#eldest son and struggling for an answer for him

[moonlightrafe]

My Sister’s Keeper

summary: Aemond intends to send you away to protect you after he starts the war, but Aegon isn't ready to let you go.

pairing: Aegon & Aemond x Sister!Reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: Explicit smut, mention of death, incest, threesome, p in v sex, oral (m&f receiving), voyeurism, male masturbation, infidelity (reader is married to Aemond), lactation kink, choking, cum play/eating, spit, Aegond kiss!! (oop) 18+ MDNI

note: Uhhhh. I'm sorry??? I feel like I just breezed through this, idk I was horny lol. Feedback is appreciated!

You’ll never forget the look on Aemond’s face when he first arrived back to the Red Keep from his journey to Storm’s End. Your family was desperate in the inevitable, upcoming war against Rhaenyra so Aemond had been sent to help strike up a proposal between one of Lord Borros’ daughters and the youngest son of the late king Viserys, Daeron Targaryen.

Sitting in the large bed of your shared chamber, you had been anxiously awaiting his arrival, chewing your fingernails down to bloody nubs.

“Aemond!” you practically leapt into his arms when he appeared sopping wet in the doorway. Overjoyed to see he’d returned in one piece, but something was off, something was wrong. He was vacant, like he had seen a ghost.

“Lucerys Velaryon is dead.”

With that simple sentence you knew your lives would be changed forever.

“You cannot just make me disappear,” you said to your husband through gritted teeth, as your voice trembled, lump in your throat forming as tears threatened to fall from your eyes.

“If we are not here they will just go looking for us.”

“Anywhere is safer than here, my love.” Aemond answered coolly.

“If you think this decision was not difficult to make, you are wrong. It is simply what's best for the both of you. You and the babe will be staying in Dorne until I know for certain that it is safe for you here.”

“But –”

“But nothing! This is not up for debate,” he growled at you, “the decision has been made and it is final!” His words cut through you like a knife.

“You cannot make a decision like this. You are not the king.”

“No “ he retorted, “but I am your husband, therefore, when it comes to you and my child, what I say goes!”

You got up and exited your shared chambers with haste, not wanting Aemond to see you cry.

Your bare feet padded against the cold stone floor of the Red Keep, the walls echoed and groaned as you made your way to your eldest brother’s chambers.

Aegon’s head perked up when he heard you come in. He stared at you sheepishly from behind his goblet of wine.

“Has he told you?”

Letting out a deep sigh, “he has.”

“I cannot leave you. I will not leave you, Aegon.”

“I know, I know,” he says, patting the spot next to him, motioning for you to come and sit.

“Our half-sister is unpredictable,” he replied calmly, “there’s no telling what she might do… not to mention, Daemon.”

As much as you did not want to admit it, both of your brothers were right. Accident or not, Rhaneyra’s son was dead. You would be a fool to believe she wouldn’t be out for blood.

Aegon pulled you into his lap, his cock already half hard. You kissed him deeply as he grinded his hips up into yours. You ran your fingers through his unruly silver hair, enjoying the feel of his mouth on you. Completely lost in the moment, you hadn’t heard Aemond enter the room.

He cleared his throat loudly to make his presence known.

“Aemond!”

Your brother-husband stalked into the room, his violet eye scanning over you with amusement.

“Oh please, do continue.”

Your chest rose and fell as you struggled to find the right words to say.

“Did you not hear me? I said continue,” Aemond repeated, as he approached you and Aegon.

“Aemond, this is not what it looks like —“

His brow furrowed at you as he gripped your chin forcing you to look him directly in the eye.

“Do you mistake me for a fool? You believed me to be unaware of your little arrangement?”

Still at a loss for words, you and Aegon just stared at your brother nervously. Aemond moved away a few inches and started to remove his tunic and his trousers. His cock strained hard against his small clothes, which he removed not long after. You gawked at him as he pumped his cock in his left hand, making his way back to you.

Aegon’s violet eyes beamed with excitement at this, pupils blown with lust. He took no time to nip at your neck, your earlobes, grinding against your core once again.

“I fear this is inappropriate,” you began.

“What’s inappropriate is you sneaking away from your husband to come fuck this wastrel,” Aemond began, his words thick with venom.

“Clearly, you want the both of us. So have us… while you still can.”

A slight moan left your lips as you tilted your head to the side, allowing Aegon easier access to your throat, your gaze never leaving Aemond’s, his expression unreadable as he nodded his head at you.

Aemond had his hand wrapped tightly around his cock, the tip bright red, lushed and angry, his arousal already dripping from the tip.

Aegon leaned down and wrapped his lips around your nipple, and began to suck harshly. Being that your babe was only two months old, you were lactating. A loud moan escaped your lips as you felt the milk begin to flow.

“Fuck,” you breathed out, “just like that. You’re doing so good.”

You could feel his cock twitching against your leg at your praise as he continued to ravenously lap at your breast.

As he switched to your other breast he sucked harder at your stiffened peak, the milk coming almost instantly. He palmed your abandoned breast with his large hand, squeezing gently. Shivers ran down your spine as the sweet feeling of relief washed over you once again.

A growl erupted from Aemond’s throat and he unexpectedly pulled Aegon away from your chest. To your utter surprise, he crashed his lips against Aegon’s, tasting your milk on his tongue. You watched with bewilderment as your husband passionately kissed your brother, tugging at his unruly hair, moaning into his mouth. Arousal seeped from your core and onto Aegon’s thighs. Aemond broke the kiss abruptly and stared at you.

Aegon’s hands gripped your waist, flipping you around so you were underneath him. Your eldest brother positioned you so you were laying on your back comfortably against the pillows. He nestled himself between your thighs and hastily hiked your nightgown up over your waist. You shivered as his warm breath fanned over your folds. Before you could blink his tongue was prodding at your entrance. Your hands flew to the back of his head on instinct, pulling him closer into your center.

Aemond approached you carefully. He tapped his cock against your lower lip a few times, a signal for you to open your mouth. Just as he did so, Aegon’s tongue had reached the right spot, causing your mouth to gape open as a loud moan escaped your lips. Aemond took this as an opportunity to forcefully shove his cock into your mouth. You felt a rush of pleasure as Aemond's cock filled your mouth. You began to suck and lick it, eager to make him moan even louder. Aegon's tongue continued to explore you as you pleasured Aemond, and you felt your body quiver with pleasure.

If you knew being with another man in his presence would have this effect on him, you would have brought your affair to light long ago.

With a low groan of your name he pumped in and out of your mouth mercilessly, the salty taste of his precum evading your tastebuds. The air left your lungs as you gagged around him. You could feel the pent up anger Aemond held for the entirety of the situation with each brutal buck of his hips. Ever so slowly he pulled back, giving the you the illusion he was going to give you a break. But before you were able to catch your breath, his cock found his way to the back of your throat again. The faster he went, tears began to stream down your face.

As bubbles of spit began to form around the corners of your mouth, you hollowed your cheeks to the best of your ability. With Aegon now three fingers knuckle deep in your cunt it was almost impossible for you to focus on Aemond; but as the pace of his thrusts quickened you knew he was going to cum soon. You moaned around his length, the vibrations making his cock twitch, you could feel every throb of the thick vein that ran along the underside of his cock.

“No,” Aemond growled as he pulled himself from your throat, “I need to feel your cunt around me.”

Aemond all but shoved Aegon away from you, almost knocking him off the large bed. Aemond lined his cock up with your center and sheathed himself inside of you with quickness.

As Aegon now sat on the upper left corner of the bed, he watched intently as Aemond’s cock disappeared into you repeatedly. One hand tugged at his painfully hard cock and the other wiped the tears from your cheeks.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he cooed, “look at how you take him so well,” he praised.

You nodded your head at him enthusiastically, pleasure overwhelming you. Aegon hooked his thumb into your mouth and you sucked and nipped at it intently.

There was no doubt that Aemond enjoyed the praise as well, snapping his hips even harder into your own. His cock bullied your sweet spot mercilessly. Your body tingled with a mix of pleasure and pain as Aemond's thrusts intensified; pressing hard against your cervix. His large hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing gently. The overwhelming sensation sent waves of ecstasy coursing through you, making it difficult to focus on anything else but the raw desire consuming your every thought.

“Fuck, Aemond, I’m going to cum!” you screamed as your hot waves of pleasure coursed through you.

Aegon watched intently as your orgasm wracked your entire frame, his own following not long after. He let out a loud groan as he came into his hand. He flashed an evil grin at Aemond as he brought his fingers to Aemond's mouth, shoving them down his throat.

Your husband gagged around his digits, sucking Aegon's release from them.

As the aftershock of your orgasm continued to pump though you, your cunt squeezed around Aemond’s cock. The depravity of it all overwhelmed him and Aemond cum with a shudder. With one final thrust and a loud grunt, he was spilling himself inside of you.

As Aegon removed his fingers from your husband's throat, Aemond leaned over you, his cock still buried deep inside you.

"Open up, baby," he said before spitting directly into your mouth, a mixture of his saliva and Aegon's cum evident on your tongue. You swallowed with a contented hum.

Aemond pulled himself out of you and got up quickly.

You curled up in the bed next to Aegon, Aemond’s seed seeping out of you onto the sheets, sleep finding you almost immediately.

“She can stay here for the night,” Aemond said as he leaned down to kiss your sweat-drenched forehead.

Aegon frowned at his brother.

“Aemond, we cannot make her leave,” he rasped, desperation clear in his voice.

“I think she needs to leave now more than ever, brother. To ensure nothing like this ever happens again.”

A loud sigh escaped Aegon’s lips as he diverted his gaze from Aemond to you, pushing your hair out of your face, admiring your beauty.

“Enjoy your time with her tonight. She will be on her way to Dorne by morning.”

[captain-bubble-wrap]

Would you consider writing a story about quinnxreader. She faints in his apartment and he find her when he comes home after training or a game or something. Hes on the phone with his parents and freaks out?

I had to do some research on fainting! I hope this is okay! 🩷

"Yeah, I'm just now getting back home," Quinn answered his mother, trying to unlock his apartment's door without dropping his phone while he fumbled with his keys. "Yeah, me too. It's been a long couple of weeks. Feels good to be back."

Ellen continued to talk to her eldest son as he pushed his suitcase across the threshold. After such long trips, he was accustomed to seeing you first thing -- a guilty comfort you had spoiled him with -- so when he didn't, Quinn looked around hoping you just hadn't heard him come in. However, when he found you, it wasn't at all how he had expected. 

"Y|N!?" He said breathlessly, upon seeing you laying on your side, on the floor between the kitchen and living room. The suitcase rolled forward on its own, with Quinn having kicked it when he rushed over to you; his mother questioning him about what was going on. 

"I don't know! I just found her laying on the floor!" He brushed the hair from across your face and touched your cheek. You're warm to his touch but his heart was still racing. "Let me, um...I'll call you back. Ye--...yeah, I love you, too. I'll let you know. O-- Okay, love you. Bye."

Quinn's phone tumbled to the floor after ending the call with his mother. You weren't responsive to his touch or to his words, no matter what he tried.

"Honey, wake up! Please, please, wake up!" Gently, he'd give your shoulder a shake, but it didn't do anything either. "Shit! Baby, come on! Come on, come on, come on!"

His hands were trembling as he touched your face again. You were breathing which comforted him only slightly, seeing as he had no idea what was wrong with you. The seconds that ticked by felt like hours, but he never left your side -- almost like he was unable to do anything but wait. Quinn knew he should have called for an ambulance but he was frozen, looking down at you like you were just having a nap. 

Eventually, your eyes would flutter open and Quinn would breathe the heaviest sigh of relief. 

"Oh my god, sweetheart!" He exclaimed, leaning down to touch his forehead to yours. "What happened? Are you alright? Oh, you scared the shit out of me!"

You were happy to see him, but you found yourself confused by his shock and worry, then you were reminded of what had happened prior to the grey-out. 

"Hi, baby," you squeaked out, trying to sit up but he wouldn't let you. Your eyelids felt heavy; everything felt so heavy.

"Shh, shh, take your time. What happened? I came home and I couldn't wake you!"

It was hard, but you had to break eye contact with him for a moment. "It was just a fainting spell, Quinny. I'm alright."

"A fainting spell?" He questioned, deep worry painting his expression once again. "I don't remember you having those before."

Realizing that you were still laid out on the floor, Quinn pulled your body into his arms and cradled you against his chest. His concern was so intense as he held you, a slight rocking motion in his movements. This was a first for him and something he didn't know how to deal with which was why he found himself struggling so much. 

"They just started happening again," you confessed, leaning your head against him as you looked up into his eyes. "I'm okay, I promise."

"Are you sick?" He pressed, his hand holding your face, thumb rubbing your cheek gently. 

"No, baby, I'm okay."

"But you fainted."

"I know," You reassured, knowing you needed to tell him what was going on, but you feared his reaction -- he was already dealing with so much. "My blood sugar is probably just low."

Quinn's brows furrowed, "Low? Why is it low?"

You said nothing as you looked away again, knowing how guilty it made you appear. 

"Baby?" He pleaded, "Talk to me, please? I'm not upset with you. I just want to know what's going on. How long have you been dealing with this?"

"Since just after you left." 

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't want to make you worry while you were away." When you looked back up at him afterwards, it pained you so much. His concern for you was as strong as his love and it was made evident with how he gazed at you, even during uncomfortable times such as these. 

"I'll always worry about you, sweetheart. It's because I love you!"

"I love you, too, baby. I promise I'm okay. I'm just...tired" You said, breathlessly. 

Upon saying that, Quinn put his arm under your bent legs and carried you to the sofa where he laid you down against the numerous awaiting pillows. He would kneel beside you, holding your hand in both of his. 

"Will you please tell me what's going on?"

You swallowed hard, knowing he wasn't going to let it go until you told him. "I just haven't been eating much."

"Why, baby?"

"It's a stupid reason."

He didn't say anything because he didn't have to. His expression had said enough. 

"I get sad when you're gone and I forget to eat," you finally confessed.

Quinn frowned, lifting your hand to his lips. "Oh, sweetheart. You've got to eat."

"I know..."

"How many times as this happened?" He asked, now putting your palm to his cheek and holding it there. 

"Probably a dozen or so. I can always tell when it's going to happen, so I have a second or two to brace for it." 

He was still looking at you with tense worry in his face, still holding your hand gently. Quinn wouldn't tell you, but his own stomach was twisting out of concern for you. He was so deeply troubled that his absence affected you so much, that he couldn't help feeling guilty about the whole thing. 

"I'm sorry, baby," you sighed, eyes stinging from welling tears. "The whole thing is so stupid."

Quinn shook his head, trying to give you a reassuring smile. "It's not stupid, sweetheart. I'll try and be more proactive in checking in with you when I'm gone, okay? Would you like me to give you little reminders, maybe?"

"You have enough to worry about, though," you said, shaking your head.

"And I worry about you the most. You're everything to me, Y|N."

"Quinny--," you whined, tears breaking through with the guilt. "I didn't mean for this to happen!"

"I know you didn't." With his free hand, Quinn wiped away the teardrops from your skin. "I'm okay so as long as you are. But, you have to promise me that you'll stop skipping meals, okay? I don't want something more serious to happen to you. You're all alone up here, you know?"

You gave him a nod, biting your bottom lip. 

"You promise me you're alright?"

You nod again, this time with a sniffle. "I am."

He pushed forward to ask a kiss from you which you obliged in giving. "Good. Now, you lay here and rest for a minute, okay? I need to call mom back then we'll see what we can do about dinner."

"Okay," you whimpered, realizing that he must have been on the phone when he found you. 

"Everything's okay, babe. I promise. I'm here now."

[donatellawritings]

୨୧ how sugardaddy!rafe found his favorite little muñeca

rafe wasn’t entirely sure as to what it was that piqued his father’s need to go on vacation every few months out of the year, but he wasn’t against it. since returning back to tannyhill, following his brief collegiate stint, rafe needed an outlet — a place where he could go and blow a few tens of thousands of dollars and not be reprimanded, a place where he could lose himself in copious amounts of coke without judgement, a place where he could be the man — the one who was needed, the one who had all the answers.

so, when ward came up with the brilliant idea to send his eldest of kin to the island of culebra, puerto rico — just to keep his volatile son out of trouble … rafe was quick and eager to oblige.

the villa was immaculate, completely renovated from the ground up, with the pristine view of the clear turquoise waters that crashed against the powder white sand. but what caught rafe’s bright baby blues was the little puerto rican girl who stood bent over, tiny white shorts sucked in the soft fat of your plush ass as you carefully picked at the bright fuschia hibiscus flower that grew alone in the patch of crisp green grass. shiny blown out hair cascaded down the small of your back as rafe tongued the inside of his cheek, watching closely as you straightened your posture, the shorts now almost entirely swallowed by your plump ass.

rafe couldn’t help himself, but continue to ogle at you, his bloodshot eyes carelessly drinking in the way your bronze skin shimmered under the sun, as well as the cute hot pink heart-shaped glitter tattoo that sparkled on your lower back. and fuck, it took everything in him to not shove his hand down his pants with the way the fat of your ass sat all heavy and perfectly curved against the flimsy fabric of your shorts.

smiling to himself, rafe obnoxiously clears his throat, causing you to flinch and whip your pretty little head at him, all wide eyed and open-mouthed, “uh, don’t think y’should be pickin’ at other people’s flowers, huh?” he questions, his voice dripping in a condescending cadence as you immediately drop the pretty flower from your small fist, allowing it to fall at your sparkly pink toes.

remaining silent, you awkwardly shift on your feet, blinking your wispy lashes together as you close your mouth, “i’m sorry, i just — hmph,” you sigh, your nose scrunched in frustration as you struggled to find the right words … in english, at least.

cocking his head to the side, rafe chuckles at your fussy state, his stringy bangs masking the way he incessantly stared at the way the swells of your breasts bounced against your one size too small lily pink triangle bikini top. judging by your thick accent, rafe could tell that communicating with you would be a bit of a struggle — lucky for you, he considered himself to be a proactive man of sorts.

taking a step closer to you, rafe feigns a sigh of disappointment, even going so far as to pinch the bridge of his nose “i don’t know, i may just have to tell someone that y’just comin’ here and makin’ a mess of things — i can’t have that, sweetheart,” he shrugs.

your little heart thumped rapidly against your chest as you bit down into your pouty bottom lip, swallowing thickly as you brought your terrified gaze to the ground.

deciding to twist the knife, rafe nudged the point of your chin with the side of his signet-tinged index finger with squinted eyes, “y’parents never taught y’how to talk to people, huh?” he questions, his pupil-blown eyes searching yours as you parted your swollen lips.

furiously shaking your head, you take a short breath, “i-i dunno how — the words are h-hard,” you speak, your voice small and mousey as your eyes meet rafe’s intimidatingly blue ones.

“well, y’gotta learn, yeah?” rafe shrugs.

with bright and naive eyes, you let out an excited gasp, “you can teach me?” you question, swollen lips pursed together as rafe licks over his pink chapped lips, taking another step closer to you as his rough hand grasps the side of your face.

you were a naive little one, a bit too welcoming … but he could fix teach you.

bringing his thumb to curve around your jaw, rafe shushes you, “y’shouldn’t be walkin’ around stranger’s houses dressed like that — your daddy ever teach you that?” rafe lightly pushes your head back, a shit-eating grin now playing on his handsome face as you obediently answer him with a forceful shake of your head.

your bambi eyes now welled with embarrassed tears, you gently attempted to pull your face from the young man’s tight hold, “yo no tengo …” you whimper softly.

shifting your face, rafe raises a corrective brow at you, “english, kid,” he scolds.

poking out your fat bottom lip in a wobbly pout, you lightly stomp your foot in frustration, “i don’t have a daddy,” you whine, a warm teardrop rolling down the apple of your cheek as rafe tutted at you with a knowing nod to himself.

“that’s the problem, huh? y’don’t have a daddy to keep y’little ass in line,” rafe mumbles, bringing his thumb to mush against your swollen and somewhat sticky lips as you stare at him with confused, yet needy little eyes.

letting go of your jaw, rafe runs a hand through his greasy hair, before swiping at the corner of his mouth with his finger, “listen kid, m’gonna take care of you, yeah? buy you whatever girly shit y’like — maybe even take y’home with me one of these days —”

“like a daddy?”

letting out a huff, rafe takes in the way you reach down to grab ahold of the wilted flower, boobs nearly spilling out of your bikini tops as you fist it tightly in your grip, “yes, but i’ll be your daddy —”

“papi!” you beam, a wide smile stretching your swollen lips as you bat your cutesy stacked lashes together, “that’s your name?” you ask politely, reaching your small hands to tug on the waistband of your shorts, unknowingly pulling them further up your ass.

