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celandeline · 4 months ago

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The Throne Was Meant For Us, My Dear

Aemond x Targaryen!Reader, mostly canon compliant (yes, people are still dying/getting maimed), heavy on the smut, incest (they are targaryens, obv), a little angst

9.5k words (buckle up)

You were born at the end of a long summer’s day, just as the last sliver of sun was sinking below the waves of the bay. Your sister was born on the same day, just after the sun had completely disappeared below the horizon. Twin Targaryen girls, Helaena and Jaenara, the second and third of Alicent Hightower’s children.

The summer has always held a special place in your heart - not only because of your nameday, but because of the way the heat of the day lingers in the air long after the sun has set. The sound of a warm breeze as it rustles through the courtyard flowers, spreading the lovely floral scent. The feeling of the sun on your skin - the taste of fresh fruit grown outside the city. You’ve always loved the summer. You love it especially now, the only thing making this godforsaken funeral bearable.

Next to you, Aegon snags two more glasses of wine from a passing serving girl, handing one to you with a limp wrist and a sigh. He downs half his glass in one long draught. “I don’t understand why Helaena.” He grumbles, gesturing to where she sits on the ground with his glass, the wine sloshing inside. “If I must marry at all, why not you?”

You take a long sip from your own glass, leaning back against the store railing overlooking the sea. Driftmark, while much more drab than the Red Keep, has one thing going for it - the pleasant smell of salt in the air, and the sound of the waves against the shore. “Our mother thinks that if we were to be wed, I would enable you.” You say.

Aegon snorts, finishing off his drink. “As if Helaena will do anything to stop me from my hedonistic desires.” He jokes, quoting Alicent. “If it’s not to do with grasshoppers, it’s not to do with her.”

You neglect to snicker along with him, simply pressing your lips to the rim of your glass as you watch your dear sister pass a spider back and forth between her hands, muttering under her breath. She’s always been something of a dreamer, your Helaena, something the rest of your family doesn’t seem to notice. But you, always in tune to your sister from the moment you were born, know. Threads of omniscience run through her mutterings, though deciphering them sometimes is beyond you.

“Some could say the same about you, with wine and whores.” You say, glancing knowingly at Aegon. “We all have our compulsions - some worse than others.”

“I only jest.” Aegon says, defensive. You can tell he’s getting drunker, his movements becoming more loose, his words louder.

“Hm.” You finish your glass, setting the empty cup on the railing beside you. “Is it truly in jest if you are the only one laughing?”

“Perhaps it is better that I marry Helaena instead of you.” Aegon says, leaning close enough that you can smell the wine on his breath. “You do have a way of inciting my annoyance, Jaenara. No, I do not think you would make a good wife.”

You lean even closer, all too ready to play Aegon’s game. Your teeth scrape over his ear as you retort, “No, you’ve always liked the ones who won’t fight back, haven’t you?”

The tension breaks as Aegon laughs, tossing his head back as he steps away, putting a respectable amount of distance between you again. You chuckle as well, until another voice - softer, younger - cuts through your chortling. Aemond.

“What’s funny?”

Aegon, not subtle at all, rolls his eyes. “Nothing.”

“We were just discussing Aegon’s betrothal.” You say, shifting so that Aemond can lean against the railing beside you. You’ve never understood Aegon’s disdain for your baby brother - something your nephews seem to share. “Or rather,” You cast a joking look to Aegon. “Aegon was complaining about it.”

“‘Tis your duty.” Aemond says, ever so serious.

Aegon rolls his eyes again, gesturing widely at Helaena. “Look at her.”

“Aegon-” You start.

“I would do my duty, if only mother had betrothed us.” Aemond retorts.

Aegon flaps a hand. “The both of you.” He dismisses, eyes scanning through the thin crowd. “I’m going to get more wine.” And with that, he’s gone, sliding between chatting relatives in the wake of a serving girl, chasing after the wine she carries.

You place a hand atop Aemond’s head with a sigh, gently carding it through the silky silver hair there. “He can be such an ass, our brother.”

Aemond looks up at you with a thin smile. “Mm.”

The blood on your hands is not yours, but your brothers, smeared across your forearms from when you’d clutched his face in your hands, holding closed the gash across his eye with your thumbs as the maester stitched the wound back together. Now, he smears tears and snot across the bodice of your gown, the good side of his face pressed against the thin fabric of your nightclothes as he clutches you with shaking hands.

Your mother is screaming. Aegon is huddled against the wall of the room, no doubt already suffering a hangover from how much he drank. Helaena stands to your left, her eyes fixed on the wall behind the scene before her, gaze absent. You watch in horror as your mother wields a knife against Rhaenyra, spitting insults like venom. Ser Cole is pressed almost chest to chest with Daemon. Your little nephew, Lucerys’ face is bloodied.

You have no idea what happened. But Aemond is missing an eye. And Vhagar is now his dragon, instead of Laena’s daughters. You knew - known, now - that his lack of a dragon had always been a sore spot for Aemond, but you never would have guessed that he would go to such drastic measures to claim a beast of his own. And Vhagar, no less.

You expect him to cry, to whimper in pain, to react, but he just holds onto the gauzy fabric of your nightdress and keeps the unmarred side of his face pressed close to your chest. Hiding, almost.

You soothe a hand down his back, pressing him closer. “It’ll be alright.” You say, your voice lost amongst the carrying on. It won’t be. He’ll be scarred forever, he’ll have to re-learn how to walk, how to write, how to do anything that requires vision. It’ll take him years to recover fully.

“I know.” He says, voice soft. Level. Even.

And it’s his calm reassurance that makes you believe your own words. It will be alright, one way or another.

Hand in hand, you walk your brother through the halls of the Red Keep, towards the training yards, for his swordsmanship lessons. Servants and nobles alike avert their eyes as you pass, some out of respect, some out of disgust. It’s true - the scar across Aemond’s face is nothing delightful to look at, a motley of yellow and purple swollen skin, the scabs leaking pus. But you do not look away. He is your brother, and he receives enough torment from Aegon already.

He clutches your hand tightly, holding it like a bannister as he puts one foot in front of the other, his good eye steadfastly looking ahead. Sometimes his balance sways (especially around turns or on the steps) but he’s getting better. “You’ll be able to come and go as you please again soon.” You say, not bothering to hide the pride in your tone.

He scoffs. “I can’t stay a cripple forever.”

Aemond was never sweet. But the loss of his eye has only soured him more. You roll your eyes, teasing, “You’d do well to save your bitterness for someone who’s not capable of causing you to fall down the stairs at a moment's notice.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but he doesn’t laugh. “Apologies, sister.” He mumbles.

You sigh. “I only joke, Aemond.” Aegon has ruined him, picking at all of his insecurities without remorse until he bristles at the slightest hint of humor, thinking an insult is coming.

His good eye shifts away from the hall in front of him for a moment to cast you a sidelong glance.

“Not all of us are Aegon.” You insist, rounding the corner with him to step outside into the afternoon sunlight. Ser Cole is already waiting, whirling his sword from hand to hand idly as Aegon straps himself into his practice armor. Aemond lets go of your hand as soon as he sees Aegon, taking shaky steps onto the field proper, alone.

Aegon pays him no mind, his gaze falling on you. “Jaenara. Come help me.”

“Your lack of manners is appalling.” You say, walking over to him anyway, taking the leather straps of his breastplate from him and tightening them over his shoulders. “What would mother say?”

Aegon just grins. “Meet me tonight.” He says, his voice dropping into a more conspiratorial register. He doesn’t have to say where - you’ve snuck out with him before. You know the route. “A traveling troupe has arrived in Flea Bottom, supposedly.”

“Sunset?” You ask, dropping your hands from the straps on his shoulders to the ones near his waist.

“Mm.” He watches you work, still grinning.

“Alright.” You say, stepping back.

His grin widens into a smile as he twirls his sword. “What fun we’ll have.”

The sun has begun to light the sky when you stumble back into the Red Keep with Aegon, giggling under your hoods as you sneak past the white cloaks back to your chambers. Really, it can barely be called sneaking anymore - you know they see you return, you know they saw you leave. The only reason they don’t trail you through the streets of the city is because Alicent doesn’t know, and hasn’t ordered them to, so why do the extra work?

You sway into Aegon’s shoulder as you walk, all the wine that you drank making your head spin. Taking you by the arm, he only makes it worse as he begins to waltz you down the hall, jauntily humming the same tune you’d been dancing to in a tavern earlier. Laughing like a fool, you tip your head back and let him dance you about, until he deposits you against the wall by your bedroom door, caging you in against the stone.

You know he’s going to kiss you - he always does, at the end of the night. Gently, he presses his lips to yours, and you smile into it. He doesn’t kiss you like he kisses his whores - nor do you kiss him as you do yours. It’s a chaste thing, only a moment before you’re both pulling back to look at each other.

“As sweet as wine.” He whispers.

“Mm.” You bite your lip in a grin. “Goodnight, Aegon.”

“Good morning.” He giggles, pushing away from the wall to stumble back to his own bed.

You slip into your own room, dropping your cloak and dress from your shoulders, one after the other, as soon as you are inside. Just in your shift, you turn to flop into the soft comfort of your bed, only to see a lump under the covers that wasn’t there when you left. Slowly, you peel back the sheets to reveal Aemond, face pressed into your pillow, soundly asleep.

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips as you climb into bed beside him, doing your best not to disturb his slumber. He stirs anyway though, good eye cracking open with a jolt, softening when he realizes it’s you. Extending an arm, you make space for him to curl up against your chest, and he does, tucking his face under your chin.

“You were with Aegon.” It’s mildly accusatory, but mostly sleepy.

“Mm.” You don’t deny it, stroking a hand through Aemond’s hair. “And you were here. In my bed.” You press your nose to the top of his head. “What troubles you, Aemond?”

“My eye.” He says. “The pain. It’s more than just the skin, it… it stabs me through the skull, sometimes. Makes it hard to fall asleep.”

“We will see the maesters in the morning.” You say, still gently stroking. “Perhaps they will be able to come up with some tincture to soothe you.”

He lets out a sleepy little hum, and settles more against you. Your own eyes flutter shut, and your stroking hand moves to wrap around his shoulders instead. It’s quiet, for a while, and for a moment you think he’s drifted off, but then,

“Will you take me with you, once?”

“To Flea Bottom?”

“Mm.”

You pause for a moment. “If you wish. Perhaps when you’re a bit older.”

“How old?”

“At least as old as I was when Aegon first took me with him.”

“And how old was that?”

You smile into his hair. “Give it a year.”

“Mm. Alright.”

The quality of Aemond’s eye improves drastically over the course of a year, so that by the time he dons his own cloak and takes to the streets of King’s Landing with you and Aegon, it almost blends into his face. The scar is a long pale thing that trails down his cheek, and the only part of the injury that escapes the eyepatch. Under the shadow of his hood, it’s barely noticeable.

He trails a half-step after you and Aegon, clearly unsure. You don’t blame him, it’s quite a change from within the walls of the Red Keep, but an exhilarating one at that. Arm in arm, you and Aegon lead the way, moving smoothly through the crowds to one of your favorite haunts, a little brothel tucked away near the edge of the city.

You can hear the sounds of pleasure emanating from within before you even step foot in the building, and the area around the door is crowded with hangers-on, men who can’t pay their whores dues. Aegon pushes through them all easily, and you glance back to make sure Aemond isn’t lost before following him inside.

The place reeks of incense, barely covering the smells of sweat and sex, but it’s familiar to you. On instinct, your eyes scan the crowd of the main chamber, searching for your favorite whore, a beauty named Falyse with long lashes and plump lips. You can feel Aemond pull closer to you in the presence of such debauchery, and you glance down at him again, to find him already looking at you.

“This is a brothel.” He says.

“Aye.” You grin, glancing at Aegon.

Aegon smiles wide, clapping Aemond on the shoulder. “Tonight is the night that you become a man, brother! Your first taste of the best pleasure the world can offer.”

Catching sight of a familiar shock of black hair, you turn, meeting Falyse’s eyes through the throngs of men. “I must take my leave.” You say, petting Aemond’s head. “But you are in good hands with Aegon. And I won't be far.”

“Alright.” Aemond says. He’s still unsure, clearly, but there’s no time for hesitation once Aegon’s swept Aemond up in his frenzy. You slip away, weaving through the writhing bodies until you reach the other side of the room, where Falyse is pouring a glass of wine for another patron. She’s barely clothed, so you can feel the goosebumps that rise when you snake an arm around her middle and rest your chin on her shoulder.

“Princess.” She greets you with a sultry purr.

“My lady.” You return, laying your lips in the junction of her neck. “I’ve missed you so.”

She’s quick to pull you away from the main room, behind a thick curtain to an empty bed. It’s a familiar dance that you do - she makes a show of ridding you of your clothes, running her soft hands up and down your body until you’re dripping. Then she lays her mouth on you - her wonderful mouth that could pull honey from even the most stalwart of noble women. She never lets you rest with only one peak, no she delights in working as many from you as she can, until you’re pushing her away. Then it’s your turn to return the favor, licking at her until her sweet moans fill the air and you can feel her clenching around your tongue. You’ve earned her devotion in that way - on more than one occasion, she’s confessed that no man has ever thought of her pleasure, on their own.

“Well, I am no man.” You’d responded.

It’s an exhausting affair, this dance, so it often ends with you curled around her on the bed, listening to her share the latest gossip of the smallfolk whilst you twist her hair into intricate braids, the kind only Targaryens wear, a sign she’s been with royalty. You’ve just finished your handiwork, laughing along to a story about the smallest cock she’s ever seen, when the curtains part, and Aemond slips into the room, clearly close to tears.

Immediately you sit up, paying no mind to the fact that you’re completely bare. “What’s wrong?”

Holding back tears, he hesitates for a moment before climbing into your lap, pressing his face between your breasts with a shaky sigh. You clutch him to you, guilt and regret sinking into your heart. Too young. He’s always been more sensitive than you, or Aegon, you should have waited to include him in your revelry. Too young, too young.

Falyse sits up as well, raising a questioning brow. You shake your head, and run your fingers down your brother’s back. For a while, the room is silent as Aemond’s breathing calms, and then he pulls his face away, sliding out of your lap to sit next to you instead. Looking down, he hides behind long curtains of hair, but not before you catch a glimpse of his expression. Shame.

Gently, you break the silence. “Aemond, this is my friend, Falyse. Falyse, my dear brother.”

Falyse smiles warmly, peering underneath Aemond’s hair. “A pleasure to meet you, my prince.”

“You must tell him what you were telling me.” You say. “Oh, it’s hilarious, Aemond, you must listen.”

He perks up slightly, as Falyse starts her story again - and she does get him to laugh, but the hurt doesn’t leave his eyes, and the guilt begins to pool in your stomach.

The sapphire is weighty in the pocket of your gown, and bounces heavy against your leg as you rise from the dinner table, dipping your head towards your father before you take your leave, following your siblings out of the hall. Aemond’s nameday feast was a small affair, per request of the prince, and he only received books from both of your parents - leatherbound histories of Valyria that look entirely too large in his little arms as he carries them back to his bedroom.

“Aemond.”

He turns at the sound of your voice, and you pluck one of the books from his hold, tucking it under your arm. With your other hand, you pull the sapphire from your pocket, and hold your closed fist out to him. “Here.”

Looking at you curiously, he holds out a hand, and you drop the sapphire into it. “A sapphire.” He says.

“For your eye.” You explain. “I had the masons fashion it so that you can slide it into the socket. I thought it might suit you.” Jokingly, you add, “And perhaps improve your standing with the court ladies.”

He huffs out a little laugh, examining the gemstone with a careful eye. “Thank you Jaenara.”

You smile, reveling in the first laugh you’ve won from him in a very long time.

Ser Cole and Aemond behind you, you lead them through the streets of Flea Bottom in the early morning light. It feels like a bit of a betrayal, showing them all of Aegon’s usual haunts, but the situation is dire, and your brother needs to be found. Your father is dead, and it was his dying wish, your mother said, for Aegon to be king.

The brothel looks different in the daylight, drab and empty. Gathering your skirts in one hand, you bound up the steps to the door and bang the heavy knocker twice on the wood. With any luck, you can get a hold of Falyse - if Aegon was here last night, she will let you know, free of charge.

It is not Falyse that answers the door, but the brothel Madame, Sylvi. A familiar face to you, albeit one that you have not had the pleasure of knowing under more intimate circumstances. Her eyes scan over your face, and then Aemond and Cole behind you. Stooping into a short curtsy, she asks. “And what can I do for you, my lady?”

“I am looking for my brother.” You say.

“He seems to be behind you-”

“My other brother. Aegon.” You clarify. “Was he here last night?”

“I’m afraid not.” She says.

You turn back to face your companions. Cole sighs, glancing around the streets like he might spot Aegon passed out in the mud. Aemond’s eye is on the Madame, a mixture of contempt and something else stirring in his gaze.

“Where else, then?” Cole asks.

“I don’t know.” You wrack your mind, tracing through all of the taverns and brothels you frequent with your brother, all places that you’ve stopped before arriving here, all with the same result. “This was the last place I could think of.”

Cole swears under his breath.

Aemond breezes back down the steps, his mouth set in a determined line. “He must be somewhere. Come, we will try the fighting pits next.”

You murmur your thanks to the Madame before following after Aemond and Cole, worry sinking into your gut. Leave it to Aegon to get swallowed up by the city when the realm needs him most.

Meleys’ breath washes over you as you stare down the dragon’s maw, expecting to see the glow of fire any moment, signaling your end. There is no time for action - in the few seconds you would have before flame reached you, there is no way you could reach your own dragon, Vermithor, to have any hope of combatting Rhaenys. Instead, you grasp Helaena’s arm and try to ignore how your hands shake.

Aemond steps in front of the both of you, obscuring your view of Rhaenys atop her dragon with one hand on his sword. As if something as feeble as that will do anything against a dragon.

You wait, feeling your sister with whom you shared your mother’s womb tremble underneath your grasp.

You wait, watching Aemond’s shoulders rise and fall with each breath in front of you.

You wait, watching as your mother steps in front of Aegon, one hand wrapped around his wrist like a vice.

A tidal wave of relief floods through you as Rhaenys pulls at the reins, and Meleys backs off, slipping through the doors of the dragonpit just before they swing closed, casting the room into semi-darkness. Alive. You’re alive - as is Helaena, and Aemond and Aegon. All of you, alive. You watch your mother almost fall to her knees as the relief washes through her, and then you are wrapped up in Helaena’s arms as she crushes herself to your chest. You return the hug with vigor, your eyes finding Aemond’s over her shoulder.

Alive. Alive. Alive.

Something is happening. They’ve been locked in the small council chamber even since Aemond returned from Storm’s End. It’s been hours since your brother dismounted Vhagar, soaked to the bone and looking more shaken than you’ve ever seen him. You have no idea what happened, or what’s being discussed. Now, more than ever, you curse not being born a man.

Still, there is nothing to do but wait.

So you do, steeping in the burning hot waters of Aemond’s bathtub, idly flipping with damp fingers through a series of poems you’d found in your great-grandfather Jaehaerys’s saddlebag when you’d claimed his dragon. Some of them you recognize as things he’d copied from other poets, some are his own musings about his wife, Alysanne. He wasn’t half bad, in your opinion.

You snap the booklet closed as the door to the bathroom opens, and Aemond slips inside, still dressed in his soaked riding leathers. He stills when he lays eyes on you, obviously not expecting anyone to have been waiting for him. But you just smile, and set your book aside.

“I had them draw a bath.” You say. “I figured you would want a soak, after flying in the rain. Scalding, of course.”

He smiles, and starts on the buttons of his overcoats, the fabric falling to the floor with a wet slap. His trousers are next, and then his eyepatch, set on top of your book before he slides into the bath behind you with a sigh, his head falling back against the edge of the tub.

“Very thoughtful of you, sister.” He says, eye fluttering shut.

“Mm.” You turn around in the tub, collecting a rag that you’d draped over the side and dipping it into the hot water, beginning to run it over his skin that isn’t submerged. For a moment, the only sounds are the echoes of droplets falling back into the tub as you wash him, until you speak again. “What business kept you in council so long?”

A tension settles in his jaw. “Lucerys Velaryon was also at Storm’s End.”

“You failed to win their allegiance?” You ask, surprised.

“No. Lord Borros was easily won when I promised myself to one of his daughters.” You brother opens his eye. “But Lucerys is dead, at my hand.”

You set the rag aside, your mind spinning. Lucerys, dead. As if things weren’t already pointing towards all out war after your father changed his mind about the succession. “How?”

Something in his expression shifts and for a moment, he looks like he’s about to burst into tears. “Vhagar.” He says, his voice cracking slightly. “I only meant to scare him, but she knows my anger… I cannot pretend that I did not fantasize about killing him. I did not think that she would…” He swallows, collecting himself. “Our mother is less than pleased with me.”

“Our mother could never understand the bond between dragon and rider.” You say, consoling. You lay a hand gently on his face, over his scar, and run your thumb under the sapphire that sits in his eye. “You cannot be blamed for your anger at the boy who maimed you. Vhagar cannot be blamed for sharing that sentiment.” You pause. “It is a regrettable accident. And I am sorry for Rhaenyra and her children.”

He takes a shaky breath before wrapping his arms around your middle, and pressing his face into your shoulder, holding you to him as tightly as possible. Already wet from the bath, the few tears he sheds onto your skin make no difference. You say nothing, but pick up a comb from the short table beside the tub and begin to work it through his hair.

You wake up to a sharp pain in the side of your neck, like the skin has been sliced open. One hand flies to the wound, and the other slips under your mattress, pulling the long dagger you keep there free of its sheath in a smooth motion. You sit up, the knife brandished before you, only to find your bedroom empty, the only motion being that of the curtains fluttering from the breeze of your open window.

You pull your other hand away from your neck, expecting to see blood. Your palm is blank, the skin unmarred. In the reflection of your blade, you inspect your neck, only to find nothing. A phantom wound, perhaps from a dream. Anyone else would have simply gone back to sleep. But this is not the first time you and your sister have shared each other’s injuries.

You rise quickly, knife still in hand as you dart from your chambers, heading down the hall at a quick clip. It’s eerily empty - not a white cloak in sight. Something is wrong, you’re sure of it, the echo of your footsteps on the stone only serving to further put you on edge as you approach the nursery. The door stands ajar, flickering candlelight seeping out into the hall from within.

Slowly, carefully, you peer around the door. The room is empty - silent. The door creaks as you edge your way inside, turning to glance at the children’s beds. It is then that you see it - the headless body of your nephew, blood still seeping out of the stump of his neck into his bedsheets. Your blood runs ice cold, and then burning hot as rage fills you. Your gaze drops to the blood spatters on the floor, little droplets lead out into the hall.

Readjusting your grip on your dagger, you break into a sprint, following the trail.

Your bare feet slap in harsh rhythm against the stone, your eyes flicking back and forth from the floor to the hall in front of you as you follow the blood splatters. It is too late now. Jaehaerys is dead already, but you have to do something, you must. You can see candles being lit as you whip past door after door, the Keep slowly waking as the horror sets in, but you do not stop.

You do not stop even when you turn an ankle as you round a corner, because there he is, a tall man in a hooded cloak, a burlap sack tightly clutched in his hand, blood dripping through the fibers. Stumbling, you push yourself back up with your hands, and with a mighty scream, leap at the mans back, knocking him forward.

The bag tumbles to the ground, and Jaehaerys’ head rolls out, jaw slack and eyes wide.

“The fuck-” The man growls, knocking you from his back. You fall to the ground, but force yourself to your feet again, diving forward, your dagger poised to strike. Bigger and stronger than you, he grabs your wrist, bending the bone until it snaps. Tears flood your vision as the pain washes over you, but you do not stop. Gritting your teeth, you drive your dagger into the soft skin of his side, between where his ribs end and his hips begin.

He groans, releasing your wrist, and you leap at him again, clawing at his face as you sink your teeth into the side of his neck, biting as hard as you can. You can feel the blows he’s raining on you, but you hold on, savoring the taste of his blood as it floods your mouth, coppery and strong. His hands wrap around your broken wrist, and you wail again, your voice muffled by his skin in your mouth.

But then there are hands around your waist, and the clank of armor fills your ears. Two white cloaks tackle the man to the ground as Aemond pulls you from his grasp, pressing your back to his chest.

“Kill him!” You shout, eyes locked on the man as the guards beat him into submission before hauling him up to his feet. “Kill him!”

“Jaenara.” Aemond’s voice is low in your ear. “The maesters…”

You try to shake him off, but your brother doesn’t relent, gently steering you away from the guards and little Jaehaerys’ head on the floor, back into the relative calm of the halls. As the adrenaline fades, pain begins to wrack your body in waves, and you find yourself leaning against Aemond as tears fill your vision.

“Helaena,” You gasp, chest heaving as sobs build up in your throat.

“With Cole, and our mother. Jaehaera, as well.” Aemond assures you.

“They,” You say, working around the lump in your throat. “Put a knife. To her throat.” You bring your fingers up to the side of your neck, where the pain had awoken you. “Here.”

“I’m sure she’s being tended to.” He says. Gently, he pulls your arm up, inspecting your wrist, bent at an odd angle and already starting to swell. “We must tend to you too.”

Too exhausted to insist that there are more important things to be dealt with, you let him steer you along.

You watch little Jaehaerys’ body bounce with the movement of the carriage in front of you, slightly obscured by the mourning veil you wear. Helaena sits beside you, pressed between you and your mother, eyes firmly pointed up at the sky. She’s empty, you can feel the echo of it in your own body, as you’re sure she can feel a hint of the festering anger you yourself are harboring.

It will only be a matter of time now, before you don your armor and mount Vermithor for battle. You pity the fool who will fly to meet you.

The wails of the smallfolk fill the city streets as you pass, petals filling the air as they toss handfuls at the carriages, shouting their grief in harmony. The news of Jaehaerys death had swept through the city like fire, just as your grandsire had suggested it would. Now, more than ever, the smallfolk hated Rhaenyra - there would be no public protest of the war that was brewing.

But you cannot help but feel angered by the whole thing as your little nephew’s body shakes with the movement of the carriage in front of you. To be reduced to a martyr, at such a young age. And knowingly, by his own kin. It is an ugly, ugly thing.

Helaena’s eyes finally drop from the sky, and your mother shifts, extending a hand to touch her arm. Helaena shrinks away instinctually, leaning further into you, and you shift, allowing her to press herself against your side, her head falling into the crook of your neck.

You do not need to speak to know what she is thinking. You rest a hand on the back of her head, and let her curl into you, feeling her heartbeat against your own.

“Cole and I will cut them off entirely.” Aemond says, laying another marker on the map, over Rook’s Rest. “And with Rhaenyra confined to Dragonstone, it should be simple enough to take Harrenhal without interruption.”

You let your gaze sweep over the map, stopping at each marker Aemond had put down. “A clever plan.” You agree. “And Aegon also approves?”

Aemond scoffs at that, leaning back in his chair, the light from the fireplace dancing over his face. “What does it matter?”

“He is the king.” You say simply, lifting your gaze to look at your brother. “It is his war that we fight.”

“He is a figurehead.” Aemond says, rising from his seat to circle around the table, coming to stand behind you. “At the hands of our mother and grandsire. His only purpose is to lend them free reign.”

“He is our brother, and liege lord.” You say, standing from your own seat and turning to face him. “You speak treason, Aemond.”

“Mm.” Aemond hums, eye drifting over your face. “I forget, sometimes, that you are partial to him.”

“He is my brother.” You repeat. “And my Helaena is his wife.”

Silence permeates the room, and for a moment, the only sound is that of the crackling fire. But Aemond’s soft voice breaks through again. “Did you ever let him fuck you?”

The question takes you aback, and you laugh. “What?”

“In all your whoring together, did you ever let him fuck you?” He asks again, unwavering.

“No.” You say. “I have no taste for his particular flavor of depravity.” Not that Aegon ever tried, either. That wasn’t - isn’t - the nature of your friendship.

“Hm.” Aemond hums, turning back to the map sprawled across the table. “Vermithor will be needed to secure the Riverlands.” He continues, like the discussion never strayed from battle in the first place. He leans over the map, tracing a long finger over the stretch of the reach.

“Of course.” You agree, confused.

It’s been too long since you last did this.

Wine flowing through your veins, you walk arm in arm with Aegon, leading the way to the old brothel, his friends and squire - the reason for the night - behind you. The crowd parts as you step through the brothel doors, a hush falling over the gathered patrons. The quiet only lasts for a moment before whispers take its place, hushed words about the king himself being a patron tonight.

Aegon, of course, pays these whispers no mind, dropping your arm in favor of grasping his squire by the shoulders, speaking grandly about the pleasures of manhood. It makes you think of a similar night many years ago, when you’d brought Aemond to this very brothel. Guilt floods you for a moment, but is quickly quelled when soft hands wind over your shoulders, and a sultry voice whispers in your ears.

“Princess.”

You turn, delighted to see Falyse - delighted enough, that with the wine already in you, you plant a wet kiss to her lips before resting your forehead against hers. “My sweet lady, my own heart.” You croon. “It has been far too long.”

She laughs, raspy and seductive, her eyes crinkling at the edges with her smile. “I did not know that all three of you would be joining us tonight.” She says, winding her arms about your shoulders. “Just like when you were younger.”

“Mm.” You find yourself agreeing before her words really register. “Wait, three? Is Aemond-?”

But it’s too late, you know it is as soon as Aegon’s raucous laughter booms through the room. You turn away from Falyse, finding your brother amidst the crowd, having abandoned his squire in favor of sinking next to Aemond on a bed, a wide grin crawling over his face.

You can’t make out what he’s saying, but you can see Aemond shrinking in on himself, curling away from the Madame, who he’d been laying with. Winding Falyse’s hands away from your shoulders, you bring her knuckles to your lips, pressing a kiss there. “Another time, my lady.”

“Of course.” She says, understanding flashing across her gaze.

You push through the gathered patrons towards your brothers, but Aemond meets you halfway, stalking through the crowd naked as the day he was born, clearly fuming. He pauses when his eye falls on you, clearly not having expected you to be here as well, and you watch his lip tremble ever so slightly. But he does not cry.

“Aemond.” You say, unsure how to broach the subject.

“Jaenara.” He returns, icy.

A pause stretches between you, and Aemond turns to leave, but you grab his arm, stopping him. “Come back home with me.” You say.

You think he’ll spurn you, hiss some insult that’s more for Aegon than for you, but he sighs, “Fine.”

He does not speak to you until you stand at his bedroom door. You feel as though you should say something, apologize on Aegon’s behalf in some way, but you don’t get the chance before Aemond is beckoning you into his chambers with a quiet, “Come.”

You do, not realizing what he wants until the door is shut behind you and you’re pressed against it, your brother's lips pressing insistently into yours. You only hesitate for a moment before kissing him back, giving him what he wants. He melts into it, softening as he realizes that you won’t reject him, cradling you into his arms.

When he pulls back, his voice is breathy. “I’m going to kill him.”

It sends a spike of fear through you, thinking of one brother killing the other, but the look in Aemond’s eye leaves no room for doubt. “I’m sure you will.”

Apparently the correct answer, Aemond resumes kissing you with a fervor, steering you away from the door and towards his bed. “I’ll kill him,” He says, rushed between kisses. “And without an heir, I’ll take his place.” His hair tickles the side of your face as he presses his nose into your neck. “Make you my queen, as he had Helaena.” He nips at the thin skin, making you hiss in pain, pulling at his hair.

He lifts his head as he pushes you down onto his bed, crawling over you. “You’re betrothed to another.” You say as he begins to pull at the laces of your dress.

“As are you.” He responds. You bat his hands away from the laces as soon as you hear fabric rip, and begin undoing them yourself. “Both empty promises made by our grandsire for armies.”

You shimmy out of your overdress, and kick it off the edge of the bed, left in your shift. Aemond strips himself of his shirt before tugging at the hem of your slip, urging you to take it off as well. Before long, you’re both naked, and he’s hovering over you again, trailing his nose along the swell of your breast. You take the opportunity to free him of his eyepatch, enjoying the glitter of the sapphire you gave him.

His eye finds yours as he quietly asks, “Will you let me?”

As if you really even have a choice in the matter. “Yes.”

That’s all the permission he needs to lift your hips with one hand and slide his cock into you with the other. You wrinkle your nose as the sting of the stretch as he works himself into you, his eye fluttering shut. With a deep groan, he begins rocking himself in and out, grinding into you slowly. It’s not the most pleasure you’ve ever felt (no, he would be hard-pressed to compete with Falyse), but it isn’t unpleasant.

You relax into the bed as he begins to fuck into you in earnest, whimpering to himself as he takes a breast in his mouth, lost in your body. You suppose you should have expected something like this, eventually. It was odd, that he’d asked if Aegon had ever fucked you, but you hadn’t thought that he himself wanted to. Now, his intentions in asking seem obvious.

