,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “But we can’t… we can’t be together. Not like this.”

Despite Tate’s warnings, you couldn’t stay away from him.

Every night, you found yourself returning to him, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. And each night, your connection deepened. You could feel it—the way the house seemed to pulse with a dark energy, as if it knew you were falling in love with a ghost and was waiting for the inevitable fallout.

Your parents noticed the change in you, though they didn’t understand it. You spent less time with them, more time wandering the halls of the house, lost in your thoughts. They tried to talk to you about it, but you brushed them off, too consumed by your love for Tate to care about anything else.

“You’ve been acting strange,” your mother said one morning over breakfast, her brow furrowed with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” you lied, though your heart felt heavy in your chest. How could you tell her the truth? How could you explain that you had fallen in love with someone who was dead?

But deep down, you knew it couldn’t last.

The house was getting to you. You could feel it in the way the walls seemed to close in on you, the way the air felt thicker, heavier. The longer you stayed, the more you realized that Tate had been right—it wasn’t safe. Not for you, not for anyone.

And yet, you couldn’t leave him. You loved him too much.

It was late one night when everything came crashing down.

You had been in the attic with Tate, your head resting on his shoulder as the two of you lay side by side. The house was quiet, the only sound the soft patter of rain against the roof.

“You know this can’t last, right?” Tate said suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stiffened, pulling away to look at him. “What do you mean?”

Tate’s eyes were filled with sadness as he reached out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re alive, Y/N. You have a life outside of this house. Outside of me.”

“I don’t want a life without you,” you said, your voice trembling. “I can’t leave you, Tate.”

“But you have to,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You deserve to live. To be happy.”

Tears filled your eyes as you shook your head. “I don’t want to be happy without you.”

Tate closed his eyes, his expression pained. “I love you, Y/N. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. But this… it’s not fair to you.”

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed through the attic, followed by the creak of the door opening. You turned to see your father standing in the doorway, his face pale with shock.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice shaking. “Who are you talking to?”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as you realized that your father couldn’t see Tate. To him, you were sitting alone, talking to thin air.

“Dad, I can explain—” you started, but your father cut you off.

“We’re leaving,” he said, his voice firm. “This house… it’s doing something to you. We’re leaving tomorrow.”

“No!” you cried, standing up and taking a step toward him. “I’m not leaving! I can’t!”

But your father didn’t listen. He turned and walked away, leaving you standing in the attic with tears streaming down your face.

Deep down, knew that without Tate, you’d be better off in the gutter. His presence was the only thing tethering you to the mess that had become your life, but it wasn’t enough to pull you out. That night, everything seemed so much clearer.

You made the decision.

Racing from the attic into your bedroom, your heart pounded in your chest. It wasn’t panic, but a strange kind of calm, like you had finally figured out the answer to a question that had haunted you for your time loving Tate. You went straight to the nightstand, hands trembling as you yanked open the top drawer. Buried in the back, behind half-empty tubes of lip balm and loose change, was the small box of paracetamol. You had kept it there in case of a fever, but that wasn’t why you reached for it now.

Sitting on your bed, the stillness of the room pressed in around you. One by one, you popped each pill from its foiled tray, their edges cutting slightly into your fingertips. You placed each one on your tongue, swallowing them dry, your throat burning as the bitter taste clung to the back of your mouth.

Once the last pill was gone, you sank back against the pillows, feeling the cool fabric cradling your head. A faint tune drifted through the air, a song you couldn’t quite place but one that felt familiar, almost comforting. Your vision started to blur, your head spinning gently, and your eyelids grew heavy. For a fleeting moment, you thought you felt Tate’s presence, like a shadow hovering beside you, but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t try to stop you.

The world slipped away.

When you opened your eyes, everything had changed. You crawled out of bed, your limbs feeling light and weightless, but when you turned to look, your breath caught in your throat. There you were, your body, lying perfectly still on the bed. Peaceful. Almost as if you had simply fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.

For a moment, you stood frozen, staring at yourself, trying to make sense of what had just happened. There was no pain, no fear. Just a strange sense of detachment, like watching a scene play out in a movie.

Then, from over your shoulder, you heard it. A whisper.