“rafe is my name, pretty girl — but y’can call me papi, okay?” he coos, swiftly snagging the flimsy flower from your hand, causing you to pout as you roll your eyes, leaving rafe to snap his fingers at you, “hey — don’t start that shit, now come here and let me fix y’up,” he commands, internally satisfied with the way you quickly removed the frown from your face and walked over to him, the tips of your toes meeting the tips of his sandals.

curling a ginger underneath the waistband of your shorts, rafe softly pulls on the stretchy fabric, taking a mental note of the frilly thing you wore underneath. placing the flower in your shorts, rafe carefully secures the band of your shorts to hold the flower upright, you dainty belly button ring also catching his watchful eyes.

craning your neck to get a look of your cute new accessory, you scoff with excitement, “aye, es muy bonita, papi!” you squeal, rushing to swing your arms around rafe’s tense and warm neck.

lightly patting the top of the curve of your asscheek, rafe gently pulls you away from him, “listen, kid — y’can’t just trust every person you meet, yeah? not everyone is going to be nice like your papi, hm?” he clasps his hands around your bare shoulders, biting back a smirk as you nod feverishly.

“tell me that you understand,” rafe pushes, silently encouraging you with a small squeeze of your shoulders.

“i und-understand,” you breathe out.

bringing a hand to barely pat your cheek, rafe reaches his free hand down to tug the hem of your shorts down to cover your ass, “good girl — now why don’t y’come with daddy and i’ll buy y’some pretty clothes,” rafe hums, massaging your cheek with his thumb.

[novaursa]

The Northern Heart (1/2)

- Summary: Your father, King Robert, gives your hand to Eddard's oldest son. A decision that might change the future of the North.

- Pairing: baratheon!lannister!reader/Robb Stark

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: 2/2

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

The journey north had been long and tiring, and the wind was colder than you’d imagined. Winterfell loomed ahead, dark stone against an overcast sky, its towers casting jagged shadows. The North was starkly beautiful in a way the warm halls of the Red Keep could never match. You adjusted the fur-lined cloak clasped at your neck, the black of House Baratheon contrasting with the lion clasp, a quiet nod to the Lannister blood that ran through you, though it was not yours to display openly.

Your mother, Cersei, rode beside you, her green eyes scanning Winterfell with an air of disdain barely hidden beneath her serene mask. She sat tall, ever the queen, her golden hair gleaming in the pale sunlight. Your brothers, Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen, rode behind, their bright golden heads standing out against the muted grays of Winterfell’s walls. And your father—no, King Robert—was ahead, already bellowing greetings at the sight of the Stark family awaiting them in the courtyard.

As the procession slowed to a halt, you dismounted gracefully, though your legs ached from days of riding. Your mother’s eyes swept over you, a flicker of approval in them as you adjusted your cloak, falling in line with her and your siblings. As Robert strode forward, eager to greet his old friend Eddard Stark, you remained back, your place clear beside Cersei. You caught her eye, and she offered a subtle nod, a reminder to stay poised, as she always did.

Ahead, Robert greeted Eddard with a boisterous hug, their laughter carrying through the courtyard. Your gaze wandered to the family gathered at Lord Stark’s side. Lady Stark, her auburn hair swept back, her expression cool but welcoming. The young ones were gathered around her, curiosity and interest clear in their eyes. But it was the young man at Eddard Stark’s side, tall and broad-shouldered, that drew your attention.

Robb Stark.

His auburn hair matched his mother’s, and his face, though youthful, already held the strength and quiet intensity of his father. He was watching you—or rather, he’d been looking toward your family in general, but now his gaze lingered on you, his blue eyes tracing your features with a kind of hesitant awe. He was handsome, undeniably so, and the confidence you’d honed over years of court life faltered, just slightly, under the weight of that gaze.

You looked away, hoping the color rising in your cheeks wasn’t too obvious. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Joffrey watching the Starks with open disdain, but you ignored him. Instead, you found yourself glancing back at Robb, curious despite yourself, and caught him still looking at you.

“What do you think of the Starks, sister?” Myrcella asked beside you, her sweet voice barely above a whisper.

You leaned closer to her, eyes flickering toward Cersei before answering. “They seem… honorable,” you murmured, struggling for a word that felt right. The North was a world apart from King’s Landing, and the weight of the Northern air, the forthright gazes, all of it felt different—real.

Meanwhile, Robert’s booming laughter filled the air as he clapped Eddard on the back. “It’s been too damn long, Ned!” he declared, his voice echoing through the courtyard. “Seven hells, I’ve missed this place. And your family—look at them, already grown!”

Lord Stark’s smile was reserved, but you could see warmth in his eyes. “The years have been kind to us both, Robert. And you’ve brought your own family north. It’s an honor to welcome them here.”

Robert looked back over his shoulder, waving an arm toward you, Cersei, and the children. “Aye, they’re a fine brood, aren’t they?” His gaze settled on you briefly, pride flickering there. “My eldest,” he said, his tone softening. “She takes after her mother in beauty, but she’s got her father’s spirit, I’d say.”

Your mother’s lips curved into a perfect, practiced smile at his words, though you could sense the strain in her. She inclined her head gracefully, accepting the compliment on your behalf.

“Princess Y/N,” Eddard said, nodding in your direction, “Winterfell welcomes you.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark,” you replied, keeping your tone formal, though your voice was soft. Cersei’s fingers brushed your arm briefly, a reminder not to be too bold or warm. “The honor is ours.”

But it was not Eddard’s gaze you felt lingering on you. Robb stood a step behind his father, his blue eyes keen and watchful. There was something gentle, almost reverent in the way he looked at you, and for reasons you couldn’t quite place, that small expression made your heart race.

“Robb,” Eddard said, his voice low but carrying the authority of a father and lord, “come and meet the king’s family.”

Robb stepped forward, his movements steady, though he appeared young and nervous beneath his composure. He nodded to Robert first and then looked back at you with an intensity that seemed almost out of place in the quiet courtyard. “Princess,” he said, his voice steady though softer than you’d expected. “It’s an honor.”

The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of your lips, but you fought it back, simply inclining your head. “The honor is shared, Lord Robb,” you replied.

It was a simple exchange, but in that moment, it felt like more.

The air in the crypts was cold and heavy with the scent of stone and earth, the silence settling thickly around Eddard and Robert as they descended the worn steps into the shadows. Torches flickered in their iron brackets, casting long, twisting shadows over the figures immortalized in stone, ancient Stark kings and lords gazing solemnly from their resting places.

Robert paused in front of a statue, his face softened by the flickering light. His eyes, usually sharp with mirth or tempered with anger, now held something else—a quiet, lingering sadness that Ned hadn’t seen in years. Robert reached out and placed a rough hand against the face of the woman immortalized there in cold stone: Lyanna Stark, her face carved with a gentle beauty that no craftsman’s hands could ever fully capture. Flowers lay scattered at the base of her statue, their colors muted in the dim torchlight. Ned had left them there just the day before, a gesture of memory and honor.

“She was always so damn beautiful, wasn’t she?” Robert’s voice was low, almost reverent. “And all of this, everything, might have been different if she’d been mine. If Rhaegar hadn’t…” He trailed off, bitterness tightening his jaw.

“Aye,” Eddard replied, his voice as soft as the stillness around them. “The gods saw fit to tear us all down that day.”

Robert nodded slowly, lost in thought, his fingers brushing over the stone flowers woven into Lyanna’s statue. “I asked you here for more than just memories, Ned.” He turned, his gaze sharpening. “The realm is… not as it should be. I am surrounded by vipers and whisperers. I need someone I can trust.” His voice lowered, taking on a familiar intensity. “I need you, Ned. I want you to be my Hand.”

Eddard met Robert’s gaze, his heart heavy. “Robert… I’m no statesman. The North is my place. I don’t belong in the South, nor do my children.”

“That’s exactly why I need you.” Robert stepped closer, his face earnest, imploring. “You’re honest, Ned. You’ll do what’s right, even if it’s hard, even if it costs you. The realm needs someone like you. I need someone like you.”

Ned sighed, his eyes drifting back to Lyanna’s statue, the ache of old wounds stirring within him. “And what of the North? My children… they need me too.”

Robert nodded, understanding yet unyielding. “Bring them with you,” he said, voice steady. “Let them know the court. Let them see the world beyond the walls of Winterfell.” He hesitated, his gaze shifting, something almost hesitant in his expression. “In fact… I have an idea. A way to unite our Houses, as we should have done, as Lyanna and I would have done.”

Eddard turned back to him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

Robert’s eyes gleamed, a spark of hope breaking through the sorrow that lingered in them. “A marriage pact, Ned. We unite our bloodlines, our families.” He straightened, his voice taking on the tone of a king. “My son, Joffrey, and your daughter, Sansa. And…” He paused, eyes narrowing in thought. “My eldest daughter, Y/N, to your son, Robb.”

Eddard’s expression tightened, surprise flickering in his eyes. He opened his mouth, hesitating, his mind racing with the implications of Robert’s proposal. “A match between our children…” he murmured, almost to himself. “You truly wish this, Robert?”

Robert nodded, his voice softening. “It’s what I always wanted, Ned. To be part of your family, for our blood to be bound together.” He glanced back at Lyanna’s statue, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “I wanted your sister… and though the gods were cruel enough to take that from me, this… this could be a way to bring our houses together, as it should have been.”

Ned felt the weight of the proposal settling on him, his mind turning over the idea of Sansa with Joffrey and Robb with Y/N. “Sansa is still a child,” he began carefully, “and Robb… he’s young yet. I’d want to speak with them both. And Catelyn.”

Robert nodded. “Of course. But think of it, Ned. You have a son and a daughter, and I have a son and a daughter of age.” He straightened, the gleam of determination in his eyes returning. “Sansa would be queen one day. And your son… Robb would be heir to the North, united to the blood of both Baratheon and Lannister.”

Ned frowned. “The girl… Y/N,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “She has Lannister blood, Robert. I know how you feel about her mother’s family.”

Robert’s face darkened briefly, his gaze hardening. “Aye, Cersei is a Lannister. But Y/N is my daughter too. She carries the blood of my House, and though she bears the lion on her face, there’s stag in her heart.” His tone softened, almost pleading. “Ned, she’s not her mother. She’s…” He paused, searching for words, “She’s got fire, spirit, and I want her to know a man like your son. One of true honor, not some… viper of the South.”

Eddard considered this, his mind drifting to Robb. His son, dutiful, strong, and honorable—a match for any in the realm. And Y/N… she’d seemed poised, striking in the courtyard, with that quiet grace he’d seen in only a few women. He thought of Sansa, who had dreamed of becoming queen since she was a little girl, and his heart ached.

“Let me speak with Catelyn,” he said finally, his voice steady. “And with my children.”

Robert clapped a hand on his shoulder, a grin breaking through his somber expression. “I knew I could count on you, Ned. Together, our families could be what the realm needs. Strong, united.”

They turned to leave, but Robert lingered a moment longer, his gaze fixed on Lyanna’s stone face, his eyes shadowed with memories.

“Tell me, Ned,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper, “do you think she would have loved me?”

Eddard’s heart ached, the answer lodged somewhere deep, known only to him. “She was her own woman, Robert,” he replied softly. “And the gods alone know what lies in the hearts of the dead.”

Robert nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips, tinged with sorrow. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, his voice growing firmer. He tore his gaze away from Lyanna’s statue, focusing on the path ahead.

“Come then,” he said, his tone lightening as he turned to face the stairs. “Let us speak of the future and leave the past to rest.”

And together, they left the crypts, the echoes of their footsteps fading into the silent halls where shadows lingered, bearing witness to the choices that would shape their families and the realm.

Here, by the fire’s light of private chambers, shadows softened, and the familiar scents of woodsmoke and winter roses made the space feel like a retreat. Catelyn sat across from Eddard, her brow furrowed as she listened to his words, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Nearby, Robb and Sansa sat side by side, both listening intently. Bran, Arya, and Rickon were sprawled around the room, though Arya’s restless gaze and occasional sharp glances made it clear she was as engaged as her older siblings.

Eddard took a breath, letting his gaze move from his wife to each of his children in turn. “King Robert has suggested a marriage pact to unite our families,” he began, his voice steady, though he felt the weight of the decision pressing down. “He has offered Joffrey’s hand to Sansa… and Y/N’s hand to Robb.”

Sansa’s face lit up immediately, a wide smile breaking across her features. “I would be honored, Father,” she said, her voice filled with excitement. “To be Queen someday, to be married to Joffrey… it’s everything I’ve dreamed of.”

Catelyn’s face softened as she looked at her daughter. “Are you certain, Sansa? It is a serious decision, one that would take you far from home, to the capital.”

Sansa nodded, almost eagerly. “I understand, Mother. But I’ve dreamed of King’s Landing—the court, the feasts, the tournaments.” Her cheeks flushed with excitement. “And Joffrey… he’s handsome, and he’s a prince.”

Ned exchanged a glance with Catelyn, her expression mirroring the concern he felt. Sansa’s eagerness was not unexpected, but it still struck a chord. He was about to speak when Robb cleared his throat, drawing their attention.

“I would accept the match as well,” Robb said, his voice calm, though there was a quiet intensity to his gaze. “To join our Houses… it would be an honor.” He hesitated, glancing down as if gathering his thoughts. “And… I saw her today. Y/N. She seems… dignified.” His cheeks colored slightly, a rare vulnerability in his usually composed demeanor. “I wouldn’t be opposed to a match with her, Father. I think I could be happy.”

Eddard raised an eyebrow, surprised by Robb’s swift acceptance. Robb was young, and Ned had half-expected resistance or at least more hesitation. Catelyn, too, looked taken aback, her mouth parting slightly as she considered her son.

“It’s a big decision,” Catelyn said gently, her voice measured. “You would be bound to her for life, Robb. Have you truly thought about this?”

Robb nodded, his gaze meeting hers with quiet conviction. “I have, Mother. She seems strong, and I would welcome the chance to learn more about her. If it’s what the realm and our House needs, I am willing.”

“Robb, you’re not actually thinking of marrying her, are you?” Arya’s voice broke through the quiet, incredulous and disapproving. She scrunched her face, her expression mirroring her distaste. “And Sansa, Joffrey’s awful. He’s arrogant and cruel.”

“Arya!” Catelyn chided, though her tone was soft, almost indulgent.

But Arya only shrugged, crossing her arms. “It’s true. I’ve seen him, Mother. He’s unkind to everyone around him just because he’s a prince. I’d never want a marriage like that.”

Sansa’s expression tightened, her smile fading as she glanced at her sister. “You don’t know him, Arya. Joffrey is a prince. He’s noble and brave. You just don’t understand.”

Arya rolled her eyes, but her expression softened slightly as she turned her attention to Robb. “But… I like Y/N. She doesn’t act like the rest of them. I saw her today, and she didn’t look down on anyone.” She looked at her father, her gaze challenging but hopeful. “If Robb has to marry someone, I’d rather it be her.”

Rickon, sitting on the floor beside Bran, looked up, his young face alight with curiosity. “What’s she like?” he asked, his voice filled with innocent wonder.

Bran shrugged, glancing at Arya. “She looked quiet, I guess,” he said, thoughtful. “Not like Joffrey, anyway.”

Ned sighed, feeling the weight of his children’s varied reactions. He’d expected Sansa’s enthusiasm and Arya’s protests, but Robb’s quiet acceptance had caught him off guard. The North had always been his family’s home; the thought of binding them so closely to the South troubled him.

He looked at Catelyn, catching her eye. She nodded, understanding his silent request, and rose from her seat, placing a comforting hand on Sansa’s shoulder. “Robb, Sansa,” she said softly, “this is a decision that will shape your futures. We don’t take this lightly.”

Sansa nodded, her eyes bright with anticipation, while Robb simply inclined his head, calm and steady. Arya huffed, but Catelyn silenced her with a look, and Arya fell back, though her gaze remained defiant.

As the children continued to murmur among themselves, Ned took Catelyn’s arm and led her a little way from them, lowering his voice. “There’s something more,” he said quietly, his gaze drifting back to his children, his heart heavy. “Robert asked me to be his Hand.”

Catelyn’s face tightened, her concern immediate and clear. “Ned… the Hand? I thought you’d never return to court.”

He nodded, his voice low. “Neither did I. But Robert… he says he needs me. And with Jon Arryn gone…” He trailed off, his gaze distant. “The realm is troubled, Cat. If I can help Robert, I feel I must. But I would bring all of you, as Robert suggested.”

Her hand tightened in his, her expression a mix of worry and resignation. “You know what lies in the South, Ned,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Whispers, plots. I fear for you—and for our children. They’d be far from the safety of the North.”

“Aye, I know,” he replied, his heart heavy. “But if I refuse him… Robert will be left to those who would only drag him down further. I owe him my loyalty, Cat.”

Catelyn studied his face, her eyes searching. She knew his sense of duty ran deep, and she understood the bonds that held him to Robert, the memories of war and brotherhood that could not be so easily dismissed. “Then let us think on it,” she said finally, her voice steady. “We’ll decide together, Ned. For our family.”

He nodded, feeling the warmth of her hand grounding him amid the storm of decisions and uncertainties. For now, they would hold to each other and to the North. 

The Great Hall of Winterfell was alive with music and laughter, the warm glow of firelight casting rich hues across the long tables laden with food and drink. The Northern lords and ladies feasted heartily, their voices mingling in a cheerful cacophony. At the high table, you sat beside your mother, your attire shining like a jewel against the muted, sturdy colors of Winterfell.

You sat poised, your gaze serene yet attentive as you watched the revelry unfold around you. From time to time, you’d lean in to speak to your mother, Cersei, your smile soft but polite. You laughed at something your younger sister Myrcella said, the sound gentle, like a secret shared with the night. Across the hall, Robb Stark found himself wondering what it would be like to be the one to make you smile, to hear your laughter up close.

“You’re staring, Robb,” Theon Greyjoy’s voice interrupted his thoughts, a teasing grin on his face. “Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? The lady staring at the lord?”

Robb gave him a playful shove but felt heat rise to his cheeks. “I’m not staring.”

“Oh, but you are,” piped up one of his other friends, a grinning Northern lad named Domeric Bolton. “She’s certainly caught your eye.”

Robb sighed, shaking his head but unable to keep a grin from spreading across his face. “She’s… well, she’s different,” he admitted, his voice low. “Not like the Northern girls.”

“Then go speak to her,” Theon urged, raising his cup in a mock toast. “Ask her for a dance.”

Robb hesitated, glancing back at you. Your presence was poised and refined in a way that made him suddenly feel rough and unpolished. But then he met your eyes, and for a brief moment, it felt as though the noise of the hall faded away. You gave him a shy smile, your eyes meeting his across the distance with a glimmer of interest.

Taking a deep breath, Robb rose from his seat, ignoring Theon and Domeric’s encouraging grins. He made his way through the hall toward the high table, his heart pounding with each step. When he reached you, he bowed slightly, his gaze meeting yours.

“Princess,” he said, his voice steady despite the quickening of his heart. “Would you grant me the honor of a dance?”

You looked up at him, your expression one of mild surprise before your lips curved into a soft smile. You glanced at your mother, who gave a curt nod, her gaze unreadable, before you turned back to Robb and inclined your head. “I’d be delighted, my lord.”

He offered his hand, and as you took it, the warmth of his touch sent a thrill through you. Together, you stepped onto the floor as the musicians struck up a new tune, a melody both gentle and lively, and Robb led you into the first steps of the dance.

“You seem well-versed in Northern customs, my lady,” he said, his voice warm with amusement as you moved through the steps. “I hadn’t expected a girl from the South to dance so well to Northern music.”

You laughed, your eyes sparkling as you met his gaze. “It seems the North is full of surprises. But I’ve had a lifetime of lessons in court dances. I only hope my dancing is… acceptable.”

“More than acceptable,” he replied, his own voice softening as he looked at you. “I’d wager even the most graceful Northern ladies would be envious.”

You lowered your gaze, a light blush coloring your cheeks. “You flatter me, my lord.”

He shook his head, unable to tear his eyes from you. “No, I speak the truth.” He hesitated, then leaned in slightly, his voice lowered. “I hope you’re finding Winterfell… welcoming. I know it must be different from King’s Landing.”

You looked up at him, your expression thoughtful. “It is different,” you admitted, your voice soft. “But I find I like it here. There’s… a warmth here that I hadn’t expected.”