He releases your breast with a pop before tucking his face against your neck, words trickling directly from his lips to your ear. “My Jaenara…” He moans. “Always so good to me. So kind, so sweet, so fierce. Hm.” He pants heavy, his hips knocking against yours frantically. “Seeing you covered in that mans blood, the chunk you ripped out of his neck with your teeth… my dragon.” He croons.

You wind a hand into his hair, wincing as your wrist twinges in pain. It’s gotten better under the maester’s care, but it still complains when you move it in certain ways. The pain vanishes quickly though, and you begin to stroke Aemond’s hair just how he likes, pressing your lips to his temple.

He whimpers again, almost like he’s in pain. “I will put us on the Iron Throne.” He swears, voice breathy. “Our dragons will burn Rhaenyra and her armies alive, and it will be our line that continues the tradition of our ancestors.” He all but growls it, snapping his hips with such force that you have to stop yourself from slamming into the headboard. “I swear it to you.”

“Aemond.” You gasp, overwhelmed with the vigor of his thrusts. The last thing you would have expected was for Aemond to get you to peak, but you can feel yourself getting closer, the combination of his rough fucking and devoted words stirring your insides.

“Tell me that you are mine.” He says, demanding and begging at the same time. You can feel him losing his rhythm, pleasure no doubt creeping up on him the same as it is for you.

“I’m yours.” You swear. “I’m yours, Aemond.”

He whimpers, and it’s the whining sound that sends you over the edge, your body tensing in his hold as you clench around him. With a loud gasp, you come, and Aemond’s thrusts reach breakneck speed.

“You’re mine.” He whispers in your ear. “Mine, mine-” He comes with a rough groan, pressing his hips to yours and holding them there. He sinks into you immediately, collapsing onto your chest, his breath coming in pants against your skin.

You bask in the quiet of his room as his cock softens within you, mind spinning as you take in what just happened. “Did you mean it? All that you said?” You ask softly, stroking his hair again.

“Mm.” He affirms, sleep heavy in his voice.

You say no more as he drifts off to sleep on your chest, cock still inside you. He intends to make you his queen. To kill Aegon and take his place.

You love Aegon, you do. He is your brother, and one of your closest friends. But you would be lying if you said he was a good king. Perhaps it would not be so bad, if Aemond were to take his place, especially with you at his side.

But does Aegon really deserve to die?

Aemond is insatiable now that he knows you won’t spurn his advances. You can’t say that you mind too much.

Your elbows resting on the table before you, he takes you from behind as you both pore over a map of Westeros, markers indicating where your forces lay. A letter from Ser Cole sits open on the table beside you, informing Aemond of his most recent conquest as he nears Rook’s Rest. You run your fingers against the wood of the table, moving pieces along the map like chess, the sounds of Aemond’s breathy groans and the rustle of your skirts shifting as he takes you the only sounds in the room.

“You will have to - ah - take flight on Vhagar soon then, if you are to meet Cole at Rook’s Rest.” You say.

“Hm.” Aemond’s hips smack into yours as he leans over your back, moving the piece that symbolizes Vhagar to the edge of the crownlands. “The conquest should not take more than a day. Any longer and I would send Aegon in my stead - I would be loathe to leave you.” He jokes, pressing his nose against your neck.

“Mm.” You hum, letting him stretch you further across the table and angle your hips to better receive his thrusts. Planting his hands on your hips, he pulls you back to meet each snap of his hips, the map forgotten as he pleasures himself with your body. There’s something intoxicating about his unwavering devotion, something rewarding. It feels like all the time you spent comforting him as a child is paying off; after all, he intends to put you on the throne. You wind a hand behind you to caress his cheek.

He melts into the touch, extending his body over your back, pressing himself to you completely. It’s intoxicating, the power you have over him. The simplest of touches, the softest of words, and the most fearsome dragon rider in the world bends completely to your will.

“You must tell Aegon of your plans.” You say, laying your head down on the table to peer at the man behind you.

“He will no doubt find out on his own.” Aemond says. “Either way, they don’t involve him. Rook’s Rest is nothing Cole and I cannot take on our own.”

“And if someone were to show you the same insolence if you were the king?” You retort, biting back a gasp as his thrusts increase pace.

“When.” He corrects, almost growling. “When I am the king. And I would exile them for such an insult.”

“Yet- mm, Aemond, ah - you do not fear such retribution from Aegon.” You say. You know he’s getting close, his soft pants turning into longer whines, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. You clench as tightly as you can, reveling in the breathy moan you pull from him as he stills, hips still pressed against yours, spent.

You feel him make himself comfortable against your back, not bothering to pull away just yet. “Our brother is a fool, not fit for the duties of the crown. How can one be expected to respect such an undeserving monarch? No,” He says, pressing open-mouthed kisses onto any patch of your skin he can reach. “We will be much greater.”

It’s treason, even just entertaining thoughts of taking the throne from the rightful king, but the more Aemond speaks of it, the more you find yourself indulging in the fantasy. Never before did you truly consider what it would be to be queen, but after truly thinking about it, you find yourself enchanted with the idea. With anyone else, you have no doubt that you would have been subjected to the life your mother lived, but as Aemond’s queen, you would have more power than any woman before you.

“You sound so sure already.” You tease, pushing yourself up on your elbows as he slips away, tucking himself back into his trousers and pulls your skirts back down over your legs.

“That is because I am.”

Aegon presses his face into his hands, groaning. While he’s not looking, you slide the wine decanter away from him. Full when you sat down, it’s almost empty now, most of the contents having been poured down the kings throat. He’s been drinking more, in the aftermath of little Jaehaerys’ death. You can’t blame him, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t concerning.

“They plot behind my back.” He says, his face still hidden in his hands, his elbows resting on the table. “Aemond. My own hand - and our mother, she…” He trails off. “They mock me. Think me an idiot. I cannot…” He reaches for the decanter, only to find it missing, and lifts his head out of his hands. “My wine.”

“Perhaps you’ve had enough.” You say, doing your best to be firm.

He looks at you blankly before gesturing for the decanter again. With a sigh, you fold, sliding the container across the table to him. Let him drink himself to death if he wishes - it would be a better end than whatever Aemond is planning.

It’s hard to look at Aegon, knowing that your other brother is plotting his demise. He doesn’t deserve to die, not after all he’s been through. Sometimes, you think you know Aegon better than yourself. You’ve seen him at his drunkest, in the streets of Flea Bottom, at his most desperate before his coronation, at his lowest, after the death of his son. He never asked for any of this. He never asked to be king. He doesn’t deserve to die because of a crown he never desired.

But one cannot simply resign from the throne.

You watch as Aegon empties the rest of the decanter into his glass, and then misses the table as he sets the pitcher down, shards shattering across the tiled floor. He stares down at the floor, eyes blank. “Ah.”

“Aegon.” You groan.

He flaps his hand. “Someone will clean it up. Someone always does.”

“Perhaps it is behavior such as this that deters Cole and Aemond from sharing their plans with you.” You say, utterly annoyed at your brother’s actions.

Aegon scoffs. “As if you weren’t also kept in the dark.” His eyes lazily slide to yours, and you don’t look away quickly enough, it seems, because he catches it in your gaze. “They told you? And not me, their king?”

“I cannot help that our brother seeks my opinion on such matters.” You say.

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Aegon demands, angrily rising from his seat to level an accusatory finger at you. “You are supposed to be my closest confidant, I expect you to be on my side-!” He cuts himself off. “But no. Of course not. As soon as Aemond gets his claws into you you’re just like the rest of them.”

“Aegon,” You try, placating. “I meant no offense. In fact, I urged Aemond to tell you himself-”

“No, no, you cannot fool me again! I am not as stupid as you think me to be, I am not.” He shouts, harshly backing away from the table as you rise from your seat. There’s an anger in his eyes that you’ve never seen directed at you before, and it gives you pause, guilt and shame sinking into the pit of your stomach. What were you thinking, going behind his back like this? He is your brother, one of your closest friends, your king. Curse Aemond and all his sickly sweet words.

“Aegon-”

A loose hand thrown up in the air, he silences you with a harsh glance before stalking out of the room, leaving you alone with the shattered pieces of the decanter for company.

Aegon returns to you on a litter, melted into his armor by dragonfire, barely conscious. The smell of charred flesh and dragon blood fills the hall as the kingsguard rush him to the maesters, and you press yourself as far into the wall as you can to let them pass. There is no rage in you, only shock and despair. You had not thought it would be so soon, that Aemond had his revenge.

“Jaenara.”

You turn at the sound of his voice, and he stops in front of you, pulling off his riding gloves and tucking them into the pocket of his leathers. There’s an energy about him that you haven’t seen before. Leftover adrenaline crackles over his skin, the pupil of his good eye blown wide, almost lustful.

“What have you done?” You demand, cringing at the frightened quality of your voice.

“What I planned to do.” He says, taking you by the arm. “Are you not delighted? Aegon is indisposed, he will be crippled for the rest of his life - however many short years he has left, in this state. None will stand in our way.”

“I…” You aren’t sure how you feel. Aegon isn’t dead, but he will be in incredible pain for the rest of his life. Likely, he won’t be able to walk on his own, or ever ride his dragon again. It is an awful fate for someone you love. But you cannot pretend a part of you - the same part seduced by Aemond’s ambition - isn’t elated at the downfall of the king.

“Come.” Aemond says, tugging you away from your palace pressed against the rough hewn stone of the Keep walls. You fall into pace beside him, stumbling over your own feet as you process how reality is shifting around you at this very moment. Aemond and the council will have to speak on Aegon’s behalf, puppeteering him even more so than before. You are one step closer to ascending the throne. Your brother is half-alive, melted into the armor of his namesake.

You don’t realize where you are until Aemond is pushing you down onto his bed with one hand and rucking your skirts up around your waist with the other. He does not wait for you to react before he scoops your hips up to insert himself into you, groaning in relief as he slides home. “My queen.” He gasps throatily, pillowing his face in the crook of your neck. “Have I pleased you?”

“Mm.” You hum, unable to say the words ‘yes, of course’. It proves to be enough though, for Aemond sighs again, slowly beginning to grind his hips against yours. It’s more fervent than his usual fucking, spurred on by the bloody battle he’s just come from. You can smell the smoke in his hair from where it lays across your face.

“It will not be long now,” He says, breathy and rough. “Soon, you and I will sit the throne. Have our own heirs - will you give me an heir?” He asks. “Will you give me more than one?”

“As many as you’d like.” You choke out. There isn’t another option for you now, not with Aemond so intent on having you by his side when he takes his place as king. As you’re sure he will.

“We will put Jaehaerys and Alysanne to shame.” He declares, placing his hands under the small of your back, causing you to arch against him. Holding the tops of your hips, he fucks you against him feverishly. It does not take long for him to finish, already keyed up on the high of his plans coming to fruition.

He collapses against your chest with a heavy sigh, and instinctually, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, carding your fingers through his hair.

“I love you.” He whispers against your skin.

It’s the first time he’s said the words aloud, though you’ve known it for a very long time. Of course Aemond loves you.

“As I, you.” You return.

What you can’t decide, is if you feel the same.

#aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd smut #hotd x reader

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keepthedelta · 4 months ago

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scenes that should be included in the brad pitt f1 film

(for legal purposes this is a joke, no one should support this film)

60 year old brad pitt has to do the mandatory driver fitness test and almost collapses at the cardio. 28 year old carlos sainz does it next to him without hesitation or struggle two weeks after an appendectomy whilst wearing a mesh shirt

alex albon’s radio message calling brad pitt an ancient fuck after cutting the corner to smash the williams out of the way

leo leclerc and/or roscoe shitting next to brad pitt’s feet

damson idris’s character saying fernando’s “I knew he would brake because he has a wife and two children at home” quote. the wife and children will never be mentioned again or seen on screen. the romance will be exclusively between 60 year old brad pitt and the engineer woman half his age

damson idris’s character tweeting ocon’s my teammate tried to kill me but I survived tweet before getting drunk with a billionaire’s son

brad pitt attends a team principal’s meeting that goes oddly silent the moment that he walks in and three of the other team bosses immediately begin speaking to each other in italian. zak brown gives a sympathetic look but turns away, andreas seidl sniggers in german

four drivers call out brad and damson idris for their bullshit driving during the drivers’ briefing romain grosjean head of the gpda style. george russell ends the meeting with a powerpoint explaining to them why they are assholes

brad and damson idris have an emotional bonding moment where 60 year old brad reminds 32 year old damson idris that he is still young, still a rookie, and he has plenty of time to develop as, I assume, the lewis hamilton character insert despite lewis actually being in the film??? in the background kimi antonelli scooters past on his way to get a bath and bottle because it’s nearly his bedtime

k-mag hands over his stewards room loyalty card to brad pitt who gets a race ban

triumphant moment where the team finally scores a podium but the post-race inspection reveals that their car is wildly illegal and they are disqualified

stefano domenicali enthusiastically welcomes the american audience that brad pitt’s team brings, ross brawn is sat next to him listing off the many ways that their car does not comply with the fia’s safety standards

brad pitt and damson idris are battling for their lives at the back of the grid, max verstappen laps them

the engineer woman describes speed in kilometres. brad pitt tells her to explain it in “english”

a hilariously corrupt Italian businessman who bears absolutely no resemblance to flavio briatore none at all says something hilariously corrupt at a sponsor meeting. brad pitt nobly rises above it

fernando alonso sniffing plants in the background of every other scene

a blonde reporter/presenter has sexual tension with damson idris. when brad pitt asks who she is, he simply says “a girl I used to know” and looks longingly in the distance

michael and/or mario andretti with an axe demanding to know why it’s okay for brad pitt to have an 11th f1 team but not him, even though the andretti name is incredibly well respected in the motorsports world

#formula 1 #formula one #brad pitt f1 film #abuser pitt's horrible f1 film

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novaursa · 2 months ago

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Fire and Blood (reader's choice)

- Summary: For as long as Maegor could remember, you were denied to him by others. By his own father, by his half-brother, by the gods themselves. They saddled him off with a barren bride and locked you away on Dragonstone. And once Aenys died and Maegor has returned from exile to take the crown, he also takes you, as was his right. But before the wedding could happen, you disappear. You never arrive at the capital with your royal procession. And Maegor tears the realm apart.

- Paring: niece!reader/Maegor I Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

The air was heavy with the heat of the afternoon sun, and the sky above King's Landing was an expanse of pale blue. The waters of Blackwater Bay sparkled under the light, and the wind carried the scent of salt and stone, mingling with the hum of the city behind. The Red Keep loomed in the background, a skeletal structure still rising from the hill, its walls unfinished, its towers yet to scrape the heavens as Maegor intended. The clatter of hammers and the creak of scaffolding were distant echoes, reminders of the power he was building, brick by brick.

But today, all of that faded into insignificance. Maegor Targaryen stood with his mother, Visenya, the only one who had ever stood by him. His bannermen, royal retainers, and lords stood at a respectful distance, their whispers nothing but gnats in his ears as he stared out at the empty horizon. You were supposed to arrive today, your royal procession expected any moment, the ships that carried you from Dragonstone cutting across the bay.

You. His bride. His blood. His right.

His gloved hands tightened around the pommel of Blackfyre, the ancient sword of his house, as his mind drifted, despite himself, back to all the times you had been denied to him.

His father, King Aegon the Conqueror, had made the first refusal. Maegor had been young then, but old enough to know what he wanted. You were young too, of course, but even then, Maegor saw the fire in your eyes, the way the blood of Old Valyria ran through you. You were his match in every way. He had stood before his father, demanding you be betrothed to him.

"It is not your place to demand, Maegor," Aegon had said, his voice calm, but his eyes cold. "Your brother's daughter is not for you. Aenys' children will be wed to strengthen the realm, not to satisfy your desires."

It was the first time Maegor had felt the sting of denial, but it would not be the last.

His half-brother, Aenys, had been no better. When he became king after Aegon’s death, Maegor thought surely now, with the crown on his brother’s head, he could finally claim what was his. You had grown by then, blooming into a woman with the beauty and strength of their ancestors. Maegor had approached Aenys, who sat upon the Iron Throne, looking every inch the weak ruler he was.

"You will not have her," Aenys had said, shaking his head. "She is promised elsewhere."

"To whom?" Maegor had demanded, his voice laced with barely contained rage. "Who could be more worthy of her than I, her blood and kin?"

"A match will be made in time, but not to you, brother," Aenys had answered, his tone patronizing. "I have other plans for her."

Other plans. The words still tasted bitter on Maegor’s tongue, as though they had been spoken only yesterday.

He had begged. Yes, even he, Maegor the Cruel, had begged. But only to one person. His mother, Visenya. The warrior queen, the woman who had conquered Westeros by Aegon’s side. The only person who had ever truly understood him.

"I will not be denied her," he had told Visenya, pacing the halls of Dragonstone in frustration. "Father, Aenys, the gods themselves conspire against me. They will not give her to me."

Visenya, regal and fierce, had looked at him with those sharp, violet eyes of hers, the eyes of a dragon, and she had smiled—a cold, knowing smile. "They fear you, my son," she had said. "They fear the strength of your blood. Aenys and his ilk think they can control you by keeping her from you, but they are fools. They do not see what I see."

"And what do you see, Mother?" Maegor had asked, desperate for the answer he knew only she could give.

"I see the future of our house," she had answered, stepping close to him, resting a hand on his armored shoulder. "And I see you at its head, with her at your side. The dragons of Old Valyria will rise again, Maegor. And no one—no one—will deny you what is yours."

Her words had kept him sane through the years of exile, through his marriage to Ceryse Hightower, a woman who had proven barren, and a marriage that had been nothing but a chain around his neck. All the while, he had thought of you. You, locked away on Dragonstone, hidden from him by his enemies, the gods, the world. But now, none of that mattered. Aenys was dead, the throne was his, and soon, you would be too.

And yet... the ships did not come.

The sun was sinking lower, casting ghastly shadows over the unfinished Red Keep, over the city of King's Landing, over the assembled lords and banners. Maegor’s patience was wearing thin, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface like wildfire ready to consume all in its path.

"They are late," he growled, his voice low, but his anger clear. "Where are they?"

Visenya stood beside him, silent and still as ever. Her presence was the only thing that soothed him, that kept him from mounting Balerion and flying to Dragonstone himself. But even her patience had its limits, and he could see the tightness in her jaw, the tension in her shoulders. She felt the delay, the insult, as keenly as he did.

"They will come," she said, though there was a note of uncertainty in her voice that Maegor did not like.

And what if they did not? What if something had happened? What if your brother, Aegon, or even that fool Rhaena, had interfered, whisked you away before you could reach him? The thought sent a surge of fury through him, and he gripped Blackfyre tighter, his knuckles turning white beneath his gloves.

"No one will keep her from me," he said, his voice a dangerous whisper. "Not this time."

Visenya turned to him, her sharp gaze cutting through his anger. "If they try," she said, her voice cold and final, "then we will burn them all."

Maegor’s heart beat with the promise of fire and blood. They had all denied him for so long. His father. His brother. The gods themselves. But he was king now, and no one could deny the King of the Iron Throne.

You would be his, one way or another. The realm would tremble at his wrath if you were not.

But still, the horizon remained empty.

Maegor’s patience shattered like glass underfoot. The stillness of the harbor, the absence of the royal procession, and the delay that felt like a deliberate insult boiled within him until he could bear it no longer. His fury was a living thing, a fire in his chest that demanded release.

Without a word to anyone, Maegor turned sharply on his heel and stalked away from the gathered lords and his waiting bannermen. Visenya's gaze followed him, but she did not call him back. She knew what was coming, and she would not try to stop him. No one would.

He marched through the half-constructed Red Keep, past the workers who hastily moved out of his way, their eyes wide with fear at the sight of him. His blood thundered in his veins, his mind consumed by a singular thought: you. You were not here. Someone had kept you from him again, and he would have answers. One way or another, he would have answers.

Balerion waited for him, the great black beast shifting restlessly as though sensing the storm of rage within his rider. Maegor did not hesitate. He approached the dragon without a word, his dark cloak billowing behind him as he climbed onto Balerion’s back. The dragon’s scales were hot beneath his hands, and the air filled with the smell of smoke and brimstone as Balerion opened his massive jaws, letting out a low growl that reverberated through the air.

"To Dragonstone," Maegor commanded, his voice sharp and cold as steel.

With a mighty beat of his wings, Balerion launched into the air, and the city of King’s Landing fell away beneath them. The wind roared in Maegor’s ears as they ascended, higher and higher, until the Red Keep and the harbor were nothing but distant specks below. His eyes narrowed against the rush of air as they flew toward Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, a place that should have been your prison but was now the key to your disappearance.

The journey was swift. Balerion’s immense wings cut through the sky, and soon, the looming shape of Dragonstone appeared on the horizon, its dark, foreboding towers rising from the volcanic island like jagged teeth. The familiar silhouette of the castle did nothing to soothe Maegor’s fury. If anything, it fueled it. Whoever had dared to take you from him was hiding here, he was certain of it. And they would pay.

Balerion descended with a roar, his massive form casting a shadow over the castle courtyard as he landed with a thunderous crash. Maegor dismounted swiftly, his boots hitting the ground with purpose, and strode toward the keep without hesitation. The guards, clad in the black and red of House Targaryen, scrambled to stand at attention, but Maegor paid them no mind. His eyes were fixed on one figure—Alyssa Velaryon, Dowager Queen, widow of his late half-brother Aenys.

She stood at the entrance of the great hall, flanked by her own royal guards, her expression calm but her eyes wary. She had been expecting him.

"Where is she?" Maegor’s voice was thunder, echoing across the courtyard as he approached. His gaze was locked on Alyssa, his hands still resting on the hilt of Blackfyre at his side.

Alyssa’s lips thinned, but she did not answer immediately. Her silence was an insult in itself.

"Where is she?" Maegor demanded again, his tone darkening, his patience long gone. "The ships have not arrived. My bride is not here. Where is she?"

Alyssa lifted her chin, her eyes meeting his with a quiet defiance. "I do not know," she said, her voice steady, though her guards shifted uneasily around her. "She is not here, Maegor. I swear it on the blood of my children."

His anger flared like a flame doused in oil. He stepped closer, towering over her, his eyes burning with rage. "You lie. Do you think me a fool, Alyssa? Do you think I will believe your false words? You know where she is. Someone here knows."

Alyssa did not waver, though there was a flicker of fear behind her eyes. "I do not lie, Maegor," she said, her voice firm. "Your niece is gone, but I do not know where. You think you can demand answers, but the gods have taken her from you."

"The gods?" Maegor spat the word as if it were poison. "The gods have no power here. I am king. I am the only god that matters in this realm."

He drew Blackfyre from its scabbard with a vicious hiss of steel. The sight of the ancient Valyrian blade, its edge gleaming in the waning sunlight, caused Alyssa’s guards to stiffen, their hands moving to the hilts of their swords. But Maegor did not care. He had faced armies and dragons alike; these men would not stand against him.

"You will tell me where she is," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Or I will take this castle stone by stone and burn it to the ground. I will burn you all."

Alyssa stood her ground, but her defiance was waning. Still, she did not answer.

Maegor’s grip on Blackfyre tightened. "Very well," he said, his voice cold and final. "If you will not speak, then I declare war on you, on this entire realm, and on the gods themselves. I will rip the truth from your dying lips if I must."

He raised the sword high, and Balerion let out a deafening roar, his fiery breath licking at the sky, as if in answer to his rider’s fury. The ground beneath Maegor’s feet trembled as the beast’s wings unfurled, casting the courtyard into shadow once more.

"Do you hear me, Alyssa?" Maegor shouted, his voice carrying across the castle walls. "I will bring fire and blood to this land until she is returned to me. Every house, every banner, every village will burn. No one will be spared."

Alyssa’s face paled, but she held her tongue, her defiance crumbling under the weight of his rage.

With one final, furious look at her, Maegor turned and mounted Balerion once more. The dragon’s wings beat against the air as they took to the skies, leaving the castle of Dragonstone behind, but not forgotten.

War was coming. The realm would know the full wrath of Maegor Targaryen, and nothing would stand in his way.

Not even the gods.

The sky had darkened with storm clouds, a fitting shroud for what was to come. Maegor could feel the death in the air as Balerion, the Black Dread, flew low over the countryside, the sound of his massive wings beating like the drums of war. Beneath him, the land stretched out in peaceful ignorance—green fields, small villages, and the occasional hamlet, all unaware of the doom that was about to descend upon them.

His fury had not abated. If anything, it had grown, simmering inside him like the flames that Balerion carried in his belly. For days, he had waited—waited for some word, some message, some whisper of where you had been taken. But there had been none. Not from Dragonstone, not from King's Landing, not from any corner of the realm. Silence. It was as if the earth itself conspired to keep you hidden from him.

And so, Maegor had decided to speak in the only language he knew would reach them all—fire.

The town below was small, insignificant in the grand scheme of his rule. It had no great lords, no strategic importance. It was nothing more than a farming village, its people simple, its streets quiet. But that did not matter to Maegor. He was no longer a king seeking strategy. He was a dragon in search of blood.

Balerion let out a growl as they descended, and the townspeople, who had begun to gather in the streets, looked up with wide, terrified eyes. They had heard tales of dragons, but few had seen one in the flesh, let alone the Black Dread himself. Some screamed, others fled, scattering like ants before a boot.

But it was too late.

Maegor did not speak as they approached. He did not announce his arrival or give them time to prepare. His rage did not allow for such mercy. Instead, he gave the only command he had come to deliver.

"Dracarys."

Balerion unleashed his fury with a deafening roar. Flames erupted from his jaws, a torrent of fire that engulfed the first row of houses in an instant. The wooden structures went up like kindling, the dry summer heat making them burn even faster. Screams filled the air, high-pitched and desperate, as people fled their homes, only to be caught by the flames that licked at their heels.

The fire spread with terrifying speed, consuming everything in its path—roofs, walls, fields. The village was alight, a beacon of destruction visible for miles around.

Maegor watched from above, his face cold and impassive, his grip on Balerion’s reins tight as the dragon circled over the burning town. The people below looked so small, like insects scurrying for cover, trying to escape the inevitable. But there was no escape. Not for them.

A handful of soldiers, likely from a nearby lord's keep, arrived, rushing into the chaos with spears and shields. They might have hoped to protect their people, to fight off the monster in the sky, but it was a hopeless effort. Balerion roared again, and another wave of fire descended, swallowing the soldiers in flames before they could even raise their weapons.

Still, Maegor felt nothing. No satisfaction, no relief, just the same gnawing fury. This town was but the first of many. If no one would give him what he demanded, then they would all burn.

Balerion landed in the town square, his massive form crushing the few remaining carts and stalls beneath him. The fires crackled and raged around them, the air thick with smoke and the stench of burning flesh. Maegor dismounted, his black armor gleaming with the reflection of the flames, and strode through the smoldering ruins. The people who hadn’t already fled or died in the fire cowered at the edges of the square, their faces streaked with soot and tears, their eyes wide with terror.

One man—a farmer by the looks of him, his face blackened with ash—dared to stand before Maegor. His legs shook, and his hands trembled as he held out a crude pitchfork, a pitiful weapon against the man who wielded Blackfyre.

“Please!” the man cried, his voice cracking. “We’ve done nothing! We don’t know where she is!”

Maegor’s gaze fixed on him, cold and unfeeling. “Then you are of no use to me.”

With a swift motion, he drew Blackfyre and swung. The blade cut through the air with a whistle, and the man’s head rolled to the ground, his body collapsing like a puppet with its strings severed. Blood pooled at Maegor’s feet, mixing with the ash and dirt.

He turned to the remaining villagers, their tear-filled eyes pleading for mercy. “Where is she?” Maegor demanded, his voice cutting through the crackling flames. “Tell me, and you will be spared.”

But there were no answers. Only silence, punctuated by the occasional sob or gasp. They knew nothing, and he could see the truth of it in their frightened, helpless faces. These people had never laid eyes on you. They did not know your name. They were caught in a storm that was not theirs, a storm they could not hope to survive.

“Then burn,” Maegor said, his voice flat, his heart devoid of pity.

Balerion roared once more, and fire swept across the square, swallowing the villagers where they stood. The screams of the innocent echoed in the night, but they were distant to Maegor, drowned out by the roar of the flames. He mounted Balerion again, his mind already turning to the next town, the next village. There would be no end to his wrath until you were returned to him.

As they lifted into the air, the once-quiet town was a sea of fire below, the smoke rising in dark plumes that would be visible for miles. The next town would see the flames and know what was coming. They would know the price of silence.

But as they flew over the burning ruins, a grim thought gnawed at Maegor’s mind: even this, even the screams of the dying, had not brought forth any word of you. No ravens, no messengers, no spies. It was as if you had vanished from the face of the earth.

He clenched his jaw, his eyes hard as stone as he looked out over the darkened horizon. Let them hide you. Let them try to keep you from him. He would burn every inch of this realm to ash until they had no choice but to deliver you back into his hands.

War had come, and the realm would know the full measure of his wrath before it was over.

And still, you remained lost to him, as distant and unreachable as ever.

The halls of Oldtown’s grand keep were filled with the scent of burning torches and incense, the air heavy with the weight of old stone and old gods alike. Maegor strode through the corridors, his armor clinking with each step, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. The lords of the Reach had gathered in the great hall ahead, awaiting his arrival, their banners lining the walls like silent witnesses to the war he was bringing to their doors.

He would have their armies. He would have their swords and their oaths. And soon, the realm would bleed for keeping you from him.

Yet, as he approached the towering doors of the hall, he was intercepted by a voice that grated on his already thin patience.

“Maegor.”

He halted but did not turn immediately. He recognized the voice, the cold, haughty tone that had once filled his ears with promises of alliances and power. Ceryse Hightower, his wife—the woman the Faith of the Seven deemed his lawful bride. The one who had failed him, who had borne him no heirs, no strength. She was a chain, an anchor from a life he despised. And now, she stood between him and the destruction he sought to bring upon the world.

With a slow turn, he faced her. She stood in the narrow corridor, her expression as cold as the marble pillars that flanked her. Her gown was white and gold, as befit a woman of her station, but there was no warmth in her. She had never had any warmth for him, nor he for her.

Ceryse’s eyes narrowed as she stepped closer, her chin lifted in defiance. "This madness must stop, Maegor. What you are doing—it is unholy. This war you wage for your niece, this obsession, it will bring the gods’ wrath upon you. Upon us all."

Maegor’s eyes, dark and brooding, bore into hers. "The gods?" he scoffed, his voice laced with venom. "Which gods, Ceryse? The Seven who gave me nothing but a barren wife? The gods who have denied me my rightful bride and my throne time and again? They are nothing to me. I am the king, and I will take what is mine."

"You are the king," she snapped, stepping closer, her voice rising, "but I am your wife. The only true wife you have before the gods. I was wed to you under the light of the Seven. I am your queen, not some girl you lust after because she shares your blood and your fire."

Maegor’s lips curled into a sneer. "Do not speak of things you do not understand. She is more than fire. She is mine by right, by blood, by destiny. You are nothing but a symbol of a failed marriage and the weakness of the Faith. Your gods mean nothing to me, Ceryse. They have never meant anything."

Ceryse’s face flushed with anger, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “The Faith is all that holds this realm together. The Seven bless our rule, and you spit on their favor. Do you truly believe this war you’ve started will end with your niece in your arms? The realm will turn against you, the Faith will rise—”

“The Faith?” Maegor’s laughter was dark, a cruel sound that echoed off the stone walls. “The Faith cowers beneath the strength of dragons. I have already broken their High Septon, and I will do it again if they dare stand in my way. Do not speak to me of the Faith when they have already bled under my blade.”

Her eyes flashed with fury. “And what of me? Do I mean nothing to you, Maegor? I am your queen. I stood beside you when the world was against you, when you were exiled, when you returned to take the throne. I have endured your temper, your ambitions—everything. And yet you throw it all away for her, for a girl who should never have been yours.”

Maegor stepped closer, towering over her, his voice low and filled with menace. “You have never stood beside me, Ceryse. You have stood in my way, like all the others. The day you failed to give me an heir was the day your use to me ended. You are not my queen. You are a symbol of weakness and failure.”

Her breath caught in her throat, but her pride would not allow her to shrink before him. She held her ground, her chin raised defiantly. “This war is blasphemy. Even your late father would not stand for it. You break every sacred vow for this—this madness. And for what? For a girl who may be dead already, taken by the gods to punish your arrogance.”

Maegor’s hand shot out, gripping her throat, though not enough to truly harm her. His eyes were burning coals, his patience long gone. “Speak of her again,” he growled, his voice dangerously low, “and I will end you here and now, wife or not.”

Ceryse’s eyes widened, but she did not flinch, even with his hand at her throat. “Do it,” she whispered, her voice hoarse but steady. “Do it, and see how the realm turns against you. They already whisper of your cruelty, your madness. Kill your wife, and you will become the monster they fear.”

For a long, tense moment, Maegor said nothing. His grip tightened slightly, the temptation strong, but he released her with a shove, sending her stumbling back a step.

"You are a fool if you think I care for their whispers," Maegor said, his voice filled with disdain. "I will rule through fear if I must. The realm will submit to me, whether they love me or hate me. And you will stay out of my way, or you will burn like the rest of them."