“I told you death was painless.” Tate’s voice, low and familiar, curled around you like smoke. You turned to find him standing there, the ghost of a smirk on his lips, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite read. “You didn’t need saving, after all.”

You looked back at your body one last time, then turned to face him fully. Maybe he was right—maybe you didn’t need saving. But the decision had already been made, and now there was no going back.

Hand in hand with Tate, you walked into the darkness together, the world you had known fading away behind you.

In the end, your love story was not one of happiness or hope. It was a tragedy, a tale of two souls bound by love.

Tate was your Romeo, and you his Juliet.

[eskir]

pining from a glided cage - sunday x reader

he watches you with a dull ache in his chest and handcuffs to duty - unrequited love on sunday's part

wc: 808 a/n talks: soft sunday w/angst :D got the idea from @eternity-death and i vibed with it a lot. also i'm proud of my first tag (please say yes)

Penacony can only be called the land of dreams, for the sole reason that it is in ones dreams. It will never be the land of fulfilled dreams, never the land where wishes come to fruition. Because even as life slumbers, nightmares run amok and bitter pieces of reality infest dreams, leaving the conscious person choking and gasping for breath.

But Sunday cannot awaken from the dream, so he is left watching you with an impassive face and hidden heart pains from a glided view. He loves you. He cannot say the words that dare to burst from his traitorous lips, nor can he express the sweet pains that reside in his chest. He is an administrator, the head of the Oak family, and he is bound by decorum, order, and the rules imposed upon him by the Dreammaster. He lacks control, so he craves it in everything he can hold in the palm of his insignificant hand. He is bound to Penacony, and he realizes that Robin, his dear sister, spoke uncomfortably bitter truth.

"Brother, I am leaving Penacony. A lavish yet empty cage that I have to leave, but I will miss it nevertheless. I hope you make it out of there, or at the very least, walk in reality."

But he cannot bear to leave Penacony, not when so much is expected of him as the head, not when the Dreammaster oversees almost every move of his, not when you reside in the place he can only call a home because of you.

For if you were no longer in Penacony, he would have nothing joyous holding him back. He would languish apathetically for all the Golden Hours, unable to pursue his dreams. So he makes sure to cherish the moments he has with you, knowing that you could leave at any moment like Robin did.

(he'll hold onto you with a tight desperate grip that he knows is unacceptable. he doesn't want to lose anyone else that's important to him. and even though robin is still alive, she is too far away and the presence of her letters only tears his heart up more.)

So whenever you visit him, bringing sweet treats that you know he'll like, talking about parts of your life, Sunday will listen. He always listens with that soft gaze that could almost make you believe that he is in love with you. He is, but that is a point you'll never acknowledge or realize. Sunday knows that, he can tell when you talk about someone you are clearly enamored with.

He's listened to you for a long enough time that he knows your tells. So when you talk about someone else that isn't him in a romantic light, he freezes. His smile becomes a little more forced, and he closes his eyes to hide the uncomfortable emotions that are swirling in them. In those moments, he misses you. Even though you are right in front of him, he aches for the old you and for Robin. You three would just run throughout the Dreamscape with no worries as children. He misses you even though you're right in front of him. He aches to reach out for your face and kiss your forehead gently.

But he can't, he has to restrain himself from any action that could be misconstrued as affectionate. He cannot do anything but drown in his emotions because that is what the Dreammaster ordered of him. The Dreammaster disapproves of him acting on his feelings because he must 'act accordingly' and 'not be distracted from his duties'. It's suffocating that he cannot reach out for your hand or your kind touch.

(he just craves you. he craves your presence and smile. he'd never have either of the two if you weren't close friends, but the proximity to you just makes his heart ache even more. he lets you touch his wings, even though he knows you only love him as a friend. he lets you, enjoys it even, with you play with his hair, commenting on how soft it is. he wishes that it was because you truly did love him, but it's just how you are, naturally affectionate. so he feigns the neutrality of a long term friend.)

So he smiles whenever you met up. His eyes always light up when you bring new sweet treats and you always laugh at his expression good-naturedly. It's a comfortable relationship that the two of you have, and when night falls, he'll always wish for your happiness.

(he just wishes that you'll never fall in love with anyone but him. he wishes that you won't fall in love with him because he cannot love you back and he doesn't want to reject you.)