“That pleases me to hear,” he said, his tone earnest. “This is my home, and one day… well, I hope to make it a place that someone like you could be happy in.”

Your gaze softened, and you felt the connection between you both grow as you moved through the steps, as if the hall and the people around you had faded into the background. “I believe I could be happy here,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s… quieter than I’m used to, yes, but there’s something about Winterfell. A sense of peace.”

Robb looked at you, his expression earnest as he gathered the courage to ask the question that had been lingering in his mind since he’d learned of Robert’s proposal. “And… do you think you could see yourself here one day, as the Lady of Winterfell?”

For a heartbeat, you felt surprise flicker in your gaze. But then you smiled, a shy, genuine smile that made his heart race. “Perhaps,” you replied, your voice as soft as snowfall. “If the North would have me.”

You shared a quiet, lingering look, the unspoken promise between you both as delicate as the touch of his hand in yours. For a moment, Robb could imagine a future where you walked these halls as his wife, where your laughter and warmth brought light to Winterfell even in the deepest winter.

Robb led you through the steps of the dance, his touch gentle yet firm, his eyes locked on yours with a sincerity that warmed you even amidst Winterfell’s drafty stone walls. Around you, lords and ladies cheered and clapped, voices blending into the joyous hum that filled the hall.

But just beyond the laughter, at the high table where the royal family sat, an animosity simmered.

Cersei sat rigid, her fingers clenched around her goblet as she watched you move across the hall in Robb’s arms. Her green eyes were sharp, like cold emeralds, and her displeasure was barely hidden behind her carefully composed mask. Robert, beside her, laughed heartily with Eddard Stark, his voice booming over the din as he recounted tales from their youth. But Cersei’s simmering anger finally spilled over, and she leaned toward him, her voice low and venomous.

“So, this is your grand plan?” she hissed, her eyes never leaving you. “To bind our daughter to this… Northern boy without so much as a word to me?”

Robert’s laughter cut short, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at her, irritation flaring in his gaze. “What are you going on about, woman?”

She turned to him fully, her voice barely louder than a whisper, though her anger crackled beneath each word. “You’ve condemned her to this cold, dark place. My daughter, Robert. You would give her to a Stark—to live in this fortress far from court, from her family, from me. And you did this without consulting me?”

Robert took a long drink from his goblet, his brow furrowing as he tried to keep his voice steady, though a vein ticked at his temple. “Our daughter is old enough to wed, Cersei. And a match with the Starks would make her the future Lady of Winterfell. She’ll have a strong husband, and her place will be secure. What more do you want?”

“What more?” Cersei’s voice tightened, her fingers curling around the edge of the table. “She is my daughter, Robert. Do you understand that? My blood. And you’d give her away as if she were some toy in your games with Eddard. She was supposed to be in King’s Landing, to be part of the court, to learn her place. But here…” Her gaze flicked toward you with something like desperation. “You’ve taken her from me.”

Robert’s face grew dark, his patience wearing thin. “Taken her from you?” he muttered, shaking his head. “She is my daughter, too, Cersei. Or have you forgotten that? I’m doing what’s best for her.”

“Best for her,” Cersei repeated, bitterness coating her words. “And you think binding her to the North is what’s best? To send her to this frozen wasteland, where she will be as isolated as I am?”

Robert’s jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his goblet. “Enough,” he growled, his voice low. “This is not the time or place.”

Cersei’s lips curled into a cold smile, her eyes blazing. “Oh, so now you find restraint? Now, when it suits you to ignore the voices that oppose you?”

His gaze flicked back to you and Robb, who were laughing softly as you spun in perfect rhythm to the music, the two of you oblivious to the conflict boiling at the high table. Robert’s irritation softened slightly, replaced by a look of contemplation. “Look at her,” he muttered. “She’s happy, Cersei. You would deny her that because you think this match is beneath her?”

“Beneath her?” Cersei scoffed, her gaze icy. “I would deny her nothing, Robert. I would give her everything. A place in court, a life of comfort, of power.” She turned back to him, her voice low and scathing. “But you would cast her away to the ends of the realm, to live out her days as some Stark’s quiet wife in the cold.”

“Enough, Cersei,” he said again, this time more forcefully. “Our daughter is a Baratheon, and this is what I’ve chosen for her. The North is good for her. It’ll give her strength, and a place to call her own.”

Cersei’s lips pressed into a thin line, her expression tight with fury barely held in check. “You would know little of what’s good for her,” she spat. “When have you ever thought of what’s best for her? For any of us?” She cast a sharp glance toward the hall, where Robb was speaking softly to you, your face illuminated by a soft smile that made you appear every inch the regal lady Cersei had trained you to be. “That smile,” she murmured bitterly, “is what you think will last here?”

Robert’s expression shifted, his face darkening as he met her gaze. “Do not presume to lecture me on what’s best for our daughter, Cersei,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I’ve let you have your way with her long enough. This match is good for her and good for the realm.”

Cersei leaned back, her gaze hard and unyielding, her lips pressed into a grim line. “And when she comes to hate you for this—when she realizes you tore her from her family, her home—don’t expect me to soften her heart toward you.”

Robert’s patience snapped, his voice rising just enough for a few heads to turn in his direction. “She’ll come to understand, and she’ll thank me. You may not see it, but I know what I’m doing.”

At that, Cersei gave a bitter, humorless laugh. “If only you ever knew what you were doing, Robert.”

With that, she turned away, her gaze icy as she stared out over the hall, the tension between them leaving a chill in the air despite the warmth of the feast. Robert returned to his drink, the brief flash of guilt in his eyes fading as he watched you dance with Robb, your smile and laughter filling the hall as you swayed together in time to the music.

Though a bitter silence now lay between Robert and Cersei, neither could deny the spark that lit up the hall as you danced.

The early morning air was crisp, and a light mist clung to the ground as you walked beside Robb through the godswood, surrounded by towering trees that stretched their branches skyward. Robb had invited you out for a quiet walk, promising you a glimpse of the heart of Winterfell, where even the lords and ladies came to find peace. In the early light, the godswood was serene, the scent of pine and earth mingling with the soft murmur of the nearby stream.

You found yourself laughing easily with him as he recounted tales of his childhood in Winterfell, his face lighting up as he described the antics he and his brothers would get into. There was a warmth in his smile, a genuine ease that seemed to set you at ease in return.

“And then,” he was saying, barely containing his laughter, “Theon got the idea to sneak into the kitchens at midnight for pies, but Jon and I told him we had to outsmart Old Nan first. Well, we barely made it through the kitchen door before she caught us. Sent us all back to our beds with an earful.” Robb chuckled, shaking his head. “Theon tried to blame me, of course.”

You laughed, covering your mouth to stifle the sound, imagining a young Robb caught in the act, eyes wide with guilt. “And what about you? What did you do to make up for it?”

He grinned, a playful glint in his eye. “What every good brother would do—I blamed Jon.” He shrugged, feigning innocence. “He took it rather well, actually.”

The laughter between you settled into a comfortable quiet as you walked side by side. Every so often, your eyes would meet, and you’d find yourself caught in his gaze a moment longer than expected. There was an openness in Robb that felt… different from the formality of the court and the rigid politeness you were used to in King’s Landing. Here, it felt easy to just be yourself.

“So,” Robb said, his voice softer, “are you finding Winterfell to your liking?”

You hesitated, feeling his gaze on you, before nodding. “I am. It’s… quiet. Peaceful. I think I could grow to love it here.”

Robb’s smile softened. “I hope you do.” He looked out over the godswood, as if envisioning a future that included you here, walking these paths together in the years to come. “I’ve spent my whole life here, you know. These woods, this castle… it’s in my blood. I can’t imagine calling anywhere else home.”

You glanced at him, feeling a strange tug in your heart as he spoke. “You speak of Winterfell the way a poet would speak of his muse.”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with a shy smile. “I suppose I do. I never thought of it that way.” He paused, turning to look at you, his expression growing serious. “But I think, perhaps, if you were here… Winterfell would be all the more beautiful.”

Your breath caught, and you felt your cheeks flush as his words hung in the air between you. You opened your mouth to reply, but just as you were about to speak, the sound of hurried footsteps broke through the quiet.

A servant, breathless and wide-eyed, came rushing toward you. “My lord!” he gasped, his face pale. “My lord Robb—it’s your brother. It’s Bran.”

Robb’s smile vanished instantly, his expression tightening as he turned to the servant. “What happened?” His voice was sharp, tinged with fear.

The servant swallowed hard, catching his breath. “Young Bran… he fell from the tower, my lord. The Maester… they’re with him now.”

Robb’s face went pale, and his hand dropped from where it had been resting near yours. For a moment, he seemed frozen, his eyes wide as he processed the words. But then, as if a switch had flipped, he straightened, his features hardening with determination.

“Take me to him,” he said, his voice steady but filled with a quiet urgency.

The servant nodded, glancing between you both before hurrying back toward the keep. Robb took a shaky breath, looking at you, the vulnerability in his eyes making your heart ache.

“I’m sorry… I have to—”

“Go,” you said softly, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Your brother needs you.”

He nodded, his jaw clenched, and without another word, he turned and strode quickly in the direction of the tower. You watched him go, feeling a pang of worry settle in your chest as you thought of young Bran, whom you’d only just met, a lively boy with a boundless curiosity.

Left alone in the godswood, the peace and warmth of your morning with Robb faded, replaced by a heavy silence that seemed to press down on you. You glanced back in the direction of the keep, a sinking feeling in your stomach as you considered what had happened.

After a moment, you began to make your way back toward the castle, hoping, praying, that the news awaiting you would be better than what you feared.

[yaut-jaknowit]

Male Yautja with Single Mom Human who got pregnant with Her Ex-Husband who Later Left Her and had Twin Sons and They Both Probably Calling Yautja "Dad" Even though They're not Biological But It's Still Family to Him (Sorry,If It's Not Suitable for Your Fics or/and Headcanons then That's Still Fine) also Will be Platonic at First Then Fluff Romantic,I Think?

Blood in the Water

Pairing: T'a'yta (male Yautja) x AFAB/Mother!Reader

Word Count: 5367

Summary: T’a’yta happens to be around and sees the struggle of this mother. He reveals himself and the mother grows uncertain about him and nearly attacks him. He takes no offense and offers to take her and her children to their home. From there, she offers T’a’yta a chance to swing by at a later time to her house to show her appreciation.

Author Note: Anything really goes with my stories. I write what the people want. I love doing that. I wasn't able to fully finish this to the end of your ask, I hope that's okay. It is about ten pages long so there is plenty to read! To be honest, I love this idea. Though there has been a lot of asks like this of late. What's going on guys?

Part 2

Masterlist

Ao3

The worn engine sputtered and clunked. It gave one last screech before it fell silent. The forward momentum kept it rolling for a football field length before coming to a halt. Now dead in the water, you attempted to turn the key in hopes it would turn back over. It didn’t even give a cry at the try. You cursed under your breath and glanced in the rear-view mirror.

Two toddlers happily kicked their feet, entertained by the outside world of rolling plains. One of your sons, Shawn, whined when the movement of the hills were stopped. “Mama!” he called to you and pointed to the outside world.

“Yes, I know, baby boy. Mom’s gotta fix the car and we’ll be back on the road,” you answered and pulled your phone out to call for help.

At the top of the screen, it read no bars. You cursed to yourself again. A bad habit you needed to stop but have yet to do so.

The second son, the eldest by eighteen minutes, whined and shook his empty bottle in your direction. Simon looked at you with pleading eyes. You unbuckled and turned around in your seat. Both of your children were oblivious to what was happening. A simple road trip to see your folks on a surprise visit was going terribly wrong. Clearly.

It took you less than two minutes to fill up his sippy cup with more water to hold him over for now. You patted each child’s knee and gave them a look. “Okay, I need you two to be good. Mama’s going to get out and see what’s wrong with the car, okay?” Both of them looked at you with little thoughts between their innocent eyes.

With a sigh, you slipped out and popped the hood. Off the top of everything, you couldn’t see what was wrong to have this happen in the middle of the nowhere. Not a build or car in sight. Then your phone, no service to call for help. Anyone to drag your beat up car to a mechanic. It’ll cost you leg but at least your car would be working.

After your divorce with your husband, everything has gone downhill from there. The love you once saw in his eyes disappeared during the pregnancy… The man you once loved faded after you gave birth to his children.

He despised how big you grew, especially with twins. Let alone, yes, the mood swings and cravings. Pickles and peanut butter weren’t health but you needed to have them or you’ll start to cry. Not your proudest moment.

The stretch marks. He was absolutely disgusted with them and refused to touch you, even to help bathe when you couldn’t. You had just been spilt in half to birth two children he wanted and your own husband wouldn’t look at you. That hurt. A lot.

You leaned over the engine bay and sucked in your tears at the flashbacks when your life fell apart. You wouldn’t be stuck in this position if it wasn’t for him. It was all his fault.

Nothing flashed to easily fix the issue. You gave a sigh and returned to the drivers seat. All you needed was this day off to sleep in and relax. Except, the world continued to drag you to the deepest pits of hell to suffer.

In the mirror, you smiled with love sparkling in your eyes. Despite everything that has happened over a year ago, you wouldn’t trade the world for those two boys. They are your world, in all honesty. Both of your children went back to entertaining each other with the toys you’ve brought. Doing this for a year and half, you learn a thing or two.

This situation didn’t give you much for options. You looked around the car to see if that could help because you were truly clueless. If it was just you, you could start the long walk to find cell service. Yet with the twins in the back, all you could do was stay and hope for help. Hopefully help does come or you’ll be in deep trouble once night comes. Or the heat that’s starting to build up inside the car.

In a last-ditch attempt, you turned the keys for your car. As much as you wanted to hope for it to suddenly roar back to life, it stayed silent and dead where it had come to rest. Why did this have to happen to you, right here, in the middle of absolutely nowhere?

The driver side door was open to let in a breeze as you checked your phone again. Just the same reaction to your run-down car. Useless.

While the time ticked on by, your sons grew restless, strapped safely in the car. They whined to get out since the car had been stopped for some time. With no sign of rescue in sight, you slipped out of the car and got into the back seat. Both of them reached for you as you unbuckled them from their restraints.

Shawn was the first to be released and stood on weak legs. His twin brother came to his side and gazed out into the hilly plains that surrounded the three of you. Simon tightly clutched his cup as he wobbled away from you. A close eye was placed on the boy while he sought to explore his surroundings.

On the other hand, Shawn stayed at you lowered form and clutched to your hand. When his brother got to far from him though, he left your side to follow him.

All the hairs on back of your neck stood up. You straighten your spine and scanned the surrounding lands for any sight of a possible other person or animal. Yet, there was nothing to be seen this far out. Nor did anything move and catch your attention. The feeling refused to leave and stuck to you like cold honey.

As the feeling dragged on, your heartbeat increase with each passing second. You could hear it, thundering in your ears. You were already moving towards your two exploring children when you hear clicking. Instantly, you snatched your twin sons up and backed towards the car.

Your back hit met with warmth. Live warmth rather than the steel of a car. You spun around, hands occupied by holding Shawn and Simon at the same time. Nothing immediately caught your attention, and that made the dread brewing in your stomach to worsen. It burned you from the inside out as you tried to plan either an escape or to fight whatever threatened you.

When the light caught something in front of you, you truly peered at what could be blocking your path. You gasped and stumbled back, nearly tumbling over your own big feet. Something was standing in front of you, almost invisible to the naked eye. It was when you didn’t even know to look for it.

Tiny hands clutched at your clothing due to your reaction. Shawn was the first to bury his face into your chest to seek protection. Yet, Simon wiggled and squirmed in a way that made it hard to hold him. You couldn’t even look down to give him the famous mom stare to get him to stop it. “Simon, stop moving!” you ordered the eldest twin, but he didn’t take your tone seriously.

Before you could drop him, he slid down your side to the ground. You snatched his wrist before he could run off to gods knows where. The young boy struggled against your firm grip. “Simon, I swear!” But he refused to listen even when you sent the stare directly at him.

It hurt you to do this but this was a dangerous moment. You roughly tugged on Simon’s hand and dragged him away from the camouflaged creature before you. He screamed in frustration and started to hit your hand. “I am your mother! Listen to me, goddamnit.” At a later time, you would hold him close and apologize for your harshness. Yet, with an unknown threat hanging before your sons, you acted in instinct to protect them.

Simon glared his own tiny daggers at you and clawed at your tight grasp. A bruise could appear later but right now, when you didn’t know was standing in front of you. There were a lot more important things to fret about than a bruise.

Like from a comic book or sci-fi movie, a humanoid form waxed into appearance. All the muscles that lined your back tensed. A cold dread entered your fiery veins and froze you to the spot. Simon was able to escape ran up. You stared in terror and gripped onto Shawn, unable to react in time.

The figure sat down on its haunches, still a towering form, and tilted its head at the bouncing child. His exploration side flaring its head at the worst time possible.

Your heart thundered in your ears, roaring like a storm brewing in the middle of the sea. Simon reached it on wobbly legs and flopped onto the thick thighs of this ‘person’. You couldn’t tell what it was.

A metal mask covered its facial features, leaving you blind to what laid behind. Primitive armor of sorts covered the most important parts of a human. Relatively close to a fishnet like wire covered its body starting from the neck and down to its legs. It was ripped in some areas, clearly used and worn. Worn for what? And… and why was it wear stripper clothing?

Out of your children, Simon had to be the people person. He hugged onto this things leg like a lifeline and giggled his cute little laugh. Any other situation, you would’ve smiled at him and laughed alongside him. You clutched Shawn tighter to your side and watched with bated breath for this thing to do something.

The masked person reached out and offered a massive, scaly hand to Simon. The young child ‘oo’ed at the sight, immediately drawn to the different skin texture than his own.

Shawn began to squirm in your hold. You whipped your head to gaze at him. He made grabby hands towards his twin brother and the humanoid creature. The hairs along your arms bristled. “Absolutely not!” you scolded and returned your gaze on the two.

The incredible size difference didn’t seem to effect this being. Instead, it looked like they took it into great consideration and was soft with the way it moved towards him. Simon latched onto the offered limb and brought it up to his face for a close examination. With a bout of excitement, he spun around and thrusted the hand into the air. “Mommy look!” he cheered as if he had found gold.

A great amount of weight lifted off of your shoulders. You nervously laughed with an unsure smile. “That’s great honey. Now, come over here, please,” you demanded rather than ask Simon to listen to you for this once. Yes, it seemed like the thing humanoid wouldn’t hurt a hair on Simon. You refused to let your guard down for one millisecond. Life lessons and all that fun stuff.

Simon started to pull on the hand, tipped with short yet lethal claws. Talons that could gut you or your children if you did one wrong move.

What had you gotten yourself into? A day vacation turning worse with every passing second.

You watched with a fragile gaze, on the verge of breaking if it moved for an attack. Parental instinct and all that would damn you in this situation. If this creature turned, you couldn’t do a thing to stop it. Not with the way it held itself. Not pride… no. But with an air that consisted that it knew what it was doing.

It followed after Simon, letting him guide it over to you. The entire time, hunched over to allow constant contact with the older twin. Simon stopped in front of you and offered the hand to you; to check it out yourself. “No… no honey,” you refused and shook your head kindly. “I’m all good. I-I can see.” You cursed the slip up stutter in your words. Not like it couldn’t read the terror shining in your eyes, or the realization this creature could kill you at any second.

“Mama, take. Look.” Stubborn as a mule, a trait the two of them got from both of their parents. Shawn squirmed in your hold again and finally slipped down. On his feet, he stepped up to the masked figure and wrapped his arms around one of its legs.

Then, a glint entered Simon’s innocent eyes. The older one latched onto the other leg and looked up at the imposing figure who stood at least a good head taller, if not two.

“Kids,” you called to them but didn’t gain their attention. “Simon, Shawn. Let go. We… we need to get going.”

“Mister, what you are?” Shawn asked and tugged on a long piece of cloth tied to the waistband of the figure’s pants. You were growing frustrated at the lack of obedience in such a dire situation from your children. If you were to survive this, you were going to have a long sit-down with them and ensure they knew the consequences of not listening. Especially when their life could be in danger.

Worst of all, you couldn’t even plan a way to attack this lumbering giant. The thing was massive not just in height but in stature as well. The barrel chest, large muscles that adorned its arms and legs. You didn’t dare even take a step towards it. Not when it could see you as a threat and leave you a bloodied mess for your sons to witness.