Ceryse straightened, her hand to her throat, her eyes filled with a mixture of defiance and fear. She had pushed him as far as she could, and she knew it.

“You will destroy yourself,” she said quietly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to hide it. “This war, this rage... it will consume you.”

Maegor turned his back on her, his cloak swirling in the dim torchlight as he moved toward the doors of the great hall. "Then let it," he said coldly, without looking back. "I would rather burn the world to ash than live in a world where I am denied what is mine."

The heavy doors of the great hall swung open before him, and Maegor strode inside, leaving Ceryse standing alone in the darkened corridor, her hands shaking, her heart pounding with a fear she had never known before.

The lords inside turned as one to face him, their faces pale with the knowledge of the man they served. Maegor took his place at the head of the long table, his eyes sweeping over the gathered men like a predator surveying its prey.

"You will gather your armies," he said, his voice echoing through the hall, "and you will march with me to war. I care not for the gods, nor for the Faith. Those who stand against me will burn, and those who submit will live. But I will have my bride, or I will see this realm consumed by fire."

The lords exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared defy him. They knew the price of disobedience under Maegor’s rule.

"Are there any who would challenge me?" Maegor demanded, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light.

Silence fell over the hall, thick and suffocating. Not a single voice rose in opposition.

"Good," Maegor said, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Prepare your men. The realm will bleed until she is mine again."

And with that, the great hall of Oldtown descended into preparation for war, while outside, Ceryse Hightower stood in the shadows, her heart heavy with the knowledge that her words had fallen on deaf ears.

The battlefield stretched wide before Maegor, a patchwork of torn earth, trampled grass, and bloodied banners. His army stood in sharp contrast to the smaller force across the field, led by his nephew, Aegon the Uncrowned. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a bloody hue over the land, as if the gods themselves had abandoned all hope of peace.

Balerion, the Black Dread, shifted beneath him, his great black wings stretching wide as the dragon growled, sensing the impending battle. Maegor’s grip tightened on Blackfyre, the weight of the ancient sword familiar in his hand as he surveyed the field below. The banners of House Targaryen and Velaryon fluttered in the wind, a cruel mockery of what should have been unity between their blood. But unity had long been shattered.

On the opposite side of the field, Aegon sat astride Quicksilver, his dragon a flash of silver-white scales that shimmered in the dying light. Aegon’s army was smaller, but it was fiercely loyal—men who believed in the legitimacy of his claim, men who called Maegor a usurper and a tyrant. Men who were willing to die for a boy who had been denied his crown.

Maegor’s jaw clenched as he gazed across the field at his nephew, the boy who had dared to raise arms against him. Aegon had your blood running through his veins, and that alone made Maegor’s rage burn hotter. But it was not just Aegon’s challenge to the throne that stoked Maegor’s fury—it was his insolent defiance in keeping you from him.

The armies stood still for a breath, the wind carrying the sound of clinking armor and the distant neighs of restless horses. Maegor’s soldiers waited, their faces grim, their hands tight on their weapons. His bannermen were eager for the bloodshed to begin, eager to crush the boy who dared challenge their king.

But Maegor had eyes only for Aegon, who met his gaze across the field with the same cold intensity. Even from a distance, Maegor could see the steely resolve in the young man’s face. Aegon was no longer the boy he had once dismissed, and that truth gnawed at him.

Without a word, Maegor spurred Balerion forward. The great dragon let out a thunderous roar, his massive wings lifting him from the ground in one powerful sweep. The air around them seemed to hum with tension as Balerion soared into the sky, circling high above the battlefield, casting an enormous shadow over the armies below.

Aegon wasted no time. With a sharp command, he urged Quicksilver into the air, the silver dragon shooting upward with graceful speed. The two beasts circled one another in the sky, the gathered armies below looking up in awe as dragon met dragon.

Maegor’s eyes locked onto Aegon, his blood boiling with the need for victory. He would crush this boy, as he had crushed all who had stood in his way. Blackfyre was already in his hand, the sword gleaming as he prepared to strike.

Quicksilver let out a high-pitched roar and dove toward Balerion, claws outstretched. Aegon, no doubt thinking speed would be his advantage, urged his dragon forward with a deadly precision. But Balerion was no ordinary dragon—he was the Black Dread, the most fearsome of all Targaryen dragons, and his size alone was enough to instill terror in any opponent.

With a bellowing roar, Balerion met Quicksilver head-on, jaws snapping as the two dragons collided in a flurry of wings, fire, and claws. The sky around them lit up with dragonflame, bright orange and yellow in the fading light. The sound of their clash echoed across the battlefield like thunder, and Maegor felt the familiar thrill of battle pulse through his veins.

Aegon swung his sword at him, their blades clashing as Quicksilver veered away, trying to outmaneuver Balerion. But Maegor was relentless. He urged Balerion onward, following the silver dragon, breathing down its neck with every beat of its wings. Aegon was skilled, but Maegor could see the hesitation in his strikes, the uncertainty in his eyes.

"You will never have her, Uncle!" Aegon shouted over the roar of the wind and the battle below, his voice laced with both fury and desperation. "She is free of you! The gods will never let her fall into your hands."

Maegor’s face twisted into a snarl, his fury consuming him as he swung Blackfyre toward Aegon with all the strength he could muster. Their blades met again, the force of the strike sending sparks flying between them. "The gods be damned!" Maegor roared. "You think they care for your claims, boy? I will have her, and no man or god will keep her from me!"

Aegon’s lips curled into a bitter smile, his eyes flashing with defiance. "You’re a fool if you think she would come to you willingly," he spat. "She despises you. She will never be yours."

Maegor’s rage flared hotter than dragonfire. He urged Balerion forward, closing the distance between the two dragons, but Quicksilver darted away, its speed giving it the advantage. Maegor’s strikes were powerful, but Aegon’s precision allowed him to evade, always one step ahead, always just out of reach.

Below, the armies had clashed. The sounds of battle—clanging steel, screams, and the thunder of hooves—rose from the ground, but Maegor cared little for what happened below. His focus was entirely on Aegon, on the boy who had denied him his rightful bride, on the nephew who dared to defy him.

Suddenly, Quicksilver darted upward, high into the clouds, and Aegon disappeared from sight. Maegor cursed, pulling Balerion up after them, but by the time he broke through the clouds, Aegon and Quicksilver were gone.

A howl of frustration escaped Maegor’s throat. He scanned the skies, his eyes searching for any sign of the silver dragon, but Aegon had vanished, leaving nothing but the roar of the wind and the distant sounds of the battlefield below.

"Damn you, Aegon!" Maegor bellowed into the empty sky, his voice echoing across the heavens. His blood boiled with fury, his vision clouded with rage. Once again, Aegon had slipped through his fingers, just as you had been denied to him time and time again.

He descended with Balerion, landing amidst the chaos of the battlefield, his soldiers still locked in fierce combat with Aegon’s forces. But it was not enough. The battle, the bloodshed, the cries of dying men—all of it paled in comparison to the rage burning inside Maegor. He had come for victory, for vengeance, for you—and he had been denied once more.

The soldiers around him fell to their knees, their faces streaked with blood and mud, their eyes filled with terror at the sight of their king. But Maegor’s gaze was distant, his thoughts consumed by the promise Aegon had made before vanishing into the clouds.

You were free of him, Aegon had said. You would never be his.

But Maegor was not a man who accepted defeat. Not now. Not ever.

The realm would continue to burn until you were in his hands, and not even his nephew’s empty threats would change that.

With a final, chilling glance at the battlefield around him, Maegor mounted Balerion once more, his mind already racing with thoughts of what was to come. The war was not over. Aegon may have escaped, but Maegor would hunt him down. He would tear the realm apart, piece by piece, until there was nowhere left for his enemies to hide.

And in the end, you would be his.

Whether you wished it or not.

The second clash between Maegor Targaryen and his nephew, Aegon the Uncrowned, was inevitable. The gods had no place on this battlefield; only dragons, fire, and blood would decide the victor. Beneath the clouded skies of the God's Eye, the two riders faced one another atop their colossal beasts. Quicksilver, the pale silver dragon, hovered in the air with Aegon astride him, eyes blazing with defiance, while Maegor sat atop the mighty Balerion, the Black Dread, a shadow over the land, a force of destruction waiting to be unleashed.

Aegon was no child, but neither was he the match of his uncle. And yet, as they circled high above the waters of the God's Eye, you could almost feel the weight of his resolve. Maegor could sense it, too—a determination to stand, to fight, to protect what little remained of his claim. But Aegon was a fool to believe he could stop what was coming. Maegor had returned, stronger than ever, and no man, no dragon, no usurper would deny him what was his—neither the throne nor you.

The dragons roared and circled, Balerion’s immense shadow darkening the sky. Maegor’s heart was black with fury, the rage of the denied, of one betrayed by his own kin. For years, he had been denied you, stolen from him by a weak brother and a cowardly nephew. Aenys had never been strong enough to hold the kingdom together, nor had he the will to make the hard choices. Now Maegor would show Aegon the price of such weakness.

“Tell me where she is,” Maegor bellowed, his voice a force of its own, carrying across the winds between them. “Tell me, and I’ll make your death quick.”

Aegon’s expression hardened, but his lips remained sealed. He said nothing, his jaw tight, the defiance in his eyes unbroken. It was clear that he would rather die than betray your whereabouts, and for a brief moment, Maegor almost admired the boy's stubbornness. Almost.

But that would not save him.

Quicksilver lunged first, his bright scales gleaming like molten metal in the dim light. His teeth snapped, his wings beat the air, and Aegon drove him forward, spear in hand, hoping to catch Balerion’s flank. But Balerion was no ordinary dragon, and Maegor was no ordinary rider. The Black Dread twisted mid-air with terrifying speed, jaws snapping shut around Quicksilver’s wing. The smaller dragon shrieked, a sound that echoed over the lake like thunder, and his body faltered as he was dragged downward, closer to the earth.

Balerion's fire erupted, black and red flames that swallowed the sky. Quicksilver was engulfed, his silvery scales turning black as smoke and ash filled the air. Aegon fought back, his dragon resisting, but it was clear to all who watched that there could only be one outcome.

With a final, sickening crunch, Balerion’s teeth sank into Quicksilver’s neck, tearing through flesh and bone. The dragon screamed, a high-pitched, agonizing cry that seemed to go on forever. And then, with a sickening crash, Quicksilver and Aegon were flung into the earth below, the ground trembling from the impact.

Maegor descended slowly, his eyes never leaving the crumpled form of his nephew. The once-proud Aegon, Uncrowned and unbroken, now lay battered and broken beside his dying dragon. Maegor dismounted, stepping down from Balerion’s back as if descending from a throne. The grass beneath his feet was scorched from the battle, and the air smelled of death and fire.

Aegon coughed, his body shattered, blood pouring from wounds too numerous to count. His breaths were labored, each one a struggle. Maegor stood over him, the weight of his fury and triumph heavy in the air.

“Where is she?” Maegor demanded once more, his voice like steel.

Aegon lifted his head weakly, his eyes meeting Maegor's with the last of his strength. Blood bubbled on his lips as he smiled—a bitter, bloody smile.

“You’ll never find her,” Aegon rasped, defiance even now.

The anger that surged through Maegor was all-consuming, a wildfire burning through his veins. He had half a mind to rip his nephew’s head from his body then and there, but he knew Aegon would welcome such an end. No, his death would come soon enough. But it would not be swift, nor merciful.

With a final look of disgust, Maegor turned his back on the dying boy, mounting Balerion once more. There was no more time to waste on the Uncrowned. He would find you, with or without Aegon’s cooperation. And when he did, nothing and no one would ever separate you from him again.

After the battle, as Maegor's forces regrouped, a rider approached him. The man, bloodied and worn from the fight, bowed low before his king.

“My lord, we have received word,” he said, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. “It is said... she is being held in Lys.”

Maegor’s eyes narrowed, his blood roaring in his ears. Lys. So far away, beyond the sea, beyond his immediate reach. But no distance was too great. He would cross oceans, burn cities, and tear apart entire kingdoms if need be.

“Prepare the fleet,” Maegor ordered, his voice like iron. “We sail at once.”

Balerion let out a low rumble, as if sensing his master’s intent. There would be no peace until you were his, no rest until the blood debt was paid in full. The dragons were coming, and all of Lys would burn if it meant bringing you home.

The sun had long begun its descent when the black sails of Maegor's fleet appeared on the horizon, darkening the waters that surrounded Lys. The city, gilded with beauty and wealth, stood as a gleaming jewel in the far east. But to Maegor, it was a den of thieves—those who had dared to steal what belonged to him. As Balerion descended from the skies, casting a vast shadow over the city, panic spread like wildfire through its streets. The people of Lys had never seen the likes of such a beast, nor the wrath of a king who had come to reclaim what was his.

You had not expected him so soon.

The small tower in which you were held offered little more than a view of the sea and distant freedom, but you knew that no bars or walls could hold you forever. You had seen the men sent to guard you, faces hardened by greed and violence, yet even they had begun to whisper in hushed tones over the past days—of dragons, of black sails, of the King who would come. Maegor.

For weeks, you had wondered if it was only a matter of time before your captors sold you to another—or worse. But it was not the men of Lys who had taken you—it was Aegon. Your own brother. He had sent you here, far away from Maegor, far from the throne. He believed it was for your own good, to keep you safe from the king who had burned through the realm to take the Iron Throne. To keep you from the man who had claimed you as his.

But your brother had gravely underestimated the lengths to which Maegor would go to have you back.

And now he had come.

The tower trembled beneath your feet as Balerion’s roar split the sky, shaking the very stones of Lys. The dragon’s fire lit the horizon, the harbor a hellscape of flames and destruction. You could hear the distant cries of men fleeing from the wrath of the Black Dread, and in that moment, a strange calm settled over you. You knew Maegor. You had known him since childhood—his strength, his darkness, and above all, his possessiveness. He would burn this city to the ground for you. He would raze every last building, tear every stone apart brick by brick, until he had you back in his grasp.

The door to your chamber flew open, splintering as it slammed against the wall. The guard who had been stationed outside was gone, replaced by men bearing the black and red sigil of House Targaryen. They moved aside without a word, and there, standing in the doorway, was Maegor.

He was just as you remembered him, but now there was a fierceness in his gaze that you had never seen before. His armor, still streaked with blood from battle, glinted in the dim light. His silver hair, windswept from the flight atop Balerion, framed a face carved from stone, hard and unyielding. And his eyes—those dark violet eyes burned with a hunger, an obsession, that had only grown stronger with time. He had come for you.

Without a word, Maegor strode into the room, his presence filling it like a storm. He did not wait for pleasantries, nor for explanations. He reached for you, his hand closing around your arm with a grip that was firm but not painful, his eyes searching your face as if to assure himself that you were real, that you were truly here.

"You’re coming with me," he said, his voice low and rough. There was no question, no hesitation, just the ironclad certainty that had always driven him.

"Maegor," you began, your voice quiet but steady. The words you had rehearsed in your mind seemed to dissolve as you looked into his eyes. The fury, the relief, the need—it was all there, laid bare. He was not a man to be denied.

"You will never be taken from me again," he growled, his fingers tightening slightly around your arm as if to emphasize his point. "I’ve burned half the world to get to you. No one will stand between us now."

You had heard tales of what he had done—of how he had torn through Aegon’s forces at the God's Eye, of how he had set the seas aflame in his pursuit of you. But you never imagined that it would come to this—that your own brother would try to keep you from him. And now that he stood before you, towering, unyielding, you realized that there was no escaping the inevitability of what came next.

"You were mine from the moment you were born," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "And they kept you from me. All of them—my father, your brother, the gods themselves. But no more. You will be my queen, and no one will ever take you from me again."

His words, raw and fierce, echoed in the space between you, and for a moment, all you could hear was the distant roar of Balerion outside, the great beast that had carried him across the skies to find you.

You met his gaze, and in that moment, something shifted within you. You had known Maegor your whole life. You had seen the violence in him, but you had also seen the man beneath it—the one who, for all his ruthlessness, had always looked at you as though you were the only thing in the world that mattered. And now, standing before him, you understood that there was no escaping him, not now, not ever.

"Then take me," you whispered, your voice soft but clear. "I’m ready."

Maegor’s eyes darkened, and in one swift motion, he pulled you into him, his lips crashing against yours with all the pent-up fury and longing that had driven him to Lys. His kiss was fierce, possessive, and you knew then that the man who had come for you was not just the king, but the dragon itself—untamable, unstoppable, and wholly yours.

When he pulled away, his hand still cradled the back of your neck, his eyes locked on yours. "We leave now," he said, his voice a low growl. "There’s nothing for you here. Nothing but ash."

He led you from the room without another word, the tower and all its horrors fading behind you as you stepped out into the night. Balerion waited, his massive form dark against the sky, and as Maegor helped you onto the dragon's back, you knew that whatever fate awaited you, it would be by his side.

And so, with a single command, Balerion’s wings unfurled, and together you soared into the night, leaving Lys in flames behind you.

#fire and blood #game of thrones #house of the dragon #hotd #got #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf x reader #maegor x y/n #maegor x you #maegor x reader #maegor targaryen #maegor the cruel #maegor i targaryen #house targaryen

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sl-ut · 2 months ago

Text

the dangers of our desires

(OH MY FUCKING GODDDDDDD why did i actually eat this up so hard (it could be actual hot garbage wrote this while stoned and dont have the patience to edit it)

pairing: stepmother!alicent hightower x targ!stepdaughter!reader

description: as if alicent didn’t have it hard enough, her youngest stepdaughter is returning to the capitol after spending most of her life in the vale, bringing with her more trouble than alicent could have ever imagined for herself.

warnings: stepmother alicent is most def a warning causssseeeee, alicent actually being so homophobic lmaooooo, some religious themes (guilt, trauma, sacrilege of a fictional religion), swearing, smut, unedited (VERYYYYYY, i got stoned and wrote this in one sitting so dont have high hopes for grammar), probably lowk kinkier than anything i’ve ever written but we gonna rock with it anyways, viserys traumatising yet another one of his kids, slight reader description (silver hair and purple eyes), sort of dub-con? (reader and alicent are both a lil tipsy in the end but they both want it so its fine)

words: 5.8K

date posted: 09/09/24

Alicent had been queen all of five months when her youngest stepdaughter was sent to the Vale, both as a political move recommended by her own father, the Hand, in order to restore a connection between the Crown and the Vale following the untimely death of Queen Aemma, and as an act of mercy the king, who wept each and every time he looked upon her little face–guilt and rage consuming him for what decision he had been forced to make in order to her to have survived her birth.

The day of her departure is engraved so firmly into every single one of their minds, the king’s blank stare, his eldest daughter’s red and tear-streaked face scowling as she barked at her father, the Hand, truly anyone to change their minds, Otto Hightower’s stern order for a Kingsguard to take the eldest princess to her rooms in order to put an end to the scene she had been causing. Alicent felt vacant that day, silently staring into the distance to avoid watching as the princess was loaded into the wheelhouse before it began pulling away and out of the Red Keep. Of course, the entourage that followed her was almost ridiculously large for a child so young, larger than any that had previously accompanied the king himself, but both Rhaenyra and her father had a hand in ensuring maximum protection for the youngest member of the royal family for her long journey. As difficult as Viserys found it to be around his infant daughter, he certainly did not ignore the fact that she was the last piece of his late wife, and he felt that she needed to be well protected because of her status and out of respect for her mother’s memory. The girl was eleven months old.

Alicent made an effort to stay as distant of the young princess as possible; lingering in the doorway as Rhaenyra visited her nursery, avoiding looking directly at her friend as she held the babe to her chest and wept; taking on her duties to the youngest princess as her stepmother from a distance, insisting that any matters of the princess that did not concern the Crown could be dealt with by the princess’s personal household. It was more of a blessing to the new queen that she was being sent away–she no longer would be plagued with guilt each time she shirked away from the motherless girl.

Rhaenyra and Alicent’s already fractured relationship only suffered further after Rhaenyra’s sister was sent to the Vale, especially since Alicent soon after gave birth to her own child with Viserys, and Rhaenyra seemed to be under the impression that Alicent was far more involved in her sister becoming a ward of Lady Arryn than she truly did in order to put her own newborn son ahead.

The first three years to follow were strangely calm in King’s Landing. Rhaenyra had married Laenor Velaryon, Alicent had given birth to three children of her own, and the realm was still, for the most part, at peace with itself. The youngest princess, last that Alicent had heard, had begun her early education, something that Alicent was supposed to be mostly responsible for arranging, though Alicent told Lady Jeyne in a letter that she trusted the lady’s judgement and faith to the Seven to see that the princess would receive a proper education befitting a Targaryen princess. Jeyne Arryn was a notoriously pious woman, often referred to by the crudest of Westerosi lords as the Maiden of the Vale; any noblewoman who takes an oath of chastity was to be noted with a nickname as such, Alicent noticed, though she’s certain that a man would be honoured and highly regarded for such piety.

The queen’s perspective of the young princess had shifted in the years to follow–amidst the chaos that Rhaenyra and even Alicent’s own children had been causing at court, Lady Arryn’s letters of praise for the princess were a relief for the Hightower woman, she was the only of the king’s children who was able to refrain from causing her grief, only giving her a touch of a headache by association every time that Rhaenyra fought with her over the decisions being made for her; she needed to have the finest of Valyrian tutors, needed to be as connected with her dragon as possible, deserved to have dozens of new dresses and other luxurious gifts sent to her on a semi-regular basis. If Alicent was not willing to spoil the princess for her mere existence, Rhaenyra was more than willing to do so herself, writing to her younger sister as if she were her own daughter that had been sent away. From the way that the princess had been praised for her beauty, piety, and intelligence, Alicent had felt a breath of fresh air when the king made the decision to call his daughter home in hopes of securing her a suitable husband.

By this point, the princess was ten and eight, far older than most other Targaryen princesses had been permitted to remain unmarried. Rhaenyra had offered to assume the role of her guardian and host her younger sister at Dragonstone while they search for a husband, but Alicent was not blind to her intentions and refused to allow the heir to her sister to Prince Jaecerys–Alicent always been particularly disapproving of the traditional practice of incestuous marriage among the Targaryen dynasty, though she herself had permitted her own two children to be married in order to prevent her sweet Helaena from being swept away by Rhaenyra as a bride for her bastard son.

In the first few weeks of her presence in the capitol, Alicent found her to be very pleasant. The letters from the Vale could not have been more truthful when they boasted of her beauty and wit, and she had proven to be just as charismatic and cultured in her Valyrian heritage as the most ideal Targaryen princess. She attended her lessons, enjoyed spending time with her younger siblings–even taking an interest in learning of little Daeron’s achievements in Oldtown. Then, as she seemed to become more settled in her new environment, rumours began to reach Alicent’s ears, and she was entirely unsure of how to deal with them.

She had noticed, on several occasions now, that the princess’s sworn protector, Ser Thomas, seemed to be far too comfortable around his charge, and could even be accused of caring for the princess far more than any white cloak should. Alicent was concerned by this, but beyond an intense questioning of both the princess and the knight about some of the rumours being spread, there was very little that she could do (especially considering that her own sworn protector did not hide his affections for her very well, either). The queen had hoped that this would be the worst of the drama, but she would be sorely disappointed in the months to come.

Princess Y/n had made an effort to surround herself with some of the other young ladies at court, constantly being accompanied by some, if not all, of her entourage at all times. Alicent saw nothing truly wrong with this, it was healthy for a girl her age to find companionship with the other ladies at court, but she quickly became alarmed at the sort of company she was choosing to keep.

Most of the ladies flew far below Alicent’s radar, all self-absorbed and desperate as the rest of the court to be any true threat. However, one Lady Mathilde appeared to be different; the girls were very close, often sleeping in the same bed, breaking their fast together, walking in the gardens together… Alicent saw from the beginning that she was cunning, and much too forward for Alicent’s tastes, often being found gossiping or flirting with anyone who would give her the time of day. She feared the impact that such a friendship would have on the princess, but Alicent could not risk insulting Mathilde’s house, who was already quite critical of the Hightower rule.

When she first caught wind of the impropriety that was supposedly taking place among the princess’s social circle, she knew she needed to step in. Far too many times now she had received complaints of the princess and her closest companions enjoying far too much wine in the gardens, or being quite loud well into the night when they all should have been abed, and her response to Alicent’s questioning was becoming more and more irritating for the queen; the modest, obedient girl had turned snarky and unapproachable.

Alicent had reached her wits end, getting the third complaint of the day for the princess’s daily activities, pushing past the knight at her door with a few tense words of dismissal, climbing her way up the stairs and through the unguarded door of the princess’s chambers, noting to herself to have Ser Thomas punished for leaving his post unattended.

Her feet stopped abruptly, eyes widening at the sight before her as her breath caught in her throat. Before her, on the extravagant four-poster bed, Princess Y/n was splayed out with her shift unlaced to leave her chest exposed as the skirt was bunched around her hips to make room for the girl who knelt between her thighs. Her eyes were closed, silver curls splayed out on the mattress as she arched her back, fingers lacing through the dark locks of Lady Mathilde to hold her face snugly against her cunt.

For a few moments, Alicent watched. The curve of the princess’s spine lifting from the feather-stuffed mattress, breasts lifting towards the ceiling as the cool of the evening air caused her nipples to harden into tight little pebbles; The sounds of her pleasure, whimpers and curses falling from her lips as the brunette sucked and nibbled at the sensitive folds of her womanhood. Alicent felt her lips purse in response to the involuntary watering of her mouth, fists clenching as she pressed her thighs together for a brief moment.

She blinked a few times, coming back to herself. Neither of the young ladies seemed to notice the queen’s presence until she loudly cleared her throat, shaking her head to refocus.

Both girls sat up in surprise, the princess rushing to cover herself as the other hastily readjusted her hair and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. The queen stared at them sternly for a beat before glancing up at the ceiling as she let out a deep sigh.

“Get out,” her voice was clear and commanding, stare coming back to the two figures on the bed and scoffing as either moved, “I said out.”

Lady Mathilde rushed to the door, pulling her robe over herself to protect her modesty as she escaped the princess’s chambers. Alicent did not spare her a second glance, instead choosing to stare directly at her stepdaughter, who seemed uncertain of whether she would be embarrassed or cocky for being caught in such a state.

“Your Grace,” The princess sat up straighter, “Apologies, but I did not hear your knock. As you can see, I was quite… indisposed.”

Alicent scoffed again, “Indisposed. Have you no shame? No decency?”

The princess rolled off of the bed, moving to pull her wine coloured robe over her shoulders and sitting at her vanity, “Decency. I was alone in my own chambers, it is not my fault that you do not feel the need to uphold some boundaries, stepmother.”

“I shouldn’t think it necessary, given your recent behaviour. How else could I prevent you from indulging in your depravities?”

“Worry not, Your Grace, my maidenhead is still intact, if that is your concern. My prospects for marriage will not be harmed.”

“No?” Alicent laughed cynically, “And when the court hears of your indecency? What then, when lords begin to refuse to entertain a woman of such immorality?”

“I think my Valyrian blood would be enough incentive for most,” The princess scoffed, brushing through her silky hair, “I doubt any would truly care, so long as I provide heirs and a few moments of pleasure. My title and connection to the Crown is of much more importance than my chastity.”

Alicent stormed forward, grasping her stepdaughter’s wrist tightly in her own grasp, “Listen to yourself! Your father, the king, has spent more money than you can even imagine on bringing suitors here for you, hosting feasts and tournaments for you, offering you the finest of lifestyles and education–Think of the opportunities he has given you, and this is how you act?”

“My father,” The princess sneered, pushing herself up to speak directly into her stepmother’s face, “Wasted his coin in doing those things, not for me or for my future, but himself. He could not, in good faith, let me rot in the Vale until I am old and withered, so instead he calls me home, only so he can be rid of me for good. Nothing that fool has ever done has ever been for anyone except for himself–even now, he allows you and your father to rule in his stead, slipping the realm and his family into chaos and not willing to step in and protect anyone but himself–”

The room went dead silent after the loud clap of Alicent’s palm across the princess’s cheek. Both women gasped, Y/n reaching to prod at her swelling cheek while Alicent collected herself.

“You forget yourself. Your father is the king, and you will treat him as such. Everything your father does is in honour of your mother and the love he holds for you and the memories of her that he sees in you,” Alicent gulped, looking away as tears fell over the princess’s cheeks, “Lady Mathilde will be removed from court on the morrow. I should have never allowed her to accompany you in the first place. You will accompany me to the Sept for prayer tomorrow morning, and you will be taking extended lessons with the Septa. You will break your fast and sup with only myself or alone, and you will learn to respect your father, the king, and me, your queen. Now go to bed, and bathe yourself tomorrow morning–Your sin alone is enough to disgrace the sept, let alone any physical signs of it.”

With that, Alicent turned and fled the room, rushing down the stairs and ignoring the greetings of the white cloaks patrolling the halls as she marched into her chambers. She paused, raising her hands to grasp at her face in frustration.

She cursed silently, then quickly blessed herself. Shaking her head, she began to pull at the laces of her own robe, falling into her plush bed and curling into herself. She was still for a few moments, waiting for her handmaidens to put out the candles and leave the room before she rolled onto her back, shakily pulling her skirt up to her hips and slipping her fingers between her thighs, head rolling back in both pleasure and annoyance at how wet she had become from watching the princess in such a primal, exposed state, breasts heaving with her stuttered breaths and husky moans. Alicent felt that angry bubbling eating away at her gut, intense jealousy surging through her at the thought of that girl touching her, tasting her in the most intimate way possible–what Alicent wouldn’t give to know how it felt to taste a Targaryen princess, a thought she had not entertained in many years.

Alicent grunted, hips stuttering into her own touch as her brows furrowed, unable to find a steady enough rhythm. She quickly rolled herself over, face pressed into her pillow and back arching to lift her dripping core into the air. She reached beneath herself, quickly moving to circle her clit with a steadier, more confident pace. A surprise jolt of pleasure wracked her body, shocked at how sensitive she was with that first touch as a heavy, dragged out moan filtered out of her, brows creasing in concentration as she fell into a steady, but rapidly quickening pace. Her fist tightened into the sheets, arm tensing to push herself up into a sitting position, legs widening impossibly further as she began riding her own fingers, hips stuttering as she reached her peak, and then gradually slowed to a stop. She slid her fingers out of herself, gliding them up her body until she was able to wrap her lips around them, tasting her own juices and imagining it was the princess’s instead. When she finally collapsed back on the bed, rolling onto her back and taking heaving breath as her heart slowed to a normal, steady beat. She laid there silently for a few moments before she finally closed her eyes in embarrassment, cheeks burning red at the memory of what she had done, and more importantly, what had stirred her on.

In the following weeks, she noticed the princess’s behaviour reverted to one that was more akin to how she had acted when she had returned from Vale. In the public eye, she had continued to portray the perfect princess, years worth of practised grace and charisma coming to aid her in impressing the visiting suitors, and even regularly accompanied Alicent to the sept for prayer. Alicent wondered, in the beginning, if she truly just had been in need of a reality check, to be put in her place in order for her to behave. Then, Alicent realised, no one–especially someone so deviant as the princess–returns to the light so easily without still being tempted by the sins of their past. The Hightower queen knew better than anyone that the princess was most certainly still indulging in her desires, and Alicent had just made it more difficult for herself to catch the princess in the act by sending Lady Mathilde away.

For now, at least, the queen would have to settle with this arrangement. In truth, there was nothing that she could truly do to stop the girl from doing as she pleased, she just hoped she would keep it a private matter. That way, the queen would not have to deal with the matter, nor would she find herself in the position of witnessing and being influenced by the princess’s depravity.

In fact, Alicent found herself coming to enjoy the princess’s company. She was, after all, dangerously charismatic and carried a wit that kept the queen on her toes. On a personal level, she truly did feel for the princess; her father made little effort to know her after months apart, and yet she was being forced into a marriage with some lord that she doesn't even know for his advantage. Alicent was once in a similar position, and she had a deep understanding of exactly why the young woman was so hostile towards her father.

The eldest son of House Tyrell seemed to be an ideal match for their own young princess. He was handsome, and seemed to have focused much of his time on earning a greater understanding of the princess’s Valyrian culture and heritage. He seemed quite taken with the silver-haired beauty, stealing her away to the dance floor at any given opportunity during the grand feast being held in his honour. Alicent was glad to see it, hoping that this issue would be resolved easily enough once she was focused on a husband of her own, but that itching feeling of suspicion at the base of her spine returned as she watched the princess be dragged away by her potential betrothed’s elder sister, spinning around the dancefloor hand in hand.

The queen found herself lost in her cups that night. She had been sitting in between her frail husband and the droning lady of Highgarden, her high-pitched voice turning into an annoying ringing in her ears as she watched over the crowd, emerald eyes constantly in search of her stepdaughter in the crowd. On top of everything else, Aegon had been acting up once more, and Rhaenyra’s insistent involvement in her sister’s betrothal leading to the king’s heir, her husband, and all five of her children arriving in King’s Landing.