Just like Robin, you are a star that he revolves around, never getting closer or further away.

[whore-4-drewstarkey]

The Night We Met Pt. 2 - Dad!Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Summary: when rafe finds out that his and Y/N son is slowly going down the same path he did, he decides to open up to their son about his past.

Warning: lots of angst (sorry), heavy drug use, drug overdose talk, alcohol consumption, physical violence, dark themes basically. (so sorry). lmk if i forgot any!! PLEASE DONT READ IF ANY OF THESE WARNINGS TRIGGER YOU!!!

A/N: i did a poll to see which fic you all wanted and this was the winner. i can’t remember how this idea popped in my head but it did. i really hope you all enjoy this one!! FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS WELCOMED! PLEASE BE KIND<33 ps remember to share and like!

W/C: 3.6k+ (holy fuck)

it had been seventeen years since Y/N and rafe had gotten married. the two of them had a son together, archie, who had just turned sixteen years-old. archie had definitely taken after his father looks. he was tall, with dirty blonde hair, and striking blue eyes that would catch anyone’s attention. he had also taken after his fathers athletic abilities, as he was the star quarterback for the kook academy on kildare island. but, unfortunately the worst way he took after his father, was the intense drug use that was slowly starting to make him an addict; just like his father, rafe cameron, was a mere twenty-one years-ago.

as archie had left for school one friday morning on figure eight, Y/N had entered his room to grab his dirty clothes to wash. as she’d grabbed some of his clothes, a small plastic bag had fallen from one of his khaki pants pockets, and onto the wooden floor of his bedroom next to Y/N feet. bending down, Y/N picked the small packet up to investigate it a little more, until realization hit, as tears began to brim her eyes. it was a packet of cocaine. the only thing she felt like she needed to do in that moment was call her husband who’d been in his office downtown at the cameron development. so she did. she immediately pulled out her phone and pressed rafes contact name, waiting for him to pick up as it rang through her ear.

“baby, what’s up? everything okay? you never call while i’m at work” rafe asked Y/N warily as he sat his falcon pen back down on his oak desk, ignoring the documents that needed his signature.

“i-i think y-you n-need t-t-to come home now” Y/N managed to stutter out, laundry basket long forgotten as she’d made her way to rafes home office, where there was the most privacy.

“what? why? baby, tell me what’s wrong” he insisted.

Y/N swallowed sharply before she began to stutter, and beat around the bush, not wanting to trigger him, “i-i found something i-in archie’s bed-bedroom, but i-i want to wa-warn you, i do-don’t want you tr-triggered hunny”

and in that instant, as soon as she said the world ‘trigger’, he knew she’d found not only drugs, but his old drug of choice; cocaine, in their sons bedroom. he let out a shaky breath of air, as he brought his left hand up to run through his shaggy curtain bangs he’d been growing out from his old buzzcut. “i’ll be home in ten, please don’t worry about me and my trigger, i’ll be fine hunny” he reassured his wife of seventeen-years. and with that he hung up immediately, leaving his office and telling his assistant it was family matters.

as soon as rafe put his porsche in park in the driveway, he ran into his and Y/N house which was located on figure eight, calling out Y/N name, “Y/N WHERE ARE YOU BABY? Y/N???!”

“keep it down rafael, i’m in your office you dumbass” she hushed her husband as she walked out of the french doors that lead to the said room. she grabbed his wrist and yanked him into his office, before she started to cry all over again.

rafe quickly wrapped Y/N into his arms, sending her hushed murmurs of comfort and love, easing her to calm down. she was so heartbroken her little boy was going down the same awful path his father once did. it was hard enough for her to have found rafe almost dead after his overdose twenty-one years ago. she had to go to a couple of years of therapy to recover from that incident. she couldn’t even bare the thought about losing her only child to the same demons that almost took rafe out years before. she clutched onto rafe’s forearm as he held her tight into his arms, trying to steady her shaky frame. he swiftly moved the two of them to his office chair located behind his desk, sitting down and bringing her into his lap where he continued to cradle her fragile head. he pecked her head repeatedly before speaking softly, “hey. hey, Y/N look at me hunny” as he held her cheeks to make her look at him. and in that moment his heart shattered. seeing the love of his life hurt tremendously broke him to his core. swiping some of her tears away with the pads of his thumbs he began to speak again, “we will figure this out love. we will get him the help he needs. i’ll do right by him since my father never could for me. he will be okay. i promise. even if i have to tell him about my addiction. got it sweetheart?” and with that, Y/N bit her bottom lip, and nodded her head to rafe’s reassurance.