“You better listen to your dam,” a voice that easily matched the body spoke in a tone that left little room for arguing. Yet, it wasn’t to threaten or cause any issues with you. Not, he seemed to be attempting to help you in this situation. Then, he tilted his head up and looked at you with emotionless dark pits. “I’m not going to harm them.”

As much as you prayed for those words to be completely truthful without doubt, you still kept your guard up.

“But, I know how dams can be. Protective over their littles.” The more it spoke, the more you realized it wasn’t an average person’s voice you were hearing. It sounded a bit gruff, rough around the edges, as if it wasn’t a language he was meant to speak. He rose his arms in surrender and offered his palms towards you. “I extend a helping hand instead to show I do not have intentions of harm towards your family unit.”

You straightened yourself and set a glare on the masked beast. “Who and what are you?” you demanded and possibly pushed your luck with his declaration earlier. Before you can offer him a single once of your trust, he must be willing to fork over ten times of yours worth.

He settled back down on his haunches and allowed for you to take the tallest title for the time being. Simon and Shawn were forced to move and practically thrown themselves onto his thighs. “What are you?!” Shawn interrogated their newfound friend. Worse than the monster friend in their closet that freaks you out every time they talk about it.

He’s able to pull himself onto one of the beast’s thighs with his help. Shawn sits unsteadily and pointed at the metal mask adorning his strange friend’s face.

The entire time the creature interacts with your children; the way he’s extremely gentle, slow movements; the way he gets down to their level; the way he doesn’t mind them climbing on him… he must be a father himself or knows great patience. You only let your shoulders slack a centimeter.

Still on his haunches, he tilted his head up slightly to gaze at you once more. Without saying a word, his hands come to the mask and go through a worn routine of disengaging it. Muscle memory detached the metal from his face.

Your head jerked back yet you didn’t make a sound. That wasn’t what you were expecting. Then, you blinked a few times. This thing wasn’t anything on earth. No, not with the way if just appeared out of thin air and the facial structures. “You’re an alien, aren’t you?” you questioned, breaking the quiet air that filled the space.

What you believed to be an alien smirk graced his features. One of his strange four fangs rose into a grin. A knowing glint entered his baby blue eyes. “A smart dam,” he mused and bowed his head in a slow motion. “Yes, you caught me. I am an alien in your terms.”

“Alien?” Simon questioned and turned his head to look at you. “Mama, what is alien?” On the other leg, Shawn had spun around with the careful guide of the creature and leaned into his torso.

“An alien is a species that comes from space, not native to our planet,” you explained, hopeful the terms were small enough for either of them to understand. Then, you returned a hardened gaze the alien. “Do you have a name?” Again, you wanted to know what was possible before even entertaining the idea of accepting whatever help he thought was right for the situation.

He lifted his head back up. “T’a’yta and yours?” he returned the gesture in full warmth. The longer he talked with you, the more you grew to be lax around him. Not by much but enough to loosen the tension growing in your muscles.

It was soft on your lips, your name. He tested it on his alien tongue then gave each child a gentle shove off. They whined but were given no choice besides off. Shawn came back to your side and held onto your leg in the same manner he did to T’a’yta.

“And what is this help you offered in the beginning?” you asked afterwards. The cedar-colored alien returned to his full height but a respectful distance away from you.

His head turned towards the crappy car that had started all of this. “I see your mode of transportation has failed you. I have one of my own. I couldn’t bare to turn a blind eye to a dam in trouble. I would like to offer you a ride back to your home,” T’a’yta explained and glanced over your shoulder.

Your expression softened at his confession, eyes flickering down at your children. They had to be getting hungry. The snacks you brought probably won’t last longer than an hour. There was night as well. Darkness would soon swallow you and your family up… and you didn’t know how long it would be before help arrived.

Despite him not showing any signs of harm, you still eyed the creature with suspicion. “And what do you want in return?” you retorted and gave him a hardened stare. You had found aliens exist yet you didn’t know if this one was completely friendly. Who knows what it might do to you if you put your guard down?

T’a’yta snorted and shook his bowed head. “I do not want anything as payment. I’m not doing this to except something in return.” A person with years of patience built under his belt. He didn’t act offended by your question and simply answered it. He didn’t give you any reasons for doubt. “If you wish not for my help, then I accept that. But I will not leave until you and your little ones are safe.”

If only your ex-husband was as thoughtful as a random alien willing to protect you out of nowhere.

The decision came quick to you. You nodded your head towards T’a’yta. “Alright. I’ll accept your offer… Thank you.” T’a’yta smiled at you then motioned his hand for you to turn around. You quirked a brow before slowly listening to him and spinning on your heel. The alien moved around you, your children in tow as they followed the coolest thing they’ll ever see in their lives. You smiled to yourself at the sight shadowed after T’a’yta.

He led you about a hundred yards from the road before coming to a stop. Confused, you paused as well and waited for him to reveal why he had taken you this far from the road.

Unease boiled in your stomach. You eyed the alien with a weary eye all over again yet kept your trap shut in case something you said could turn him.

One hand pressed two buttons on his metal gauntlet. In a similar fashion of how he waxed into existence, a spaceship appeared before your very eyes. This was very Stars Wars like. Your jaw dropped as you stared upon this craft and alienness it had.

A hiss sounded from the metal ship before a ramp began to lower from the belly. It felt like you had been transported into some sci-fi movie.

You were pulled from your shock by a tug on your leg. Shawn stood at your feet and put his arms up for you lift him. Muscle memory had you bending down and scooping him off of the ground. He looped his arms around your neck then looked over at T’a’yta. You walked over to the alien and stood shoulder to bicep with him. “I can’t believe aliens are real,” you whispered the confession.

T’a’yta snorted and shook his head. The weird rubbery, round bands that hung from his domed head snaked with the movement. Metal trinkets adorned the dreads and clinked against one another. “Oomans and their lack of thoughts. Aliens have always existed. There’s always something out there in the big, expansive universe. Not even I know what all lies out there and I’m over five hundred years old in ooman years.” As he spoke all of this, he began to stroll over to the ramp and leading the group. You followed along, hooked into everything all despite the possible danger.

At his last few words, you stopped mid-step with a bewildered expression falling upon your features. “Five hundred?! Five hundred?” you sputtered and blinked a few times to comprehend all of this. Not that you knew what an old whatever his species is looked like, he didn’t even act like someone even hitting thirty.

“Again: lack of thoughts. You will never be alone out there. Life finds a way.” He reached the top of the ramp and motioned for you to keep up. Even Simon was able to run after him with that cute little toddler run and looked back at you.

“Stop being slow, mama. Keep up!” Simon scolded with a childish scowl and held onto T’a’yta’s leg. The cedar brown alien bent at the waist and patted the top of your son’s head.

Simon let a grin spread across his face and leaned up into the affection. You sighed and strolled up the ramp after them.

The new sight of the inside of an alien spaceship washed over you. Yet, it was surprisingly subtle in here. There was detail in here but mostly simple designs. Just a vehicle for transportation or something who didn’t need much to be happy.

Once you had entered along with them, T’a’yta pressed the same two buttons again. The ramp hissed again and began to close. T’a’yta motioned with a jerk of his head to follow after him and started to walk further into the ship. You took a deep breath and listened to him with just a hint of apprehension in the moment. The door to the outside world was now closed, locking you in here with him.

Through three doors, he took you to what had to be the cockpit of his ship. Out in the distance, was a tiny white dot on the road. Your car.

“I would advise you to take a seat during takeoff,” T’a’yta expressed and sat down on a seat that easily fit his larger complex. His hands moved with muscle memory as they went over the console, typing and pressing the proper buttons. You listened to the engines fire up underneath your feet before stepping up to a chair that you knew would swallow you up.

You sat down and held Shawn close to you. Simon was still at T’a’yta’s feet and held onto his knee. With a sigh, you patted your leg. “Simon, come here,” you called to your other son.

T’a’yta easily scooped the child off of the ground and held him in one arm close to him. “It’s alright. You’ve got your hands full with the one. I can watch over this one.”

At first, you apprehensive about letting him hold Simon. Yet, you pushed down the helicopter mom instinct inside of you and slowed your heart down.

The ship rumbled while T’a’yta added power to the engines. They started to lift the vessel off of the ground and further into the air. You gripped onto the chair and held Shawn close. Being in a plane was completely different than this. You held your breath, tense as you felt the craft lift off even more.

“Now, where to?” he questioned with an ease voice, soothe. Your eyes cracked open without realizing they had been shut and glanced over at him. T’a’yta cradled Simon close to him while letting the child have room to wiggle if he so pleases.

An address tumbled out of your lips. T’a’yta let his fingers glide across a screen and hit enter. His hand fell away from the controls. The giant alien swiveled around in his chair to face you.

“In all my years, I’ve never once crashed any of my ships. I promise you with my heart you and your offspring are safe in my hands.” His words helped ease a little tension sitting on your shoulders. “You are free to move about as well. Take-off can be a little unpredictable in some cases.”

He easily picked up Simon and set him back on ship’s floor. Said child began to explore his newfound surroundings with vigor. To ease the tension settling in your bones, you nervously smiled at T’a’yta. “You know, Simon is a huge explorer. He’s gonna find something he shouldn’t probably be in.”

Two of his upper mandibles quirked up. “Sounds like me when I was kid and I turned out fine,” he jestered and motioned towards himself. You huffed through your nose. The alien was scared and armored, ready to take on an army at a moment’s notice. Now, that you were thinking about. He probably could take on the army.

Shawn shifted and slid off of his lap. “And there goes Shawn. Wherever Simon goes, Shawn loves to follow him,” you said to the quiet air and watched as the two went over to the controls.

Even to you, the controls sat higher than you thought was comfortable to use. You knew they wouldn’t be able to reach them.

“They are twins, yes?” T’a’yta asked and leaned back in his chair, lax in his position. From the corner of your eyes, you glanced at him. Despite the terrifying creature he looked like, he showed nothing but peace. You reclined in your chair and brought your legs to sit comfortably in the large seat.

.

The ship lightly shuttered at the touch down. Both of your kids whined but otherwise stayed silent in your arms. T’a’yta moved from his seat and stalked over to your seat. With a tired look in your eyes, you looked up at him and gave a weak smile at him. The days events had dragged away what energy you had left. T’a’yta nearly talked you into sleep. Your sons have already dozed off at least an hour ago.

His towering form stood before you. “I can carry them for you,” he offered in a voice no louder than a breath. The smile only grew on your features. You timidly nodded your head. T’a’yta easily scooped both of them out of your lap and cradled them close to him. A move only an experienced father would know and be able to do after so many times.

You untucked yourself from the seat and stood up, arms stretched high above your head. Little thought was given to follow the large mass as he moved through his own ship. He kept a pace you would be able to shadow easily in your tired state.

In all of its run-down glory, your apartment complex greeted you. With a sigh, you pulled your keys from your pocket and found the proper key. This time, you guided T’a’yta to the third level and towards a door you’ve grown to learn after a year and half of living here. You kept an eye on the alien’s gaze but it didn’t change one bit. Either, he was amazing at steeling his expressions or he truly didn’t judge the conditions of your living. It was the best you could supply on one income.

The inside of your apartment hadn’t changed one bit over the course of twenty four hours. You breathed in its familiar scent, relieved to be home. You glanced back at T’a’yta who had to duck to enter your dwelling. Both of your sons are still cradled in each of his arms. A soft smile was brought to your face at the sight. You walked over to their shared room. “Over here,” you whispered into the silent air.

T’a’yta entered and set both children down in a bed. It didn’t matter which one. The two of you exited the bedroom for the living room and sealed the door behind you.

With just him in your presence, you could feel a little more at ease. You didn’t need to worry about your children getting harmed in anyway around him.

“Thank you… for everything. I’d still be out there right now,” you voice your appreciation to the alien. T’a’yta stood a respectful distance away from you and yours bedroom door.

He bowed his head. “I’m glad to be of assistance.”

Now, a silence fell over the two of you. You gnawed on your bottom lip, words on the tip of your tongue. When he dipped his head and went to turn away, you sprung forward and gripped his arm. His skin was warm the touch and rough underneath you softer fingertips. Instantly, you jerked your hand away, hoping you hadn’t offended him.

“Do-don’t go… I-“ you cleared your throat and had to look away when he turned to you. “I would like to offer you a chance for dinner. As a thank you. I would cook you dinner. Or-or, you’re more than welcome to come back at, at anytime.” You were on the verge of face palming at your stupidity and nonsense you sputtered to him.

The alien chuckled, shoulders jumping with the sound. “I told you. There is no need for repayment. I did this out of the kindness of my heart.” You gave him a pleading look. You didn’t want this to be the last time you saw him.

“I know this. Please, just entertain my stupid idea.” T’a’yta looked at you for a long time before shrugging. Your face brightened with a smile, toothy and all.

“Alright. I shall return into three days. Is that enough time for you to plan this dinner?” he questioned.

You rapidly nodded your head. “Plenty. Thank you, thank you. Again. I-I just want to ease my consciousness. I wouldn’t be able to sleep peacefully knowing I’d done anything to thank you.”

“Of course. I will see you in three days’ time.” T’a’yta took his leave then. The door softly clicked behind his retreating form.

A new silence engulfed you. You turned around and faced the door your children were in. They were safe because of T’a’yta. An alien. He was nice. Much nicer than a lot of folks you’ve met and he was an alien. An alien who looked like he could crush your skull with two fingers. You took a deep breath in before heading to your own room. It had been a long day.

[hasello]

because leo (2012 if i got the name wrong sorry!!) and red are are the eldest siblings in their respective iteration but have the o3 turtles do they deal with as much oldest sibling guilt? do they look to lee (03) for guidance on being a good older bro?

TW: blood, scars

Lee’s answer:

Very good questions, that I’ve actually thought about a lot.

We all know the boys have many struggles as the oldests, as shown in canon. Leadership comes with great responsibility too. In my au, tho, most of it ends up on the eldest son’s shoulders - that is Lee (03). I mean, can you imagine having to deal with 11 siblings…? While fighting crime? Lord have mercy!

(I torture him affectionately, I promise - he’s my favorite)

Here’s more about his struggles and some context for the “consequences”.

Also sorry if the dialogue’s a little rough/wonky, Idk why but my brain was struggling with English in this one lol

[asa-do-your-thing]

Jack of all Trades, Master of None

Cregan Stark x F!Reader x Jacaerys Targaryen

18+ MINORS DNI

WC: 3,7k

Warnings / tags: pool sex, tag teaming, light anal, deflowering, p in v sex, fingering, porn without plot, no beta reads no nothing.

Anxious beads of sweat formed on your forehead as you shifted uncomfortably under the watchful gaze of Lord Cregan and Prince Jacaerys. Their eyes seemed to bore into your very soul as you floated in the warm, bubbling waters of the hot spring. Tall and handsome, both men held crystal bottles filled with deep red wine in their hands, a sharp contrast to the rough towels draped over their elegant clothing.

Their grins were almost mischievous as they looked down at you, a sight that surely surprised them - after all, you were just the sixth daughter of Lord Reed and the humble nanny to Lord Cregan's son Rickon.

"It seems like we've caught ourselves a mermaid here," Lord Cregan said and let his eyes wander over your womanly frame. He threw his towel next to the stone steps and began unbuttoning his doublet, glancing over at Prince Jacaerys. "That's the Reed girl I told you about."

With a quick flick of your hair and a graceful stroke, you swam towards the steps, your arms modestly covering yourself from the prying eyes of the men. "My apologies, Your Highness, my Lord, I must take my leave," you murmured as you avoided their gazes, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

But your escape was halted by Lord Cregan, who had slyly removed his garments. You couldn't understand his intentions - to trap you like this in front of the Crown Prince, an honored guest...

Quickly swimming back with a bright flush on your face, you looked away as Prince Jacaerys disrobed as well and followed Lord Cregan into the hot water, groaning at the soothing temperature. This was wrong, oh so wrong, you thought to yourself as you swam up to a small ledge, tucking your legs under yourself and using your hair to shield yourself from their interested looks.

"So, my Lady Reed... whatever brings you to these hot springs so late in the evening? Should you not be in bed?", Prince Jacaerys asked you, letting his eyes wander over your wet, pale body. You knew that he was a Prince the second he opened his mouth - all of his words, his manner of speech, and gods, even his voice were regal and commanding, making you blush heavily.

Just as you wanted to defend your virtue, Lord Cregan stepped in for you as he gently, but firmly laid one of his big hands on the naked small of your back as he pushed you off of the ledge, closer to the shallower area where the Prince was standing. "Show some courtesy to your future King, my Lady, and answer his question," he mumbled quietly into your ear, his beard gently tickling your pale, soft cheek making you shiver and blush even more.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, Queen Rhaenyra's eldest son, was undeniably attractive. As he rested his arms on the edge of the pool and looked at you, it was hard not to be captivated by his beauty. He had a slimmer build compared to Lord Cregan, but the way his veins popped against his skin and the small trail of black hair down his toned stomach made your mouth go dry as you struggled to curtsy without dipping your head into the water. "Please forgive me, your Highness. I should be resting in bed. Keeping up with the future Lord Stark has been exhausting lately... And it was so chilly tonight, please excuse my forwardness, your Highness and my Lord. I simply wanted to feel some warmth."

You fought your hardest to suppress a shriek as he pushed himself and swam up to you, quickly turning you around and pressing himself against your well-rounded buttocks. He smelled incredible and you could feel him chuckling silently as he ran his surprisingly soft hand over your naked form over and under the water, as if to taunt Lord Cregan.

"Oh, dear Cregan, she is very cold..." He noted with a smirk as you shivered against his gentle touch, especially as he traced his thumb over your sore nipple, making you sharply inhale the damp air in the grotto. "It does seem like small Rickon is taking his toll on her. Tsk-tsk, Cregan, is that how you treat Lady Reed?"

Making sure you didn't look away, Lord Cregan came closer to you and tightly held your chin in his hand, giving you an almost challenging look. "Do you wish to tell you that I do not treat you well, my Lady Reed?"

Gods, gods, gods, you muttered over and over in your mind as you could feel the Prince's cock hardening against your asscheeks and at the way Lord Cregan's eyes seemed to burn into yours. "N-no, not at all my Lord, you are very generous and kind," you pressed out as he stepped even closer and gave Prince Jacaerys a look over your shoulder.

"Indeed I am, my Lady," he mumbled and moved to pinch one of your sore nipples, but was gently pushed back by Prince Jacaerys.

"Lord Stark, I believe the Lady has wished for warmth and relaxation. Is it not in your duty to provide for your subject's needs?", Prince Jacaerys whispered lowly against your ear, nibbling on it, making you scrunch up your face so as not to moan or follow your body's instinctive need to rub yourself against one of the men's hardening members.

Beads of sweat formed on your forehead as you shifted uncomfortably under the watchful gaze of Lord Cregan and Prince Jacaerys. Their eyes seemed to bore into your very soul as you bobbed in the warm, steaming waters of the hot spring, your hair gently swaying around your curvy form.

The sound of their voices echoed off the rocky walls, making your heart race even faster with each word they spoke. Their grins were almost mischievous as they looked down at you; it felt like they were sharing a secret joke that you weren't part of.

You couldn't help but notice the way Lord Cregan's eyes traced your every curve and how he licked his lips unconsciously. It was clear that he found you desirable - he had let you know that for a long while, but to be found desireable by the Queen's heir? That was another thing, by far.

Lord Cregan gently released your chin as he stepped back, allowing Prince Jacaerys to take over with a wide smirk on his face, his strong, broad arms crossing on his muscular chest. You couldn't help but whimper softly as the Crown Prince held you even tighter and lifted your hair over his shoulder so Cregan had a full view of your nakedness.

With a soft smirk, he pressed his hard length against your entrance, rubbing it teasingly against you as he leaned down and kissed the nape of your neck, sucking it gently with just the right amount of force to make you gasp and arch your back. The double sensation of both water and his warm mouth on your skin made you shiver. He pulled back with a satisfied hum, looking up at Lord Cregan who seemed equally amused.

"You see, little mermaid? What do you think happens when two strong men like us want what we desire?" he asked, his voice rumbling as he traced his fingers down your stomach and onto the mound between your legs. You were slick from excitement, making it easy for him to tease you further.

His finger dipped inside, finding your entrance already hot and wet for him. "You are tight," he whispered huskily, making you tremble as another finger entered you slowly. You moaned in pleasure mixed with discomfort, feeling stretched but wanting more of this wicked delight. "Do you like it when we share you?"

"I-I would not know my Lord," you managed to squeak out between moans as Prince Jacaerys' long finger pushed further inside you, making another moan escape your shivering lips.