She had found it difficult to relinquish some of her everyday activities with the princess to Rhaenyra, who had been at her side since they had arrived, fingers gracing her cheeks affectionately and insisting on doing her sister’s hair on her own. The youngest of Aemma’s children did not belong to the red haired woman, that much she already knew, but Rhaenyra’s presence seemed to pose a threat to Alicent.

Her wandering mind had drawn her eyes to the heir to the throne, where she and her husband stood off to the side conversing with some other lords. She shook her head, rolling her neck back as Lady Tyrell’s blabbering returned to her. Her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for the recognisable head of silver braids amongst the court, lips curling down as she failed to find her.

Alicent grasped her cup, downing the remainder of the sweet wine and forcing herself to her feet. She barely offered Lady Tyrell a glance as she excused herself, quickly manoeuvring through the crowd. The queen spared no time, immediately turning and taking the far too familiar route to the princess’s chambers, though she only made it about halfway there before she discovered exactly where the princess had escaped to.

Princess Y/n of House Targaryen was pressed against the stone pillar in a small alcove, helplessly pressing herself against the full figure of the eldest Tyell girl, moaning wantonly into their kiss and paying no mind to the fact that her stepmother had just caught her for the second time.

“I thought we were past this,” Alicent frowned, the lack of emotion in her voice betraying exactly how enraged she truly was, sending a nervous shiver down Y/n’s spine.

“Your Grace,” the Tyrell girl curtsied, separating herself from the princess in embarrassment. Alicent felt a touch of relief at how flustered she appeared in comparison to Lady Mathilde. “I–I…”

“Leave us,” Alicent did not remove her eyes from the princess, who shrunk into herself as the lady rushed down the corridor, barely gone for a moment before the queen was grabbing her bicep with a bruising grip and dragging her up the stairs. “I cannot believe you, just when I thought I had gotten through to you.”

The door to Y/n’s bedchambers slammed shut behind them, Alicent dragging the younger woman across the room and throwing her onto the bed, face first. The queen felt her own face burning red, unsure if it was caused by the burning anger inside of her, the wine, or the familiar feeling squeezing at the bottom of her stomach. The princess whimpered, pushing herself up to attempt to turn and face the queen when Alicent’s hand fisted itself into her silver locks, forcing her back down on the mattress.

“You will stay, I think I need to get my point across more thoroughly,” Alicent muttered, using her spare hand to tug at the princess’s skirts until her bare ass was left to the cool evening air.

The queen took a moment to admire her soft, plump flesh, dimpling skin leading down to the silver curls that peeked out from between her thighs. The Hightower woman inhaled deeply, collecting herself, before she finally brought her flat palm down against the meat of her ass. The princess cried out, skin singing with pain as her ring-clad fingerprints were burned into her flesh, limbs fighting to escape her punishment, though the queen seemed to be much stronger than she looked. Alicent continued her assault, watching with a sadistic satisfaction as her handprint was left repeatedly in the princess’s skin.

“You forced my hand,” The queen grunted, “Everything I have done for you, everything everyone has done for you, and you still betray your duties.”

“I’m sorry!” The princess wept, “I tried, I did! I cannot help it.”

Alicent ignored her and the small pang at her heart, continuing to spank the girl before halting as her fingers landed on the apex of her thighs, a squelching sound echoing from the slap as her fingers found her dripping mound. The queen gasped at the wetness that soaked her fingertips, slowly pulling them away to stare at them.

“Look at you,” She muttered, “No matter the circumstance, no matter the woman, you are dripping and desperate.”

She finally released the princess, allowing her to turn and face her, whimpering as her sensitive ass pressed against the textured furs. She stared up at the queen for a few moments, letting out stuttering breaths as silent tears fell down her cheeks, then she pushed herself up, forcing her face into Alicent’s chest as she wrapped her arms around her, sobs wracking her body.

“I am sorry,” she wept, “I cannot help it, believe me. I wish I was never afflicted like this, but everytime I try to stay on a straight path, I find myself lost once more.”

Alicent’s hand came up to grasp at the back of the princess’s head, engulfing her in an affectionate embrace that was frighteningly soft in comparison to her previous actions. She whispered calming words to her, forcing her face back so she could speak directly to her.

“I understand,” She said, “Everyone struggles with their own afflictions…myself included.”

“Even you?” The princess sniffled, “You seem so perfect.”

Alicent scoffed, “If I were perfect, my children would be well behaved, the realm would be at peace, and I would be satisfied without my own guilt and sin.”

Y/n exhaled, eyes flickering to the queen’s pouty lips for a brief moment before leaning up, nose brushing against hers. Their breaths mingled, lips ghosting one another’s in order to test the waters, allowing for Alicent to pull away before the decision was made.

She did not.

Alicent wishes she could blame the alcohol that she had consumed, but as her lips crashed against those of the princess, she was brought back to the many nights she had brought herself to her blissful peak with swirling thoughts of the silver-haired woman. Her hands grasped her face, holding her tightly in place as she continued her new assault, this time one that the princess was glad to receive.

“We will fight this together,” the queen murmured, “We will help one another.”

The princess nodded, desperately pushing her face closer for another kiss, which the queen was happy to offer to her. She moaned at the princess’s taste, the sweetness of her tongue mixed with the sharp taste from the wine she had been drinking. Alicent finally pulled away, forcefully turning the princess around as she made quick work of the lacings of her dress, eagerly helping her remove and step out of the many layers of clothing she’d been wearing. She allowed herself to stare in awe as the princess turned back to face her, breasts heaving in anticipation of the queen’s touch.

“Beautiful,” Alicent murmured, fingers gliding up her sweat-glazed flesh to pinch tightly at one of the princess’s pebbled nipples and smirking at the whimper that escaped her kiss bitten lips. The queen released her touch, turning herself around and calling to the younger woman over her shoulder, “Take off my clothes.”

Y/n giggled behind her, hands finding the queen’s waist as her lips trailed her pale neck. Her voice escaped her in a husky whisper, breath hot against the queen’s ear as her fingers slowly pulled at the green gown, “Yes, Your Grace.”

Alicent felt a shiver of desire ripple down her spine as her own clothes joined the princess’s in a heap on the floor. She turned as soon as her chemise removed and her skin was left completely bare, pushing herself as close to the princess as possible and capturing her lips in another kiss, both women fighting each other with ferocity and passion before Alicent finally subdued the princess’s attempt to seize control. Y/n pulled back, lips trailing down the queen’s neck, shoulder, and collar bones before she went to work on her breasts. Her tongue dragged over every inch of her bare chest before she finally focused on the hardened pink buds, sucking each into her mouth and offering them equal amounts of attention as she sucked, licked, and nibbled away.

Alicent moaned out, head tilting back as she felt the pleasure course through her. The thick red curls between her thighs felt matted with the amount of juices that had escaped her, and she’d finally had enough. She pulled the younger woman away from her breast, noting the whimper of disappointment that left her lips. Alicent kissed her again, indulging the princess’s desperation as she kissed back eagerly, before she pushed her back, pinching her cheeks together to force her lips into a pout.

“Get on your knees,” Alicent ordered, “Show your queen the fruits of the company that you keep.”

The princess wasted little time, kneeling between the queen’s thighs, leaning forward with an exploratory lick into the mass of red curls. Alicent gasped at the contact, fingers curling into the younger woman’s hair and forcing her face closer. The princess had not been at work for five minutes before Alicent raised her leg, resting her foot on the edge of the bed next to them, using extra support to begin thrusting her hips forward. She chased her orgasm ferociously, rolling her hips against the princess’s tongue, gripping her hair tightly as she guided her face into her and fucked her face ruthlessly.

“Gods, yes,” she sighed, staring down at the violet eyes of her stepdaughter, “You were born for this, to obey your queen.”

She let out a cry of pleasure as her orgasm rolled over her, caused by another person for the first time in her life. Alicent continued to roll her hips, slowing until the aftershocks came to a halt. She pulled her hips back, hauling the princess back to her feet to catch a taste of her own juices on the princess’s lips. Her hands carded down her back, down her back and grasping at the meat of her ass snugly, completely forgetting the tenderness of the flesh until the princess whimpered in discomfort.

“My apologies, sweetness,” Alicent instead turned to gently massage the flesh, “Allow me to make it better.”

The princess was malleable for the queen as she helped her onto the bed, pushing her onto her belly and forcing her ass up into the air. The queen felt a stab of guilt as she stared down at the swollen skin of her ass, bringing her lips down to press gentle, loving kisses into the flesh before her fingers gripped the skin as softly as possible to spread her cheeks, mouth watering at the sight of her silver curls glistening with arousal. Alicent wasted no more time, pressing her face into the princess’s core with vigour, tongue working her tight hole before lowering to suck at her swollen and throbbing clit. The sounds escaping the princess were more than enough to encourage Alicent’s movements, working her sweet bud until her own release was gushing out, oozing onto Alicent’s tongue. The queen moaned at the taste, slurping up every last drop that she could find.

Cries of pleasure left the princess’s lip as she shook with the aftershocks, offering no resistance as the Queen rolled her onto her back and paying no attention to what she was doing until another burst of pleasure shot through her at the unexpected feeling of Alicent’s hot, wet core pressing against her own. Both women sighed at the contact, Alicent’s hands coming to rest on either side of the princess’s head as she rocked her hips, pressing their lips together in a weak attempt at silencing their moans as she found a steady pace.

The only sound heard in the room was the soft clapping of skin on skin, a squelching of their juices mingling together, and the desperate moans escaping both women. Y/n’s hands gripped Alicent’s waist tightly, raking her eyes over the queen’s body as she rode her, fingers crawling up her torso to find her breasts, squeezing and tugging on her heavy breasts.

“Your Grace,” the princess cried out, back arching off of the mattress, “Pleas–Your Grace, I am close.”

“As am I,” Alicent muttered, head tilted back with her eyes closed, “Gods, gods, yes.”

The princess reached her peak first, body thrashing in the sheets as the wetness between her thighs dripped down onto the sheets, soaking both herself and the queen above her in her juices. Then, Alicent fell over the ledge, fisting the sheets tightly with one hand while the other grasped the princess’s throat, pulling her up to kiss her once more.

The queen collapsed on top of the princess, red curls mixing with sliver as they lay entirely pressed together. Alicent pressed sweet kisses to the princess’s face, soothing her with gentle praises as she smoothed her hair away.

“I love you,” The princess muttered, her voice strained with dehydration, “I love you, I love you.”

The queen fought back a smile, “I know, my sweet girl. I know.”

They kissed, this time slow and yearning, a silent agreement of the change in their relationship.

“This changes things, more than you know,” the queen sighed, “But the decision has been made, and I will do everything in my power to protect you from the dangers of our desires.”

“As will I,” the princess whispered, leaning up to taste the queen’s lips once more, both completely unaware of the figure peering at them from the doorway.

#reader insert #x reader #imagines #lesbian #alicent hightower fanfic #alicent hightower imagine #alicent hightower is a lesbian #alicent x reader #alicent hightower x reader #alicent hightower

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rboooks · 1 year ago

Text

Alfred's Boy: Part 2

Bruce felt his blood pressure rise as Damian shoved another pair of swimming trucks into his cart. His youngest insisted that he needed something flattering, as his previous outfit was "functional but not attractive to the youth of today."

Damian had never cared that he wasn't up to the trends, but that was before Danny moved into the manor. Now he had to wait hours for Damian to find a satisfying outfit, knowing darn well its only because Danny mentioned he was interested in taking a dip in the inner pool.

The boy, technically being staff, felt it was essential to ask permission before taking a swim. Bruce had spent years telling Alfred he had free range over the manor, only to always have the man ask before doing anything. He hopes Danny won't develop the same habit.

He wanted the young man to feel at home with them.

His younger children- who honest to God forgot they even had a pool- had all scrambled to go swimming with Danny. Tim had practically thrown himself over the table to change from his WE suit into his swimming wear, Duke use his grappling hook to zoom up the stairs and Steph begged Cass to lend her a bikini.

Damian remained seated, despairing that his old swimming shorts had been bought by Dick the year previous. Dick had gotten him green shorts with little cats and dogs. Damian- who refused to even go near public pools- wore them to the family pool with no desire to purchase new ones since he saw no point in it.

And now he was paying the price for keeping childish wear. Personally, Bruce thought they were adorable and perfect for his fourteen-year-old son, but being two years younger than Danny gave him a terrible disadvantage, and Damian could not afford falling futher behind.

He just sat there, staring longingly at the retreating back of Alfred's assistant after telling him he had nothing to wear. Danny had told them he could join the rest another time before scurrying away to finish his cleaning of the right wing.

What else could Bruce do besides offering to take him to the nearest outlet mall and get him something nicer?

"Damian are you almost-"

"I am ready, father. Make haste to purchase our wears. Daniel must be finishing his duties, and I wish to get back." His son announced, yanking the cart out of Bruce's hand and practically running to the cashiers.

Bruce sighed.

It's not that he minded his son's crush on a boy or that it was Danny. It just felt like he shouldn't be encouraging his children to try and romance someone going through a lot.

Alfred had forbidden anyone from looking into Danny's background, and he had respected the request. There was a lot Bruce and Batman were willing to do but defying a direct order from Alfred was not one of them.

(Honesty, if Alfred ever turned evil, Bruce's contingency plan for him was simple: Die.)

Danny took his assistant butler job very seriously. Often wearing a neat and pressed suit, finishing his work in record time, well mannered and very intelligent but kept a distance from the family. Alfred also had a small wall of professionalism but he would crack a joke and be in their presence like a grandfather.

Danny only spoke when spoken to, tried to refrain from being notice and basically kept the reminder that while he liked them all he was always going to be a employee first and foremost.

Maybe it was due to his parents? Danny probably couldn't relax until he felt safe once more. Not for the first time, Bruce wondered what type of monsters the Fentons had to be to make a boy capable of discovering the Batcave without so much of a blink, flatter.

"Father!" Damian called impatiently, tapping his foot before the nervous-looking teen who what been attempting to ring him up.

The Wayne's made everyone nervous.

"Yes. Yes. Here put It on my card-" Damian snatched it out of his hand before Bruce even took it out completely from his wallet.

Suddenly his phone rings. Seeing that Damian could handle punching in the Pin, he accepted the call, not bothering to check the screen.

All his children have personalized ringtones, so only one person would cause Gun and Ships from the Hamilton musical to blare from his phone.

"Jason-"

"Bruce!" Jason yells in a wheezing voice "Tim almost drowned!"

What.

"Is he alright!?"

"He's fine!" Jason assures, voice breaking to manic cackling. "He's just really embarrassed. He forgot about the bruise on his back, so when he tried to do cannonballs with Danny, he cramped up. Danny had to help him out of the pool and then lectured him about jumping in the deep end because of peer pressure. He thinks Tim can't swim, Bruce!"

Bruce felt a headache building behind his eyes. "Jason-"

"Wait, wait, there's more! Do you know how Steph never wears bikinis because she is uncomfortable? Danny clocked that as soon as she walked in and offered her the old t-shirt he was wearing. Took it off right then and there, and do you know what Steph did!? She walked into a wall! A wall Bruce!"

"Jason-"

"Duke hasn't stopped staring at Danny. I think his brain is in a permanent blue screen. I'm actually thinking he's-"

"Jason!" Bruce cut in which finally seemed to get his second oldest attention. Don't get him wrong, he was thrilled that Jason was spending so much time around the manor but the constant updates on his children tripping over themselves for Danny was not well for his heart. "I think you need to make sure your siblings give Danny some space. The poor chum might not be comfortable-"

"I'm not helping you stop Danny from finding true love, old man"

Bruce rolled his eyes as his son hung up. He can't wait for school to start up again. Danny will be homeschooled by his own request and Alfred's agreement but at least most of his kids will not be around him as often.

His phone started playing Sk8er Boy and he considered not answering. He really did but honestly his son probably needed him.

With a sigh he presses the accept call button "Tim-"

"He thinks I can't swim Bruce! He banned me from the pool!" Tim sobs and Bruce sees Damian perk up, happy Danny had put distance between one of his suitors ans himself.

Was it too late to ask Alfred if he was sure his contact Clockwork had no where else to foster Danny?

Being Batman on the night all his rouges broke out was easier then this.

( Part 1) (part 3)

#dc x dp crossover #Alfred's boy #part 2 #Bruce is tired #Jason is having the time of his life #Danny just wants to work #hes not aware they like him #he just thinka rich people are weird

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neptuneiris · 1 year ago

Text

Behind the Scenes (01/05)

Behind the Reencounter

pairing: actor!aemond × fem!reader

summary: Due to your work as a make-up artist and wardrobe assistant, you meet Aemond, a very successful young actor with whom you work and all professional relationship breaks down and a secret relationship arises, until you get pregnant and decide to run away from him so as not to ruin his successful and promising career. After almost two years, you and he unexpectedly meet again.

word counter: 7.6k

series masterlist • next part

hello! i'm back with another mini series! yay!

god, i'm so excited about this, it's nothing like what i've written before but the excitement and inspiration got the better of me.

also i must say that i had seen stories with this plot about daddy aemond and i wanted to make my own, adding angst, which i know you like and a story that i came up with that i really hope you like a lot:)

without more to say, enjoy beautiful people, I look forward to your comments, don't leave me without knowing what you think please!

warnings: angst, language, sexual content, smut

Your state of nervousness and anticipation is not much of help when it comes to the first day of your new job.

The film studio is a world of constant activity and you know that just on your first day it's going to be hectic. At least in your area which is Wardrobe and Makeup, it's a completely active area and you have to be available almost all the time.

You let out a long breath and before you leave, you stop in the studio's small nursery where your son, Aenar, barely a year old, spends his day while you work on set.

You can't help but watch him with adoration, a certain sadness and longing, for nothing would make you happier than to stay here with him, but you know you can't afford it.

These last few months have been hard, your income has been complicated and you need the money from this new job to be able to survive and make sure nothing is missing for him, your little boy.

Aenar crawls on the floor, exploring the world around him, while the woman in charge keeps her distance from you and him, taking care of other children. And when his big, curious blue eyes look up at you, he lets out a giggle of joy and stretches out his arms to you.

You bend down with him and take him in your arms tenderly and adoringly.

"You don't want me to leave, do you?" you murmur fondly as you leave a kiss on his cheek.

He babbles excitedly, unable to formulate coherent words, but his smile completely lights up your insides and you respond with giggles and smiles.

You take advantage of the little time you have before work to play and laugh with him for a moment. But eventually your time to leave arrives.

You leave a kiss on his forehead and with a sigh of defeat, you say goodbye.

"Mommy has to go but she'll be back soon, okay, my little dragon?"

His little hands explore for a second all over your face, making you laugh and you leave a couple more kisses on both of his chubby cheeks, loving to hear his laughter and loving to see the huge smile he places on his pink lips.

"I love you, sweetheart."

You leave one more kiss on his forehead and make sure one last time to cover his head well with his cap, taking advantage of the fact that it's November and Winter has arrived to hide his straight hair.

You distract him with all the colorful toys that are distributed on the floor for all the children and take the opportunity to leave, otherwise he will cry if he sees you leaving. You exchange a look of understanding with the woman in charge and finally head back to your workplace.

The trailer door opens with a soft creak as you enter, feeling the mixture of excitement and nervousness run down your spine. You had been looking forward to this moment with anticipation, but also apprehension.

For you knew that your past would come back to haunt you.

But you know you need to be here.

The first thing you see are the lighted mirrors with their respective chairs and vanities in front of them, where makeup and wardrobe experts hurry to prepare the actors for the day's filming.

A scent of pressed powder and beauty products fills the air, creating a familiar atmosphere. And when you barely have time to absorb the scene, a brown-haired girl approaches you with an enthusiastic, warm smile.

"Hi! Y/N, right? The new makeup artist."

She points at you with her index finger and a thoughtful look, without wiping away her smile.

"Hi, yes, it's me," you nod to her, as you return the small smile.

"Perfect! I'm Jess, the wardrobe assistant," she extends her hand to you in a friendly gesture, "Nice to meet you and welcome!"

You can't help but be relieved by the friendly reception, then shake your hand with hers.

"Nice to meet you too, Jess. Thank you for having me."

"Oh we're so excited to have you here, I've been looking forward to your arrival," she confides, "Let me show you where you can drop your stuff off and then I'll give you directions, okay?"

Again you nod, grateful for the kindness of Jess, who leads you toward a row of lockers where you can store your things, then gives you directions.

"First, let's go over the schedule for the day," she tells you, opening a folder with the itinerary for the shoot. "We have this first scene where we need to make sure every detail is perfect. And you'll be in charge of the wardrobe for the main characters today."

She indicates without losing the kindness in her tone and you nod, understanding.

"So, take the wardrobe list for each actor and check that we have everything in order."

He hands you a detailed list, making sure that you with your new addition are aware of every detail.

"After that, we'll move on to makeup," she instructs you, "Sam, our talented makeup artist, will give you a brief orientation on the look we're going for. Don't worry, she's amazing and will guide you through the whole process."

Jess grabs a pair of robes and hands them to you.

"Now, let's get to work on the wardrobe. When you've gone through everything, head over to the makeup area, okay?"

Again you nod, understanding the directions perfectly and dive into your tasks with enthusiasm, getting off to a very good start and feeling completely comfortable.

Besides, this is nothing you haven't done before, as way back when you used to work for the BBC television network right here in King's Landing as well, this was your job, so there's nothing new or complicated for you.

When Jess, frantically going through her checklist, looks up at you.

"Oh, Y/N, we need more pins for costume fixes. Could you go to the prop depot and get a package, please? I'd really appreciate it."

You nod with a small smile.

"Sure, I'll be right back."

With a determined pace, you step out of the trailer and head to the depot which isn't far away and start looking for the package, which you didn't think would take you some time since there are so many packages of different things mixed up.

You search through many huge boxes, until you finally find the package of pins and let out a relieved sigh.

You leave the huge room and close the door behind you, walking back. And as you walk, as you pay attention to your surroundings, you feel a mixture of nostalgia and nervousness, as these hallways, permeated with the buzz of film activity, take you back to memories you've been trying to bury.

You let out a long breath, not wanting to think about it now, and concentrate on your work.

As you enter back into the trailer, everything is immersed in a constant murmur of conversations and the activity of preparations, at the same time as the trailer door closes with a soft click behind you.

You are about to enter the area where the tables and chairs and mirrors and everyone else are when you hear a somewhat familiar voice in a distant echo in the middle of it all, completely stopping your footsteps.

"…they said at the training scene I wasn't supposed to look any different in particular."

You frown, thinking that maybe you're mishearing and are mistaking that voice for someone else's.

But still you advance just three steps, sharpening your hearing with a wary face, waiting, wanting to make sure.

"And which one of these for that scene?" you hear one of the girls in charge of wardrobe.

You wait for the answer from that attentive and completely cautious voice, thinking that it must probably be a figment of your mind that wants you to believe things that aren't.

"I think the brown one," you hear that voice say back to the girl.

Your heart stops completely in that instant.

No.

It can't be.

You think completely incredulous and terrified.

You stand completely paralyzed and with a face of total shock as the sound of that voice continues to echo softly throughout the interior of the trailer, flowing conversation between him and the makeup artist.

The pulse in your throat beats with a mixture of surprise and anxiety, suddenly losing strength in your body, so you lean against one of the walls as you feel an emotional vertigo begin to emerge.

All those buried memories, suddenly resurface, as it is no imagination of yours and you know it is him because his voice has not changed and you could recognize it anywhere.

It is him.

He is here.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to regain control of your emotions, but you can't, and you can't believe this is happening right now, on your first day of work.

Completely cautious, you slowly peek out, wanting to be even more sure and wanting to see that it's all just your mind making it up.

But as soon as you catch a glimpse of that signature flash of platinum hair, your heart rate begins to race faster than normal.

And there he is, with his hair pulled back in a small low bun as he discusses the details of the scene with the makeup artist, a scene that resonated with similarities to moments you and he shared in the pass.

Disbelief completely invades your eyes and your entire face as you watch him, surprised to see him after exactly one year since that day. You notice every gesture and every feature that is still etched in detail in your mind.

He, oblivious to your presence, continues the conversation, but something in your expression begins to tremble.

You go back in time to the spark you both shared in the corridors of that studio, the looks of complicity, the many nights you shared together and the whispers in the dim light of the dressing rooms.

But you also remember that day, when you saw him completely frustrated but willing to be there for you, where his manager and his entire team talked to him about the consequences and you also remember everything he promised you, on hidden, which is why you decided to run away when you were only three weeks pregnant with him.

A lump forms in your throat and standing there, watching him, after so long, tears begin to invade your eyes.

But Jess announces your presence as she emerges from the back where the dressing rooms are, watching you at the entrance completely static and with a look she can't instantly identify.

"Y/N! There you are! Did you get the pins?"

And that's when it happens.

Saying your name loud enough for everyone inside the trailer to hear, it catches his attention, who confused and attentive watches where Jess is heading and that's when the gazes meet.

And in that instant, a spark of recognition crosses the face of Aemond, Aemond Targaryen, the man you decided to run away from so as not to ruin his career and the father of your child.

His healthy eye opens wide and surprise and disbelief overcome him as he sees you, right there, less than five meters away from him, the woman who carried his child with her and whom he sought so much after she disappeared completely from his life.

Silent, with the urgency of tears threatening to overflow, you step back, watching him cautiously and fearfully, at the same time beginning to tremble all over.

"Y/N," he utters your name with a tone of surprise and longing, as if he can't believe it, beginning to slowly rise from the chair.

You recoil further, as all the sadness, pain and anguish wash over you as you remember the past and think at the same time of your son, your sweet little boy.

However, your first instinct is to run away. Again.

Without a word and without looking back, you turn around and exit the trailer quickly before you could no longer hold back and tears involuntarily flow from your eyes, taking with you the image of Aemond and the echoes of a past you cannot escape and forget.

You don't care about your job, you don't care that you left everything just like that, you only think about running away and going quickly for your son, crying and completely terrified.

Aemond watches you walk away, unable to move and unable to speak, with a look of deep disbelief, surprise, bewilderment, regret and remorse while the people around him do not understand anything.

He knows that he made many mistakes in the past and he knows that you have a right to feel upset and hurt. But he also knows that you also made mistakes and you recognize that too.

But for now, you run away and he stands still, losing strength, where you both barely process what just happened and at the same time travel to the past, where it all started and where it all ended.

ALMOST 2 YEARS AGO.

At just twenty-one years old, you barely graduated from college and landed a great job opportunity with the BBC television network to work as a professional makeup artist and wardrobe assistant.

And now at the age of twenty-two and having been working for the network for two years, your life couldn't be better.

You have the job of your dreams, you have achieved so much despite the fact that your parents had no faith in you for choosing to study something that didn't guarantee you a future, and now your income is enough to allow you to live an independent life where you lack nothing.

When then, a new project comes up, a new TV series where you participate full time and where you are passionate about what you do.

That's when you meet him, one of the main actors of the show, Aemond Targaryen, a young, successful twenty-four year old actor who has already attracted the attention of the show business in his early days with a very promising future.

But it was not only for his incredible talent, he was also recognized and attracted a lot of attention for his unusual appearance, beautiful bright blue eye and a peculiar long platinum hair.

In his interviews he explains the origin of the genetic descriptions of him and his family, which is what causes a lot of doubt in every interviewer and also in his fans, wanting to know his origin.

That's why when they tell you that you will be assisting him in his makeup and wardrobe, you can't help but feel nervous but also a little excited to work with him.

And when the day finally arrives, Aemond Targaryen is actually quite a nice and accessible man to work with.

In the first few weeks of working and shooting the show, your interaction with him was completely professional.

You take it upon yourself to bring out the best in his image for the screen, where he does his part, always being friendly, willing and cooperative with you to follow directions and achieve the perfect look.

Always both of you at the beginning had normal and casual conversations to start forming trust, where everything becomes routine.

And it's not until he would say anything silly to make you laugh and where you both got to the point where you allowed yourselves to talk completely freely without being judged.

The shared laughs and casual comments created a comfortable and relaxed atmosphere, where the relationship started to become more friendly and slowly stopped being so strictly professional.

And when you least expected it, you looked forward to working with him, doing his makeup and wardrobe, enjoying his company.

Even when he would arrive first at the trailer to get ready, he would look forward to your arrival.

And when you arrived, you couldn't help but smile a little shyly in his direction because of his intense gaze on you through the mirror, making you feel a little nervous.

As you carefully applied his makeup, Aemond couldn't help but notice that attention you paid to every detail on him, having you so close to his face, being a moment he also longed for it to come.

And as the days passed, accidental brushes and gestures that went beyond professionalism began to emerge.

During makeup sessions, the glances became more intense and prolonged, as if you were looking for something beyond the superficial appearance, where you noticed how he was looking at you beyond the professional surface.

But it wasn't something that bothered you, on the contrary, it made you feel inexplicable sensations that at the same time pleased you, knowing perfectly well that he wasn't like that with anyone else in your area, only with you.

And you both also made sure to act that way only when it was just the two of you or to do it subtly when you were around other people.

But you also knew the dangerous game you were both playing.

However, it was too late, you really started to like him too much even though you knew that the idea of him and you could not be possible.

In the film industry, relationships between colleagues are technically not allowed or frowned upon. Rumors and speculation about romances can alter fan perceptions and, in some cases, affect job opportunities.

In addition, you both have studio contracts and other projects in progress. And acting in such a way, where the intention of both is more than clear, can affect casting decisions and the perceptions of directors and producers.

And for Aemond, being an up-and-coming young actor with a solid fan base, the revelation of an affair can bring negative criticism to his public image.

His manager and team have told him that maintaining the coveted bachelor image may be convenient and commercially advantageous for him in his projects to attract audiences, as he is attractive and very talented.

Even though he had an accident as a child where he lost his left eye and now wears a prosthesis, that attracts more attention from people and they want to know more about him, causing him to be more relevant.

But all this mattered little to Aemond as he shared more moments with you.

As the relationship became more enjoyable, his feelings and emotions became more and more evident and so did yours, starting to overcome the barrier imposed by the entertainment industry.

And one day that line of professionalism that both were trying to maintain but was becoming increasingly difficult, finally broke down completely.

On a filming afternoon, you and Aemond meet in the wardrobe area, where you make sure he looks perfect in his required clothes for the day and he stands completely still, cooperating and watching you at all times.

The conversation between the two of you flows naturally, as it has so many times before, but this time, something in the air seems different, like a gentle tension.

"After we finish this final scene, we should go celebrate, don't you think?"

He suggests with a soft little smile, but his eye reflects an intensity and that desire he can't hide when he's with you.

"Sure," you say with a willing little smile, still securing his clothes, "With John, Rose and Lana?" you mention your partners.

"No," he murmurs, shaking his head softly, "Just you and me."

You look directly into his eye with a slightly surprised and bewildered look, not expecting to hear that, beginning to feel nervous at his words and also at the proximity of the two of you.

"But…" you look at him a little incredulously and with a small sad and disappointed smile, "We can't."

"Yes we can," he tells you softly, "We just have to be very careful and not tell anyone."

You watch him with a small spark of amusement on your face, smiling softly in his direction, not believing he's serious.

And it is at that moment that the looks on both of your faces makes it clear that the connection you both share is deeper than you both believed and where Aemond, more than anything else, makes his true intentions clear and wants to put them into practice, after so long.

A complicit silence surrounds the two and it is as if time stands still for an instant.

Aemond, with a soft expression, unable to contain himself any longer, gently takes your face in his hands and you let him, because you want him, even though you shouldn't.

"There's something I've wanted to do for a long time," he confesses, his voice laden with sincerity.

You, intrigued and captivated by the intensity in his eye, his beautiful blue eye and the closeness of the bodies, look at him with attention and desire.

"What is it?" you murmur, almost in a whisper.

And without another word, Aemond leans toward you and closes the distance between you, bringing his lips together with yours in a needy but slow and deep kiss that you reciprocate instantly.

It all happens in an instant of surprise, followed by a sweet surrender to the attraction that had grown between the two of you.

Time comes to a complete stop as you both sink into that first kiss, where Aemond's hands gently grip your waist and you respond with the same intensity by locking your arms around his neck and clinging to his lips.

You don't want him to stop, you don't want any of this to end.

Everything feels perfect and just as you imagined in your fantasy mind of wanting to live this moment.

And the moment doesn't end, as he pulls you further into the dressing room while still kissing you, leaning you against a vanity and pressing your body completely against his, making you gasp and respond to his needy kiss in kind.

Unfortunately, the kiss doesn't last as long as you would have liked, as a voice screams throughout the trailer.

"Next scene in five minutes! Everyone to the set, please!"

You and Aemond part abruptly, with surprised and terrified looks on your faces, instantly keeping your distance and pretending nothing has happened.

You head along with him toward the set, trying to hide any trace of the intimacy you both shared moments ago. And as you immerse yourself in the frenetic pace of the shoot, the complicity between the two of you manifests itself in small gestures and stolen glances.

And that's when the little relationship secretly begins.

Keeping the relationship a secret became a balancing act for both of you. As the connection you and he shared intensified, the need to hide the relationship became more and more crucial.