“good, now, where is it? i promise i will be fine, you don’t have to worry about me. okay?” rafe asked Y/N as he lightly brushed her curtain bangs back behind her ear with the back of his hand, bringing his lips to hers for a delicate but loving kiss. she placed one of her shaky hands to his scruff covered cheeks, stroking his cheekbone softly, “promise you’ll be fine?”

“promise” he cooed as he grabbed her hand that had been stroking his cheekbone and placed a chaste kiss to the palm of it. she then used her other hand to grab the bag of white powder from her sweatshirt pocket, dropping it in rafe’s large, veiny hand.

“how are we going to approach him about it? you are the expert on this kinda stuff aren’t you?” Y/N attempted to tease rafe to lighten the mood. she’d always had a dark sense of humor, just like rafe.

smirking rafe responded,” hahaha very funny. i mean i am i guess? i know how not to approach him if that helps.”

“how so?”

“as long as we don’t do what ward would do, i think we will be fine baby” rafe sighed out at the mention of his fathers name. a cold-hearted man is what he was. was no father to rafe…. ever. hell, he didn’t even acknowledge him as his father these days, only called the man by his name.

“i guess you’re right” Y/N sighed as she stood back up, preparing herself for what was to come in the next few hours.

“we got this baby, we got this. yeah?” rafe once again tried to reassure the woman of his dreams as she nodded her head in response.

——————-

rafe and Y/N had taken a seat on the living room couch as they waited for their beloved son archie to arrive home from school. he’d football practice, but had received a text from rafe demanding him to come home and skip the practice, adding in that he had already talked to archie’s coach, excusing his absence. archie, being just like his father was, obligated to make his father happy, came home in a hurry.

when the front door opened frantically, followed by hurried steps and commotion, Y/N scooted closer to rafe for comfort. she didn’t know what was going to happen or how it would go down. rafe placed his large, veiny hand on her thigh, giving it a light squeeze for reassurance that everything would be okay in the end.

“we’re in here archie!” rafe had hollered from the living room couch as he and Y/N both waited anxiously for archie to arrive.

“h-hey, what’s up? what was so important that i had to miss practice?” archie questioned as rafe motioned for him to take a seat on the couch opposite of the one Y/N and him were seated on.

“umm archie, your mom went to your room this morning to do your laundry and found something a little concerning. i wanna state that we aren’t blaming you and we aren’t criticizing you whatsoever bud, we love you and want the best for you” rafe spoke warily to his and Y/N young son who sat opposite of them, with worried eyes. archie knew immediately what Y/N found when his father said laundry. he had forgotten to put his drug of choice in his secret spot in his dresser.

rafe continued before archie could even speak a word, “ archie, bud, i get it. i know the high is great and all. i know what you’re going through a-“ rafe had been cut off mid sentence by a triggered archie who had begun to yell at his father.

“really? how in the hell would you, of all people understand how good it makes me feel when i get a little bit of a kick?”

and with that outburst and those words coming from his precious archie, came rafe’s sadness and anxiousness. he had to tell him about his addiction and more specifically; he had to tell him about his overdose that dreadful night Y/N had found him in his bedroom. frustratedly, he pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly as he tried to find the words to tell archie about his horrible past. he tried to sniffle back some tears, but gave up as he had remembered the only reason why he used to hold back his emotions; his father. so, he let a few tears fall down his stubbled cheeks as Y/N had an arm around his shoulders rubbing his back while the other rubbed his inner thigh to comfort him, all while whispering sweet nothings only rafe and her could hear.

“you got this” she whispered as he raised his head again to make eye contact with archie.

“archie…” he started as he composed himself for what he was about to say. “when i was your age, i used to go out and party a lot. when i first started doing cocaine i was only fifteen years-old. nobody knew in my family. hell, it’s not like anyone would have even cared if they had known anyways” rafe shook his head as he took a deep breath to continue.