Lord Cregan came closer to you and kissed you hungrily, his rough hands playing with your supple breasts. You held tightly onto him as Prince Jacaerys continued to bully your inexperienced cunny, your nails digging into his broad back. "Mh, I think she'll come undone in an instant if you continue like that, your Highness," Cregan mumbled and slid his hand down as well, rubbing your hot pearl, making you shriek in pleasure.

"Too much... I... please!", you hiccuped, tightening yourself around the Prince's fingers, your face flushing uncomfortably hot. "Please, I've never... 'm a maiden..."

Prince Jacaerys chuckled as he pinched your nipple gently, making you gasp and arch your back as he thrust his fingers deeper into your tight sheath, finding your sweet spot with ease. "Such a delicate little flower," he whispered in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. Lord Cregan let out a low growl, leaning down to tease your other nipple with his lips before closing them around it, sucking gently.

You let out a high-pitched moan as they took turns teasing and pleasuring you, their hands roaming freely over your wet skin. You felt overwhelmed by the sensations as they claimed you like this, their bodies looming over yours in a dominating manner that made your heart race. With each thrust of their fingers inside you, you could feel yourself growing wetter and needier for more.

Lord Cregan groaned in approval as he slid two fingers into your tight passage, stretching you further than you ever thought possible. You moaned incoherently as they began to move in unison, their hands tracing every curve and hollow on your body. They smelled of sweat and saltwater mixed with expensive cologne from the south that made the air thick with desire. The taste of him was different from Prince Jacaerys - more musky and masculine - but it only added to the thrill of being taken by not one, but two men at once, neither of them your betrothed.

"Oh, but you are no longer a maiden, are you?" Prince Jacaerys teased, his fingers finding your weak spot once more, making you gasp as he pressed and rubbed against it. "I think you've been well taken care of, my dear." He smirked down at you, his lips brushing your earlobe. "Now, we can decide on how to break you in together."

You felt Lord Cregan chuckle darkly against your lips, his beard grazing your skin as he nipped at your bottom lip playfully. "Indeed," he agreed, his own fingers joining in the assault on your sensitive flesh, rubbing circles around your clit as his fingers plunged deep inside you with each thrust.

The water lap against your body and the roughened walls all around created a symphony of sensations that heightened the experience even more. You couldn't help but whimper and moan into Lord Cregan's mouth, overwhelmed by pleasure and fear of what was happening.

Prince Jacaerys pulled his fingers out of you with a pop, leaving you aching for more, tightening around Lord Cregan's. "Don't worry, little one," he murmured, leaning down to lift your hips up to Lord Stark's. "We'll take good care of you." He guided Lord Cregan's member to your entrance once he retracted his fingers and watched as it slowly slipped inside you. The burn was not as bad as you'd anticipated, yet you blushed just the same when you saw a tiny cloud of blood leave your cunny.

"The Lady did not lie, she truly is a virgin," Prince Jacaerys said and kissed you hungrily, pushing you down against Lord Stark's thrusts. "Such a good girl, aren't you? Taking us with no complaints, moaning and squeezing us tighter than any other."

His words sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but cry out as Prince Jacaerys' fingers found their way into your mouth, massaging your cheeks, and teasing your tongue as his ally began to move inside you. The stretch was intense, but the pleasure that came with it was beyond what you could have imagined.

It felt like a mix of pain and ecstasy, as if you were both being ripped open and filled up at the same time. You groaned into Prince Jacaerys' taste, savoring the saltiness of his skin and the muskiness of his sweat mixed with the hot water that surrounded you.

You could feel Lord Cregan's hips move faster with each passing moment, his strong arms pinning your shoulders to the side as he plunged deeper into you. You clung onto him tightly, feeling his rough skin against your breasts as they swayed with every thrust. The sound of their bodies slapping together echoed in the water around you, creating a melody that only increased the arousal coursing through your veins.

Prince Jacaerys let out a husky chuckle before snaking one of his hands to your asscheek, whick he squeezed unimaginbly tight. you loudly cried out as your felt one of his fingers, which was still slick with your drool, gently swirl against the entrance of your bottom. The sensation sent shockwaves of pleasure through your core, causing you to writhe against Lord Cregan's member buried inside you. You couldn't believe how good this felt.

Just as Lord Cregan quickly pulled out of you and took a deep breath, Prince Jacaerys very gently shushed you and carried you over to the ledge, where he placed you onto your knees and slipped his longer cock in, giving you very slow, sensual thrusts. "You're so good to us, little one," Lord Cregan muttered as he joined you as well, giving you a sloppy kiss and sitting up in front of you, his cock just above the water in front of your puckered mouth.

"You'll get everything you want and more as long as you continue taking us so well, you little slut," he mumbled, gently sticking his large thumb into your mouth, almost making you gag. "Your future King loves your tight little cunny, you're making it hard for us to not just fill you with our seed."

You felt yourself torn between pleasure and pain, but the Lord's thumb in your mouth ground you back to reality. Your hips rocked with every thrust, matching the Princes rhythm as he took your cunt from behind. You could taste both of their salty skin on your tongue, their musky scent filling your nostrils.

You whimpered into Cregans' cock as he removed his thumb and replaced it with his thick cock, his hand gripping your wet hair tightly to hold your head in place as he fucked your mouth slowly, making sure you take him all the way down. His length slid against your tongue with each stroke, sending shivers down your spine.

The water echoed with slapping skin and men's grunts of pleasure. The waves crashed against the cliffs, drowning out the sounds of the night around you as Jacaerys gently teased your puckered back entrance with his thumb. Your mind went blank in ecstasy as his cock found the spot that made you see stars every time he rammed against it, feeling him fucking it over and over again.

His fingers dug into your hips, leaving bruises that only added to the ache between your legs as you wanted beg for more from him only to be met with the response thrust from Cregan into your throat, saliva dripping down your reddened lips. Lord Stark growled lowly, grabbing onto your hair and pulling slightly as he pushed deeper inside you. He grunted in approval at the noises you made you you felt that if you wanted to take a breath he'd always take the pressure away from your hair to reassure you that he wasn't forcing you.

Your body couldn't help but respond to the dual stimulation. You were being brutally taken by two men, one fucking your throat and the other pounding your pussy, but you couldn't deny the unparalleled pleasure it brought you. The water lapped against your skin, cooling you off from the heat between your thighs as Prince Jacaerys slammed into you from behind. A soft moan escaped your lips each time his hips met with yours, sending shockwaves through your core.

The taste of salt and musk filled your mouth as Lord Cregan's cock slid in and out, stretching it to its limits. As he picked up speed, his heavy breathing mixed with the sound of slapping skin and splashing water created a symphony of passion in the air.

Prince Jacaerys, meanwhile, moved slower inside you, teasing your sweet spot mercilessly as he pressed his lips against your neck. His hand found its way to your breast once more, squeezing it roughly before pinching your nipple between his fingers, sending tingling sensations down your shaking body. You cried out into Lord Cregan's cock, unable to contain yourself any longer.

"That's it," he growled into your ear, "take our cocks like the good little whore you are."

You moaned into Cregan's cock, tasting him deeply as you felt Jacaerys' rough hands on your body, possessing and demanding, his cock twitching against your tightening walls.

"You belong to us," Cregan murmured reverently against as he looked down on you, "and we're going to make sure you know that."

You whimpered as the men pulled out slowly and as the Prince slapped his cum onto your back, hot and sticky. You arched forward, unable to help yourself as Cregan pushed back in once more. "Mine," he growled lingeringly before leaning down to snake his arms under yours and to pull you onto his lap.

Jacaerys groaned behind you, his hand tousling his shaggy mop of dark hair as he sat back and tried catching his breath. "You're so fucking magnificent," he breathed and grinned as he watched you grining and bobbing up and down on Cregan's cock.

As you rode your Lord, you felt like you were floating up in the heavens, especially as he held you so softly, kissed you so reverently, it was as if he wanted to reward you for letting him fuck you so roughly, you immediately felt yourself coming apart as his thick finger bullied your overstimulated clit by rubbing it steadily. "Come for your Lord, my precious, take my cock and milk it," he mumbled senselessly as your nails drew sharp lines over his broad chest.

As the wave of pleasure washed over you, your body shuddered and jerked as if it had a mind of its own, as did Cregan's. Your walls clamped down around his cock, milking him dry while his fingers dug deep into your ass cheeks, holding you open for Jacaerys to see how your cunt was spasming around the cock and leaking his hot spend.

The men's roughness and demanding actions left you breathless, yet strangely satisfied. You were also pleasantly surprised at the way how Lord Cregan had released you ever-so-gently and continued holding you in a tight hug so that you didn't need to keep yourself afloat in the hot water.

Feeling the sturdy chest of Lord Cregan pressing against your heaving chest, you looked up to see him smiling at you, his eyes filled with an affectionate glow. "You were magnificent, my Lady," he praised, his voice a deep, soothing purr that vibrated through your body. He pulled you closer against him, one hand lazily tracing down your spine to rest on the curve of your hip. His other hand intertwined with yours and you found yourself nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

Feeling emboldened by the warm affection radiating from him, you whispered back, "And what reward do I get for being so?" A breathy chuckle echoed through his chest as he gave your hip a firm squeeze.

"Name your reward and it shall be yours," he murmured into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could answer, Prince Jacaerys waded towards the two of you through the steamy water, his eyes filled with mirth and admiration. "Indeed," he chimed in with a sly grin. "Your performance was nothing short of spectacular. Name any desire of yours and we will ensure it is granted."

With their noble praise echoing in the steamy chamber, their gazes expectantly on you, you took a deep breath and let it out slowly. You had made up your mind about what you wanted even before they made their offer.

"I would like to become Lord Stark's wife and to... repeat whatever this was at another point," you announced breezily. You felt Cregan's intake of breath against your back and heard Jacaerys' surprised laughter ringing out in the chamber.

"Oh, a bold request," Jacaerys laughed again, his eyes twinkling with both amusement and admiration. "You aim for the stars, my lady."

A soft rumble echoed from Cregan’s chest as he tightened his grip around your waist. There was an uncanny silence stretching out between the three of you; the only sounds filling the room were the gentle lapping of water against the stone walls and your own pounding heartbeat.

"Wife," Cregan repeated softly, running his rough fingers down your arm. His dark eyes met yours with a silent question, a spark of something undefined glowing in their depths.

"You are sure?" he asked gently, though there was anticipation beneath his calm facade. He looked at you intently, his grip on you tightening as if he was afraid you would slip away from him.

You nodded, looking straight into his eyes - your gaze unwavering. "Yes," you murmured, your voice firm despite the wonderment that was flowing inside you. "But on one condition."

Cautious curiosity reflected in Cregan's eyes as he nodded for you to continue. "And what would be that?" he questioned with a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips.

"That Jacaerys doesn't fade into the shadows," you said pointedly looking back at the prince who seemed taken aback by your statement. "I want him to continue being a part of... whatever this is."

Jacaerys blinked at you several times before letting out a surprised chuckle. "Well, my Lady," he drawled lazily, running a hand through your wet hair and hugged you from behind, kissing your cheek chastely, "who am I to deny us all such passion. Though next time a bed would be more comfortable, don't you think?""

Tags: @fairysluna @aemondtarqaryens

[milswrites]

Forever Entwined

~ Eris Vanserra X Reader

The third and final part in the One Last Night Mini Series.

Series masterlist

Summary: Now free from the cruel grasp of his father, Eris is the new High Lord of the Autumn Court. After reluctantly avoiding you for a few days while his new power settles, Eris takes it upon himself to show you just how much he missed you when he returns.

Warnings: Smut!!! MDNI 18+ piv, oral (f receiving), fireplay? (Think Rowaelin beach scene)

It had been five torturous days since you last saw Eris. Since you last held his shaking form on the floor of the throne room. The transition began soon after his father’s death, Beron’s formidable powers now flowing through Eris’s veins. The male had known enough about the process, known about how a High Lord coming into their power can bring forth their primal instincts, how it can heighten your emotions until you’re uncontrollable and insatiable. The unpredictability of how he would act was enough for him to beg his mother to take you away as soon his family crashed into the room, shock across their faces as they took in the sight of a bloodied Eris and his deceased father.

Doing as her eldest son commanded she grabbed you by your arm, ripping you from the growling male as she tried to remove you from the room. You didn’t make it easy for her, trying to break her firm grip so you could run back to a now screaming Eris. The Autumn Prince had begun to writhe in pain, his body trying to fight the invasive powers forcing their way into his system, contaminating his very being until it flowed through him as naturally as blood.

It was agony, leaving Eris while he was in such a fragile state, but his mother continued to walk you away from the scene. Whispering words of support, of how Eris would come find you when the transformation was complete and her son had control over his senses.

That was five days ago. You were aware of the new duties he would be forced to endure as High Lord, especially if he wanted there to be a smooth transition of leadership. It would take time to weed out the thorns his father had nurtured in Autumn during his centuries of control.

His disheveled mother had shown up at the door of your bed chambers two nights ago, face drawn with fatigue as she no doubt had spent the past few days tending to her struggling son. Her news, despite how her appearance may have told you otherwise, was good. Eris’s powers had finally settled and the agony he had been forced to endure had come to an end.

Foolishly you believed that this would mean the male would come and seek you out. That he would desire to speak about what had unfolded the night he left just as much as you did. Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on your side. Two long days had passed since his mother arrived at your door and there was still no sign of Eris.

You tried to search for him, wandering past his office multiple times a day and occasionally hovering by the throne room. However, he was never present anywhere you went and a horrible sinking feeling in your gut told you that the new High Lord had been avoiding you.

A cruel voice in your ear, one only you could hear, whispered twisted tales of how the soon to be Autumn King thought himself too good for you now. How you had only acted as a place holder until someone better and newer came along, you merely serving to entertain the male until that day arrived. You scarcely wanted to believe it, cursing the hellish thoughts of your own creation.

You loved Eris and he loved you too, of that you were sure. And so, difficult as it may have been, you continued on with your life. Keeping yourself busy in the hope that it would pass the time along faster, wasting away the minutes until you would face Eris again. Not having to wait too much longer, as the moment finally arrived soon after you returned to your usual routine.

~~~~~

He made his presence known by a firm knock at your door. Surprise crossing your face as you answered the call, finding it strange how something so ordinary could seem so unusual for you. All that time you had spent sneaking around and not once did you knock upon the others door before entering, not when that sound could lead to someone discovering your relationship. Yet here he was now, knocking on your door as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Any anger you had felt for the male drifted away as you absorbed his appearance. High Lord was a good look for Eris, his new powers allowing his skin to softly glow like candlelight. It was hypnotising, his burning ethereality which enabled him to be likened to a dancing flame. Though his new angelic form did nothing to hide the untamed beast waiting in anticipation, reflected in the wide, black pupils of his eyes.

“You’re here” you spoke, voice wavering in anticipation, eyes meeting his burning amber ones, transfixed by the flames dancing within.

“I’m here” he replied, voice thick with the new authority he held.

“Why now?” Your voice broke as you said the words aloud. You knew there was a multitude of reasons he could use to explain his absence, and for him you would understand each and every one of them. But a small part of you just needed to hear it spoken out loud, to be able to fully rid yourself of the fear and doubt which had crawled its way into your life just as soon as Eris had left it.

He took a deep breath before entering your room, pulling the door to as he did so. His actions providing him with the time needed to formulate his words. “I had to,” he explained, warm hands reaching out to hold you by your hips, needing to feel your soft touch to bring himself some stability, “The…the transformation has been so overwhelming.”

“I know that Eris, it’s ok. You don’t need to explain, I wouldn’t want you to go through it again” you spoke, placing a comforting hand on his chest. You could scarcely imagine what he had been through in the past week. Loosing you, having to kill his own father, the once alien powers which now coursed through him like the oxygen he breathes, the unwavering responsibility he held to his court. It was enough to drive anyone mad.

“No…” Eris replied as if reading your thoughts, “i’ve been in agony but not because of the change. No, staying away from you has been the hardest part of all. The torment of not being able to take you in the way I so desperately desired.”

A sharp breath caught in your throat, your fingers grasping onto the material of his loose white shirt, needing to ground yourself before your knees started to tremble at the force of his words, at their implications.

“Then why didn’t you take me?” You asked, failing to hide the slight tremble in your voice at the sight of his frenzied eyes, your lips drifting towards his in your mesmerised state. He twitched slightly, as if fighting some inner demon, and drew his lips away from yours so he could continue to speak before his senses ran away along with his control.

“Because,” he started, gliding a smooth hand up to your cheek so he could cup it, brushing his manicured thumb over your skin which was now blushing from the intensity of his gaze, “as much as I wanted to take you on my bed, rutting into you for hours like a feral beast, or devouring your taste as I worshipped you on my throne, I couldn’t. Not while I was so senseless I couldn’t offer you the apology you deserve.”

Despite his good intentions, you would be a fool to deny that you wouldn’t have minded enacting his fantasies. The image of the High Lord on his knees, his head between your thighs as you sat on his iron throne, was enough to bring a rush of pulsating need directly to your core.

Eris no doubt smelt your ever-growing arousal, a low growl escaping from his mouth as he attempted to reign in control of his impulses so he could provide you with the apology he came to deliver.

“I don’t regret it” Eris continued with his speech, but the tightening of his grip on your waist, enough to leave bruises in its wake, told you enough. His hunger for you in this moment was just as strong as yours was for him, “Telling you not to wait for me was the right thing to do. It was the only way to ensure you didn’t live a life of misery.”

You went to speak, to tell him how it didn’t matter and your life would have been miserable either way, after all there was no happiness without Eris. However, the male interrupted you, needing to get the words out whilst he was able to, whilst he was still in control.

“I want it all” he pleaded, “The cottage, the garden, the children. I want it all with you. It has to be you, if you want it that is.” The raw emotion that carried in the words Eris voiced was enough to bring tears to your eyes. “Yes” you didn’t hesitate to answer, wrapping your arms around his large frame to close the gap between you, his arms completely engulfing your small frame, “I want it too Eris. I need it. I need you.”

~~~~~

Your words were enough to snap the tether holding him back, the male lunging towards your neck, desperately leaving kisses onto the warm skin. His lips burned against you, branding you, marking you as his as he sucked harshly on the exposed skin, leaving a trail of purple bruises in his wake. His white hot hands exploring every inch of your body that he could possibly reach, your own doing the same to his.

The thirst for your palms to run across the smooth expanse of his bare skin was too great to ignore, breaking Eris’s assault of your neck to hurriedly tear his shirt over his head. Once the article of clothing was removed it was your turn to gift small bites and kisses to his trembling chest, following the path up to the sweet spot you were all to familiar with at the base of his neck, a pleased groan breaking from his throat once you found it, suckling against his warm skin.

His wandering hands found the back of your dress, nimble fingers brushing over the laces of your corset. Too impatient to break the moment and spend the time unlacing them, Eris ignited a glowing flame and set the dress alight. The blazing flames licking at your naked skin as the material turned to ash.

The golden flickers absorbing you in their heat didn’t burn, instead a pleasurable tingling sensation followed in their wake. Your wide eyes locking on to Eris’s own, black with lust at the sight of his fire devouring you, allowing you to burn brightly like you were a spirit of the sun.

Not needing to fear the heat you were emitting, his hands travelled to your breasts, allowing the tips of his fingers to brush over your sensitive nipples. His hungry lips following suit, closing around your breast and sucking, a strangled moan forcing itself from your mouth at his actions. “My little flame” he crooned as he turned his attention to your other breast, his tongue moving in time with the dancing flames that still engulfed you.

Needing more, the desire to feel him deep inside of you ever growing, you voiced your pleas to Eris, the male totally focussed on littering your breasts with purple marks, running his tongue along them as they formed, “Eris please!”

He stopped his actions at your cry, moving his lips upwards until they were almost touching your own, “What is it you desire, my little flame?” He asked, tantalisingly slow hand roaming down your body and towards your centre. “Is it this?” He teased, allowing his nimble fingers to glide through your soaked folds, thumb brushing against your pulsating clit causing you to cry out with pleasure. Sensitive after having not felt his touch for so long.

“Yes! Please Eris I need to feel you!” You begged, attempting to reach his belt so you could remove his last few items of clothing, mouth salivating at the sight of the bulge present through the fabric. The urge to drop to your knees and take his aching cock into your mouth was overwhelming.

“Hmm…” Eris smirked, laying a gentle kiss to your cheek as he brought his hand to his mouth to taste your wetness, pulling his fingers from his lips with a satisfied groan, “I think I need to show you just how much I’ve missed you first.”