In the trailer and on set when you were around more people, as he did you had to learn to act as naturally as ever, carefully concealing any trace of intimacy.

Encounters became completely secret, kisses and caresses behind dressing rooms or in the trailer when you were alone, always alert to the possibility of being discovered. Even in the dressing room, it became a meeting place, where they could enjoy a moment alone.

You could also talk freely by call or text, but both he and you preferred to see each other in person.

That's why on days off, which were few, Aemond always took you to more private places. One night, for example, he took you to dinner at a small restaurant outside of town.

If it wasn't a restaurant, it was to invite you to a small coffeeshop and more discreet places, out of the reach of prying eyes, where he still had to go covered by his characteristic hair.

And when neither of them had the spirit to be always alert, you went to his apartment or he to yours, where they could act with total freedom and even go further.

In Aemond you found a friend, an accomplice and practically the perfect man for you, not because of what he possesses and who he is out there for everyone to see, but because of who he really is, inside.

You simply couldn't help but fall deeply in love with him and that fortunately he reciprocated as strongly as you did, wanting you and only you.

And although the fear of discovery added a touch of dangerous excitement to the relationship, the weight of keeping it all a secret was beginning to generate emotional conflict.

The strain of keeping up appearances and the constant need for vigilance began to wear on you. And as the relationship progresses, you can't help but wonder if there will ever be a chance to be free with Aemond.

But you both know it's not possible.

Much less will it be when one day, Aemond lets you know the news.

"I need to talk to you about something," he says in a serious and defeated tone, taking your hands in his.

He has come unexpectedly to your apartment and that seemed strange to you, but now that he is telling you this and behaving like this, you know it is for a reason and it is not a good one.

"Is everything okay?" you ask him intently and with your brow furrowed.

He sighs before answering, looking sad.

"Production and my manager are pressuring me to fake a relationship with my co-star in a promotional campaign. They say it will help generate more interest in the show."

And there are the consequences of having this relationship on the quiet with him.

Aemond's face contorts in anguish as he sees the expression on your face of mild surprise and definitely not expecting to hear that.

"I promise you that I refused and did everything in my power not to do this Y/N, but I didn't accomplish nothing and…. I-It shouldn't take more than three months, I swear."

He explains, but the sharp pain in your chest is already there and remains, as you begin to imagine what this is all going to be like.

You press your lips together in a thin line and not knowing what to say or what exactly to do, you let out a long breath and watch your hands with his, processing what he is telling you and what he will have to do next.

Even though you understand the demands of the industry and everything about marketing, still the idea of Aemond faking a relationship with someone else makes you feel weird and uncomfortable.

But what can you really do? Nothing.

This is his job and you're not going to get upset with him when you know it's not his fault and that this is what he does in order to make a living.

"When?" you ask him watching him with your soft gaze but with a slightly sad expression.

He lets out a sigh.

"I don't know, I just know that they are already setting everything up," he tells you frustrated with his low and serious voice, "But I need you to be okay with this, Y/N," he looks at you worried, "I know it will be hard for both of us but I don't want this to affect us when you know the truth behind everything and why I do it."

You watch him for a few seconds without saying anything, as you feel a lump in your throat and also feel the helplessness he conveys for all of this, as he really doesn't want to do this.

But he must meet the professional expectations of the production company and you have no choice but to support him.

"Well," you say softly, trying to hide your hurt look by forcing a small smile to reassure him, "These are the production company's decisions and you must do it. And you don't need to worry about me, you know I'll support you."

He takes his gaze away from yours for a second, letting out a longer sigh than before, then takes your face gently in his hands.

"Of course I worried about you, sweetheart," he murmurs with tiredness, then draws you into a tight, tender embrace.

He leaves a gentle kiss on your head and even though he is relieved that you understood, he still feels remorse and anguish because if he were you, of course he would disagree and it would hurt quite a bit.

But this is work and he really doesn't have much choice.

And when you least expect it, the moment arrives.

The next few weeks are a complete whirlwind of emotions for you as you watch the fictional relationship of Aemond and his co-star, the famously gorgeous actress Cerelle Lannister, prepare to come to light.

Joint promotions take them both to photo shoots and interviews where they must show complicity and affection. And seeing Aemond sharing moments that used to be just yours and his, now in the public sphere with someone other than you, becomes a painful test.

One evening, you see photos of Aemond and Cerelle having dinner at a famous restaurant downtown and all the photos show the complicit smiles and affectionate gestures.

And even though you know it's part of the act, you can't help but feel a knot in your stomach seeing them together. And even worse, seeing how the public is fascinated and in love with their relationship.

It is for all this that you no longer see him frequently and there is only communication by messages.

And when he finally has a space in his schedule, he takes the opportunity to see you, where you at all times try to look as if you are not affected by all this, so as not to worry him and frustrate him when you know he has a lot of weight on his shoulders.

He still apologizes and tries to make it up to you, but in the midst of your soothing words, the pain is reflected in your gaze.

And that's what you do for the next few weeks, you continue to support him from the shadows while he and Cerelle put on a show and are the center of attention.

At first you had told yourself not to see anything about them on the internet, but you can't help it and you see the pictures, read the headlines in the magazines and with each new performance, you feel a slight sharp pain in your heart.

When the day of a big awards event arrives where directors, producers, script writers, the academy members, the press and of course the actors and actresses attend, where precisely Aemond and Cerelle attend together as a couple officially in front of all public eye.

Images and videos of the two sharing laughter and affectionate gestures spread through every social network, while you, from your apartment, watch the scene with a mixture of pride as this is important in Aemond's career but also feel a deep sadness that threatens to overflow.

You wish it was you instead of her.

It's been months since you and Aemond started this relationship behind everyone's back and you want that, to be able to touch him and be with him in public.

But you can't.

And you can't stand this anymore either.

You decide to watch movies and change the channel, not wanting to focus on them anymore, trying to ignore your emotions and your wounded heart, not wanting to do anything else tonight but just forget and stay in the comfort of your bed.

After two hours, your phone starts ringing, indicating an incoming call and when you look at the screen, Aemond's name appears, but you decide not to answer.

You don't feel like talking to him, you don't want to get upset with him when he is not to blame for anything and start an unnecessary fight, so you prefer not to talk.

But after that call, Aemond insistent calls you a couple more times, in which you decide not to answer as well.

At your lack of response, he can't help but feel worried, thinking that you must be feeling bad because of him even though you understand why he's doing all this. And once the rewards are over, he in covered takes his car and drives to your apartment.

As he drives, his mind is filled with thoughts of how to talk to you and find the right words to ease the tension in both of you. But the nervousness doesn't let him think clearly nor has he forgotten the overwhelming awards he had to attend to.

Once he arrives at your door, he just hopes you're okay, even though he knows you're not and knocks three times.

"Y/N? It's Aemond," he says cautiously and hopeful that you will open the door, wanting to speak and see you.

The silence lingers for a few moments before you finally open the door, where the slight surprise of seeing him here at this hour is reflected in your gaze, not understanding anything. And he just sighs, feeling guilty.

"You didn't respond to my calls or messages and I got worried," he explains to you briefly and in a soft voice, "I needed to see you."

Despite all the emotions you're feeling, the fact that he's come looking for you shows you that he really cares about you and wants to do everything he can to make you okay.

You watch him silently for a moment and nod slowly in his direction with a look of understanding.

"I'm fine," you reply softly, wanting to convince him as well as yourself.

"No, I know you're not," he insists, concerned, "I-I… I know this is all very difficult and I don't want you to feel pressured, but…" he lets out a frustrated sigh, "I'm here to talk if you need to."

Appreciating his sincerity silently and seeing how terribly worried he is, you let him in.

The two of you have a difficult but necessary conversation, where neither of you have any intention of ending this thing you have together and where he's willing to show you that he doesn't care about Cerelle, just you.

"I only want you, baby. You and no one else," he murmurs lovingly and with desire in his gaze, closing his eye and catching your lips in a needy, deep kiss.

You respond in kind, gasping into his lips and bringing your hands to stroke his hair, clinging to him completely as he brings his hands to your waist and ass, squeezing the soft skin of both your ass cheeks.

"Do you mean it?" you ask in the middle of the kiss, beginning to feel the wetness between your legs.

"Yes, I fucking mean it," he replies against your lips, biting and sucking on your lips again.

You moan as he begins to leave a trail of kisses all over your neck, biting and leaving little marks on your sensitive skin, making you shiver all over your body and begin to feel the hardness in his pants against your pelvis.

Absentmindedly he brings one of his hands up and caresses one of your breasts over your shirt, making you moan and continue kissing him as he brings his hands back down to your thighs.

"Oh, Aemond," you whine.

"Fuck," he murmurs in delight, making you wrap your legs around his torso and feel directly on your needy clit, his cock hard and in need of release, "Such a needy little thing, arent you?"

His mouth roams and kisses every exposed part of your skin, as he pulls you along with him towards your couch, making you sit on top of him and you desperately begin to seek relief as you cause friction between your bodies.

He groans into your mouth, feeling his cock throb and ache.

"Can I take this off?" he grabs the edge of your shirt and you nod desperately, needy.

You are not wearing a bra and when your breasts are out in the open, Aemond lets out a curse as he stares at your breasts fully aroused to take one of your nipples into his mouth, making you arch and bring his face closer to your breasts.

Not long after that he too takes off his shirt and you free his cock from its confines and then start riding him, unable to wait a moment longer.

"Shit," he hisses, "You feel so good, baby. So fucking good."

You moan loudly as he brings one of his hands to your already swollen clit and starts massaging it with two fingers, making you moan and making you move your hips with more fervor on top of him, as your skin slaps and rattles with his beneath you.

That night, not only does he fuck you on your couch, he fucks you on your bed too, not being able to get enough of you, loving to see your whole face contorted in pleasure as he fucks you against your bed hard, his cock continually thrusting in and out of you, the sound of skin against skin being heard.

You bite down on his shoulder and wrap your legs around his torso again, feeling him deeper, as Aemond kisses you and draws his eyebrows together in concentration and pleasure.

"Are you going to let me fill this pretty pussy with my cum again, baby? I want to feel you fucking cum all over my cock."

He brings his hand to your clit again and begins to massage it furiously, wanting to watch you crumble and feel you do it around his cock, while you moan and bite his shoulder and neck.

"Oh y-yes, Ae-mond,"you moan.

You close your eyes, escape a quiet moan, arch your back fully and feel the whole wave of euphoria wash over your entire body, seeing stars behind your eyes.

And with one last hard thrust, Aemond cums inside you letting out a grunt and hiding his whole face in the curve of your neck, leaving a couple of wet kisses once you both come back to earth and melt into each other's arms.

A few weeks later, you're back at work and Aemond starts filming a new movie for Netflix, so you don't see each other as often as you used to.

Aemond's schedule is very tight and he still does everything he can to be able to see you and spend time with you, while you in comparison to him have more free time but can't spend it with him because of his work.

And it is in that same time that you start to feel strange, but you hadn't connected the dots until the signs became too obvious to ignore.

One day, while working on set, fatigue suddenly overwhelmed you and a persistent nausea made you realize that something was going on. Suddenly lack of appetite appeared and seeing things too sweet or chicken or meat meals made you sick to your stomach.

Or also weird cravings started, which your mind started to scare you with possibly confirming what you were thinking.

During a break in the filming, you discreetly retreat to the bathroom, feeling the need for a moment to yourself. And as you look in the mirror, you notice the pallor on your face and the different glow in your eyes.

Completely terrified, you wait for your break from work and rush to the pharmacy, buying three pregnancy tests of different brands and supposedly the best.

And once at home, everything is silent, as the seconds tick by and you feel like you are drowning in your own thoughts.

You're not ready to be a mom, in fact the thought of having children was never something you wanted or wanted in the long run, because you're still young, you have your dream job at only twenty-two years old and to stop focusing on your dreams and goals to focus on those of a child… it's not something you want.

But the pregnancy test you hold in your trembling hand confirms your suspicions, as do the other tests, all positive.

Fear totally grips you, not only because of the fact that you are pregnant, but because of the implications this brings to your life and also to Aemond's life.

God, Aemond.

You think completely terrified, starting to cry, feeling the pressure in your chest.

You know this will stop and totally ruin his career.

You imagine yourself facing the critical gaze of the media, the headlines of magazines and news websites, as well as the constant speculation about your personal life.

You feel completely scared and hopeless, having no idea what Aemond's reaction will be, but you know this is not good, a baby, right now is not good, not for you and certainly not for him.

But you must tell him. You know you must. Regardless, how could you keep something like this from him?

It takes you two days to finally get up the courage to tell him and as you wait for him in your apartment, the pregnancy test rests in your trembling, sweaty hands, feeling completely frightened amidst all the silence around you.

Your eyes burn from crying so much, you feel like you have no strength, you feel weak and you haven't been able to sleep well and you don't even want to imagine how you will be later when Aemond finds out and everything between you will probably go wrong.

The sound of the door makes you jump nervously, knowing it's him.

You feel more fear and uncertainty flood you but you force yourself to get up from your couch and head to open the door, feeling that you will burst into tears at any moment.

As you open it, Aemond's handsome face and his usual smile was nothing like your face, being quite the opposite, so noticing your state his smile drops and he looks at you completely distressed and worried as you let out a few tears silently.

"Hey, hey," Aemond holds your face in his hands, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. His concern is palpable in the way his eyes search yours for answers. "What happened, baby? Are you okay?"

You sniffle your nose, inhale deeply and keep your eyes closed for a moment, only causing Aemond more unease when you don't utter a word.

"Y/N, what happened?" he insists, his tone laden with anxiety and seriousness.

"I'm really sorry," you murmur sadly to him, feeling each word weigh heavy in your chest and a sense of hopelessness creep over you.

"You're sorry, for what? What happened?" he asks again, completely confused and uncomprehending.

"I'm… I-I'm pregnant," you mumble in a broken voice, as if uttering those words would make reality more concrete.

Aemond's face remains completely static, his eyes wide open, watching you as tears slide down your cheeks. The gravity of the news is reflected in the tense silence that appears between the two of you.

"What?" he mutters under his breath, barely audible but laden with disbelief.

You nod slowly, reaching out to him for the proof you hold in your trembling hand. And every second that passes as he analyzes it feels like an eternity as you wait for his reaction.

But he barely processes the information, takes the evidence between his fingers and the seconds stretch out like hours as you feel your heart beating too fast.

But Aemond's face shows neither anger nor joy.

And finally he reacts by bringing his hands to his hair, his eye fixed on the evidence for a moment and then looking at a spot in your living room, beginning to see frustration and surprise invade him more.

He lets out a sigh and turns his gaze back to you in a desperate manner.

"Hey, baby," he says to you now nervously, "Are you absolutely sure?"

You nod slowly.

"I did three tests, all three came back positive."

He brings a hand to his forehead, averting his gaze from yours for a moment. His eyes reflect tumultuous thoughts, a mixture of thoughts ranging from disbelief to concern.

"But how?" he watches you blankly, still with surprise painted in his gaze.

"You didn't use a condom and I took the pill, but it didn't work," you tell him in a hopeless voice, trying to explain the inexplicable.

"Oh, fuck," he murmurs, biting his lips and bringing a hand to his chin.

"I'm sorry, I really am. I didn't mean for this to happen either," you admit to him, your tears streaming down your cheeks.

You feel the need to apologize as if this burden is something only you should carry, the vulnerability clear in your tone of voice and on your face, which worries Aemond more at seeing you in such a state.

"Hey, no, don't, don't do that, don't apologize," he says instantly, turning back to you and placing a hand on your cheek, "We're both part of this, you understand me? You're not to blame for anything and I'm not going to leave you alone," he assures you, completely honest and determined with his words.

And despite the gravity of the situation, you feel a huge relief come over you knowing that you are not alone in this, as he looks at your sad face, with your dry tears and red eyes.

And then he places a soft kiss on your lips and encloses you in a comforting embrace that is all you need at that moment.

You knew that Aemond would eventually have to tell his manager and his team as well, however, you didn't expect him to do it on the same day you let him know the news and you didn't expect all his people to start working so soon on this, on your pregnancy.

You call his agent and in an instant he, along with his publicist and his team of public relations people, invade your apartment.

And his agent, Criston Cole, doesn't have time to start reproaching him for having had a secret relationship with you all this time, although the anger is there but the important thing is the baby on the way, where he can't do anything either because it's already in your womb.

So he only talks about solutions.

And it is precisely because of these painful solutions for you that you decided to run away and disappear from his life to save his career and also your child.

#aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x oc #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen smut

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leikeliscomet · 5 months ago

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(Reposting from twitter)

My POV as a Black fan that thinks Dot and Bubble's racism commentary is trash

Rewatched Dot and Bubble and I'm gonna break down from my POV as a Black fan why this episode didn't work for me & why it's an awful racism commentary. Long arse post incoming:

The whole "You should've noticed the cast was all white except for fifteen ha your bias is showing" doesn't work for a show that's been predominantly white for 60+ years. D&B casting has been the default for most of the show so its not abnormal enough to be a racial litmus test. An example is the Matt Smith era The only reoccurring character of colour in s5 (2+ appearances) is Liz 10. Artie n Angie in s7. 0 in s6. RTD's own era isn't fully safe either. For many eps Martha or Mickey are the *only* Black characters. Most POC are side characters or extras.

White fans should be aware of the predominantly white casting of the show but this late in the game feels cheap. Most of the show has gone through 100% white episodes including fan faves and it was never an issue back then bc it was beneficial. This is so hollow. Representing racists as cartoon caricatures SEVERLY underestimates the danger of white supremacy irl. White supremacy is system designed and constructed and rebranded over centuries. It is not accidental. People aren't racist bc they don't know they're racist because they *do* They know the system that oppresses POC, Black people especially, benefits them socially and financially and that is why they participate. Its not stupidity it's intention. That should've been the Finetime core not Lindy goofing around bc the arrows are gone or some shit.

Human Nature showed us racist young people that exercised this power bc they knew this. They may be children but they are still dangerous bc of their views. Martha knew this. The silly tech obsessed gen z angle erases this danger and that of actual gen z white supremacy

Instead of the camp goofy tone we could've gotten a serious focused episode. The slugs and millenial/gen z social media silly distracts from what could've been the main theme of colonisation instead of saving it for 10 mins of exposition at the end & scattering microaggressions. Saving Fifteen's racism scene for a goofy episode was a horrid idea. Spending 30 mins on representing racism as silliness then giving a dramatic dangerous score is the definition of tonal whiplash. Representing his oppressor as a blonde bimbo again does not take this seriously. Fifteen went to 1960s BRITAIN & got through it unscathed. Finetime is a fictional futuristic land but the racism of 1960s Britain was real. If anytime was right it could've been Devil's Chord. Distancing yourself from a panto villain is easy but addressing your history is hard.

The scene itself is incredibly performed so I'll give Ncuti his flowers but what he used this skill for could've been so much more. Having his FIRST SCENE begging to save a racist is disgusting. It isn't Black people's responsibility to show compassion to people that want us dead. Yes the Doctor helps the baddies bc they care. But they're aren't ignorant to prejudice. The liberal anti racism of who is so jarring and why I still think Thin Ice is performative. When white people are angry at injustice it's radical. When it's Black people we're aggressive.

Respectability politics is a tool of white supremacy. That if one pleads and is nice enough they can earn liberation. What would white fans think of Fifteen if he DIDN'T beg Lindy? If your allyship with Black people depends on showing kindness to racists you are NOT an ally.

Next up is Ricky. It was established ALL Finetime citizens have white supremacist views yet Ricky September stans refuse to see him in any negative light. Just like Joan Redfern white dw fans refuse to see racism if a character is likeable. If nice guy Ricky's a racist, then anyone no matter the niceness can be racist too and that's a pill white fans aren't ready to swallow. If racism is systemic and not about individual character, then what's keeping them safe? What happens when YOU are under the microscope.

THIS is why we NEED Black writers in Doctor Who. The nuances, depth and complexity of the Black experience can only be told at it's best by Black creatives and not guessed, assumed or spoken over by white fans and white writers. It's okay to put ego aside and say you don't get it.

"Im white but I loved the Doctor's reaction" "I'm white and i thought the racism commentary was great" "I'm white but i-" Yet again, we have to sit through another round of white and non Black fans of colour dictating Black representation for us. I'm so fucking tired man. AGAIN IM YELLING FROM MY HILLTOP TO WATCH SHOWS BY BLACK WRITERS. Almost EVERY single theme in Dot and Bubble and frankly most of the show has been done WAY better in other media. RTD is not the authority on Black stories. We are. Always have been and always will.

Tl;dr Dot and Bubble is an unserious and tacky racism commentary. It's core message is drowned by more RTD Who camp. Don't tell me this episode was good at representating my own experience. It wasn't. S15 having Black writers isn't a need it's a must. Goodbye.

Reblog this version pls

#dw spoilers #doctor who spoilers #doctor who #rtd2 era #rtd2 #antiblackness #fandom antiblackness #racism #fandom racism #rtd critical #anti rtd #fifteenth doctor #dw negativity #doctor who season 1 #dot and bubble

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lyerra · 3 months ago

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thinking about post-conan Shinichi's relationship with the detective boys for my fanfic from an outside perspective is so funny

like Megure be calling like "kudo-kun sorry to wake you so early but come quick there's been a murder" and Shinichi be like "okay I'll wake up the the detective boys" and Megure is like "??? what do you mean"

and Shinichi is like yeah? we were having a sleepover at the professors house

and everyone is wondering why the hell is a 25 yo ass man having sleepovers with a bunch of 15 yo kids and also why they address him so disrespectfully when they think nobody is watching

he gossips with these children as if they were the same age and when people ask them how they became friends he says "oh they're not my friends they're my cousin's" which answers absolutely nothing (it's not like he can say they used to be classmates...)

haibara version under the cut

tbh Haibara would be different because unlike Conan she never really acted like "one of them" and always had that "mature older sister" vibe (in canon adults have taken her for a middle schooler because of that)

so even if she decided to go back to being an adult while maintaining her relationship with the kids (in my fic she's still living at the professors house as Shiho Miyano) their relationship wouldn't change much since they were always more respectful towards her, and there was always some sort of distance in the way she addresses them.

the only thing that changes is that now that's she's legally considered to be an adult she can take them on trips and she does that A LOT. she takes them camping she takes them all around the country and sometimes even on expensive trips abroad they're inseparable. those kids are HER kids

(older, happier shiho with a caring found family at her side my beloved)

(my hc for this fanfic is that while shinichi immediately took the antidote when it was completed, haibara hesitated for a long time but decided to take it in the end because she realized that becoming Shiho Miyano again didn't have to be at the cost of everything she had gained as Ai Haibara)

(meanwhile Shinichi wanted to get his old life back so much that it actually took a lot more time to realize all the good things that Conan had brought into his life and seeing Shiho build her new life on top of what she had experienced as Ai Haibara really helps him come to the realization that Shinichi Kudo and Conan Edogawa don't have to be separate people, at least not to his close friends and family)

#future dcmk paris au #dcmk #detco #detective conan #shinichi kudo #edogawa conan #shiho miyano #haibara ai #detective boys

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mytheoristavenue · 1 month ago

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DS Kyojuro Rengoku x Reader 🍋 - Something In The Air

Kinktober 2024 - II

Sex pollen + public sex

Summary: You've been training to go out for missions with Rengoku for ages, but nothing could have prepared you to have a demon with the power to stimulate arousal- in the middle of a crowded market, no less!

Warnings: Sex pollen trope, public sex, unprotected sex, creampie, fem!reader, breeding, rushed/short, fluffy ending, pregnancy, Senjuro mentioned, mentor x mentee dynamic at first

You could hardly contain your enthusiasm, you'd trained for what felt like forever in order to have the privilege of accompanying hashiras on missions. Today was finally the day of your first one and you couldn't be more excited to show off what you could do- especially to the man walking beside you. You'd admired Rengoku ever since meeting him shortly after final selection and it was only natural that that respect would grow into attraction the more you got to know him.

Currently, he led you to a bustling trade village, home to a well-known market which many people tended to come far distances to attend. He was rattling off lists of why this market was so special, and you were trying to listen in earnest, but you couldn't focus, too stuck on some sweet smell that had suddenly hit your nose. Apparently, he smelled it too.

"I love coming to this market," He smiled over his shoulder at you. "It's a long pathway, filled with all things tasty." You couldn't help but giggle at his sunny disposition, feeling even more fond of him than you usually did. "Though, I've never smelt this scent before, one of the vendors must have something new to offer. We should try it before we leave, providing the demon doesn't cause too much damage to the surrounding area, of course."

You nodded with a shy smile, catching up to him as the village came into view. Dusk was beginning to settle in and the many lights of the town were starting to flicker on. It was like watching the market awaken over the horizon, casting a lovely amber glow over the pair of you.

As you drew nearer, that smell persisted, gaining potency with every step. The saccharine aroma began to overwhelm your senses as you approach the village gate, so you decided to pick up the conversation, hoping to distract yourself. "So, do we know anything about this demon?"

Rengoku thought for a moment before smiling again. "I took the time to do some reconanance before this trip," He began, slowing his pace so you could walk side by side with him with less issue. "It would appear this demon is match maker."

"A match maker?" You repeated curiously. "Like someone who arranges marriages?"

"Precisely." He replied with a proud grin. "According to locals, marriage and birth rates in this area have skyrocketed over the last decade."

"Isn't that a good thing?" You tilted your head up to look at him, something that made his heart skip a beat. "What's so bad about people falling in love?"

"Love is a human emotion, it's not something that a demon can feel or replicate." He explained, quickly regaining his composure. "So what these people are experiencing is just an intense, prolonged infatuation, they're not actually falling in love. The effects seem to wear off after about a year, or when stress is introduced to the relationship."

"And babies can be quite stressful," You finish his thought, filling him with pride at your intuitiveness. "And divorce isn't legal in Japan, so these people are just stuck in loveless marriages. How awful! Why would any demon do this, just toy with people's hearts?"

"It would seem the children of these unions have been going missing," Rengoku reveals, suddenly turning serious. "It's possible one of the reasons is to cultivate a lasting food source." You were horrified, to say the least. Interfering with the hearts of men, eating children? Just how evil was this demon? "Don't fret, my dear," His voice suddenly pulled you out of your thoughts, charming and full of tender confidence. "Together, you and I will slay this demon and free this village from its torment."

"And what about the couples affected by it?" You asked quietly, thoughts flooding back in quicker than he could dispel them.

"We can only hope that they'll genuinely fall in love through bonding over their shared experience." His smile faded a bit upon realizing he couldn't fully put you at ease, but was somewhat relieved when you asked a slightly unrelated question.

"So, how will we know when we find this demon or their work?" You asked curiously, tilting your head up at him again. This time, not only did his heart skip a beat, but he also felt heat pool in his belly. It must be some sort of anxiety for the battle ahead, he decided.

"Rumor has it that the demon puts off a distinct smell that's been likened to sugared flower-" Suddenly, he paused, pale as he swallowed dryly. "Petals..." How could he be so naive? That heavenly aroma was never a new type of pastry sold at the market. He'd lead you both into a trap. "Plug your nose, now."

You stiffened as his tone suddenly turned sharp and you wondered if you'd angered him, raising your hand to cover your nose with your haori sleeve. "Mr. Rengoku is everything-"

"Hold your breath." His command killed the words on your lips and you sucked in a deep breath, holding it in your cheeks as you followed him into the village.

Rengoku's mind raced. Had the power already begun to take effect, or did he have time? Was there an antidote or some way to dull the reaction? In the back of his mind, he knew it was too late, he could smell it for miles back, God knows how long you'd both been exposed. A tug at his sleeve stopped him dead in his tracks and his thoughts shattered like glass. Looking back at you stalled him like a car with a ruined transmission.

You looked like an absolute mess. Cheeks red and burning, eyes tired and submissive with brows knitted upwards. Had your lower face not been obscured, he would have seen the drool dripping down your chin.

"S-Sir, I don't feel well..." You confessed timidly, hoping he wouldn't look down on you too harshly. Instead, he softened, pulling you close with a hand on the small of your back, pushing his needs aside in favor of yours. "You're going to be just fine, my dear, I swear it." He reassured though he wasn't sure if even he believed it to be true.

He led you through the bustling market, expertly dodging pedestrians and obstacles alike, before pulling you into an alleyway to explain things more privately. "Don't be alarmed, everything will be alright." He started, resting you against the wall. "I believe we've been poisoned by the demon's scent, but rest assured, my intentions are pure." Nothing could have possibly made you think otherwise, you were so enchanted with him. "I fear this reaction could have dire consequences for us if we don't find a way to satiate it, but I swear to you, I will not waiver in my convictions. You are safe with me."

He almost seemed stressed, trying to convince you that he was trustworthy. You never would have thought otherwise, but it seemed like he was losing trust in himself. The longer he looked at you, the worse he ached. You looked positively disheveled, breath ragged, hair beginning to fall from your pin. He couldn't stop himself from wondering how much more of a mess he could turn you into.

You began to grow disappointed with his rocksteady refusal to give in. A part of you was excited by the situation, by the thought of the object of your admiration claiming you in a dark alleyway, feet away from civilization. Another part of you worried that suggesting you satiate the need might make you look cheap to him. None of it mattered, though, because he had already began to run on fumes, his body inching closer before his mind could tell it to stop.

His lips crashed to yours like a speeding car, all firey need and firm pressure. Before you could pull him closer, he tore away from you, wiping your taste from his mouth. "F-Forgive me, my dear!" He stammered, horrified with himself for giving in so easily. "M-My body reacted on instinct, it won't happen again!" He swore, beginning to tremble. Your response made his blood run cold, blazing eyes becoming even more owlish.

"It won't...?" Your tone dripped with sugar and disappointment, only one of which he'd normally seek out in you, but in this moment, both tasted the same. "If we've been put under the demon's influence, does that not make us...matched?"

"Matched?" He repeated dumbly, despite knowing all too well what the word entailed. He wanted to hear you explain it.

"If this demon matches individuals together for marriage and conception via this sweet smell..." You trailed almost seductively. "And the pair of us have been exposed, and are only in need of one another, does that not stand to reason that...we have been matched together?"

"I-I suppose it does," He admitted, swallowing dryly. "But we are here to slay the demon, not fall under its enchantment."

You carefully pushed away from the wall, leaning against his chest for support, prompting him to wrap you up in his embrace for the sake of your stability. "Are you not enchanted?" You whisper, dazed and desperate.

"I-I am." He trembled, holding you tight to his chest. "But enchantment be damned, I would never force myself upon you for any reason."

"What if I asked you to?" You giggled drunkenly, nuzzling into his uniform.

"A-Asked me to do what, my dear?" He swallowed, already knowing what you'd say. He desperately tried to convince himself to hold steadfast, that you were unconsenting to his whims, but how could he go on when you were throwing yourself at him?

"Take me, Kyojuro." You cooed, calling him out by name for the very first time. The way his given name rolled off your tongue sent shivers down his spine and he could no longer deny the inevitable.

"M-My dear, you mustn't tempt me..." He warned lowly, bushy brown twitching with restraint. "I-I may not be able to resist you much longer."

"I'm counting on it," You confessed, leaning up and pressing a gentle kiss to his Adam's apple. The moment your lips graced his skin, his resolve gave way like unsteady ground and you were pressed against the wall again. One shaky hand held your chin still and the other dove for your belt, eager to unobscure your lower half to the cold night air.

Hardly any words were spoken between the two of you, but there was a silent understanding between you both as he shimmied your uniform trousers down, your hands pawing at this belt buckle all the while. The moment was clumsy and escalated to a fever pitch almost immediately, but it was also passionate and driven by something other than the toxin in the air- something mutual that had always been there.

Once your trousers were far enough down your thighs where he could access you, and his erection was free, he immediately hoisted you up against the wall, holding you there with his upper body strength alone, pressing your knees into your collarbone. The ache in your core became soothed instantly when he came into contact with it, spit-slicked fingers coaxing it gently before briefly dipping inside. His fingers parted inside you, in a vain attempt to prepare you for breach.

Within minutes, Rengoku was sinking into you, a soft, almost pained sigh escaping him as his forehead dropped to rest on your shoulder. Like an antidote, the soreness inside you was eased, massaged away by his tedious pace and hot, breathy praise. "D-Divine..." He murmured into the cook of your neck, bottoming out time after time, patiently working a rhythm into motion.

He was so much more than you'd imagined, in all ways. Longer, thicker, gentler, more passionate. Nothing could have ever prepared you to finally have him in all his desperate glory, but here you were, trapped between him and a hard place with nowhere you'd rather be.

You couldn't think on that in the moment, though, too overwhelmed by the feeling in your hypersensitive state. Just his steady pace was enough to drive you both mad, whispering near silent worship to each other, hooked together like puzzle pieces. He held you so close, you felt like one being, as his hips lazily rolled into yours, not needing more than that to come close.

Judging by the tension leading up to this moment, you'd imagined he'd ravage you right there in the alleyway, but that isn't what happened. When Rengoku claimed you, he did it as softly as he could, his touch filled with affection and care, as if he were handling a glass figuring, centuries old. The throws of passion overwhelmed you so much that, you hardly even noticed when his tenderness had brought you to the edge, pushing you into the void with a sweet kiss and a whispered "I love you, my dear."