“and by the time i was seventeen, all i did was party, drink, snort cocaine and get into a lot of physical altercations. i was heavily addicted to the drug. and some of those altercations i had were so bad that some people were even hospitalized. i was not a good person and i sure as hell was a danger to myself and those who were around me.” he swallowed the lump in the back of his throat as he was about to tell archie about a time when he had hurt topper so bad he had to go to the hospital for many reasons. he still couldn’t recall what had happened that night. and yet for some odd reason, topper was still his best friend to this day minus Y/N, she would be his bestest friend til death do them part.

“once, i got so high that when your uncle topper tried to get me to ease up on the lines and shots and get me to go home, i literally blacked out and beat the living shit out of him. he was hospitalized for two days. i broke two of his ribs, his nose, many lacerations from a beer bottle and a concussion. cocaine, let alone any drug for that matter, is not the answer to anyone’s problems. i would know” he pleaded with archie as rafe’s face scrunched up in hurt as he remembered the aftermath of that fight like it was yesterday.

“b-but, buddy, what’s worse is the night i overdosed on cocaine when i was seventeen years-old, twenty-one years ago. if it weren’t for your mom coming over to find your aunt sarah to do some project for school, i wouldn’t be here right now. it was your fucking mother who found me being delirious and aggressive. i almost hit her because i was so out of my mind. but then before i could do anything, i passed out and went out cold, all while my heart almost stopped beating” rafe croaked out as Y/N continued to rub rafe’s back as this had always been a tough subject to talk about after she had told him she was the one who’d found him that night. he continued again once he cleared his throat, “that night i had done a few extra lines and what i didn’t know at the time was that they were laced with small amounts of fentanyl and that’s why my heart rate was so low. i had to have THREE doses of NAR-CAN archie. and then i went into a 2-day coma” rafe started to cry again, not from the remembrance of that night but to the idea that that could be his boy one day.

“i-i didn’t know that dad” archie stuttered out as he looked down to his lap.

rafe continued, “my dad was so adamant about keeping the fentanyl part private that he paid people off so it wouldn’t ruin his deals. and he scrutinized me for doing drugs. he never asked me why. and sure as hell never really cared about me. i promised myself i would do right by you since my father never could do right by me. so that’s why we’re talking and not judging you for your choices.”

“why did you do it?” archie asked his father the question very few people had ever asked him throughout these 23 years since he’d first been introduced to that drug.

rafe, who’d been taken aback responded with a shake of the head confused, “wait what?”

“why did you start using?”

“um, my mom had died when i was ten and from that point on i wasn’t okay mentally. i didn’t have the love a child needs from their mother, instead i had a greedy, self centered, physically and emotionally abusive, selfish man for a father. he only ever seemed to care more about both of your aunts, money and my step mom, than he did me. he would hardly even look my way. he never truly loved me. so when i got to the kook academy and went to my first party, i was offered a line and took it. it made me feel what i thought was happy but looking back at it i just felt numb. but it was just a way for me to forget about my own shit and past and my emotions. using cocaine allowed me to forget everything that had happened. but with it came hurting others i loved and cared about. which is more important to me than myself. i’d do anything to go back and not get addicted. i hated hurting the ones i loved most. and it took years to build my relationships back up all because of my addiction. addiction is a demon. i’m lucky i got clean. you’re lucky you have us, supportive parents who will be there for you every step of the way” rafe spoke with passion as he looked deep into his boys blue eyes that had resembled his own.

“dad, i’m scared. how do i even get clean? how’d you get clean?”

“baby, archie, i don’t wanna find you like i found your father. that night was the scariest night of my life. i had ptsd from that night and had to go to therapy for a few years due to it. i don’t know if i can do that again, especially if it’s you hunny” Y/N cooed as she leaned forward to caress her boy’s face, pushing back his curtain bangs that resembled his fathers when he was his age.