And with that his mouth finally slanted against yours, pulling you into a burning passionate kiss, his teasing tongue running along the bottom of your lip before forcing its way into your mouth in order to deepen the kiss. From your position, the bare skin of your breasts pressed against his enticingly warm chest, you could feel his hard cock against you, begging for attention. Seeking some form of relief, you attempted to grind yourself against him and chase your pleasure yourself, frantically moving your pulsing body against his.

Your desperation pleased the male who let out a dark chuckle, breaking the kiss to whisper against your panting lips, “patience my flame.” His hands drifted towards your ass, rubbing the soft flesh tenderly before lifting you up, your legs wrapping around his waist tightly as he carried you towards your bed, his cock teasingly brushing against your core as you moved.

“Eris I need you” you whined as he laid you onto the silky sheets, crawling onto the bed after you and positioning himself between your open legs. Laying sweet kisses against the supple skin of your thighs, occasionally sucking the skin into a harsh kiss which would no doubt leave a bruise painted on you. Once he reached your core, heated breath panting against it, Eris looked up to you through hooded lids, his eyes full of awe as his voice twisted in an animalistic growl, “I want you to come apart on my tongue before you do on my cock little flame.”

With that his tongue licked a long, broad stripe against your soaking folds, a gruff moan leaving the males mouth from the taste of you. His hips pressing into the mattress to relieve some of the pressure he was feeling, rough hands flying up to your own waist to hold you down as your back arched off the bed in pleasure. Mind transported into another reality as his tongue performed wanders as it moved against your core, lapping up every bit of you as he could. Devouring you like a man starved.

Loud moans of approval escaped your lips, eyes slamming shut in bliss as one of his hands moved down from your waist to join his mouth in its actions, Eris inserting a long finger inside of you until you felt the cold metal of his rings at its base. You gasped at the sensation, his tongue moving to flick against your clit. Wave after wave of unquenchable pleasure flushed through your system, your hips starting to move against his face in time with his lapping tongue to chase after the release you desired. Eris’s pleasured growls vibrating against your core as his face became drenched with your wetness.

Understanding your body’s reaction as you grew closer to completion, Eris inserted another delectable finger. Curling it deliciously inside of you, until he was met with a cry of delight as he found the sweet spongy spot inside of you. Wringing every ounce of pleasure from you as you squirmed at his touch.

Unintelligible words of praise slipping from your mouth as your orgasm washed over you, insides tightening and writhing at your satisfaction. A shaky hand flying to grasp Eris’s hair, the male still happily devouring you as you rode your orgasm to completion. Skilled tongue continuing to lap lazily at your clit once your high had sated.

Impatient and still needing more, needing to be brought to completion by his merciless cock, you tugged on his auburn hair, pulling him from his position between your shaking thighs until he was face to face with you once more. Your content eyes meeting his wild ones. You palmed him through his trousers, drawing a deep whimper from the male as you did so, the sound causing your hands to fly to his belt in order to relieve him of his clothes so he would be as equally bare as you.

He stopped you, grabbing your wrists before placing them on either side of your head, locking them in place, a cocky smirk on his face as he looked to your desperate one, “allow me my love.”

Eris burst into flames.

A burning white-hot wildfire, which just as he had done for you, burned the fabric until it fell from his glowing skin. Snakes of sentient flames travelling down his arms and joining with yours before they began to dance against your skin once more. An amazed laugh broke from your lips, Eris resembling a burning phoenix before you, the mass of flames which swirled around him resembled a pair of fiery wings.

Your appreciation of the god-like view of the male before you was cut short, laugh twisting into a strangled cry as Eris lined his painfully leaking cock up against your entrance, pressing the head of it into you as a flash of pleasure raced through you at its presence at your core. It didn’t matter how many times you had laid together, you still felt the delicious stretch of pain every time the man entered you, his large cock almost tearing you in two.

A hearty groan upon his lips, Eris entered you fully, slowly inserting himself until he was fully sheathed, allowing you some time to adjust to his size as he kissed your lips, distracting you from the twinge of pain. Once you were ready, craving the rough pounding of his cock, you bucked your hips against him signalling him to start moving.

You thrusted in sync, finding a matching rhythm instantly as if you were twin flames, prayers of adoration for the other person leaving each of your lips as you moved. Eris burned like a roaring fire, the extra heat he was letting off proving a delightful tingle that edged you closer and closer to release.

Needing more you groaned, “Harder, my Lord.” Eris’s powerful thrusts stuttered at your words, a feral moan slipping from his lips as you called him by his title. The male having to still himself and take in a deep breath to prevent himself from spilling into you before you climaxed himself. Once he felt he had regained enough control to continue he spoke. “Say it again” he begged through gritted teeth, wanting nothing more than to hear the words from your lips again.

“Fuck me harder my Lord”

His blazing wildfire burst into an uncontrollable inferno, the burning flames now covering the entirety of the bed, the silk sheets transforming into ash as your passionate embrace fuelled the crackling plumes. Eris pulled out fully before snapping his hips back into you roughly until he was once more consumed by you in entirety, delivering powerful thrust after powerful thrust. Cries of bliss flowing from each of your mouths.

Your hands, now free from his hold, moved to the expanse of muscle which rippled along his back, nails scratching deep red lines of passion into him. If Eris was to mark your body as his, you would do the same to him.

He worked fast, pounding away until you were completely consumed by your release. The force of your climax so strong that the image of Eris above you blurred in your vision, your sight being replaced with the starting blue flame of heated pleasure flashing across your eyes.

Eris continued to mercilessly thrust into your trembling body as he chased to meet his own high, failing to bite back the strangled curses which left his mouth as release washed over him. Thick ropes of cum filling you, leaking from your folds as his thrusts slowed and he removed his cock from your sensitive core.

The flames vanished into nothing as he collapsed against you whilst panting heavily, both your bodies covered in a film of sweat. He cupped your cheek as he admired your spent form, the way your hair was clinging to your forehead, the red flush covering your cheeks from the heat he had radiated, your parted lips soft and swollen from the loving kisses and bites shared between you.

Eris looked at you as if you were his entire world, as if you were the reason his flame burned as brightly as it did. Your presence being his fuel.

“I will never leave you again” Eris swore once his breath had returned, sealing the promise with a tender kiss upon your lips, “I meant it when I said I wanted everything with you.”

“It’s ok Eris” you smiled softly, fingers brushing against his cheek as he closed his eyes in contentment, “thanks to you we have forever.”

And that was the truth, there was no need for you to hide your relationship any longer. You and Eris were free to be together, to live the life you had planned together all those years ago whilst hidden behind closed doors. You would never have to hide again.

The fire which burned between the two of you was eternal, and you would cherish it for as long as it flickered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: well that happened 🫣 I was so scared to post this because I’ve never written smut before so if it’s bad please forget this ever happened!!

Taglist: @crazylokonugget @glitterypirateduck @eve175

[loveforneteyam]

❝your mighty warrior❞ ( I. )

golden eyes

summary: you never thought you'd see your lover's golden eyes again. and when you did, he didn't recognize a single part of you. pairing: neteyam x omaticaya!reader wordcount: 2.8k contains: angst, major spoilers for atwow, mentions of character death, blood, memory loss, sad guilty lo'ak, lo’ak x reader is platonic! notes: the first part, here we go! if i get things with the timeline messed up just ignore it haha. my heart breaks for lo'ak in this, but i hope you all enjoy!

paskalin : term of endearment oeyä tìyawn : my love tanhí : small, bioluminescent freckles

masterlist | series

The water is still in the night. Its chaos—violent waves that crash and collide—disappears once the darkness blankets over the sky. The surface of the water reflects the stars, small freckles of light in the face of the ocean. Although gentle tides push and pull, the vast sea is silent as it sleeps.

There is a beat to be heard; a pulse from under the water, under the ocean floor, from the very core of Pandora. A strong, mighty rhythm that shakes the ground. But this heartbeat does not come from the Great Mother.

In the quiet of the night, the reflection of the sky in the ocean is disrupted. Calloused fingers break through the barrier, reaching past the thin veil. He grasps the air like a rope. The crown of his head splits the sea in half. The moon pulls him to her; his body, strong and powerful, ascends.

──

It was his mother who pressed his eyes closed when they were void of life. The blank face of your lover glared into your soul. The grip he had on your hand--desperately clinging onto you like it would heal the hole in his heart--vanished, and you were left to imagine his fingers were still intertwined with yours.

You remember the wave of realization on his father's face, how his ears slightly dropped and his bottom lip quivered when he noticed that the bullet had gone straight through his eldest son's chest. Crimson collected in his shaking palms. You knew then that there was nothing to be done. Nothing except to sit next to Neteyam, your prince, as his soul moved onto the Great Mother.

His funeral was inevitable. After the war was over, it was time for the Suli's to say goodbye. You stayed with his brother, Lo'ak's hands placed in yours, as Neteyam slowly sank deeper towards the ocean floor. His frame became smaller and smaller, until he was completely engulfed by luminescent tendrils. Your lover was no more.

The family struggled to carry on without him. You remained close with his siblings, thankfully. Kiri mourned by your side. For a time, it had been just her and Neteyam. He was born less than a month before her and she considered him to be her twin. Tuk was young, but old enough to understand, “He is with Eywa”.

Lo'ak, however, was almost never to be seen. If you managed to catch a glimpse of him, he was silent and reclusive. He even ignored Tsireya, who asked you multiple times if he was alright; you never had an answer.

Despite your great loss, the village of Awa'atlu continued on. Every morning, the fishermen and farmers rose early, the healers prepared their supplies, and the hunters readied their ilus to dive through the sea.

Life continued on as if Neteyam's soul had never been ripped out of your blood-soaked hands, as if his eyes had never looked their last to you. It broke your heart.

──

Although Jake Suli had finally recognized his youngest son for his true potential, it was too late. Lo'ak put the blame for Neteyam's death on himself. He accepted that he would forever carry that weight with him, no matter where he ran to or hid.

You knew that when he was nowhere to be found, he was somewhere far off in the sea on Payakan's fin. He stayed out late and missed ceremonies and Suli family meetings; it was Neteyam who always pushed Lo'ak to participate. But even when he laid underneath the stars on the back of Payakan, the ocean water gently lapping at his skin, the guilt still sat in his chest like the bullet in Neteyam's heart.

Without his older brother, Lo'ak ceased to exist. He refused to meet his eyes or even speak to his mother. He made himself an outcast before his family could. You recognized that the void in Lo'ak's life was the same one tearing you apart, so you felt that it was your responsibility to look after him.

"We must be strong," Neteyam had told you the night you left your home in the forest. You said goodbye to your family to be with him. He'd placed his palm over your heart. "In here."

It was eerie how you could still feel his touch as if he were right in front of you. Neteyam would've wanted you to stay strong for Lo'ak, and you would do anything to honor your mighty warrior.

Unfortunately, looking after Lo'ak wasn't easy when you could never find him. Two days had passed and you hadn't seen him once. You knew not to worry--Kiri noticed your concern and said she'd seen him with his tulkun just outside of the reef. "He didn't seem like he wanted to come back."

By that night, you'd given up. After a great feast held for the birth of Tonowari and Ronal's child, you separated yourself from the others and sat alone on a far-off shore. The ocean life illuminated the darkness around you, small specks of teal and gold light scattered in the water. Your feet had sunk into the wet sand as the calm waves kissed your ankles.

While the ocean held many wonders that continued to fascinate you, it left a bitter image burned into your memory.

There was fire off in the distance, gunshots and explosions, but they were all the least of your concern. You shook as you held his body in your arms. The water had turned violent, as if the Great Mother knew of the war taking place. Sharp, chaotic waves crashed against a rocky landing. Crimson pooled in the grooves of the rock, running down the sides to where it diluted in the vast sea.

You never allowed yourself to remember anything past that. The ocean had not redeemed itself just yet. You pulled your knees to your chest so your feet were out of the water. The silence of the night would never be peaceful; if it was quiet enough, you could still hear his voice in your ear.

Fortunately, the silence broke. Soft footsteps in the sand were trailing towards you, and wide, golden eyes met your small frame. Lo'ak had not expected you so far away from the village, alone, at night. "(y/n)," he froze. "What're you doing here?"

"Lo'ak," you let out a breath of relief that you'd been holding for the past few days. You stood and brushed the sand off of your legs. "I've- We've been looking for you. Your mother and father have been so worried."

He frowned at the mention of his family--of his father. He refused to even imagine what they could possibly think of him. "I was just out," Lo'ak tried to dismiss the topic and swiftly walked past you, his shoulder barely brushing yours. "I'm fine."

The remnants of your heart cracked once again. Even when a hand reached out for him, grasping onto his fingertips, he'd pull away. The fear of rejection--the thought of placing his trust in someone with only betrayal in return--was too great. Lo'ak would abandon others before they could abandon him.

"Lo'ak, please." your hand gently grabbed his shoulder to turn him back to you. He stood a few inches over you and refused to look down to meet your eyes.

There was a soft spark in his chest, and you could see the flame beginning to grow. "What do you want, (y/n)?" He retorted with a sigh.

"You know what it is, Lo'ak." You brushed your hand down his arm to meet his palm. You placed his own hand on top of his heart. He sighed, breath laced with heavy regret and guilt. Lo'ak knew that whatever he'd been hiding for the past few months would be coming up right there in front of you.

He practically collapsed onto the sand, feet set in the water and arms wrapped around his legs, but he quickly pulled himself away from the shore, just like you had earlier, once the memories began to feel too real. You sat right by his side and looked off to the dark horizon. The two of you stared with broken hearts. "Have you gone to see him?"

There was silence, apart from the gentle lapping of the waves and the village in the distance. "No," he regretfully looked down at his lap. "Have you?"

You shook your head, "No." Your response wasn't much better.

For as much as the two of you missed him, neither of you had gone to the Spirit Tree like the rest of the Suli family. The only images of Neteyam that you had left were the memories still burned into your vision. “I’m afraid to forget him,” Lo’ak admitted. He bit the inside of his cheek. “But I’m too scared to see him again.”

You looked to him with sympathetic eyes. For the first time since his brother’s death, Lo’ak broke. Three tears left a trail down his face to where they dropped off his skin and onto the sand. “I don’t know much about spirits,” you began. You set a firm, reassuring hand on Lo’ak’s shoulder. “But Neteyam loved us with all his heart. Even as he rests with the Great Mother, he loves us.”

He tried to nod along to your words as if he would better believe them. Lo’ak gently gasped before a quiet, broken sob left his throat, “I know it’s my fault.” His shoulders heaved. “If I hadn’t made him go back for Spider or- or if I stayed behind instead of him..”

“Oh, Lo’ak,” you cooed, turning towards him and engulfing him in a hug. He leaned his forehead down onto your shoulder. This was the first comfort he’d felt in months. “We can’t tell ourselves those things.”

His tears collected on your skin. “My brother,” he whimpered, “is gone.”

Your fingers gently caressed the back of his head, tracing over his braids. You shushed him, “There’s nothing we can do.” How could you affirm this to Lo’ak when you couldn’t even accept it yourself? You pulled away so you could look him in the eyes.

“I miss him too much.” Lo’ak wept.

Holding his face between your gentle hands, you nodded. Together, your tears soaked the sand beneath you; the two of you could’ve created an entire ocean. “I miss him, too, paskalin.” Your thumb soothed cheek and wiped away the tears from his eyes. “But we must stay strong for him.

“All we can do is remember. One day, we’ll be strong enough to see him, I know it. But for now, we must be strong,” You put your hand over his heart. The beat of his soul turned steady; you remembered how Neteyam’s slowed to a stop, and for the first time since his death, you pushed the memory away without a single tear. “In here.”

Lo’ak closed his eyes and calmed his breath, allowing the feeling of your palm on his skin to soothe him. He’d opened himself and poured out his heart. Now, he could heal.

The night continued on, and you stayed with Lo’ak throughout the dark reign. He could take however long he needed. You would comfort him through whatever war he created in his mind. The tide came in, brushing water against your knees, but the two of you remained.

Finally, he opened his eyes. “We should return to the village.” Before, Lo’ak spoke bluntly with a dismissive mask to cover how broken he truly was. Now, his voice was firm and strong.

“Are you sure?” You warned. He stood and you cautiously rode with him.

His hands, which had been balled in tense fists, released themselves. Lo’ak nodded, “I’ve been too focused on my brother that I’ve forgotten the rest of my family. Do you think they’ll forgive me?”

With a sweet, proud smile, you offered, "They already have."

──

The path back to the village was peaceful given that you and Lo'ak had come to terms with your grief. He had warned you that his parents would most likely be angry when you returned since it'd been hours since they'd last seen you and days since they'd seen him. You'd consoled him, "We'll get through it together."

It was strange that in Neteyam's absence, you and Lo'ak were able to replace the void with each other. Although he was only a year younger, you'd always felt a sisterly love for him, the same way that you felt for Kiri or Tuk. Now that your connection with Lo'ak had healed, maybe you could too.

Life ahead was beginning to look a little brighter in that moment as you walked on the shore.

But your peace was short-lived.

The village was close enough that you could see the pods, docks, and several Metkayina men with glowing lanterns that noticed you and Lo'ak approaching. They called out and, together, the two of you rushed to them.

"What is wrong?" Lo'ak prodded, trying to look past their broad shoulders at the commotion that was collecting in the village.

You tried as well but they were too tall compared to you. "You must come with us," one of the men said. The flames in the lanterns gently flickered but you could well enough see Kiri running in the distance. Her eyes were wide with fear like she'd seen a ghost.

"Kiri!" You exclaimed.

She pushed past the men and, out of breath, embraced Lo'ak. "Brother!" There were tears falling from her eyes, only you had expected her to happily cry at the sight of Lo'ak. Instead, she wept. "You must come. Come, (y/n)."

Kiri led you both back to the village, the men following after you to provide light. Almost every person in Awa'atlu--man, woman, young, and old--crowded near the shore. They yelled and gasped, cursing and praying. The three of you struggled to push past everyone, accidentally stepping on tails and toes and bumping elbows and shoulders.

Everyone seemed to look at you and Lo'ak with sympathy. Lo'ak sensed it as well, and looked just as confused as you were.

The crowd was like a hurricane, and in the center, the eye was calm. Jake and Neytiri kneeled on the ground, Tuk crying into her father's arm. Tonowari, Ao'nung, and a collection of soldiers held the people back. Ronal sat across from Neytiri, muttering a prayer with her eyes shut. Kiri ran to her mother's side. Tsireya rushed to Lo'ak as he collapsed.

Your heart stopped.

On the ground, where the ocean met the sand, a figure laid. He had strong legs and arms, a strapping abdomen, and calloused palms and fingers. There was a scar on the outside of his right thigh. Tanhì scattered across his body like the constellations reflected on the ocean.

Your prince. His ghost would forever haunt you. What had you done wrong? What had you done for the Great Mother to curse you like this? Just as you could feel your wounds beginning to heal, your heart crumbled again.

You fell to your knees, placing your hand over your mouth to cover the ear-splitting wail you released. You could fully see your Neteyam now. Just as you had remembered it, but his eyes were gently shut. Neytiri cried alongside you, and your heart almost broke even further until you heard her whisper, "Thank you, Great Mother. Thank you."

What was she grateful for? Jake noticed your confusion, and with a hopeful smile, he took your hand and placed it on Neteyam's heart. Underneath the weight of your palm, you felt a gentle pulse. A steady, soft rhythm that rocked your core. Your tears stopped, a cry stuck in your throat.

You looked down to his body and gasped. "Oeyä tìyawn," you whispered out to him, hoping he would hear it. Through just two words, your voice called out to him.

Golden eyes, that you thought you would never see again, opened.

His father gasped; his mother laughed; his sisters cheered, and his brother bowed with his forehead touching the ground. Neteyam's mighty heartbeat reached across Pandora.

"Ma 'Teyam," you smiled. You could taste your own tears as they reached the corners of your mouth. For the first time in months, you weren't crying from a split in your heart--you cried at the feeling of it healing. You were foolish to think the Great Mother would curse you. "Thank you, Great Mother."

Only two minutes had passed until you noticed the laughter and cheers of others had disappeared. The night had become silent again. Your smile fell when you recognized that Neteyam had not yet embraced you. In fact, he stayed frozen on the ground.

His eyes were still open, but they were wide and full of fear. Tuk reached for his hand, and he quickly pulled away with a scared gasp. He flinched when his own mother caressed his cheek. "Neteyam," she pleaded. Finally, his eyes met yours. You looked to him with desperate affection, practically shooting beams of love towards him. Your stomach dropped when you noticed it.