Sensing your undoing by how tightly you constricted him, his eyes squeezed shut, quivering lips peppering kisses to what little of your neck was exposed, repeating his confession however many times he felt it needed to be said. He never ceased his romantic chant as he stalled inside you, spilling what all he had to give, hips straining to keep moving, as if driven by the carnal need to plant life.

After the pair of you were spent, he continued to hold you just like that, reluctant to withdraw from you for fear that the fertilization may not take. Afterward, though, Rengoku began to feel the fog clear from his mind, plastering a confident smile on his face as he gently set you down and helped you redress. Now that he'd faced this hurdle, he was confident that slaying this demon would be easy. It was the consequences of the spell which would be challenging, or so he thought.

-----

"Kyo," You called sweetly from the garden of his family home, led down the pathway by his sweet younger brother. Rengoku beamed at you, returning home from another long mission to his beautiful wife on maternity leave. Your belly was round and full and your gait was reduced to an unsteady waddle, but luckily, Senjuro was unwilling to leave your side until his brother was there to relieve his duties.

"My match," He cooed, dropping his sword and bag to run to you, happily peppering kisses on your face. "You're positively glowing, how are you?"

"I'm wonderful, darling, how are you?" You answered sweetly, pecking his cheek.

"Over the moon," He replied, crouching down to press a kiss to your swollen tummy. "How is our little flame?"

"Never better, thanks to Sen," You laugh lighthearted, reaching out to the boy, who had stepped away, pulling him into your side. "He's taken good care of me since you've been away."

"Have you, now?" Rengoku's eyes lit up even further, standing to place a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You're growing into a fine young man, Senjuro."

The boy's timid features softened at your combined praises, and he pressed his face into your stomach, hugging you both tightly. "I can't wait to meet my niece..."

#demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer smut #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #rengoku kyojuro #kyojuro rengoku x reader #rengoku x reader #rengoku smut

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locomoqo · 15 days ago

Note

Hii! Its my first time I request, can you write about Yamazaki shingen or Yamazaki shintaro?

Like being their sister or being the only daughter among shingen children

Im sorry I know its weird🙂

a pearl

ft. Shingen and Shintaro Yamazaki

details: platonic/familial angst

A/N: nooo it's not weird at all, it's different from what i usually get but i say yes to trying new things!! :DD and yes the title is a mitski song🤗🤗

You were born not long after Shingen and Shintaro—the Yamazaki clan’s pearl, a symbol of how blessed the Yamazaki seemed to be. They had the brains, the brawn, and now the beauty. While you were a respected figure, your place in the hierarchy would always be beneath your brothers. Shingen and Shintaro, despite their differences, were both protective of you, especially in your younger years, indulging your whims and shielding you from the harsher realities of clan life.

But as you all grew older, things changed. Shingen, once vibrant, grew more distant after his defeat. His carefree behavior in your childhood turned into apathy, slowly becoming a shadow of his former self. It pained you to see him reduced to such a state, and though you visited him often, there was little of the brother you once knew left in his eyes. Now, you’re not sure if he even truly listens when you speak to him, though he never turns you away.

Shintaro, on the other hand, was always the brother who meticulously followed tradition, always thinking five steps ahead, but now those qualities made him rigid, almost cold. His devotion to the clan's survival came at a cost—your relationship grew strained, more businesslike than familial. He still trusted you, perhaps more than anyone, to handle delicate matters and share the responsibilities that should have been Shingen’s. But it’s a trust built on necessity, not affection.

Your relationship now is a far cry from the closeness of your youth. Shintaro often speaks of plans, of duty, rarely of anything personal. His words to you are measured, calculating. You catch glimpses of the brother he used to be, but the weight of his role has buried that warmth under layers of duty. Shingen, meanwhile, remains quiet, lost in his own world. His presence is more like a shadow than a brother’s.

You try to keep the peace, to hold the family together, but there are times when you feel as though you’re standing alone between two distant forces—one rigid and unyielding, the other fading away.

You often visit Shingen out of a sense of duty, speaking to him about anything, hoping to stir some response. And Shintaro… you respect him, admire his intelligence and resolve, but there’s a distance there, a coldness that wasn’t there before. You know he trusts you, but it feels more like he sees you as an extension of the clan rather than his sister.

One disconnected from the world, the other consumed by it. And you? The one stuck between the two.

You were the one who carried the silent knowledge of what the Yamazaki clan had become, caught in the shadows of two brothers you loved dearly, yet couldn't fully reach.

#lookism #lookism x reader #lookism manhwa #lookism webtoon #lookism angst #shintaro yamazaki #shingen yamazaki #angst #fanfic #fanfiction #yamazaki clan #yamazaki shingen #yamazaki shintaro

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starastrologyy · 9 months ago

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Composite Chart Notes 2🤍

Saturn in the 4th house of a composite chart is common to see in the charts of couples who live together/own homes together. As they are essentially “bound” by the responsibility of a home. However, I want to say that this is not always the case, as some couples with a 4th house composite Saturn can find that their respective families disapprove of their relationship or perhaps there are obstacles that are in place that prevent them from even having the opportunity to live together.

Couples with the ruler of the composite ascendant in the 5th house may have children together, or perhaps they enjoy engaging in many of the same hobbies together.

Something so interesting that I’ve noticed is that couples who are very “spiritual” or “religious” tend to have Neptune or Jupiter conjunct the composite ascendant! (This may also apply to a couple that has a composite Pisces or Sag rising).

Couples with a composite stellium in the 11th house can often have many of the same friends. Alternatively, an 11th house composite stellium can also indicate that the couple are inclined to participate in community work or philanthropic projects together! Another manifestation is that this can be the couple that enjoys posting about their relationship on social media! Examples are youtube couples or those who post frequent pictures together on Instagram!

Couples with a Composite Virgo Midheaven may find that people have the tendency to criticize or ‘nitpick’ their relationship. Hailey and Justin Bieber are a celebrity example. However, they also have their composite Chiron in the 10th house, Lilith in the composite 7th, and Mars conjunct their composite ascendant! (These can account for some of the opposition they receive in the public eye).

Couples with placements in the composite 10th and composite 7th houses may decide to do business together! This is especially true if it is the composite Venus, Saturn, or Jupiter in these houses.

I have definitely said this before in one of my older posts but a composite Venus square Saturn (at a 1 degree orb or less) can often be present in relationships that don’t quite “get off the ground”. There can be obstacles like distance, financial difficulties, and age that prevent these two from coming together in the first place! However, I have seen about two couples with this placement stay together for a while after they were able to overcome the initial hurdles!

The ruler of the composite 4th house in the 9th house can indicate that the couple may decide to relocate abroad together!

Venus trine Saturn in the composite chart is a wonderful aspect to have for longevity! This or the ruler of the composite ascendant making a trine, sextile or conjunction to Saturn!

If you and your partner have a well aspected composite 10th house Mars, the two of you can really motivate each other to achieve your individual worldly ambitions, and the goals you share as a couple!

Couples with the Moon conjunct the composite Ascendant, can find that the emotional nature of their relationship is often noticeable to others outside of their relationship. For example, if the composite Moon (that is conjunct the ascendant) makes a square to Pluto, other people can perceive the pair to have an emotionally volatile relationship. However, let’s say the composite Moon makes a trine to Neptune, others can think that the pair have a very graceful, nurturing, gentle, and forgiving emotional connection! Lastly, how people perceive the couple is likely to fluctuate quite often with a composite Moon conjunct the Ascendant.

#astrology tumblr #astrology #synastry #astrology observations #astro thoughts #astrologyposts #astrology blog #astro notes #astro posts #astro tips #astrology content #astrology tips #astro blog #astro tumblr #astronotes #12h synastry

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 4 months ago

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Objects in Motion

Part 3

Alpha! Billy Russo x Omega! Reader

Hey, I hit 4k followers! That's pretty cool, thank you everyone!

Part 1 // Part 2

A snip taken from Le Printemps, by Eugène Bidau

It takes you too long to pick a dress the next morning. There was an issue with all of them, one was too tight around your chest that you could barely breathe, the other had a hole in the sleeve that you hadn’t noticed before.

You'd ended up picking something you hadn't worn in a while- sage green with little flowers on it.

Halfway to the museum, you'd noticed a small stain on the skirt, that had made you frown.

It wouldn't lift with the wet wipe you'd pulled from your bag, and you'd have to settle for hoping he wouldn't see it.

Your stomach flips at the thought of him.

You'd worn a dress in hopes that this was a date- you didn't understand why you wanted it to be a date so badly.

Okay, that wasn't true, you knew you liked him, even though you shouldn't.

It probably wasn't a date, why would he be interested in dating you?

I haven't had a clear thought since, he'd said, you knew the sentiment, wondering, if he was just like every other Alpha, nice at first and then demanding later.

The other Alphas you'd been with- you try not to shudder- they'd been awful, love bombing until you let your guard down, and then getting angry when you tried to deny them something.

The last one had gotten upset that after only knowing him for two weeks, you didn't want to share your heat with him.

The scorn he'd shown you when you reinforced your denial instead of caving, it had made you curl up and never want to see another Alpha again.

This Alpha could be worse, he could be cruel, waiting to get you alone to trick you into something you didn't want because you'd stolen his coat. The thought sent an uncomfortable wave of nausea over you.

You see your seedy reflection in the window, everything moving too fast for you to focus on except your own gaze.

You would not be taken advantage of.

There’s that too much feeling again, everyone is so busy around you as you stand outside the art museum waiting. You see children running past, and dogs, a delighted scream in the distance that makes your chest feel like it’s on fire with the too much of it all.

Why did the world have to be so chaotic? Why couldn’t it be warm and quiet and peaceful with hints of cracked pepper and bergamot-

You blink, realising you’d been thinking about the Alpha again.

Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea. To get involved with someone that made you feel this way, like you wanted to give in to his demands. At which point would he ask for too much?

Your shoulders drop, you check the time, quarter to twelve.

You turn to leave.

Someone says your name.

You raise your head to find the Alpha approaching. He’s wearing a beige shirt, with large threads that look almost knitted, paired with black pants and another coat that definitely costs more than you can afford.

Too late, your stomach twists.

You nod your head in greeting.

“Hi,” You acknowledge shyly, “You’re early.”

“Hello, I thought I told you to call me when you got here?”

Your chest squeezes in fright. Was he already making demands?

You keep his gaze, trying to show him a braver you than you were.

“I only just got here.” You challenge, wondering why it was such a big deal.

He nods, raising a hand to push his hair back. You watch him scan the area before letting out a soft breath.

“Sorry, I just didn’t like the idea of you waiting all alone here.”

Was he worried about you?

“I can manage,” You inform him, “I come here all the time.”

He studies you for a moment, looks as though he wants to say something, but decides against it.

“My apologies,” He turns to stand beside you, “Shall we?”

Your stomach flips at his words and you try not to focus on it, or him, and definitely not his smell.

You begin walking.

You try not to touch him, keeping a respectful distance, not wanting to take any part of him he might not be willing to give.

As you walk through the museum’s outdoor park, a lot of people glance your way. Men and women alike, want to steal a look at the man standing beside you. It makes you feel incredibly conscious of yourself, and you feel like the stain on your skirt grows ten times its size in that time.

You wonder if any of their staring has to do with the assumption that you were a mated pair- the thought makes you shiver- the idea that you would be mated to a person that looks like him.

“Cold? Want my coat?” He offers.

You shake your head, not wanting to touch this Alpha’s coats ever again.

“I’m alright, I’m overheating anyway.” You reply, hoping he didn’t ask any follow up questions. Your period would be upon you soon.

“Poor thing.” He soothes.

It almost makes you stumble.

Your eyes widen and you feel a sharp pang in your stomach, his easy comfort swirling in your hindbrain, begging you to curl up with this man in a cozy nest- not a man, you correct yourself, an Alpha.

You’d only walked a few minutes beside him and already you were thinking about bringing him into your nest? Had you gone insane?

You refuse to think about it, focusing on the trees, and the people passing by with dogs on harnesses leading the way-

“Did you grow up in New York?” He asks, his voice breaking into the whirlwind in your head.

You swallow, shaking your head before looking over at him.

Damn- looking at him was a mistake.

You tell him where you grew up on a shaky breath, asking him to reciprocate.

He smiles, calmly responds that he grew up here, bounced around the city a bit. Something about his response, the tone of his voice, tells you that there’s a key part of the story missing.

You don’t pry, knowing better than to ask intrusive questions.

You swallow, smiling at him politely when he looks at you, still trapped in the moment when he offered you his coat.

You catch a group of women with their eyes on William, and when their gaze falls on you, you watch their collective expressions switch from interest to disdain.

You drop your head, finding that maybe the floor is safer to gaze at than your environment.

What were you doing here with him? Why had you done this? You should have just stayed home where you were safer.

“What do you do for work?” He asks next, breaking into the din in your head.

You turn to look at him with wide eyes, unsure as to why he was so interested in you.

“Uh- I’m- I work in customer service… somehow. I have no idea how I ended up there.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, the tone of his voice sounds genuinely curious.

You glance his way, giving him a smile.

“I’m not exactly a person that’s comfortable around people. I like… being alone.”

“You don’t like it?”

“Not really, but it’s better than nothing.” You let out a breath, “Can’t complain.” You finish with a mutter.

“Something else you want to do?”

You shake your head sadly. You couldn’t very well say that you’d rather not work at all- it would look like you were after his money.

You think for a moment, trying to make something up, and falling short.

“Honestly, I don’t know, I guess I haven’t found my calling yet.”

He nods in understanding, and it gives you the opportunity to ask about his line of work.

“What about you? What do you do?”

“I'm in security,” he answers, “I handle asset and individual protection, and I even get contracted by the government occasionally.”

You listen intently, nodding along to his words. You'd already looked him up and had some idea of what he did, but it was interesting to hear it from him.

“That sounds really cool. Is there a lot of danger?”

He grins, and abjectly, you feel as though you've asked something stupid.

“It can get dicey sometimes, yeah, especially with protecting people.”

“Right, yeah, sorry, dumb question.” You mutter, looking down.

“I like your questions.” He says lowly, angling his head in your direction so that you hear him.

Like a fledgling omega, your heart skips a damn beat.

His eyes are very dark, you try not to trip as you get caught up in them, pools of obsidian, pulling you into him.

He gazes right back, the soft look in his eyes fills your head with delight, makes you forget about breathing for a few moments.

It's something so primal inside of you, a whisper in your head that this… this alpha, might be special.

You breathe out a short sigh, inching closer, until you're close enough to breathe him in. You close your eyes, taking a deep, slow breath, bergamot and citrus chasing your anxieties away.

You lean in more, hindbrain in control, desperate for more of his scent, his hand is rough on the back of your neck.

Your nose almost brushes the scent gland on the side of his neck when someone walking past clears their throat loudly.

You jerk, pulling back, brain restarting as absolute horror fills you.

No way did you almost scent a stranger in a public place.

You make a sound of regret, stepping back, his hand slips from your neck, you glance up at him, the scent of desire heavy in the air.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry.” You vocalise, turning away for a second to catch your breath and calm yourself.

“I wasn't stopping you.” He admits, as you continue to breathe.

This was too much, he had too much of an influence on you. His words make your stomach flip.

It was a very good thing, you decided, that you'd chosen a public place. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what would have happened if you'd been alone. You weren't sure if you had the capacity to stop yourself around him.

He had the hidden ability to somehow switch your brain from rationality to instinct. And that, was the most dangerous thing of all.

“I'm sorry,” you say again, trying not to cry from how overwhelming it is to resist him, “If you- if you want to leave I'll understand.”

“Not at all, omega.” He replies almost instantly, “I want this, don't be sorry.” He reaches out to take your hand in his, giving you a reassuring squeeze.

“Come on.” He guides, taking a step forward to prompt you into walking again.

He doesn't let go of your hand.

The sandwich shop has an old feel to it, sitting at the center of the park with lots of seating both indoors and out for dining, the little building looks like it was built at least a decade or two ago. The roof is partially made of glass to allow natural light to spill in, blocked by trees all around except in the direct centre where a large amount of light spills in.

When Billy asks to be seated in the coolest spot, you turn to look at him in surprise, your stomach twisting, heart accelerating as you take in his casual dominance of his environment.

Like other Alphas, he knew how to command a room, though, with him, the assertion was more subtext. He was polite, and yet he always seemed to get what he wanted. It was a dangerous mix, and the implications of what that meant for you scared you a little.

“Is here okay?” He asks, turning to you when the woman at the front guides you to a table.

You blink in surprise. No one had ever-

You study the booth with a little frown, finding it a little too bright for your senses and then your eyes drift two tables down to a darker booth before looking back at him shyly.

“That one?” He asks, already moving.

“Yes please.” You say nicely, following him.

It's nice, you never sit in the booths because it's usually just you when you come here, but the seats are soft, and you can tell the velvety upholstery is clean and has recently been redone.

He slides into the seat opposite to you, his knees bumping yours for a second as he gets settled.

You giggle when they bump you again and he mutters an apology.

“Sorry, it's a little small,” you say, “And you're kind of… not.”

He laughs quietly.

“I'm okay, getting in was the hardest part, and it's not too bad.” You feel his legs extend out on either side of yours, taking up space to get comfortable.

You can feel your heart beating forcefully as you watch him scan the little paper menu that had been placed on the table before you'd been seated. Finding difficulty in figuring out why exactly he'd taken an interest in you.

“S-so,” you murmur, getting his attention, “You didn't have the coat cleaned?”

His eyes darken, a smile pulling on his lips as he recounts the memory in his head.

“I was curious. I'd deleted the video of you taking it- didn't want to cause unnecessary trouble for you- plus I know that omegas occasionally do things on instinct- so when I got it back, wrapped so tightly, I was… just wondering about you a little.”

You swallow nervously.

“And then?”

You feel the molten heat in his gaze as his eyes roam over you.

“And then I smelled the most delicious scent. It made me desperate, made me lose control of my own thoughts for a couple of minutes. The smell of your heat was wonderful, omega. I knew I had to find you.”

You open your mouth to respond, but your eyes catch movement of a waitress coming your way.

“Hello, my name is Teresa, I'll be your waitress this evening. Are you ready to order?” She rushes out, smiling politely though you notice that her eyes linger on William for a few moments more.

“We're not ready to order yet,” he says, eyes still locked on you, “Can you come back in five minutes?”

She nods easily, stepping away with a ‘sure thing.’

There's a beat of silence, where you stare down at your menu and read none of the words, head racing with what you know.

“What are you thinking about getting?”

You blink, glancing up at him and then back down to the menu.

“Um, I usually get the turkey on rye, so maybe that.”

“Got any suggestions for me?”

You hum, deep in thought.

“The grilled chicken pesto always smells so delicious, there's some fresh mozzarella in it too. I've never had it, but it's a popular one.”

“You should try it. Mix things up.”

You smile sadly, glancing at the price of the sandwich in question, the fresh mozzarella near triples the price.

“That's okay, I'll stick with my turkey.”

“Don't worry about anything else. If you really want the pesto, get it.”

His eyes are earnest, and you know there's another conversation happening in the subtext of this one. That he was willing to cover the cost, that it was obvious that it was the source of your hesitation.

You swallow, glancing down at the price once again, figuring that one sandwich wouldn't throw him into debt.

A little lump swells in your throat, you wonder if he would expect anything because of this like alphas before. You figure one sandwich did not give him that much leverage over you. You'd done more damage with his coat and he'd overlooked that.

“Okay, I'll have it. What will you get?”

“Steak sandwich.” He answers, with a smile, just as Teresa appears again.

“Ready?” She asks eagerly.

“Why did you pick this table?” He asks, studying you.

You glance over at him, having been distracted by some people walking in.

You're beautiful, he squeezes his fists, fighting himself. He wants to provide for you so badly that it tears at him. He can see how defensive you are, how cautious you act sometimes. He knows that you must have had bad encounters with Alphas to be this wary. He wants to learn you, know you better than he knows himself.

“I have a little sensitivity to light.” You respond, absentmindedly, “I can barely see in direct sunlight.”

He inclines his head, noting for later, to avoid anything that would overwhelm you.

“I'm sorry to hear that, sweetheart, it must be so hard to deal with.”

He feels delight fill his body as you give him a wide eyed look, your omega nature appreciating his sympathy to your plights.

He bites the inside corner of his lip, wanting this sweet, timid omega to be his, very badly.

The urge to have you scent him sharpens, to press your nose to his neck, to have you breathe him in, mix your scents together so that no one would question whether or not you were a mated pair. You'd almost done it earlier, and he hadn't realized how eager he was for it until the moment you'd pulled away.

He had to play his cards right. If he scared you away, he would not get another chance.

You talk a lot, about where you grew up, and the schools you went to, and when he tells you about his childhood, you try not to give him any looks of pity, nodding along, eager to listen to everything he has to tell you.

You want to comfort him though, your hands clenching into fists in your lap because you want to reach over and squeeze his hand and tell him you’re sorry but logically you know that you barely know him.

Except that you feel like you’ve known him a very long time. Your face hurts with the amount you’ve smiled, the unfamiliar expression printed onto your face, where you’re usually shy or frightened.

When he asks about you, you feel a little more comfortable revealing personal information. Describing the details of your job so that he understands your day to day work.

“Does it pay well?”

“You know it doesn't.” You grumble sadly, “I would take up a second job if I could, but companies have this rule about how many hours an omega is allowed to work weekly.” You stop talking, waiting to see what stance he was going to take on this. The entire job market was designed to push omegas into the arms of alphas or betas rich enough to take care of them.

His mouth turns down into a frown.

“They should just pay people liveable wages to begin with. Having a second job would be too much for anyone. At least tell me you get health insurance.”

You make an unsure face.

“For the most part, but there are… big gaps.”

His eyebrows crush together in sympathy.

“You get heat days?”

You nod, taking a few sips of your drink.

“Yeah, they give us three, and I usually have to take two extra sick days because I have longer heats.”

“Wait, they don’t give you days specific to your heat requirements?”

You let out a little awkward laugh.

“No, three heat days, giving more days to some people would be unfair according to them.”

He clicks his tongue, “That must be so hard.” He hums, and something primal sparks inside of you.

Yes, your mind screamed at him, yes alpha, I’m a poor little thing, please soothe me and take care of me and keep me warm and safe and full-

You clear your throat.

“I get by.” You reply.

He shakes his head, deep in thought.

“It’s still not fair.”

You let out a slow sigh when you take your first bite of the sandwich.

Eyes closed, you can't believe what you're tasting, that it could be so delicious.

You do your hardest not to take a second bite before finishing the first, determined to savour it.

Across from you, he makes a low hum when he bites into his, and you fight a smile, stomach fluttering, happy that he likes it.

“Maybe you can find another job?” He suggests between bites.

You blink, shoulders dropping.

“I've been trying, it's just not that easy,” You look down at your sandwich, a touch of sadness fills your chest, “Sorry, I don’t mean to complain.”

“It's okay, I want to hear about it.”

You let out a harsh breath, your stomach turning over.

“Why? Because you smelled my heat and decided I was going to be your omega?” You blink, regretting the words as soon as they come out, drawing back into yourself and waiting for him to get angry.

“I'm sorry,” you say when he doesn't immediately speak, “I shouldn’t have- I'm sorry.” You take a shallow breath, feeling the panic grip you tightly.

“Don't apologize, sweetheart, you didn't do anything wrong.”

You don't meet his eyes, still trying to get control of your fears.

You hear movement, and in your peripherals, you watch him slide out of the booth and to a stand. Oh god, was he leaving? You feel your eyes begin to swell with tears.

You'd done it, successfully chased him away.

Your breath stutters when his plated sandwich slides in beside yours, and finally, you glance up at him.

“May I?” He asks softly, and you automatically comply without thinking, sliding deeper into the booth to give him more space.

He fits himself in, while you grab a napkin to blot at your tears, a little embarrassed now that you realize he wasn't actually leaving.

“S-sorry.” You whisper, trying to apologize for this abundance of emotion. For sure, it would definitely annoy him.

Your breath stutters when you feel the warm press of his palm to your shoulder blade.

“Breathe, omega, everything's alright.”

You suck in a shaky breath, his scent wrapping around you.

He moves slowly in your peripheral, moving his hand to brush the backs of his fingers over your cheek.

You finally look at him when he touches you, the sensation leaving tingles behind.

“One more big breath for me.” He guides, and you obey, feeling your brain respond to his gentleness.

His eyes are warm, chocolate, a feeling of ease settles into the base of your spine.

“When I smelled you on my coat for the first time, I knew I had to find you. But, finally meeting you, and slowly getting to know you, is what makes me want to stay. You're not my omega, and I'm not your alpha… But I'd like to be.”

My alpha?

Your lips part in disbelief, looking into his eyes, feeling hope swell inside of you.

Maybe he would make a good alpha, maybe he would hold you when you were scared, and kiss your cheek every night before falling asleep, maybe he would hold you tightly and talk to you after sex, and not make you feel like a used item to be discarded-

You shudder out a breath.

“I-I'm not interested in finding an alpha right now.” You stutter out, afraid of his response.

His eyes remain kind, though there's something in them that makes you think that he's sad.

“I understand, sweetheart. I won't bring it up again.” He turns, bringing his sandwich up to his mouth to take another bite.

You follow his lead with wide eyes, surprised that this was all he had to say on the subject.

After a few bites, shoulder brushing his arm every now and again, you can't hold back.

“You're not… mad?”

You hear him exhale slowly.

“I don't think I could ever be mad at you, little one. I like you a lot, and I'm willing to… be as patient as you need me to be.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest.

“And what if it never happens? I don't want to give you false hope.”

To your surprise, he laughs, low and sweet. It brings a smile to your face though you don't know the joke.

“I'm going to have hope whether I want to or not. That's the consequence of wanting.”

Want.

“You want… me?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“Well, yes, I guess it was, but…” You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head, “I'm sorry, this is so crazy.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why is it crazy?”

“Bec-” You couldn’t say it out loud.

He turns to you, studying you intently for a moment.

“I mean, well, look at me.” You say softly.

He raises his eyebrows.

“You're lovely.” He murmurs.

You can't help the shy smile that it brings to your face.

To no one's surprise, he pays.

You let him, because you were in no position to offer any kind of payment, and he was willing to lose a three thousand dollar coat on a whim.

When he offers you a ride home, you feel comfortable enough with him to accept, looping your arm around his bicep when he extends his elbow for you to take.

The muscle below is firm, and you simmer with delight at the privilege he gives you.

You look around as you walk together, taking in the scenery around, watching as someone throws a frisbee, and a dalmatian runs to catch it.

“I take it you don’t like me, then.” He says, interrupting your thoughts.

“I do.” You blurt so quickly that your brain doesn’t have time to catch up. There’s something aching in your chest at the thought that he was unlikeable to you.

You take a deep breath, smiling sadly.

“That’s the problem. I like you, and that will cloud my judgement. My past experience has made following my heart almost impossible… and alphas…” You swallow, “Alphas can be scary, and they flip so suddenly sometimes,” you let out a sigh, shaking your head, “It's dangerous to trust an alpha.”

“It hurts me to hear you say that.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I'm the one who's sorry. I'm so sorry, and angry that you've had so many bad experiences with alphas. I'm sorry that they made you feel unsafe. I know it doesn't hold much weight right now, but I'd never hurt you.”

You're almost inclined to believe him.

“I guess we'll see.” You say, giving him a meaningful look.

He grins down at you.

“I like the sound of that.”

His car is heavy with his scent. You close your eyes, heart racing, breathing in deep lungfuls, feeling your brain go hazy with it.

Your skin gets hypersensitive, the feel of his leather seats brushing your thighs, the way it feels on your fingertips, makes you drunk in a way you've never felt before.

You don't give him your real address, but one that's a block over so that he doesn't see the hovel you really live in.

It's hard to focus on anything outside of the vehicle, when his engine purrs to life and the sound vibrates your eardrums gently, he makes sure you're buckled in, before starting off.

He doesn't race, takes his time, moves reasonably. It makes you feel safe, settles you. You'd been a little worried he was an aggressive driver, but you had nothing to worry about.

You blink in surprise when he extends his phone to you, unlocked, his hands catching your eye, a work of art you could stare at for hours.

“Pick some music?” He offers.

You nod, fingers brushing his, and you select something soothing, lo-fi, to enjoy.

You get hypnotised by it, the bergamot and notes of citrus, cracked pepper that makes you hum, delighted. If this was what being in his presence was always like, how would you ever leave?

You wanted to press your nose to his neck, breathe him in right from the source, you wanted this scent soaked into your pores until it followed you everywhere. You wanted this smell in your nest, clinging to your things.

You're so needy by the time he pulls over, eyes glassy with want, you notice his hands are gripping his steering tightly.

“Omega,” he says, a slight tremble to his voice, “Do you want to scent me? It'll help you relax.”

It wouldn't. You knew it from the bottom of your heart, scenting him would only make you want him more. But your hindbrain's in control now, and all you do is nod shakily, fumbling to unbuckle your seat belt.

He covers your hands calmly, doing it for you when you struggle too many times. You look at him shyly when you're both free.

He gives you a warm smile, before tilting his head up, exposing his gland to you.

Your heart pounds in your ears, a thrumming that fills your head, almost too loud as you lean forward, pressing your face to his neck.

He groans, and you reach to fist his shirt tightly in your hands, taking in a deep breath.

This was your alpha, there was no denying it, no other scent had ever took hold of you the way his did, everything else was rotten in comparison, and you were losing grip of your sanity with each passing moment.

You breathe him in, memorizing it, the extra kick, straight from the source, your hindbrain takes full control in these moments, and you're completely helpless to it.

“Alpha.” You sigh into his neck, and you feel him shudder beneath you.

You tilt your head up, lips brushing his gland, he groans loudly, the sound echoing in your ears, drowning out the thrumming of your heart for just a moment.

“That's it, omega," He guides, "Take what you need.”

You whine, if you really took what you needed, he'd already be at home in your nest, ready to make you his.

You tilt your head higher, and he turns to look at you with heated eyes, your noses brush in the quiet of his car.

Someone walking past catches in your peripheral, and you gasp, reeling back, realising where you were.

“S- sorry.” You say, scrambling away, reaching to unlock the door, stepping out and bolting as fast as your legs can carry you, too afraid to look back at him.

It takes you three orgasms in your bed before you begin thinking again.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #my writings #the punisher #omega!reader #Alpha!Billy Russo #objects in motion

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psychelis-new · 9 months ago

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pick a pile: "I love you because..."

take a breath and choose the photo or number that calls you the most to read a love confession for you. it could be a friend, a colleague, someone you help/ed, a family member, your guides or ancestors, your higher self or your present/future partner/spouse. meditate to put yourself in a receiving mode and go check your one, dear soul. enjoy your Valentine's day: whether you feel lonely or not, whether you are in a relationship or not, know that you are deeply loved.

if you rather get a message from your present/future partner/spouse, check my instagram @/psychelis.new

don’t take the reading too seriously. only take what resonates with you and leave the rest. if you're not called by any pile, let this reading slid as it may not hold messages for you. if you're called by more than one pile, there may be messages in each of those piles. remember that is a general reading and some things may not resonate with you. energies can change and readings are based on present ones (as you read); you're always in charge of your life.

(photos found on unsplash)

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1 2 3 4

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pile 1

I love you of a quiet pure respectful love, because you're strong and brave and you taught me that struggles can be overcome and new goals can always be reached. You taught me a lot also about love and friendship: maybe you don't know, but I have been going through a very tough situation and finding you/having you near, listening to you, helped me so much. You were (and are) like a dream come true to me. You made me stronger, inspired me and helped me move on with a lot of confidence and hopefulness more, and I'll always be thankful to you for this. I am not sure you know about this, about my feelings, I always look at you from a distance and freeze in awe in front of your kindness and beautiful smile. I would like to approach you and thank you personally but I am not sure you would accept it from me. I am still afraid to be abandoned or to disappoint you but I am sure one day I will be able to change this also thanks to you. One day I will be bold enough and thank you properly. I am working to get ready for that day and have no more fear.

[more symbols/signs: fairytales, children, The Little Prince (the dialogue with the fox in particular), fox, star, comets; could be friend, sb in your same school/job place crushing on you, ex, -online- admirer, childhood friend/crush; I'm getting lot of school-related/young energy, could even be a student if you're a teacher or sth; it seems someone who isn't used to kindness and gentleness/support and bc of this you made them addicted to this side of yours]

song: fetish | selena gomez, gucci mane

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pile 2

I love you because you guide me and give me peace. Your voice is like a tender sound calming my nerves, your words are warm and embracing me anytime I need love. You came up unexpectedly and brought the wind of change with you, a warm tender soft one that caresses me and plays with my hair making me smile of a peaceful smile. Something I could hardly experience before. I love you because you help me feel better and change/grow for the better. You've helped me cleansing from my toxic past and you made me see things from a different perspective. Like in a snap of fingers, everything went from chaos to calm, in my mind and in my heart. You always know what to say to bring me back on my feet, to balance me, and you guide me in every move I take. I am thankful for having you by my side, my true anchor and gentle loving sister soul. Never cease to speak to me, I love listening to your ideas and words, you always sing the most beautiful song in my ears, just for me to listen to.