“arch, it’s okay to be scared. hell, i was so scared when i woke up in the hospital and the doctor told my dad and i that i had overdosed on cocaine and fentanyl. when i heard that i wanted to get clean, but i was so scared. and my father had always told me anytime i showed emotion of any kind, to man up. to not show emotion. that’s what lead me to the drugs in the first place. embrace your emotions bud. even if it means you’re scared. it’s healthier that way.” rafe attempted to explain how he felt about expressing one’s emotions.

prepared to answer the second half of archie’s question rafe took an even breath in and out before he spoke, “i got clean probably the worst and most painful way you can do it. i went cold turkey. which takes a lot of determination. after seeing your aunts so scared, i wanted oh-so badly to get clean. but i was hard on the drug. i had gone to another party one night my senior year of high school, and had just quit two days before, when i met your mom. well i thought that was the first time i’d met her because in reality i had no recollection of the night of my overdose. had no idea your mom was the one who’d saved my life. anywho, i basically felt drawn to her and just being around her and talking to her kept me grounded and in line with what i needed to do. and that was get clean. i couldn’t go to a rehab because then my fathers business partners would’ve heard and his deals would’ve fallen through. so i did it on my own. but archie buddy, if your addiction is as bad as mine was by the time i was sixteen, then i want you to know your mom and i want to put you in rehab. it’s the healthiest and best way to get clean”

“i-i never knew that dad. i-i’m sorry. and mom used to go to parties?” archie frowned, as he tried to lighten the mood just slightly, earning a small chuckle from both of his parents.

“and that’s why i’m telling you bud. and yeah your mom was one hell of a beer pong partner” rafe smirked as he side-eyed his wife Y/N. “but arch, bud, i need to know, how often do you use? i promise i won’t judge you. okay? i’ve been through this same boat years ago. i’m here for you. we’re here for you” rafe cocked an eyebrow up as he questioned his only son.

“every other day sometimes every day. it just depends. i only started doing it after my injury last football season. yah know, when i broke my wrist? i was just so upset and frustrated that i couldn’t play for the rest of the season and then before i knew it, i was addicted i guess” archie huffed out in anger, just like his father used to do all those years ago. just thinking about how easily he got addicted to the drug pissed him off beyond means. the boy just wanted to get clean.

“fuck” rafe sighed as he bent his head down in his large hands. how had he not even noticed the change in archie? why hadn’t he even thought about how that injury could’ve affected him mentally? was it because he’d been working so much? was he just a horrible father like his own dad was? tears began to brim his eyes once again.

“dad, don’t feel bad about this please. it’s not your fault. i already know that you’re thinking you’ve being working too much and that’s why you haven’t noticed. that’s not true. i’ve just been hiding it really well” archie, spoke to his father as tears brimmed his own eyes now.

“i’m trying not to archie. it’s just hard. are you open to going to rehab or not?” rafe questioned as he lifted his head, swallowed his pride, and pushed back his tears to stay strong for archie and Y/N during these hard times. “i just want to express to you buddy, how lucky you are. this is a great opportunity. you’re lucky to have parents who truly care and love you because i never had that after my mom passed. and we both want the best for you” he continued on.

“of course i’ll go” archie quivered out as he looked at both of his parents. he felt so guilty to have put them through such a mess. especially his mother, Y/N, as she’d been through almost losing rafe all those years ago. he couldn’t even imagine the damage that must’ve done to her mentally when she found him. and to think that that could be him next that she found broke his heart to a thousand pieces.

“i-im sorry” the sixteen year-old boy croaked out to his two loving parents as he lunged forward to hug them both.

“we love you too baby, and we’re gonna get you the help you need” Y/N cooed to her little boy as she pecked his head.

“we’ll get you the help i never got, bud, okay? you’re gonna get through this, okay? got it?” rafe asked his son as he held archie’s face in his hands, making eye contact.

“yeah. im a cameron, of course i got this” he chuckled. “us cameron’s are stubborn and can make it through anything. right?” he questioned his father as he looked up at him.

“damn right. i love you archie, and i’m proud of you for taking such a big step. you’re gonna get clean and you’re gonna stay clean” he patted his son’s cheek as the three soaked in the last of their presence’s before archie left for rehab.

rafe sighed with a smile. he knew archie would get better…. after all he is a cameron for christ sake. ‘it’s hard to get rid of them’ he thought to himself as archie left that night for rehab. he smiled to himself because he knew in the end it would all work out. it always did for a cameron.

@slut4drudy @runningfrom2am @maybankslover