Your prince did not know who you were.

taglist: @m4nd0l0r @slythermania @angrypomeranianwifey @afro-hispwriter @neteyamsgirll @sopiasleeps @sassy-persona @islamovice17 @danyxthirstae01 @argentnoble @ilovehotd @freyabear @vxncxntt @loquatious-josephi-krakousky @virginslutsstuff @brooklynscherry-z @elvyshiarieko @sharni07 @sillyfreakfanparty @23victoria @froglogblog @neteyamoa @lilprettypetite @littlecurlyhairedbabe @theflowerofpandora @howcl @hlhl99 @dreamergirljen @tejas-kris @osumarusjade

[doumadono]

Warnings: violence, viking!Dabi, viking!Shoto, earl!Endeavor, viking!Hawks, fem!reader, viking themes, seer!Mirko, blood

Summary: the Earl sought counsel from the seer, seeking guidance after Shoto's proposition to send him and Touya on a mission to the north. Concerned about the rumors surrounding the mission, you resolved to extract information directly from Shoto

Word count: circa 6.5k

A/N: if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series, please let me know ♥

MASTERLIST KVITRAVN - MHA VIKING AU

PREVIOUS CHAPTER • NEXT CHAPTER

ACT III - SEEKING ANSWERS

The cold winds of late autumn swept through the rugged hills as earl Endeavor rode toward the dwelling of the renowned seer, Mirko. His thoughts were consumed by the intriguing proposition his youngest son, Shoto, had presented regarding a land rich in goods. The idea of sending his eldest son, Touya, to oversee this promising territory crossed the earl's mind, a strategic move that could secure his settlement's prosperity.

Upon reaching Mirko's abode, the atmosphere seemed to change. The air grew thick with an otherworldly aura, and the eerie silence made the settlement's seer even more intimidating. Mirko was a young woman with a fearsome reputation, her presence alone sending shivers down the spines of those who sought her guidance. Mirko was not beautiful in the conventional sense; her appearance held an unsettling allure. Long, wild locks framed her face, and her eyes, intense and piercing, seemed to hold secrets of both past and future. Tribal markings adorned her skin, marking her as a conduit to the spiritual realm.

Earl Endeavor, a man hardened by battles and strategic decisions, felt a twinge of uncertainty as he approached the seer.

Mirko's dwelling, draped in dark fabrics and adorned with symbols, exuded an aura of mysticism. She welcomed him with a knowing smile, her eyes gleaming with ancient wisdom. "My lord," she spoke, her voice a haunting melody, "what brings you to seek the guidance of the unseen?"

Endeavor hesitated momentarily before speaking. "I come seeking counsel, Mirko. My youngest son has spoken of a land rich in goods. I contemplate sending my eldest, Dabi, to oversee it. What do you foresee in the tapestry of fate?"

Mirko, seated in the midst of her mystical domain, gestured for Endeavor to sit.

Endeavor unfolded his plan, explaining the potential prosperity and influence this land could bring. "I intend to send Dabi to ensure our dominance over this territory. What do your visions reveal?"

The air thickened with an unspoken power, and her haunting hums echoed through the room. The earl observed, a sense of unease settling over him as he witnessed the seer's transformation.

Her eyes closed, Mirko began to sway rhythmically, her body guided by an unseen force. The haunting melody of her hums intensified, creating an otherworldly atmosphere within the sacred space.

Endeavor found himself being on the precipice of something beyond his understanding.

Her voice carried a spectral melody, and the room seemed to pulse with an unseen heartbeat. Mirko's eyes, still closed, painted visions of impending doom with her words.

"In darkness veiled, the land awaits, Echoes of sorrow, at destiny's gates. A wolf, fierce, prowls in the night, A dance with death, a sinister delight."

The seer's hands moved gracefully through the air, as if conducting an unseen symphony of fate. Her words painted vivid images of a land consumed by shadows and the imminent clash between two primal forces.

"An eagle, majestic and bold, Descends from heights, its destiny foretold. A battle fierce, 'neath the moonlit gleam, In shadows cast, where spirits teem."

The eagle and wolf, symbols of opposing forces, danced in the tapestry of Mirko's vision. The room echoed with the weight of her words, each rhyme a forewarning etched in the annals of fate.

"Blood on feathers, and darkness entwined, A struggle unfolds, destinies aligned. In the land cursed, where choices are made, The echo of battle, in shadows will fade."

"What does it mean?!" The earl growled loudly. "Tell me, now!"

As Mirko's body moved, a voice emerged from her lips, yet it seemed detached, as if another entity spoke through her. The words, laden with an eerie resonance, foretold a grim fate awaiting those who ventured into the land Shoto had spoken of. "The path you tread is bathed in blood, earl Endeavor. Death dances upon the horizon, and shadows darker than the night itself await those who dare to grasp the threads of destiny."

Endeavor felt a chill coursing through him. Mirko's words seemed like a macabre prophecy, a dire warning wrapped in a melody that resonated with the spirits of the unseen.

"Blood will stain the soil, and death will be the echo that reverberates through the ages. The spirits speak of a land cursed by the choices of the living," Mirko continued, her voice carrying the weight of the ethereal.

Endeavor, despite his stoic exterior, couldn't shake the disquiet settling in his chest. Mirko, in her trance, spoke as if guided by forces beyond mortal comprehension. The grim portrait she painted clashed with the earl's visions of conquest and prosperity.

As Mirko's humming reached a haunting crescendo, she opened her eyes, the once vacant gaze now piercing through the fabric of fate. The trance lifted, leaving the seer standing before Endeavor, a conduit between the living and the unseen.

"The spirits have spoken, my lord. The path ahead is shrouded in darkness, and the choices you make will echo through the very essence of time," Mirko uttered, her words lingering in the air like an unspoken decree from the spirits themselves.

Endeavor leaned forward, his expression stern. "Speak plainly, Mirko."

Mirko's voice carried a weight beyond the present. "The flames may consume not only the intended but all who stand too close. Choices shape destinies," the woman replied mysteriously.

Endeavor emerged from Mirko's dimly lit hut, the weight of her prophecy hanging in the air like a shroud of uncertainty. The pale light of the moon bathed the settlement nearby in an eerie glow as the earl took a moment to collect his thoughts.

Silence enveloped him, broken only by the distant sounds of the night. Endeavor closed his eyes, reflecting on the words Mirko had spoken. Despite the foreboding visions, a resolute determination burned within him. He knew the risks, but the allure of wealth and power beckoned him forward.

Turning to Mirko, he offered a nod of gratitude. "Thank you for your insights, Mirko. May the spirits guide us through the shadows." As a token of appreciation, Endeavor gently took Mirko's palm in his hands and pressed a grateful kiss upon it.

The seer's eyes, still veiled in the mystery of her visions, met his with a knowing gaze.

Mounting his horse, Endeavor set forth, determined to confront the future that awaited him. The night held its breath as Endeavor rode back to the settlement, a lone figure against the canvas of the darkened landscape. The journey ahead was fraught with uncertainty, but the ember of ambition burned brightly within him, lighting the path toward the destiny he sought.

Dabi sat in the dimly lit corner of the tavern, his presence almost like a shadow against the flickering candlelight. The rhythmic sound of a whetstone against his sword filled the air, a comforting repetition that matched the beat of his troubled thoughts.

The raucous atmosphere of the tavern buzzed around him, but the glances thrown his way were not ones of admiration or desire. The courtesans, usually attentive to potential patrons, seemed to cast him disgusted looks. Even though he was the heir to the earldom, the one who would sit on the throne after his father's eventual passing, they all were disgusted by him. His status brought him no favors in this realm of longing and fleeting connections.

Dabi's eyes occasionally flickered across the room, catching those disdainful glares. He couldn't deny the sharp pang in his chest — a mix of frustration and a longing for a connection he had been denied for so long. He had grown accustomed to rejection, so much so that he had stopped actively seeking companionship. Still, the yearning for the warmth and softness of a woman's touch lingered, a desire he had learned to bury deep within.

As he took a swig of ale, the bitter taste seemed to mirror the bitterness that had settled in his heart. Dabi continued to polish his sword, the repetitive motion a way to distract himself from the disapproving looks that haunted him. In the midst of the crowded tavern, he remained a solitary figure, surrounded by people but untouched by the warmth of human connection.

The loud thud echoed through the quiet walls of the Great Hall, jolting you awake from your shallow slumber. Concern etched across your face as you rushed out of the room you shared with Hilda, following the source of the commotion. The dimly lit corridor led you to Dabi's chamber, where you found him struggling to regain his balance, a victim of the ale's intoxicating effects.

"Easy there," you said, your voice soft but laced with genuine concern. "Need a hand?"

Dabi looked up at you, his turquoise eyes momentarily clouded with confusion before recognition set in. He grunted in agreement, accepting your offered help. Together, you steadied him, and he leaned against the wall for support. The flickering light from the fireplace cast a warm glow on both of you, creating an unexpected intimacy in that late-night encounter.

"Thanks," he mumbled, his usual aloofness momentarily giving way to a hint of vulnerability. The moment was fleeting, but it lingered in the air as you helped him back into his chamber.

You assisted Touya onto his bed. The warmth of the hearth seemed to soften the edges of the usually stern and enigmatic man. However, as you turned to leave, his hand shot out, gently grasping your wrist. When you met his eyes, you were met with a vulnerability that seemed to pierce through his usual façade.

"Stay," he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of desperation.

You hesitated. The rules that governed your roles in this Viking settlement were clear, and getting too close to someone of higher standing could invite trouble. Yet, the sadness in his eyes and the unspoken plea tugged at your empathy.

"I… I shouldn't," you started, but he tightened his grip ever so slightly.

"Please," he whispered, his tone a mixture of loneliness and longing.

In that moment, you found it difficult to resist. Against your better judgment, you stayed, settling on a bed beside him. The room was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire.

Touya's eyes never left yours.

The room was shrouded in shadows, and the warmth of the fire seemed to cocoon you and Touya in a fragile bubble of shared vulnerability.

With a hesitant yet genuine smile, Touya broke the silence. "Tell me about your homeland," he requested, his eyes showing a glimmer of curiosity.

His request hung in the air like a delicate thread, and you couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh before responding. "You want to hear about the place you tore me away from? Like a flower ripped out of the life-giving soil?" Your words held a weight, a mix of resentment and sorrow.

Touya met your gaze, his expression carrying the burden of understanding the pain he had caused. "Yes," he admitted, his voice low and sincere.

In the flickering glow of the fire, you began to weave a tale of your homeland. Your words painted a vivid picture of quaint cottages with thatched roofs, their walls weathered by the salty breeze that swept in from the sea. The narrow cobblestone streets echoed with the laughter of children playing and the rhythmic sounds of craftsmen honing their skills. "Near the shore, where the cliffs stood tall and proud, we built a small chapel—a haven of solace and prayer. Its stone walls echoed with hymns, and the air was filled with the scent of incense," you recounted, your voice carrying the nostalgia of a place left behind.

As you spoke, Touya's piercing eyes remained fixed on you, absorbing every detail of this distant world he never truly understood. The contrast between the harsh Viking settlements and the idyllic Christian village seemed stark.

"The coastline, painted in hues of blue and gray, witnessed the ebb and flow of tides. Fishing boats set sail at dawn, their sails billowing in the morning breeze, while the cliffs provided a vantage point for the villagers to gaze upon the vast horizon," you continued.

Touya's features softened as he envisioned the serene landscape you described, a world far removed from the tumultuous life he had known. Touya's eyes closed, a faint smile gracing his lips as he absorbed the essence of your words. "You must have been missing the place ever since," he pointed out, the words carrying a gentle understanding of the yearning that comes with reminiscing about a home left behind.

You nodded quietly, the flames of a fireplace reflecting in your eyes. "Indeed. The memories are like whispers of a distant melody, a reminder of a life that once was. I can almost feel the salt-laden wind against my face, hear the distant hymns in the chapel. Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, I close my eyes and pretend I'm back there, surrounded by the familiar comforts of home."

Touya's smile faded, replaced by a somber expression, as the echoes of your quiet sobbing reached his ears. He opened his eyes, and there he found you, tears streaming down your cheeks, your gaze fixated on the dancing flames in the fireplace.

His heart constricted with an unexpected ache. A flicker of empathy illuminated his usually guarded gaze.

"But it is all gone. All gone. You and your people took everything from me. And now I'm here, locked in a cage of a shadow of something once called life. Apparently, this was God's plan for me," your voice carried a weight of bitterness and sorrow.

His gaze softened as he watched you, the firelight casting shadows on your tear-streaked face. "Gods have their own way of weaving destinies, entangling lives in threads that stretch across time and space. Perhaps, just perhaps, there's a reason our paths crossed in this tumultuous journey."

You gave Touya a searching look, the flickering firelight dancing in your eyes, and asked, "What do you mean? Why would the God bring me here, to this… place of captivity?"

Touya looked at you with a glint of intensity in his eyes. "Our gods are different, you know. Freya, Odin, they're not like your Christian God. They're not confined to a single doctrine. They're free, just like the wind that sweeps through these icy lands. And I believe, with all my heart, that the Allfather sent me to your village for a reason, and that reason was you."

You couldn't help but snort at his words. "You're drunk, Touya. Those gods of yours aren't guiding anything. I'm here because of the whims of men, not gods."

Touya locked eyes with you, his gaze intense and filled with unspoken emotions. Slowly, he wrapped his arm around you, drawing you closer until there was barely any space between you. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, "You're beautiful."

His breath sent shivers down your spine, and before you could fully comprehend his words, his lips boldly found yours. Shock coursed through you at the unexpected kiss, your first taste of such intimacy. The heavy scent of alcohol lingered on his tongue, but amidst the surprise, you felt a strange warmth. You hesitated at first, unsure of how to respond, but the gravity of the moment pulled you in.

As the kiss continued, you found yourself brushing your lips against his, a hesitant exploration of uncharted territory. The flickering firelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, bearing witness to a connection that transcended the roles you were assigned in this harsh world.

The following day, Endeavor summoned Dabi to his side, his face stern and determined. The air in the room felt heavy with an unspoken gravity as Dabi approached his father. "Touya," Endeavor began, his voice cutting through the silence, "I have a mission for you."

Dabi's eyebrows furrowed in curiosity and apprehension. "What kind of mission?" he inquired, his gaze fixed on Endeavor.

Endeavor's eyes bore into his son's, revealing a mix of authority and expectation. "You, Shoto, and a selected group of warriors, including Hawks, will be sent to the northern part of Sweden. There's a land there with potential, rich in resources. It's time to expand our influence, and you're crucial to this endeavor."

Dabi nodded, acknowledging the weight of the task ahead. The mention of Shoto and Hawks in the same mission stirred a sense of unease, but he kept his emotions in check. "Understood," he replied, his tone resolute.

Endeavor continued to lay out the details of the mission, his plans unfolding as a complex web of politics, power, and strategy.

Little did Dabi know that this journey would lead to unforeseen challenges, testing not only his strength as a warrior but also the bonds that held his family together.

Hilda approached you with a furrowed brow, a concerned expression etched across her features. The flickering light of the torches in the chamber cast shadows that danced upon the walls as she spoke. "Y/N, I need to talk to you," she said in a hushed tone.

You looked up, sensing the seriousness in her voice. "What is it, Hilda?" you asked, your eyes reflecting a blend of curiosity and apprehension.

She took a moment before responding, choosing her words carefully. "I think I just need a listening ear. Touya is going on another mission. But what worries me more is that Shoto, his younger brother, is being sent alongside him."

You furrowed your brows, recognizing the tension between the two brothers. "Isn't that a cause for concern? They don't exactly get along, do they?"

Hilda nodded solemnly. "No, they don't. The earl's decision to send them together is raising suspicions. It's a risky move, and I fear it might not bode well for the stability of the mission."

Concern etched across your face as you contemplated the potential consequences of such a decision. The dynamics between the two brothers were already strained, and sending them on a mission together seemed like a recipe for conflict. Hilda's worry mirrored your own, and the uncertainty of the future weighed heavily on both your minds.

You finished brushing your hair, the strands flowing smoothly through the comb. The flickering candlelight in your chamber created a soft ambiance, but your thoughts were far from the present moment. Hilda's words echoed in your mind, and the worry for Touya settled like a heavy stone in your chest.

With a heavy sigh, you turned to Hilda, who was quietly arranging some furs in a corner of the room. "Hilda," you began hesitantly, "is there really nothing we can do for Touya? I can't shake off this feeling of unease."

Hilda paused, her gaze meeting yours. The lines on her face spoke of years of experience and wisdom. "Y/N, sometimes the currents of fate are beyond our control. All we can do is navigate the waters as best we can. Right now, the best course is to stay vigilant and hope for the best."

You nodded, understanding the weight of her words. The unpredictable nature of the situation left you feeling powerless, and it frustrated you. "But what if something happens to him? What if Shoto…"

Hilda placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "We can't predict the future, dear. All we can do is be prepared for whatever comes our way. Keep an eye on the situation, and if there's an opportunity to help, we'll take it. For now, focus on your tasks and be vigilant."

You sighed, acknowledging the wisdom in her advice.

Hilda observed you with a shrewd gaze, her eyes filled with curiosity and a hint of concern. As you finished your nightly routine and settled onto the furs, she couldn't help but voice the question that lingered in her mind. "Y/N," the woman began, her voice gentle yet probing, "forgive me if I overstep, but your interactions with Touya have been minimal. Why this sudden concern for him?"

You hesitated for a moment, considering your words carefully. The truth was, your initial reservations about Dabi were not baseless, but something about Touya's vulnerability had stirred a different emotion within you. You looked at Hilda, deciding to share a part of your thoughts. "I may not like him, but I can't shake off the feeling that there's more to Touya than what meets the eye. The way he spoke about his past, about losing everything, it resonated with me. It's not pity, Hilda, but a sense of understanding, maybe empathy. And now, knowing he's going on this dangerous mission alongside Shoto, it's hard to ignore the worry."

Hilda's smirk widened as she spoke, her eyes glinting with a mischievous light. "Oh, my dear, I can see your cheeks flushing when you speak about him so fondly. You're having a crush, am I right?"

Hilda's smirk didn't go unnoticed, and you felt a blush creeping up your cheeks. Her teasing words struck a nerve, and a flicker of irritation danced in your eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about, Hilda. It's just concern for a fellow human being," you retorted, your tone defensive.

Hilda chuckled softly, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Concern, my dear, often wears a different face. There's no shame in admitting you care for him. After all, this world is full of unexpected twists, isn't it?"

You pursed your lips, attempting to maintain composure. Deep down, you knew there was a kernel of truth in Hilda's words. The concern for Touya had indeed taken a different form, and your heart acknowledged a connection that transcended mere worry. Yet, admitting it to yourself felt like navigating uncharted waters.

Ignoring Hilda's knowing gaze, you turned away, feigning disinterest. But within, a storm of conflicting emotions raged, and you couldn't deny the impact Touya had made on your guarded heart.

As the night wore on, sleep eluded you. Tossing and turning in your simple bed, a peculiar yet potentially useful idea began to form in your mind. The notion of extracting information from Shoto about his plans took root, and you found yourself contemplating the details of how to execute this risky but potentially advantageous scheme.

The flickering light of the dim chamber barely illuminated your face as you hatched a plan to subtly and strategically approach Shoto. The urgency of the situation and the looming mission compelled you to consider taking matters into your own hands, even if it meant navigating the treacherous waters of deceit. With a determined resolve, you prepared yourself mentally for the intricate dance of conversation that lay ahead.

In your best dress, adorned with the finest that could be salvaged among the thralls, you made your way to the tavern after learning from Natsuo that Shoto was seen going out with a warrior named Hawks. As you stepped out, the cool breeze of the late afternoon caressed your face, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within you.

Arriving at the tavern, you could hear the muffled sounds of laughter and clinking mugs seeping through the wooden door. Taking a deep breath, you pushed it open, revealing the warm, dimly lit interior. The air was thick with the scent of ale and the low hum of conversations. You scanned the room, finally spotting Shoto and Hawks in a corner, engaged in a conversation.

Shoto's two-colored hair caught the wavering light as he raised his tankard in a toast. "To power and the thrill of the hunt," he declared with a smirk, taking a long swig.

Hawks leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his golden eyes.

The duo seemed engrossed in conversation, their laughter mingling with the low hum of the tavern. Female thralls, drawn by their presence, attempted to engage in conversation, but the exchanges were marked by a darkness that hinted at their underlying intentions. Shoto and Hawks were having fun in the company of two thralls with exotic features that hinted at a southern origin. The air was charged with an unmistakable tension as the men engaged in flirtatious banter.