[more symbols/signs: water, emotions, rain/rainy day, wind, sound, dreamcatcher, weather vane, bells, air signs; possible strong mental/5d connection; could be a soulmate (romantic or platonic), also a colleague or family member/ancestor or your partner's higher self]

song: every breath you take | denmark + winter

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pile 3

I love you because amidst all of the chaos, there you were and still are. I love you cause you always wear a smile and try to keep your joy with you, and share it around. I love you cause of your sweet tender habit to dance and turn around everytime you're happy. I love you for all the beauty you bring with you, even if you cannot see it. I love your regal side and your cute side. I love all the different people you are, especially your curios self, never ceasing to learn more of what's around you (please keep yourself safe). I love how you can lose yourself daydreaming about love and what's next for you, but also how you are so easy to distract... Maybe you should focus more, yes, but who cares? I like to distract you too cause when you notice you always get so pouty and offended with me and that's so very cute. Please try to let go of the past, trust yourself. I know you hurt still, but better things will come and you know it too. Don't let the anxiety/worries take over you, stay confident and trust that all will be great. I will also help you make it so.

[more signs/symbols: crowds, -long time- friend/s, studying together, raincoat, jeans, flirting; feels a classmate or friend -maybe a group of friends-, possibly someone crushing on you; young energy but especially from you here so the person/people could be "older" for some of you]

song: golden hour | jvke

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pile 4

I love you because that's what I was born for. I love you cause that's my duty, to care for you and protect you. But I also love you because you resemble me: you're determined, confident and you work for your dreams. You don't let anything or anyone bring you down and even if you don't feel this way now, I know you have it inside of you. You just need to believe again in all that you really are, you just need to remember who you really are. Let me in, let me help you remember it all. Let me help you give you your power back. We can have it all again, together. Don't let the demons you have learned to live with, govern you: you're the one in charge of putting them back to their place. You're the one able to give yourself all that you want, love included. Take care of you, give yourself breaks and get ready: a lot is in store for us. I'm sorry you have/had to wait so much. Please forgive me.

[more symbols/signs: vinyl, music, nostalgia, dancing, gala, Europe, dresses, castle, deep heart connection; possible past life connection (around 1700-1800 centuries; kingdoms); power couple; possible ex/situationship that now is on hold or future partner/spouse, guides/ancestors/departed pet or higher self; in all honesty the first message I got is the last line I wrote. Much more than the reasons they love you for, they wanted you to know how much they long for you now]

song: in the name of love | bebe rexha, martin garrix

#pac #pick a pile #pick a card #pick a card reading #pick a photo #pick a picture #intuitive readings #clairs readings #psychic readings #divination #love #love message #valentines day #tarot readings #tarotblr #tarotcommunity

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corroded-hellfire · 2 years ago

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Where the Heart Is - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Nancy invites you home to Hawkins for Thanksgiving break after you’ve become best friends at Emerson College. When you spend a “friends-giving” at Steve’s house with all of Nancy’s friends, you make a special connection with a certain metal head.

Note: Huge thanks to @gathered-moss and @munsonquinns for their help when I got stuck!

Warnings: language, mentions of not the best family life, mentions of sex, i think that’s it?

Words: 13.8K

[Part 2 | Where The Heart Is masterlist]

“I really appreciate this, Nancy. Your family really didn’t have to do this.”

“Will you stop?” Nancy huffs a laugh.

The airport is crowded. Grandparents flying across the country to see their children and grandchildren, lifelong best friends getting to see each other for the first time in years, and kids like you and Nancy, flying back from college for Thanksgiving break.

The Wheelers were kind enough to invite you to their home for the holiday. Karen had heard about you for months now, Nancy having told her all about the best friend she’s made away at Emerson. When she’d heard that you didn’t have family to spend the break with, she didn’t hesitate to invite you to Hawkins.

Nancy had bumped into you in the laundry room on the third floor of the dorm building you both lived in. You had bonded over how you both disliked your roommates as you separated your warm from your cold clothes. You’ve been close friends ever since. A long hall separated your room from Nancy’s, but you’d often use the other’s space to get away from your respective roommates. Nancy’s roommate was a total slob, while yours was just an all-around inconsiderate person to occupy the same space with.

“I can’t wait for you to meet Steve,” Nancy says as you take the escalator down to the baggage claim level.

“He’s seemed great every time I’ve talked to him,” you say.

“You mean when you’ve stolen the phone out of my hand so you guys can talk about me?” she asks with a smirk.

“Well, you wouldn’t give it to me willingly! But I like him. And I know from the pictures in your room how cute he is.”

Nancy adjusts the duffle bag on her shoulder as you both step off the escalator. You follow her in, what you assume, is the right direction since you’d never been to Indiana before, let alone the Indianapolis airport. A pretty blonde woman smiles in your direction and waves her hands.

“Oh, there’s my mom,” Nancy says. She closes the distance, and her mom pulls her into a tight hug.

“I’ve missed you!” her mother says. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re home. Mrs. Wheeler turns to you and gives you a warm smile. “Hi, dear! I’ve heard so much about you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Wheeler,” you say as you shake the hand she’s extended to you. “Thank you so much for letting me join your family for Thanksgiving.”

“Please, call me Karen,” she says. “And it’s no trouble at all. We’re glad to have you.”

Luckily, both yours and Nancy’s bags come out quickly on the baggage conveyor belt, and you’re able to get back to the car and on the road for the hour or so journey up to Hawkins. Nancy and her mom chat animatedly in the front seats, bringing you into the conversation every now and then. But you don’t mind just listening to them talk about people and places that you don’t know. Seeing a mother and a daughter get along as well as they do gives you a melancholy feeling. You’re glad Nancy has such a great relationship with her mom, but it makes your heart sink a little that you don’t have that.

“So, who all is going to your thankful friend thing?” Karen asks.

“Friends-giving, Mom,” Nancy says. “It’s all of us.”

“I’m supposed to know who that includes?” Karen says.

“Mike and that gang. Dustin, Will, Lucas, Max, El. Then, Eddie, Robin, and Jonathan,” Nancy says.

“Jonathan?” you can tell by the tone of voice that her mom is surprised that Nancy’s ex is going to an event at her current boyfriend’s house.

“Yeah, well, it would’ve been weird not to invite him,” Nancy says. “He’s back from college too, and Will and El are coming, so we weren’t going to leave their older brother out.”

“That was nice of you guys,” Karen says. Though the comment sounds sincere, you can tell Karen wasn’t sure if it was a good idea or not.

“It’s fine, Mom,” Nancy says, picking up on the same edge in her voice that you did.

“Okay, okay,” Karen acquiesces. “Now, Steve is having dinner with us tonight, right?”

“Yes. He and I gotta show the out-of-towner around town this afternoon,” she says, looking over her shoulder at you with a smirk. “Then he’s coming back for dinner.”

“Have you talked to Steve before?” Karen asks, looking at you in the rear-view mirror.

“I have,” you tell her. “He seems great.”

“He is,” Karen agrees as she pulls the car into the driveway of a pretty suburban two story.

You look out the window in awe at the size of the house compared to the small apartment back in New Hampshire that would be called your “home.” Following the Wheeler women out of the car, you pull your suitcase out of the trunk. There’s a high-pitched squeal that comes from behind you and you turn to see a small blonde girl running across the street and flinging herself into Nancy’s arms.

“Holly!” Nancy hugs her little sister so tightly she lifts her off the ground. The girl giggles and squeezes Nancy around the neck until she sets her down.

“I’m so happy you’re here!” Holly says. Nancy presses a kiss to the top of her head and tugs on one of her two pigtails.

“Me too,” she tells her. “This is my friend from school I was telling you about. Can you say hi?”

“It’s nice to meet you, Holly,” you tell her.

She smiles shyly at you and hides half of her face behind her big sister’s arm.

“Hi,” she says in her meek voice.

“You can go back over and play with Dana,” Nancy tells her. Holly nods before she runs back across the street.

Nancy grabs her suitcase and Karen leads the two of you into the house.

“Where’s Mike?”

“Oh, the boys are having some dragon dungeon thing today at Lucas’s,” Karen says.

“Of course they are,” Nancy says. “What a perfectly good waste of a day off school. Come on, my room is upstairs.”

You both lug your suitcases up to the second floor and into Nancy’s room. As you slip your backpack off your back, you take in the dainty atmosphere the bedroom gives off. The light furniture and collages that adorn the walls make the room feel cozy and safe, a place to escape the world at the end of the day. The Tom Cruise poster makes you chuckle and the lemon fresh scent in the space is calm and inviting.

“Just dump it anywhere,” Nancy says, gesturing to your suitcase.

She sets hers down near the foot of her bed and you lay yours in the corner of the room, careful to make sure it isn’t in the way. There are pictures tacked to the wall above your suitcase and your eyes search the photos, smiling at the fun it seems Nancy is having in them. Some show a young Nancy with missing teeth, standing next to other small girls, all draped in costume jewelry. There are some of Nancy older, with a redhead with thick glasses.

“That’s Barb,” Nancy says from behind you. There’s a catch in her voice, like she’s trying to compose herself. “She was my best friend. She, um, died when we were sophomores.”

“Oh, Nancy.” You turn to face her, your own face in a frown. “I’m so sorry.”

She gives you a sad smile and nods her head.

“That one is Robin right there,” she says, pointing to another picture of two girls in dark green graduation gowns. Their arms are slung around each other and Nancy’s smile is infectious in the shot. The other girl has short dirty blonde hair with blunt bangs, white teeth on full display as she grins at the camera. “You’ll meet her on Friday.”

“It’s really cool that you’ve got such a large group of friends to get together with,” you say. “I can probably think of two people total from high school that I’d visit if I went home.”

“Yeah,” Nancy says with a sigh. “There were a few really rough years here in Hawkins. We all went through a lot together, which I guess brings people together.”

“The earthquake, right?” you ask, turning from the pictures to look back at Nancy. “And before that, there was that fire?”

Nancy nods and walks back towards her bed. “Yep. A lot happened in this little town.”

“Where’s my beautiful girlfriend?”

At the sound of the voice in the hall, Nancy’s mood makes a one-eighty, and her face lights up in delight. A tall, athletic boy swoops in the door and pulls Nancy into his arms. She laughs as he picks her up and spins her around.

“God, I missed you,” he says. He sets her down and cups her face in his large hands, bending down to press his lips to her. She kisses him back for a few moments before she pulls back, remembering you’re in the room as well. Steve follows her gaze to you and smiles in greeting. His smile alone would’ve told you why all the girls at their high school fell for him.

“I’m really hoping you’re Steve,” you say.

“The one and only,” Nancy says.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to make out in front of you,” Steve says. “It’s nice to actually meet you in person.

“No, don’t mind me. I’m third wheeling here. Make out to your heart’s content.” Nancy rolls her eyes playfully at you. You step forward, unsure if you should shake Steve’s hand or if that’s too formal. “Nice to see you too, Steve. Nancy was right. You’re even better looking in person.”

Steve smirks as Nancy blushes. Steve saves you from not being sure how to greet him by wrapping an arm around your shoulders and squeezing you to his side.

“I knew I liked you,” he says.

“Why do I feel like introducing you two was a huge mistake?” Nancy says, her head dropping forward in a dramatic fashion.

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet. Wait until she meets the rest of the gang. You know how many stories we have to swap?” Steve asks her.

“Please no,” Nancy pleads.

“As someone who was invited into your house as a guest, I feel like it’s only polite to take your side,” you say, and Nancy gives you a cautiously optimistic look. “But, as a guest in Steve’s house on Friday, wouldn’t it be polite to then take his side?”

“I’m going back to Boston,” Nancy says as she stalks out of the room.

You and Steve laugh as you watch her leave. He removes his arm from around you and goes to follow her out the door but turns to you right before he crosses the threshold.

“Are there any guys I should be worried about up there?” He asks the question as if he’s kidding, but you can tell there’s a bit of true worry under his casual tone.

“Are you kidding?” you respond. “She talks about you to anyone who will listen. For hours on end.”

The smile that lights up Steve’s face is priceless, and you wish Nancy could have seen how full of love and admiration his expression was.

“We better follow her before she really does head back to Boston,” Steve says.

Nancy made it seem like your tour of Hawkins would be the most boring thing you’ve ever done. On the contrary, you found the small town quaint and quiet. It was a nice change from bustling Boston or your sketchy downtown living in your town in New Hampshire. The leaves were in crisp autumn colors, some trees shedding their coats for the impending winter. The streets were mostly empty, but every now and then there was someone bundled up in a coat and scarf walking down the sidewalk.

Steve drove you past places central to his and Nancy’s growing up there. The high school and middle school right across from it, the now-closed-for-the-season community pool, even a large white clinical looking building that made Steve and Nancy share a disconcerting knowing look. You couldn’t imagine what the gates and barbed wire fences were needed for in a town like this.

You’d already heard all about Mike from your month’s long friendship with Nancy, but from the way Steve talked about another younger boy, Dustin, you thought that he was Steve’s brother until Nancy told you otherwise. The adoring way they both spoke of him made you look forward to meeting him, though. Steve warned you that Robin could ramble on, but you assured him that you could keep up with the best of the ramblers. Eddie, who Steve begrudgingly called one of his best friends, came up in passing, as did a girl named Max. The way both Steve and Nancy talked about their friends filled you with a longing for something you never knew you wanted. You hadn’t been worried about meeting Nancy’s friends before, but now hearing how close they all were and what a tight knit group they formed, you were a little worried that you wouldn’t be accepted into their circle. You told Nancy as much that night as the two of you were getting ready for bed.

“Trust me, you really don’t have to worry,” Nancy assures you. “The hardest one to win over will probably be Max, but she’s really only about as half as mean as she pretends to be.”

“I’m not sure how comforting that is,” you say.

Nancy slides into the covers on one side of the bed, and you slip in on the other. She clicks the lamp off as you pull the covers up to your chin.

“I’ve never once seen you worried about what people will think of you,” Nancy says. “Not even Ben when you had that massive crush on him.”

“I didn’t have enough time to care what he thought of me before I found out he had a girlfriend,” you tell her.

“I still can’t believe he’s the only guy you’ve even been mildly interested in at school,” Nancy says. “How many others have asked you out? Six? Seven?”

“I didn’t give a shit about any of them,” you say with a laugh. “Most of them were assholes who just wanted to get laid. And the others - which were probably like two of them - I only saw as friends.”

“I mean, I’m not mad about it,” Nancy says. “This way I’m not the only one who isn’t going to the clubs on Fridays and Saturdays.”

“You could still go, you know. Just because you have a boyfriend doesn’t mean you can’t go out dancing with friends.”

“I know that,” Nancy answers. “But it would feel weird. All those guys are looking for are hookups, like you said. It’s like a meat market in there.”

“So, you see why I don’t go,” you say.

“But you don’t have a boyfriend,” she says.

“And I don’t want one who I’ll meet when he starts grinding on me from behind at some sleazy, disgusting club.”

“Fair enough,” Nancy says with a sigh.

You turn your head on your pillow so that you’re looking at your friend beside you.

“Do you really think I’m too mean to these guys?”

Nancy frowns at the timidity in your voice.

“You haven’t been mean to any of them. I’ve only ever seen you politely decline. Do I think you should give one of them a try every now and then? Yeah. You never know what you could be missing.”

“I know.” You sigh and turn your head back to stare up at the ceiling. “I just haven’t felt anything for any of them. I want to feel something when I look at a guy. Or think about him. But in my mind, the thought of going out with any of them seemed more boring than sitting through ten of Professor Carter’s lectures.”

Nancy chuckles at that.

“Well,” she says. “Damn Ben for having a girlfriend then.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh as you nod along in agreement.

“Damn him.”

It almost seemed impossible to you how conventional and simplistic Thanksgiving was at the Wheeler household. The way that Mike and Holly argued over the remote control, Holly wanting to watch the parade, and Mike - just being a typical annoying big brother, you think - wants to hog the remote to watch what he wants. How the baby of the family gets her way and sits in front of the television, watching the large balloons being escorted down the streets of New York City. That Ted Wheeler falls asleep in his chair before the parade ends and bangs and clinks come from the kitchen as Karen preps for the big dinner. This all only happened in movies, as far as you had been concerned.

Thanksgiving growing up consisted of loud drunk neighbors, the smell of burnt cooking exuding from the apartments around you, and possibly a home cooked dinner of spaghetti if your mom felt like it that year. Normal family traditions were something you never got to experience, and just getting to see them firsthand was enough to make you emotional. Of course, Nancy notices, but she would never say anything. She just tries to include you as much as she can with small, mundane tasks like helping Karen in the kitchen or setting the table with Mike.

Dinner itself was a whole new experience. A family all sitting down together, sharing a meal, and talking to one another while doing so. You could count on one hand the times your mom would talk to you as you both ate frozen dinner entrees that had been heated in the microwave. Karen apologizes more than once about her children bickering back and forth, but you enjoy it more than she could understand. It’s all so odd and appealing to you, this dynamic. A nice suburban house with the white picket fence and family dog barking at the children playing in the yard has always seemed like such a faraway thing that would elude you forever. But seeing it up close and personal, you realize how badly you want this.

After dinner is the first time you really get to spend with Mike, both of you sprawled out in the basement after too much turkey, eyes heavy with sleep from feeling so contented and full. Nancy insisted you had helped plenty and could go downstairs while she finished helping her mom clean up. Mike said he’d show you some of his D&D stuff, which Nancy groaned about and said not to bore you with. But you were honestly intrigued and tried to follow along as Mike explained how the game works. Neither of you could keep focus for long though, both wanting to crash on the comfortable furniture down there as the tryptophan from the turkey kicked in.

Mike tells you about life at Hawkins High, about his friends that you’re meeting tomorrow, and how they’re all considered nerds and geeks. You could relate on some level, as you’d been picked on for not having the best clothes or accessories as you didn’t have as much money as the other families of the students. Nancy comes down to join you and puts some Blondie on the stereo - to Mike’s annoyance - as the three of you let the food comas control your bodies for a while.

Homemade pumpkin and apple pies are served for dessert a few hours later, complete with a scoop of ice cream and a generous helping of whipped cream. The family then all gathered in the living room to watch It’s A Wonderful Life, a tradition Karen tells you that happens every year. She calls it the official end of Thanksgiving and beginning of the Christmas season. You’ve never seen the movie before now, and Nancy notices how happy and relaxed you are as you sit next to Holly on the couch and watch the classic black and white film. Her heart aches as she realizes how she’s taken these holidays for granted her whole life, not thinking about how fortunate she really is.

When you and Nancy get ready for bed that night, bellies full of delicious homemade food and hearts all warm and fuzzy from sharing the things you were thankful for at dinner, she takes a moment to give you a big hug, making sure you realize how thankful she is for you. If it makes you tear up slightly before she pulls away, she can easily pretend not to notice.

Friday afternoon is full of messes and giggles as you and Nancy prepare dishes to bring with you to Steve’s house that evening. Most everyone would be bringing leftovers from their family Thanksgivings the day before, but Nancy knew that once Mike got ahold of the food there wouldn’t be much leftover to bring.

The green bean casserole gets in and out of the oven without issue, but once Mike smells the pumpkin pie you made baking, Nancy has to physically push him out of the kitchen.

“You’re coming later,” Nancy reminds him. “You can eat it then.”

As the two of you get ready for the dinner, you find yourself fidgeting more than normal. The blue sweater you put on is soft and you find yourself rubbing the material through your fingers over and over. The dainty golden heart necklace you wear becomes something to fiddle with as you prepare your makeup. Nancy must notice your nerves, as she offers to do your hair for you.

“Relax,” she tells you as she gives your hair a finishing puff of hairspray. “We’re really all a weird bunch.”

“So, I’ll fit right in,” you say with a small, nervous smirk.

“You really will,” she assures you with a smile.

On the drive to Steve’s house, your nerves somehow dissipate. The ride through the small-town calms you. Seeing children all bundled up and playing with one another in their yards. Neighbors walking their dogs together through the colorful leaves adorning the sidewalks. It’s simple and peaceful, something you’d only ever seen in movies.

The house you pull up to looks larger than the entirety of your apartment building back home. Granted, it’s a small apartment building, but still. The trees surrounding the two-story home give it a sense of mysticism, yet the dark exterior keeps it modern.

There are already a few cars parked out front as Nancy pulls in behind one in the driveway. She kills the engine, and you follow her out of the car and up to the front door. You’ve met Steve, and like him, so there’s no anxiety about seeing him. But you know the other people in there are Nancy’s favorite people in the world, so it puts some unintended pressure on.

Nancy doesn’t bother knocking or ringing the bell, just opens the front door and casually strolls in. It tells a lot about the relationship the two have, and it makes you smile as you follow her over to a small coat closet near the door.

“Hey! Thought I heard your car pulling up.”

Steve smiles as he approaches the two of you. He helps Nancy out of her coat and takes yours as well, maneuvering them onto hangers in the closet. Nancy leans down to unlace her boots, and you bend down to unzip yours.

Voices can be heard coming from the other room, and it sounds like quite a few people are already there. Steve closes the closet door behind you as you struggle with your zipper. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a shadow enter the entryway as you manage to get the zippers down on both of your boots.

“Hey,” you hear Nancy greet the new person in the room.

You stand up straight, ready to kick the unzipped boots off your feet, when you look up and lock eyes with the man standing a few feet in front of you. His dark brown eyes stare right back at you, gazes locked on one another like you’ve both frozen in time. Behind you, Nancy and Steve look at each other from the corner of their eyes, both cracking a smile as you two just continue to stare.

The mysterious boy has a mass of curls that fall to his shoulders, almost as brown as his eyes. He’s wearing a long-sleeved black t-shirt with a denim vest layered over it, covered in colorful patches. He’s tall and slim, and light glints off the silver rings adorning most of his fingers. One side of his mouth tugs up in a smile, the only motion either of you makes.

“Um,” Steve says once he can’t take it anymore. He steps forward so he’s equidistant between you two. His eyes dart back and forth, not knowing which of you to address first. “Eddie, you remember me telling you about Nancy’s friend?”

Eddie. The name runs through your mind and forces a smile on your lips. It fits him. And suddenly it’s the best name you’ve ever heard.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, eyes still glued to you.

“And this is Eddie,” Nancy says as she comes up beside you. She places her hand on your arm and nods her head at the curly haired boy. “One of my friends from high school.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you manage to get out.

“Why don’t we go inside?” Nancy says, tugging on your arm gently. “We can all talk in there.” She notices you haven’t finished taking your shoes off yet and knocks her knee against yours to get your attention. Steve joins in her attempts to help break you and Eddie out of your trance and puts his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, giving him a light shove in the direction of the living room.

Reluctantly, your eyes break contact with his as you look down to step out of your shoes. Nancy nudges them over alongside hers before guiding you along behind Steve and Eddie.

The spell that had come over you is broken as loud and rambunctious younger teens shout at one another, some hanging off couches, some sprawled out on the floor, and some moving from place to place. You spot Mike on a couch, arm around who you assume is his girlfriend, as he went to spend time with her earlier in the day.

Your eyes search for Eddie, but you’re startled by a girl coming up to you and giving you a big, toothy grin.

“Hi! Oh, I’ve heard so much about you, it’s so nice to meet you!”

“Robin,” Nancy says with a laugh. “Don’t scare her.”

“Sorry,” Robin says with an apologetic wince.

“No, it’s okay,” you assure her. “Just a lot of new people.”

“Mike, we forgot the food in the car,” Nancy calls to her brother. “Can you go get it?”

“What? Why me?”

“Oh, come on,” another boy says as he hits Mike on the chest.

“Thank you, Will,” Nancy says pointedly.

“So that’s Will,” Robin tells you as the boy walks by. He gives you a kind smile and a wave before he ducks out of the room, Mike right behind him. “That’s El, Mike’s girlfriend. She’s sitting next to Jonathan. And the ones arguing over there are Dustin, Lucas, and Max.”

“Who is who?” you ask, looking at the three kids bickering with one another.

“Dustin’s in the hat,” Nancy says.

“Ginger is Max,” Robin adds.

“Tall one is Lucas,” Nancy finishes.

“Remember all that?” Robin asks.

“Maybe,” you say with a chuckle. “Guess we’ll find out.”

“How do you like Hawkins?” Robin asks.

“It’s cute,” you tell her. “Much different than Boston.”

“Oh yeah,” Nancy agrees.

“Here.” Mike stalks into the room and shoves the container holding the green bean casserole at his sister.

“Such a gentleman,” Robin says.

Nancy accepts the dish from him with an eye roll. Will walks in with the pumpkin pie and you take it from him with a thank you. Nancy leads you into the kitchen and balances the casserole in one hand while opening the oven with the other. She slides it in to heat it up, making room for it next to the other dishes inside.

“You can just put the pie in the fridge,” she tells you.

The refrigerator is fairly full, but you manage to find a place to fit the tin in. Nancy comes over and yanks a bottle out of a cabinet next to the fridge.

“Want a glass?” She holds up the wine bottle to show you as she grabs two glasses.

“Sure,” you say.

Nancy pops the cork out with ease and pours a serving for each of you. The red wine flows like life’s blood and you can practically taste the dry fruitiness already. She hands you a glass and you clink them together before taking a swig.

“Oh,” Nancy says as she lowers the glass from her mouth. “I forgot to ask Steve something. I’ll be right back, okay?”

She sets her glass down as you nod at her. Left alone, you lean back against the counter and take another sip of your wine. It’s a large, white kitchen, decorated in an array of plaid and checkered patterns. There are so many cabinets and shelves you can’t imagine what they all hold.

“Hey, Nance, where can I - oh.” Eddie stops short in the entryway when he sees you standing there alone. A smile lights up his face and you blush at the sight. “You are not Nancy.”

“I am not,” you concur.

He slips his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans and sidles up next to you. Arms crossing over his chest, he leans against the counter next to you.

“Welcome to the circus,” Eddie says, gesturing to the next room where you can still hear a cacophony of young voices going back and forth.

“It’s cool that you all keep in touch after high school,” you say. “I could tell you where maybe five people are that I went to school with. The rest? I couldn’t give a damn.”

“I feel that way about most of our school,” Eddie says. “These are the few good ones. Course, the kids are still in school. Robin’s going to Hawkins Community College and Steve and I are just working stiffs now.”

“What do you do?” you ask, taking another sip of your wine.

“Work at a garage downtown,” he tells you. “Nothing fancy, but it pays the bills.”

“I know all about that,” you say. “I work at a coffee shop. I come home smelling like hot chocolate every day.”

“There are worse things to smell like,” Eddie says with a smile. “Once I got gasoline on my shoes and I swear, I smelled like it for a week, no matter how much I showered.”

The image of Eddie in the shower invades your thoughts and you take another gulp of wine to hide the flush on your cheeks. The urge to drop your eyes down to his arms and chest is appealing, but you manage to restrain yourself.

“You keep drinking that quickly and your blush is only going to get worse.”

The way you choke on your wine makes you fear that some of it is going to shoot out of your nose. With your hand over your mouth and nose, you cough as some of the wine goes down the wrong way. Eddie reaches over to pat your back a few times, only adding to the heat on your face. You notice he’s smiling at you, but it’s not in a mocking or patronizing way. It’s as if he thinks you’re cute and the thought makes your head buzz more than the wine.

“You okay?” he asks.

“M’good,” you squeak out through a cough.

“Want some water?”

All you can do is nod in response. Eddie turns to grab a cup from a cabinet next to the sink and fills it up halfway. You take it without looking him in the eye and take a couple of swigs.

“Better?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say, throat recovering from the burn. The accursed dirty mind you have makes you think there’s a way I’d like him to make my throat burn.

“Good,” he says.

He opens his mouth to speak again when Nancy comes back into the kitchen. Her eyes go from you, to Eddie, back to you again. She raises an eyebrow and you’re unsure if it’s because of your red face, Eddie’s smirk, or if she can feel the tension in the air.

“Everything okay?” she asks.

“Fine,” Eddie tells her at the same time that you say, “Yep.”

She doesn’t look convinced but doesn’t press any further.

“Eddie!”

A shorter boy with dark curly hair tucked under a blue and red baseball cap walks into the kitchen, head swiveling to find his friend.

“Right here,” Eddie says.

“There you are,” Dustin, if you recall correctly, says. “Will you come tell Lucas that he’s an idiot?”

“Um, hello,” Eddie says, nodding his head towards you. “Manners, dude.”

“Oh, shit,” Dustin says with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry. Hi, I’m Dustin.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you say. “You’re the one who Steve’s adopted, right?”

Dustin’s laughter rings out in the kitchen.

“Sometimes it feels like the other way around, but yeah,” he says.

“Steve and Eddie share custody now,” Nancy says.

“Don’t make me his co-parent,” Eddie says, shaking his head.

Steve pops his head in the kitchen and rolls his eyes.

“Jesus, you guys.” He walks over and slings his arm over Nancy’s shoulders. “Leave me with them out there.”

“Isn’t Robin out there?” Nancy asks.

“She joined the argument, whatever it’s about!”

“Lucas is saying that in Star Wars-.”

“Nope,” Steve says, cutting Dustin off. “I don’t want to hear about your little nerd wars.”

“Come on,” Dustin whines. “You liked Return of the Jedi.”

“No, he liked Leia in the gold bikini,” Nancy corrects.

“The one with the teddy bear things?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, the Ewoks,” you say.

All heads turn to you and a grin grows on Dustin’s face.

“I didn’t know you liked Star Wars,” Nancy says.

“All we ever do is talk, how did this never come up?” you ask with a chuckle.

“Are you a nerd?” Eddie smirks at you and pokes your arm.

“A little,” you say with a shrug.

“Read The Hobbit?” Eddie asks.

“Alright, I’m leaving,” Steve says. He presses a kiss to Nancy’s head and turns to head out of the kitchen. The oven timer dings though, and Steve stops in his tracks.

“Dinner’s ready, Dad,” Dustin says.

“Shut up. Go tell the others to sit at the table.”

“Wait,” Nancy says, and everyone stares at her. “Um, I mean, Dustin and I will get the others. You guys help Steve get the food out.”

“Okay,” Dustin drawls, narrowing his eyes at Nancy.

She nudges Dustin out of the kitchen ahead of her as Steve yanks the oven door open, letting the heat and savory scents of the food waft out into the air. It’s a mishmash of dishes as Steve pulls them out one by one, setting them on the counters around him.

“Okay,” Steve says. He closes the oven and turns it off. Putting his hands on his hips, he spins around and looks at the different foods. “We’ve got vegetables, we’ve got turkey, potatoes, breads.”

“Cranberries?” Eddie asks.

Steve snaps his fingers and nods. “In the fridge.”

“I’ve got it,” you say.

Steve loads up Eddie’s arms with food before piling himself up. You scoop up the dishes that are left and follow the guys into the dining room. Nancy and Dustin had called everyone in to eat, and most of the seats are already taken. All that’s left are the seat at the head of the table, for Steve, and two seats situated between Nancy and Will. The way Nancy avoids your eyes as you set the food down on the table tells you that the two chairs left for you and Eddie aren't just a coincidence.

Eddie makes no secret of his happiness that you’re sitting near one another as he grins brightly and pulls out your chair for you. You slip into it and meet Nancy’s too-innocent eyes as Eddie sits down next to you. If Steve’s wise to the setup, he shows no hint of it while he cuts pieces of turkey to be sent around the table.

“Stuffing?” Eddie offers.

“Yes, please.”

He doles some out on your plate before serving himself, tongue peeking out of his lips the whole time. Bowls are handed across the table, plates passed back and forth from one friend to another, but eventually everyone is settled with their full plate in front of them.

The girl named Max sits across from you and she glances up at you between bites of turkey. You give her a smile that she tentatively returns.

“Well, damn,” Eddie says from next to you. “I knew Red for over a month before I got a smile out of her.”

Max scowls at him as she shoves a forkful of mashed potatoes in her mouth.

“I have a good sense about people,” she says once she’s swallowed her food. “I like her. I was never sure about you. Still not.”

“Hardy har,” Eddie answers but Max cracks a smile at him.

“Should we do that thing?” Robin asks the whole table. Everyone turns to her, most brows furrowed in confusion.

“Ah yes, Robin,” Steve says. “That thing.”

“You know,” Robin says. She gesticulates with her hands, crumbs of stuffing flying off her fork in the process. “Where we say what we’re thankful for.”

Mike and Lucas groan in tandem as Dustin drops his head into his hands.

“We’re not eighty years old, Robin,” Steve says.

“Oh, come on,” Robin says. She looks pleadingly at everyone, widening her eyes and jutting out her bottom lip.

“Why not?” El asks.

You notice everyone seems to have a harder time saying no to El than they do Robin, and Steve shrugs in reluctant agreement.

“I’ll start,” Robin says, unsurprisingly. “I’m thankful that Steve got promoted to manager at Family video.”

“Why are you thankful for that?” Mike asks.

“Because it means Keith doesn’t work there anymore,” Steve says. “And she won’t get in as much trouble if she clocks in late.”

“Still thankful,” Robin says with a shrug. She leans back in her seat and nods at Jonathan next to her.

“Oh, um,” Jonathan says, shifting in his chair. He looks uncomfortable with all the attention on him. “I’m, uh, I guess I’m thankful that we moved back to Hawkins.”

The game goes around the table until it gets to Eddie.

“Shit, there’s a lot I’m thankful for this year,” Eddie says with a chuckle. There are some murmurs of laughter in agreement around the table and you feel like an outsider for the first time tonight, not being in on some joke or knowledge. Eddie quickly takes notice of this and licks his lips. “I think I’ll go with two things, though. One, finally graduating.” Dustin and the other younger boys break into applause at this, which Eddie halts by waving a dismissive hand at them. “Two, I’m thankful Nancy brought this lovely lady over for dinner.”

Eddie turns to look at you, his smirk and statement making you blush yet again. You weren’t someone who blushed easily, and somehow this adorable metal head had managed to make it happen twice within a single hour.

“Well, you stole my answer,” you tell him with a shy smile.

“Yeah?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at you. He rests his arm along the back of your chair and leans just slightly into your space.

“Yeah,” you affirm.

You miss the way Max’s eyes go to Nancy, who is grinning at the pair of you, then move to Steve, who shrugs at the redhead and rolls his eyes as if saying what’re you gonna do?

“You’ll just have to give another one then,” Eddie says.

He watches you as you squint one eye closed and pucker your lips together as you think. With your gaze not solely locked on him, you don’t see the way his eyes dart down to your lips. But Nancy does.

“Can I just say I’m thankful for Nancy in general, then? Because I wouldn’t have been able to stand being at school without her. And she was kind enough to bring me home with her to meet her family and all of you.”

There’s a collective “aww” around the table as Nancy leans over and wraps an arm around you, leaning her head against yours.

“Well, I’m thankful you decided to do your laundry in the middle of the night just like I did. Or this might’ve never happened,” Nancy says. “And I’m thankful for being able to make long distance with Steve work so well.”

A smile lights up Steve’s face and you’re struck again with how cute these two are with one another.

“You’re the last one to go, Stevie,” Robin says. “Lay it on us.”

“Well, I’d be in complete trouble if I didn’t say Nancy, right?” he asks, throwing a wink and smirk her way. “I’m just kidding. Well, not about Nancy, about being in trouble for it. Because I am thankful for Nancy.”

“Anticlimactic,” Robin says with a sigh.

“Are we done?” Max asks. “Please?”

“Yeah, that only took up the whole dinner,” Mike adds.

“Oh, please,” Nancy calls down the table to her little brother. “Like you actually paid attention to what a single person said.”

Eddie leans into whisper in your ear. “I’d say we’re not always this crazy, but that’d be a lie.”

“Are you kidding? I would love to have a group of friends like this,” you tell him. “The crazier the better.”

“Oh, well then you’re definitely in the right spot,” he tells you.

Steve begins to gather empty plates from the table, and Eddie is right behind him, sliding yours on top of his as he stands up.

Nancy shoos you from the kitchen, saying that you aren’t allowed to help clean because you’re their special guest. So, you find your way back into Steve’s living room, where those who aren’t helping to clean are spread out around the room, either talking or listening to the music that Eddie’s turned on the radio.

“Queen, hmm?” you say as you walk over to stand near him.

“Yeah, I figured they’re a band everyone would be happy with,” he says as Killer Queen begins over the speakers. “Wouldn’t be my first choice, but they’re pretty good.”

“And who on earth could you possibly hold in higher regard than Queen?”

“Metallica, Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden,” Eddie starts, but you cut him off.

“So, basically any metal band?”

“Pretty much,” Eddie says, putting his hands on his hips. “Best type of music, if you ask me. But I do also like Queen.”

“Good,” you say. You plop down on the nearest empty couch and Eddie follows to sit right alongside you.

“I’m guessing Queen is your favorite?” he asks, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow.

“They are,” you tell him. “Freddie Mercury has one of the greatest voices of all time.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Eddie says. “Who else do you like?”

“A lot, actually. From Queen, to Beatles, to Elvis, to Madonna, to Black Sabbath, to showtunes.”

“Showtunes, huh?” Eddie asks with a smirk.

“I will take no disrespect of Stephen Sondheim,” you warn him.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says. “Mostly because I have no idea who that is.”

You laugh and the sound brings a light to Eddie’s eyes. They crinkle in the corners as he looks at you and it’s enough to make your heart stutter in your chest.

Across the room, unbeknownst to you and Eddie off in your own little world, Nancy and Steve walk back into the living room.

“Damn, she and Munson are really hitting it off, aren’t they?” Steve asks, making Nancy giddy with happiness.

“Steve, you don’t get it,” she tells him.

“I know. I never thought I’d see a girl take such a shine to Munson so quickly.”

“No,” Nancy says with a shake of her head. She watches the two of you converse on the couch, him laughing at something you said, before she grabs Steve’s arm and pulls him to the side of the room.

“There have been like, at least twelve guys who have asked her on dates back at school,” Nancy tells him. “Out of those, she probably agreed to three. And from those three dates, I think she had a second date with one of them. That’s it.”

“I’m gonna need more context clues to get me where you want me to go,” Steve says, shrugging in confusion.

“I’ve never seen her actually be interested in a guy. Well, one, but he had a girlfriend, so it didn’t last long. She’s told me besides her one boyfriend in high school, she’s never clicked with or had real feelings for anyone before. But this!” She gestures to you and Eddie in your own little bubble on the couch. “It’s huge! You don’t know her like I do, but trust me, this is huge.”

“Okay,” Steve says, getting the hang of it. “And what about Eddie?”

“I’ve never actually seen him have a crush on someone before. Have you?”

Steve shakes his head and holds his arms out to the sides helplessly.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him talk to a girl that’s not in this room,” he says.

“I think he likes her,” Nancy says with a grin that could only be called devious.

“Hold on, Yente,” Steve says, startling Nancy.

“Was that really a Fiddler on the Roof reference?” she asks.

“I manage a video store. Pretty sure I’ve seen every video in there at least twice. So, yeah. But you’ve got to slow your roll on the matchmaking. She’s going back to Boston with you in two days.”

Nancy sighs and folds her arms over her chest.

“I know,” she admits sadly. “But they’re so cute.”

Steve rests his hands on Nancy’s shoulders and gives them a small massage.

“They are,” he agrees. “I don’t think Eddie would mind if you spent the rest of the semester talking him up to her, though.”

It feels like you’ve only been talking to Eddie for ten minutes, but when the whines from Mike and Max come that they’re hungry and want dessert, it shocks you to find out that it’s been hours since you’d all finished dinner.

Dessert goes much quicker than dinner, and with more efficiency. There was the pumpkin pie that you and Nancy had made, an apple pie that Will and El had baked, some cookies Max made, and cupcakes that Robin says she picked up on clearance on the drive over. Everyone wants to sample a bit of everything, but it’s hard since you’d all had a hardy meal just hours ago. Once you’re one vanilla cupcake and a slice of pumpkin pie deep, Eddie offers to split a piece of apple pie with you. He smothers it in whipped cream and hands you a second fork so the two of you can dig in together. You laugh when Eddie uses his pinky finger to put a dab of a glob of whipped cream on the tip of your nose. You go cross-eyed trying to look at it - which makes Eddie laugh - and try to stretch your tongue up as high as it would go to clean it off. You’re unable to do it though, so settle for wiping it off using your hand with a sigh.

Though you don’t have the room left, you swipe one of the last of Max’s cookies so you can have officially tried one of everything. After your first delicious bite though, you realize there’s no way you’ll be able to finish it. You slump back in your seat with a groan, the waistband on your pants threatening to suffocate you. Tilting your head to the side, you see Eddie in an almost identical position. He eyes the cookie in your hand and opens his mouth.

“Really?” you ask with a laugh.

He just nods, keeping his mouth open. You feed him the rest of your half-eaten cookie. He licks over his lips as he finishes it, then let’s out a groan to match your previous one.

No one feels the urge to talk or move from the table as you’ve all been re-stuffed. The music that’s still playing on the stereo in the living room drifts in over the silence of the dining room, and you smile to yourself as one of your favorite Billy Joel songs plays. It’s a comfortable atmosphere, the silence not awkward, just content as everyone basks in their food comas.

Dustin is the first one to break the silence, which seems to surprise no one.

“We’ve got to do the secret Santa,” he says.

“Shit, where’s the hat with the names in it?” Steve asks, slumped down in his chair.

“I think I saw it in the living room,” Will says. He forces his way out of his seat with a strained groan, and shuffles into the other room. He returns holding an upside-down Santa Claus hat that rustles when he shakes it.

“Oh, um am I..?” you trail off, looking at Nancy.

She nods. “I put your name in there. I figured you could always ship your gift and your gift can get shipped to you if you’re not here for Christmas.”

You haven’t even thought about what your plans would be for Christmas this year. It wasn’t usually a pleasant time of the year for you and college had distracted you from the fact that you’d have to be at home for the holiday. It sounded about as appealing as walking back to Boston from Hawkins, butt naked.

Will sits down with the hat and places it on the table in front of him.

“Should I start?” he asks.

“Might as well,” Dustin says. “Remember the rules. You can’t pick your own name. And you can’t pick a sibling because you’ll probably be forced to buy them something anyway. Oh! Also, no couples,” Dustin says, eyeing Steve and Nancy before Max and Lucas. “We all know you’ll be buying each other things too.”

“We got it, Henderson,” Steve says. He gestures to Will. “Let’s get it going.”

Will draws the first name and smiles to himself. He’s careful not to look at anyone around the table as he slips the small piece of paper in his pocket. He slides the hat over to El, who in turn draws hers. She frowns when she sees the name and replaces it to pick another one. The hat travels along the table, with Mike also having to select a second name, and ends up at Nancy. She selects her rolled up paper and holds it close to her chest so she can read it. She chuckles and holds the paper in her lap as she slides the hat over to you. You reach in and pull out the first scrap of paper your hand touches. Copying Nancy’s movements of holding the paper close, you take a look at who you’ve drawn. “Max” the paper reads. Nodding to yourself, you slide the hat down to Eddie, who has the final pull from the hat.

“Good thing I don’t have the sibling or girlfriend option here since I’m drawing the last one,” Eddie says as he sticks his hand inside. “As long as it’s not me, we’re good.” He peeks inside the little white paper before folding it up and putting it in his jacket pocket. “Not me. We’re good.”

Dessert is also an easier clean up, so Nancy lets you help this time around. It only takes a few minutes, then you’re strolling back into the living room, where your hand is quickly picked up by someone coming up alongside you.

“Hi,” Eddie says with a smile, as if it’s been a while since the two of you spoke.

“Hi yourself,” you respond as you adjust your hand in Eddie’s grip. His hand is strong and warm, and you can feel the gentle rub of calluses. He leads you over to a different part of the living room than where you were before. There’s a small nook towards the back of the room, where someone could sit and look out of a pale stained-glass window into the backyard. Today was so cold though, that the window was frosted over, giving a romantic feel to the small area.

Eddie sits down on the cushioned seat and pulls you down right along next to him. You’re sitting hip to hip, knee to knee and he still hasn’t let go of your hand. The colder air closer to the window is all the excuse you need to lean into Eddie’s side. He also takes the chill in the air as an excuse to wrap his arm around you, tucking you even further against him. You let your cheek rest against his shoulder, and it doesn’t take long until Eddie rests his head against your own. The silence is companionable as Eddie rubs his hand up and down your arm.

After a few minutes of sitting this way together, Eddie dips his head down to press his lips close enough to your ear that you can feel them brush your skin as he whispers to you.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asks.

“Mmm,” you hum in confirmation, eyes staying closed. From his angle he can’t see the smile you’re fighting to keep off your face.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

Moisture instantly gathers behind your closed eyes at his words. You blink a few times to expel them before you tilt your head up to look at him face to face.

“Is that so?” you whisper back.

“Cross my heart,” he replies.

This time the smile doesn’t stay off your face, no matter how hard you try.

“You’re an incorrigible flirt, Eddie Munson.”

“How can I not be? Usually, I’d have to take the time to psych myself up to flirt if I had just seen you around town. But no time for that when you’re leaving soon.”

He pouts adorably at the way his words cause a frown on your face.

“Nancy did tell you that you guys have to go back, right? Or was this really a kidnapping ploy all along?”

You giggle and it brightens Eddie’s whole face. It also gives him the courage to lean down and press his lips softly against yours. You gasp into the kiss, not expecting it, but quickly compose yourself enough to kiss him back. He pulls away just a little and it gives you the opportunity to sit up straighter, giving the two of you a better angle for your next kiss. He delves in and cradles the back of your head with his hand, the other snaking around your waist. One of your hands cups Eddie’s cheek as you kiss him and the other rests firmly on his chest.

Eddie’s tongue swipes across your top lip and you don’t hesitate in opening your mouth to him. His arm around your waist pulls you impossibly closer to him until you’re half on his lap, the kiss getting deeper by the moment. In many ways, it’s the best kiss you’ve ever had. Not only is Eddie a talented kisser, but you can feel the emotions behind the kiss as well. Eddie slides his hand from the back of your head to cup your jaw, tilting his head to kiss you at a slightly different angle. There’s longing there, it’s melancholy and addictive. He tastes like the pie you shared mixed with cigarettes and taste that could only be explained as Eddie.

Your fingers tighten on his shirt, bunching the black material into your hand. The hand that was on his jaw has snaked around to bury itself in the curls at the base of Eddie’s neck. He manages to maneuver both of you so he’s lounging back against the cushions of the seat, and you’re on top of him, chest pressed to chest, and legs tangling together as you let out a soft moan against Eddie’s mouth.

The sound only encourages him, his kisses becoming more impassioned and messier. Not that you mind. You’d be happy if he spit in your mouth, but you figured that wasn’t something he needed to know on day one.

Sense of time is all but gone and you’re only reminded that there are other people in the room - albeit on the other side of it, with you two not directly in view of them - until someone, by the sound of it, Robin, starts speaking at a volume way too high for indoors. She starts to babble on and on, voice raising with every statement she makes. Both you and Eddie find it amusing, as you pull away from one another’s mouths with small laughs commingling in your shared breath.

Eddie reaches up and tucks a piece of hair that’s hanging in your face behind your ear.

“In case you haven’t realized,” Eddie says softly, keeping you two in your own private moment. “I really like you.”

“Well,” you say, still trying to catch your breath. “In that case, I hope you’ve noticed that I really like you too.”

The grin on his face makes your labored breaths even quicker as his eyes gaze into yours. You rest your forehead against his and let your eyes fall closed.

“Can I see you again before you leave?” Eddie whispers.

Leaving now sounds like the worst possible thing you could endure. Boston is a great city, and you love almost every aspect of it. The food, the sports, the people, the weather. But it doesn’t have Eddie.

“Yes,” you answer him. “We leave Sunday afternoon. Steve is taking Nancy and I out for breakfast before he takes us to the airport. Would you maybe want to come?”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too.”

Loud clapping hands come up behind you and the quiet intimate moment you’ve been having with Eddie dissolves around you.

“Okay, lovebirds,” Robin says. “Time to get a room. Preferably the guest room at the Wheeler house.”

“We don’t have a guest room,” Nancy says. “She’s bunking with me.”

“Sorry, Eddie,” Robin says. “That means there’s no room for you on that bed.”

As everyone says goodbye for the night, you stand a little off to the side. Sure, you’d become one of the gang over the course of the evening, but that still couldn’t touch all the history and familiarity that the others had with one another. You get hugs from most everyone, including an unexpectedly tight one from Max. Will tells you repeatedly that it was so nice to meet you and you understand why Nancy was so excited to be with this group of people. They’re all kind, caring, and most obviously of all, they’re all so dedicated and loyal to one another.

Steve gives you a hug that’s just as tight as he’s given everyone else, and it could bring tears to your eyes how included you feel. You take a deep breath before you give you your final goodbye of the night. Eddie wraps you in his arms and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. His arms feel so secure around you and the warmth that you feel when you nuzzle your head into his neck is enough to make your heart burst.

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?” he asks.

“Soon,” you confirm.

He presses another kiss to your lips before reluctantly letting go.

Mike is crashing at Lucas’s tonight, so it’s just you and Nancy on the drive home. Nancy has barely shut the driver’s side door before she’s turning to you with the look of a cat that’s about to pounce.

“I have never seen you like that!” she gushes at you.

You shrug, glad for the dark night outside to hide your reddened face. She starts the car and pulls out of Steve’s driveway, but the conversation isn’t over.

“You guys were so cute,” Nancy says. “You like him?”

Looking out the passenger window at the dark trees that go past, you smile so Nancy can’t see it.

“I really like him,” you admit.

Nancy coos over your admission as she pulls out onto the main road in Hawkins.

“I could tell!” Nancy gloats. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile so much.”

“You weren’t very subtle at all, forcing me to sit next to him at dinner,” you tell her.

“Are you complaining?” she asks.

“No,” you admit bashfully.

“I didn’t think so.”

“I asked him if he wanted to come with us to breakfast with Steve on Sunday. Is that okay?” you ask.

“Of course,” she assures you. “He’s a great guy, really.”

Nancy pulls her car into the driveway and you both enter the house quietly; Holly and her parents having already gone to bed. You gather your pajamas out of your suitcase and tell Nancy you’re going to take a shower when the shrill ringing of the phone on her nightstand makes both of you jump. She quickly grabs the receiver before the noise can wake anyone in the house up.

“Who the hell,” she mumbles to herself as she looks at the clock, reading almost one in the morning. “Hello?” she asks. There’s a pause and Nancy rolls her eyes as she listens. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

You giggle quietly to yourself as you watch her become exasperated. Clothes clutched to your chest, you gesture down the hall to let her know you’re headed to the bathroom. She nods at you as she listens to the person on the other line.

The hot shower invigorates your skin that had grown dry in the cold autumn air. A sigh of relief escapes your lips as you let the warm water run down your skin, relishing in the relaxation and calming aroma of the minty shampoo. As your fingers work through your hair, you recall the feeling of Eddie’s hair in your hands. The soft curls at the base of his neck you toyed with as you kissed. Thoughts begin to churn in your mind of Eddie joining you in the shower, but you don’t want to turn this into a cold shower, so you try not to let your mind wander down that path.

Using the towel to wring the excess water from your hair, you make your way back to Nancy’s room in your pajamas. The oversized t-shirt and plaid bottoms were so comfortable that you could hardly wait to curl up in bed. But when you walk into her room, Nancy hasn’t pulled the blankets down or even changed into her own pajamas. She’s changed into sweatpants and a sweatshirt, so comfy clothes, but not ones for sleep.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“Guess who was on the phone?”

You’re about to admit that you have no clue, but with the way she raises an eyebrow at you, you think you get the idea.

“He didn’t,” you say with a laugh.

“Oh, he did. Wanted to know if he could come over,” she tells you.

“What?” you ask, just as there’s a knock on Nancy’s window. It startles you, but Nancy seems to have been expecting it.

“Your Romeo,” Nancy says, her head nodding to the window as she goes over to open it. She slides the glass up and Eddie stumbles in, landing clumsily as he trips over one of his own boots. Nancy shakes her head at him, and he spins around to face you, eyes instantly lighting up and an infectious smile curling his lips.

“What are you doing?” you ask as you walk over to him. You wrap your arms around his middle, the cold air sticking to his leather jacket making you shiver.

“Missed you,” he mumbles against your hair as he presses kisses to the top of your head. He quickly sheds the jacket, not wanting to make you cold, then retakes you in his arms, the warmth of his red flannel giving you the intended warm effect.

“You saw me an hour ago.” Your face is smooshed up against his chest, but he understands you anyway.

“I know. An hour,” he says. “And you’re leaving soon so I wanted to spend all the time with you I could.”

“He gave me the same speech,” Nancy says from behind him. “He’s lucky I’m a romantic and caved.”

You peek around Eddie to give her a grateful smile, which she returns with a wink.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she says. “But I will be back.” She gives a pointed look to Eddie as she heads out the door, closing it behind her.

You hop onto Nancy’s bed and open your arms for him, which he happily falls into. He climbs on the other side of you, kicking his boots off as he goes, and tucks you against his side.

“I like your pajamas,” he says. “They’re cute.”

Burying your face in his chest, you nuzzle your nose against his sternum.

“Didn’t expect company, so I dressed for warmth,” you say.

“Cold?” he asks, wrapping his arms tighter around you.

“Not really,” you say. “But keep holding me like that.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

You tilt your neck up, pressing soft kisses along his jaw. His hand rubs up and down your side and your body fills with a warmth that has nothing to do with the temperature.

“Can I ask you something?” you whisper against his skin.

“Anything,” he answers.

“What did you mean before?” Your fingers play with the hem of his flannel as you run the tip of your nose up to behind his ear. “At dinner. When you said there’s a lot for you to be thankful for this year.”

His body shifts underneath you and you pull back to look at him. He avoids your eyes as he adjusts his grip around your waist. You rub your hand over his chest, leaning down to press a kiss against his collarbone.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you say, sensing his mood change. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, no,” he says, shaking his head. He lets out a sigh and presses his lips against your forehead. “It’s just a long, shitty story.”

“If you want to tell me, I’ll listen,” you assure him.

This makes him smile and he leans down to capture your lips in a soft kiss.

“Okay,” he whispers against your lips. “I’m going to start off by saying I’m innocent though, okay? Just to preface this fucked up tale.”

You nod even though your brow scrunches up in concern. Not that you don’t believe him, but it hurts to hear that he was wrongly accused of something.

“There was this girl at school,” he starts. “Her name was Chrissy. She was a cheerleader, queen of the school. One day she asked to talk to me, which was weird in itself.”

The frown on your face is involuntary as you picture - what you can only assume is a pretty - cheerleader all over Eddie. He notices the look and runs his thumb over your pinched forehead as he lets out a soft laugh.

“Aw, are you jealous, baby? Don’t be. It was nothing like that. I mean, in complete honesty I did have a crush on her in middle school, but that was forever ago.” He presses a kiss to your now relaxed forehead before continuing on. “I used to sell drugs at school, and she wanted some pot. So, I told her when and where I’d meet her for the deal. When the time came, she was all jumpy and seemed paranoid. I tried to calm her, and it worked a bit, but she ended up asking if I had anything stronger. I didn’t with me, because I wasn’t stupid to be busted on school grounds with anything harder than weed. There was a basketball game that night and I had a hellfire meeting - you know, the D&D club I told you about after dinner. Anyway, so I told her I’d take her back to my place afterwards and I’d get her something then.” Eddie chuckles as he feels you tense up in his arms at his last statement. He presses soft and sweet kisses down the side of your face. “Can I just say that I love how you’ve only known me for a few hours and are already jealous at the thought of another girl alone with me?”

You huff playfully and hide your face in his neck. It only causes him to laugh again, and he moves his hand up and down your back reassuringly. He lets out a sigh though, as he goes on to continue his story.

“This is where it gets weird,” he says.

Nancy pushes open the door then and both of you look up as she enters. She gives you a small smile as she creeps back into the room, shutting the door again behind her.

“I’m just telling her about Chrissy,” Eddie explains.

“Oh?” Nancy asks, raising her eyebrows so high that they meet her wet bangs. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about it.”

He shrugs and squeezes you in his arms.

“Just going over the important parts anyway,” he says, and a look is shared between them that escapes your notice.

Nancy nods and climbs up on the bed, resting back against her footboard and tucking her legs up underneath her. Eddie continues his story, Nancy interjecting in places that Eddie wasn’t present for, like their friends trying to find where Eddie was hiding. She talks about how she spoke with Eddie’s uncle and how after that moment she had no lingering thoughts whatsoever that Eddie could have murdered their classmate.

“Wait, I’m a little confused,” you say when they’ve finished their story. “So, you guys went to find who the real killer was, Eddie, you got hurt, and Nancy, you knocked the guy out of a window? But he escaped? Then how were you cleared?”

“Um, there wasn’t enough evidence,” Nancy says. She clears her throat before continuing. “They eventually caught the real killer, but we have a friend in the police station. El’s dad, actually. He was able to take a harder look and proved that Eddie couldn’t have done it.”

“So, I was cleared. And healed, thankfully. If Dustin hadn’t gotten my ass to the hospital so quickly, I wouldn’t have made it.”

You squeeze Eddie in your arms and rest your head on his shoulder.

“So, you meant that you were thankful you were okay and that you were cleared?” you ask, bringing it all back to your original question.

“Yeah,” he tells you. “And thankful I had these friends around me to help me out.”

“That’s so scary,” you say. Eddie and Nancy share a look above your head, knowing you don’t know the half of how scary it all actually was.

“But it’s over,” Eddie says as he lays his head on top of yours. Your fingers tighten in his shirt and Eddie feels like he could cry from the relief that rushes through him at the gesture. He hadn’t realized how terrified he was that you would think badly of him after the story, or even worse, think he truly was guilty. His body relaxes against yours and you press your lips to his shoulder, leaving him smiling against your hair.

You bring your hand up to your mouth to cover a yawn and Eddie looks at the clock on Nancy’s nightstand. “Shit, I guess I should let you guys get some sleep. The sun’ll be up any minute now.”

He slips out of your arms and off the bed. You follow behind him as he makes his way over to the window.

“Thanks for letting me come over, Nance.”

She nods her head at him as she slips under the covers. “Don’t make a habit of it,” she says with a playful smile.

He gives her a salute before looking back at you. He takes both of your hands in his and brings them up to his mouth, kissing over your knuckles.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” you agree as you raise up on your toes to press your lips against his.

Eddie kisses you softly, letting go of your hands so one can cup your cheek while the other pulls your body closer to his. Too soon, he pulls away and opens Nancy’s window. The frigid air blows in and you pick Eddie’s leather jacket up off the floor, handing it back to him. He slips it on and presses one last kiss to your lips before he ducks outside.

“Bye, beautiful,” he says.

“Bye.” You smile at him as he closes the window behind him and scoots down the slope of the Wheeler’s roof.

Saturday it was planned for the Wheeler family to take a trip a few towns over where there was a big holiday festival happening. The whole town was decked out in red and green, and the chill in the air added to the festive spirit. Mike was initially grumpy about being picked up from hanging out with his friends to spending time with his family, but he ended up happy he came after a video game that he desperately wanted was on sale at the local mall. You and Nancy shopped for some new clothes there as well, and you joined the family for lunch at a cute diner right in the mall’s parking lot. From there, you all visited the outdoor skating rink where you taught Holly how to skate, and she ended up being able to skate faster than either of her older siblings.

Once the sun went down, you grabbed some hot chocolates to go and headed back to Hawkins for a family movie night tucked up in the house. Holly fell asleep before the end of the second movie, her hand clutched in Nancy’s and her head on your shoulder. Mr. Wheeler carried her to bed and Mike broke out a box of gingerbread cookies that Karen had tried to hide from him in the back of the pantry.

It was a fun day, but Eddie had been on your mind for the entirety of it. You pictured modeling the clothes that you had bought for him, or him holding your hand as you skated around the rink. When you and Nancy headed up to bed, she joked that there would be no middle of the night visitors tonight, and you both fell asleep quickly.

Sunday morning you were brimming with excitement to see Eddie, but your heart melted at the tears Karen and Holly shed as they hugged Nancy goodbye. They’d see her in a few weeks for Christmas, but it just showed how much they loved her. Each member of the family hugged you goodbye, even Mike seeming heartfelt as he did so. You’d miss being around this domestic type of setting. The nuclear family wasn’t something you were terribly accustomed to, but you had enjoyed every moment of it.

The doorbell eventually rings, and Steve is ready and waiting there to help you and Nancy get your bags in the car. You notice a certain someone with a curly mop of hair in the passenger seat and a grin splits your face as Eddie climbs out of the car. He scoops you up in his arms and hugs you tightly before assisting Steve with the bags. The guys take you to a cute quaint restaurant on the way to the airport, and Eddie refuses to let go of your hand the moment you both step out of the car. You look through the menu with one hand, not moving your laced fingers from his grip. It proves hard to eat though, with only one hand, so you begrudgingly let go of each other.

“What’re you doing for Christmas?” Steve asks you as he swallows a bite of his blueberry pancakes.

“Probably nothing,” you say with a shrug. “I’ll probably end up driving back to New Hampshire to my mom’s place, but I don’t even know if she’ll be there. Hopefully I’ll get to see my niece, though. She’s my favorite person in the world.”

“How old is she?” Eddie asks.

“Almost eight,” you tell him. “Her and my sister live like an hour away from us.”

“I’m sure she’d love to see you,” Nancy says. She knows the shared love you and the little girl have for one another.

Eddie steals a piece of bacon off your plate and your jaw drops open.

“Excuse you,” you say. “I’m going to need a bite of waffle as repayment, thank you very much.”

Eddie happily obliges and holds up a piece of his waffle speared on his fork to your lips. You bite it off and hum appreciatively as you chew it.

“You two are disgustingly cute,” Steve says as he watches the pair of you. “It’s almost insane how you just met.”

It doesn’t seem like you had just met, though. The way you clicked with him so instantaneously was something you’ve never experienced before, and you know Eddie hasn’t either. You moved so naturally with one another it was as if you’d grown up together. Fate wasn’t something you particularly subscribed to, but it was hard to think of this thing with Eddie as anything else. How many things needed to line up just right so you would meet him?

Breakfast doesn’t last long enough, and you feel yourself dragging back to the car when it’s time for the final leg of the journey to the airport. Eddie sits in the backseat with you this time and you rest your backpack in his lap as you rummage through it, looking for a pen. Once you succeed, you pull out a scrap of paper and start scribbling on it.

“Here,” you say, handing it to him. He takes it from you, and you slide the backpack off his lap. “The top one is the number to my dorm room. I have a bitchy roommate, so I apologize in advance if she ever answers when you call. The number underneath it is for my apartment in New Hampshire. I won’t be there until Christmas break, but I wanted to give it to you now anyway.”

Eddie grins as he looks at the paper. He folds it carefully, like it’s a precious artifact and not a scrap from a homework assignment you had earlier in the semester.

“She hides from her roommate in my room, too,” Nancy adds with a smirk. “So, if she’s not in her room, get the number to mine from Steve. But not at one in the morning!”

Steve raises his eyebrows at the look Nancy gives Eddie over her shoulder.

“Wait, what?” he asks.

“You’re not the only one to scale my house anymore,” she tells him.

“You did what?” Steve looks at Eddie in the rear-view mirror with an incredulous expression.

Eddie shrugs innocently as he wraps his arm around your shoulders.

“I had full permission,” he tells Steve.

Steve parks his car along the curb at the airport and none of you are eager to get out. People bustle outside, lugging suitcases here and there, saying tearful goodbyes to loved ones, or rushing to catch a flight they’re running late for. You never thought you’d feel so sad returning to school. You had looked forward to escaping there from home for as long as you could remember that it seemed odd to have a place you’d rather be.

Nancy’s the first one to break the seal, pushing her door open, the rest of you following her lead. Eddie unloads your bags from the trunk and Nancy slings her duffle bag over her shoulder as you slip on your backpack. Steve hugs you goodbye first, and you thank him for the ride and for having you over the other night. He assures you it was his pleasure, and it doesn’t just seem like a polite response; it seems like he means it. Nancy hugs Eddie goodbye as well, before launching herself in her boyfriend’s arms.

“Shit, I’m going to miss you,” Eddie says. His arms slip around your waist, and he pulls you flush up against him.

“Me too,” you say, placing your hands on his chest.

“I don’t think I’ll give you much of a chance to miss me,” he says. “You’re going to get sick of me calling.”

“I can guarantee you that won’t happen,” you say with a smile.

“You underestimate me,” Eddie says, making you laugh. “Fuck, I love your laugh.”

You blush under his gaze, amazed at how he can make it happen so easily. He presses his lips firmly against yours and your arms wind their way around his neck. His hands snake up the back of your coat and it takes all your willpower not to say, “screw school” and get back in the car with him.

Reluctantly needing air, you both pull back and Eddie rests his forehead against your own.

“I’m really glad I met you,” you tell him quietly.

“So am I,” he says. “Have a safe flight, okay?”

You nod and press one last kiss to his lips. You try to memorize the way they feel against your own and how his callused hands feel over your shirt. The scent of cigarettes is not something you ever would have thought you’d enjoy, but now you never want to be without it surrounding you.

“Bye, beautiful.”

The pressure behind your eyes starts and you feel silly for getting so emotional over leaving someone you only met two days ago. No one has ever made you feel the way Eddie does though, so you allow yourself the grace to just feel what you’re feeling.

“Bye, handsome.”

Pulling out of his arms, you pick up your suitcase and head towards the building with Nancy. Both of you stop right as you're about to enter and give one last wave to the guys. Steve blows Nancy a kiss and Eddie winks at you as he waves in return.

With a deep breath, you hike your backpack up higher on your back and follow Nancy into the airport.

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