One of the thralls, feigning coyness, asked, "What brings you to our humble company tonight?"

Shoto, with a sly grin, leaned in to the thrall seated by his side, and said, "Oh, just the usual – seeking a bit of warmth in this frigid place. Perhaps you ladies could provide some, hmmm?" He mused, running his hand up and down the girl's shoulder.

The other thrall, playing along, responded, "Warmth, you say? Well, you might need to work hard to earn that from us."

Shoto frowned a little, yet his voice stayed low and smooth, "You seem to be unaware of my position, woman. I am the heir to earl Endeavor, and I demand that you address me with the respect befitting my status," he forcefully grabbed the other woman by her shoulder, causing her to tumble off her chair and land on the floor next to him. "So, I suggest you watch your manners, for I am the best you can find in this establishment. Consider your words carefully before opening that foolish mouth of yours next time."

Hawks nodded in agreement, "Indeed, the gentleman here is right. Shoto, don't scare the lady."

The conversations continued in this bold and wry manner, each word dripping with innuendo as the men skillfully navigated the delicate dance of desire. The atmosphere in the tavern buzzed with anticipation as the thralls played their part in the seductive exchange, the one that previously ended on the floor now sat quietly, letting Hawks wrap his strong arms around her shoulders as his hand was playing with her breasts from time to time.

Summoning your courage, you approached them, the rhythmic thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. As you drew nearer, you caught Shoto's eye, and a subtle smirk crept onto his face. Hawks, on the other hand, eyed you with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. The atmosphere shifted as you prepared to enter a world of alliances and secrets, uncertain of what the outcome might be.

"Well, well, what brings you to this den of sin all alone? Where's your precious Touya? Couldn't keep up with his demands?" the youngest Endeavorson taunted, his tone laced with amusement.

You brushed off his wry remark. "I think it's time for us to bury the hatchet. Our relationship didn't start on the best note, and I believe we can find a way to coexist peacefully."

He looked at you, seemingly surprised by your suggestion. Shoto considered your words, and after a moment, he offered you a seat with them.

Throughout the interaction, Hawks observed the scene. You gave him a brief smile, trying to maintain a cool demeanor in the company of the two men.

Shoto turned to you with an air of faux politeness, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I believe we can have a civilized conversation, don't you?" His eyes darted towards the thrall who had been seated beside him, and with a dismissive gesture, he uttered, "You, leave us."

The thrall shot you a cold glance before complying with Shoto's request and vacating the space.

Now alone, Shoto leaned back in his chair, a smug smirk playing on his lips. "There, much better. Now, let's chat, shall we?"

You took a deep breath before speaking, "I must admit, despite the fear you instill within me, there's a certain charisma about you. It's hard not to notice."

Shoto's grin widened, appreciating the acknowledgment. "Well, I appreciate your honesty. And by the way, I quite like your accent. It adds a certain charm." His compliment was laced with a hint of mischief as he reached his hand out to briefly rub your shoulder.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as Shoto's hand landed on your shoulder. Suppressing a wince, you decided to play along with his casual demeanor. When he asked about the real reason for your visit, you hesitated for a moment before responding, "Well, I just wanted to get to know you a little better, my lord."

Shoto raised an eyebrow, considering your words. "Interesting choice of words. Here, have some mead." He poured some into a wooden mug and handed it to you, a sly smile playing on his lips.

You accepted, trying to keep your nerves at bay.

Hawks, with a twinkle in his golden eyes, couldn't help but comment, "Quite a beauty you have here, Shoto. Earl Endeavor's thralls are indeed a treasure."

Shoto, taking a sip of his mead, glanced at you and replied wryly, "All Christian women have this softness within them. I just happen to enjoy breaking it." His words were delivered with a certain darkness that sent a chill down your spine.

Trying to maintain composure, you played along, responding with a forced smile, as you looked at Shoto's companion, "Well, thank you for the compliment, sir."

As Shoto continued to drink, you couldn't shake off the unease that settled in the pit of your stomach.

As more mugs of mead were emptied by the men and the atmosphere in the tavern grew warmer, you mustered the courage to bring up the topic that had been gnawing at your thoughts. Leaning in, you addressed Shoto, "Forgive me for intruding, but I overheard that you and Touya are going on a mission. Is it true?"

Shoto's eyes, a mix of icy determination and something unreadable, met yours. He took a moment, swirling the remnants of his mead in his mug before responding, "Yes, a mission to the north. Father believes it's a land rich in resources, and he wants us to secure it for the settlement."

Hawks, who had been listening attentively, chimed in, "Aye, a mission of great importance. The north can be treacherous, though. Many dangers await those who venture into the unknown."

You nodded, though a lingering concern for Touya flickered in your eyes. "What kind of dangers are you talking about? Is it just the harsh conditions of the north, or is there something else we should be aware of?"

Shoto's stoic expression betrayed little, leaving you to wonder about the true nature of the mission and what it might mean for both brothers.

Hawks took a sip from his mead, his golden eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and wariness. "The north is a wild place, full of untamed landscapes and creatures. Wolves, bears, and more roam freely. Not to mention, the weather can be brutal, especially this time of year."

Shoto's gaze never wavered as he observed your reaction to Hawks' nonchalant explanation.

You sensed there might be more to the story, but both men remained guarded in their responses.

Shoto's sudden shift in demeanor caught you off guard, his hand landing on your knee with an unexpected boldness. He began to rub your knee casually, his gaze steady as he threw a question your way. "Let's change the topic, my dear. The ruggedness of our upcoming mission might be a bit too much for a delicate female mind like yours to comprehend," he remarked, his fingers tracing small circles on your knee, playing with the hems of your dress. Then, with a smirk, he leaned in, his tone low and almost conspiratorial. "Tell me, has my older brother had his way with you yet?"

You felt a mix of discomfort and annoyance at his audacity, but you tried to maintain composure. "That's none of your business, Shoto," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "And the mission—"

"Oh, don't play coy," he interrupted, his lips curling into a smirk. "I'm genuinely curious. After all, I'd hate for you to miss out on experiencing the full range of pleasures in our little settlement."

The situation had taken an unexpected turn, and you found yourself navigating the conversation with a mix of caution and defiance, unsure of where Shoto was leading with his intrusive inquiries.

You met Shoto's audacious question with a bold response. "No, my lord, I haven't been with anyone, ever," you asserted, trying to maintain a sense of control in the conversation.

Hawks chimed in with a cryptic comment, "Well, isn't that a rare treasure in these parts. A thrall with untouched cunny, how intriguing."

You shot a wary glance at Hawks, uncertain about the implications of his words.

Shoto, however, seemed more amused than surprised, his smirk widening as if he had expected such a revelation. "You're missing out on experiences, thrall. I could show you what it's like. I doubt my older brother knows how to please a woman. Look at him, covered in scars, a truly disgusting sight. No normal woman would willingly lie with such a damaged man."

You felt Shoto's hand sliding beneath the fabric of your dress, making your breath catch in your throat. His audacious suggestion hung in the air, and the atmosphere became charged with tension.

You pulled away, a mix of surprise and discomfort evident on your face. "Maybe… Nut I didn't have enough mead yet, my lord," you asserted, trying to maintain a semblance of control over the situation.

Shoto, undeterred, leaned in with a sly grin. "Afraid of a little adventure? I promise you, it'll be an experience you won't forget," he whispered, his mismatched eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity.

As Shoto poured another mug of mead for you, you discreetly took small sips, ensuring that the majority of the liquid found its way into Hawks' cup while the two men were engrossed in conversation. The effects of the mead were beginning to show on Shoto, but you remained clear-headed.

The conversation in the tavern continued, filled with laughter and raucous chatter. You observed Shoto's growing inebriation and wondered if this was the opportune moment to extract information about the mission.

As Shoto, in a visibly inebriated state, decided to make his way back to the Great Hall, Hawks was more than willing to accompany him. However, seizing the opportunity to gather more information, you stepped forward and offered to walk Shoto back on his behalf. Hawks, busy with the two other thralls he managed to lure, readily agreed.

With Shoto leaning on you for support, you began the journey back to the Great Hall. The night air was crisp, and the sound of distant revelry echoed through the settlement. As you walked, you subtly steered the conversation toward the mission, aiming to extract any valuable details Shoto might unwittingly reveal in his inebriated state. As Shoto stumbled beside you, you ventured to ask, "Shoto, why do you harbor such resentment toward Touya? It seems like there's a lot of tension between you two."

Shoto's response was punctuated by occasional hiccups, and he spoke with a slurred cadence, "Touya… he's always been the favorite. Father sees him as the rightful heir, even after he attempted on killing him… When he was a baby… I'm just… the spare. I've had to fight for every scrap of approval, every shred of acknowledgment. It's fucking infuriating."

His words were tinged with a mix of bitterness and vulnerability, and you couldn't help but wonder if there was more beneath the surface of their strained relationship.

Shoto's alcohol-laden breath hung in the night air as he delved deeper into the caverns of his animosity. His words spilled out, laced with venom and a fervent desire for retribution. "You see, Y/N… Touya has always been the golden child… Father dotes on him, oblivious to the struggles I faced. I fought tooth and nail, but in his eyes, I'm still the disappointment." His voice resonated with a toxic blend of envy and resentment. "I wish he'd disappear, fade away… It would be so much easier without him overshadowing me at every turn… Fucking Touya. Father might finally see my worth."

As he spoke, you couldn't help but sense the profound wounds that fueled Shoto's disdain for his older brother, wondering if there was any way to mend the frayed bonds between them.

With a heavy sigh, you opened the huge, wooden door to the Great Hall. In the dimly lit hallway, you guided Shoto with careful steps, avoiding any unnecessary noise. As you reached his chamber, the weight of your question hung in the air, and you couldn't help but ask, "My lord… Do you plan to harm your older brother during this mission?"

He paused, his drunken demeanor momentarily overshadowed by a serious glint in his eyes. "Hurt him? No. But if fate has other plans for him, who am I to intervene?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if Shoto's words held any truth or if they were merely intoxicated ramblings. As you opened the door and let go of his waist, you couldn't shake off the unsettling feeling that there was more beneath the surface of his seemingly casual response. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across his face, adding an enigmatic air to the entire exchange.

The sudden force of Shoto's grip on your waist surprised you, and before you could react, his lips collided with yours in a messy, drunken kiss. The taste of mead lingered on his breath, making the encounter less pleasant than you might have imagined. You winced, feeling a mix of discomfort and confusion as the moment unfolded.

Shoto's hand slipped beneath your dress and moved up your leg, resting between your thighs. As he pulled away, his eyes were glazed, and he chuckled under his breath, resting his back against the wooden wall. "You're an interesting one, Y/N," he slurred, releasing his hold on you and stumbling into his chamber. "I'll make sure you're mine, not his." The door closed behind him, leaving you standing in the hallway, processing the unexpected exchange with your palm pressed against your mouth.

As you turned around, your heart sank, its rhythm momentarily disrupted - there, in the corridor, stood Touya. His expression held a mixture of surprise and shock as he observed you, and an unspoken tension hung in the air.

Touya's harsh words hung in the air, stinging like a bitter truth. "I can't believe you're like that, Y/N, letting my brother touch you this way. I thought you were different, not like every other thrall, but I guess I was wrong."

A lump formed in your throat as you desperately wanted to explain, to make him understand, but before you could utter a single word, Touya turned on his heel and left, the resounding crash of the door slamming shut echoing through the dimly lit corridor.

Now, you found yourself standing alone, the weight of his accusations settling in. The corridor seemed colder, lonelier in the aftermath of his anger. You replayed the scene in your mind, the hurt etched on Touya's face, the disappointment in his voice. It was a bitter cocktail of emotions that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

The truth was, you never intended to betray or hurt Touya. You considered chasing after him, explaining that it wasn't as it seemed, that your intentions were never to betray him. But the finality of that slamming door weighed heavily on your shoulders.

A lone tear traced the contours of your cheek, a delicate testament to the waning emotions within. It was as if you had relinquished something profoundly vital, a precious fragment of your life slipping away, leaving behind a poignant void.

heathen wolves: @indignant-alpaca @misafiryanki @roast-toast @within-eyesight @crystalwolfblog @haseki-huricihan @violet-forgetmenot

[yutahoes]

Caramel

(Part Two)

characters: stripper! Yuta x female! Y/N genre: chaptered, smut, fluff, angst word count: 3.6k words summary: Y/N has everything in her bitter life, not until she meets a sweet-looking stripper. warnings: matured theme, stripper au!, third person POV, rusty writing, curse words, degrading words, complicated family dynamics, shirtless guy, alcohol consumption, lap dance, horny Yuta, there's a specific description of Y/N but you can easily discard that if you're not comfortable

Part One

Y/N had always been an early riser. 

But since she came home late at night, when everyone was already sleeping, she groaned at the sound of the alarm clock by her bedside table. She should have stayed at her apartment unit, not her family home. But she misses the home-cooked meals here at home. 

And if she doesn’t get up, she’ll definitely miss it. 

The girl was done with her usual morning routine, just brushing her teeth, when there was a knock on her door. She shouted for the person to come in and she could hear small pitter-patter steps that made her smile, “Noona, you’re home!” the six-year-old Junyoung shouted while running to give her a tight hug. If there is one thing - person rather - that she missed the most in this house, that will be her younger brother. “Jungwoo hyung said she saw your car outside so I knocked on your door.” He shared while giggling. He might have missed her as much. 

“Sorry if I haven’t been coming home,” she claimed, picking him up and groaning that he had gotten heavier and bigger. 

She remembered when he was a newborn and she had the opportunity to carry Junyoung, she was so scared of the change in her family. But now, she was ecstatic at the change that happened. 

When she was the same as Junyoung’s age, all she could remember were the sound of the thunderous night, muffled cries, and shouting.  

She was relieved at the change that happened in her life. 

The younger boy had been chatting non-stop about his school activities that made his older brother laugh, “You missed Y/N so much, don’t you?” The girl smiled at Jungwoo before grinning at the young kid who only giggled as an answer. “I was surprised to see your car early this morning. What time did you come home?” 

Y/N took a bite of the bacon before answering that it was already early morning when she arrived home. “You didn’t even tell us you were coming home.” Doyoung, the oldest of the brothers, claimed. The girl smiled, she didn’t even intend to come home. But her apartment is on the opposite way and she doesn’t want a man to struggle finding his way home. “Where have you been?” 

“Bachelorette party,” she answered quietly. 

“So that’s why Mr. Song thanked me for the Maserati.” the patriarch of the household claimed, smiling at her. “He was repeatedly thanking me as he saved a fortune for his future son-in-law’s gift.” 

Doyoung’s eyes widened in surprise, “A Maserati for a wedding gift? Y/N, aren’t you spending too much?” 

The girl reasoned out that the groom-to-be kept on complimenting her car so she decided to just give them a car instead. “And I took it from my funds so you don’t have to audit anything.” The eldest male smiled proudly at her. 

“Didn’t I set you up with that guy? From the hospital chain, right?” Y/N’s mother asked in a serious tone. The girl nodded. She did. “Have you been attending the meet-ups I set you up with?” The males on the table became quiet. “All your friends have been married, what do you plan to do with your life?” 

The younger female stared at the older. She now remembered why she hated going home. 

A small smile escaped her lips before eating her breakfast quietly. The father lightly coughed before continuing, “I heard you secured a deal with a French investor. That was amazing!” She nodded, smiling warmly at him. 

Y/N was about to share about the multi-million deal when the matriarch spoke up, “I’m scheduling a meet-up for you tomorrow night. You have to meet him.” She gave a heavy sigh before nodding. 

She shouldn’t have come home. 

—--

Jungwoo was talking on the phone the whole ride. It’s fascinating to Y/N how she was driving on the same road with a different person in the passenger seat. When he put down the phone, he only leaned on the leather chair and stared at her. “You know when I told Junyoung you’re home, he started sprinting to your room. He misses you so much.” 

The girl giggled at how endearing her younger brother was. “I did miss him as well,” she claimed then turned to the person in the passenger seat. “I also miss you, Woo.” 

The guy gave a hearty laugh and Y/N wondered how he resembled Junyoung so much. They both gave such a puppy vibe that it wasn’t hard to be close to him. “You saw me in the company yesterday.” 

“I always see your picture whenever I enter the company, Woo.” He laughed giddily. It isn’t even a surprise that the model Kim Jungwoo is the face of their own company and he has been great in that field ever since he started. With his tall height and very handsome face, the younger Kim evidently has everything. “Are you enjoying your work?” 

Jungwoo nodded. He had been modeling for different products, always on the magazine covers, and even walking the runways of New York, Milan, and Paris. “I wouldn’t even enjoy this if not for you.” Y/N shushed him. “I mean it, Y/N. Doyoung hyung feels the same way but you know he’s not good at expressing his emotions.” The girl shook her head, he shouldn’t say anything. “We’re thankful that you stepped up in this responsibility and Dad found his business-minded child in you.”

Y/N gripped the steering wheel harder. “I hope Mom,” then Jungwoo stopped. “I mean your mom eases up on you like what she does to the three of us.” 

She pursed her lips at that. Even if Jungwoo isn’t blood-related, she knows how sympathetic he is when he comes to her. He understands her better than she understands herself. Maybe that’s why she warmed up to him first when their father and her mother got married. When he asked if she could drive him to his photoshoot, she knew that he only wanted to talk to her about something.

“The guys introduced to you,” he started. “Are they truly that bad?” 

Y/N laughed at the question before nodding. “They’re spoiled jerks.” Jungwoo gave a groan of disgust that earned a chuckle from her. 

She’s very thankful for his stepbrother's presence in her life. 

—---

The valet was easily on her aid when she stopped the car in front of her apartment building. The staff of the high-end establishment greeted her as she made her way to the penthouse of the said building. Her own home. Her safe place. Y/N had only been out of the place for a night but she missed the place and the solitude it brings. 

Here, she could be who she truly is. 

Once settled in the room, she removed her light makeup and sat on the couch. She removed her contact lens, replacing it with her thick-rimmed glasses. The dark living room and the warm confines of her blanket made her sigh. 

“Don’t you feel lonely?”

The question came to her as she stared at her own reflection from the television. She had everything but why does she feel empty? She has a loving family, friends, and co-workers who seem okay but why does she feel alone? She is obviously happy with her life but why does she feel sad? 

Unconsciously, she stared at the cup of coffee warm in her hands. The color of darkness. Bitter coffee.  

Just like her life. 

One side of her lips curled up in a smirk, why is she so lonely? 

Even while listening to the presentation in front of her, her mind was on the endless questions forming in her mind. Should she stop obsessing about the company? She wasn’t even the chairman’s son, wasn’t even a blood relative. She’s only a daughter on paper, a stepdaughter. What makes her think that she can be the next president of the hard-earned family company? Maybe her mom was right. She should just marry rich and wish that her husband wouldn’t care about business and let her run the company. 

But it’s more of an idea than a reality as she listened to the conceited guy in front of her talk about how his father was happy that he had a chance to meet her. He kept addressing her as the company president’s daughter which made her think twice about why she agreed to meet him. And really, him? Her mom could do better. 

He’s not even as handsome as the guy she met the other night. Not as interesting to talk to. 

But why is she even comparing the two? 

This guy definitely has nothing against Yuta. 

When they were teens, she remembered her stepdad always telling his sons to always be a gentleman. Never let a girl open a door or hold her chair, always let her order first, and drive her home. Doyoung and Jungwoo both adhere to that and Y/N wouldn’t be surprised that her youngest brother, Junyoung, would be the same gentleman as his brothers. A quality the guy in front of her doesn’t have. 

She was thankful though. He had an eye-catching bright yellow Audi and the thought that someone could see her in that showy car made her shiver. Immediately, she texted Jungwoo that the date was a disaster and she hated the guy before putting her phone in her handbag. A piece of folded paper inside the handbag captured her attention. 

Maybe she’ll lessen her loneliness tonight. 

The strip club is different from what she imagined it to be. The bouncer just gave her a look while she headed inside, her fingers playing with the folded paper. The speakers boom sensual music and from the stage, she can see men in their small underwear grinding their bodies to the music. Women flock to the stage as the smell of sweat, alcohol, and cigarette smoke fills the lively gold-embellished room. 

This doesn’t seem like a good idea. 

What was the instruction again? Find the manager, give this paper, and ask for Yuta. Yuta Nakamoto. She tried to remember. 

“Hi baby girl,” someone called making her turn to the owner of the voice. She was wide-eyed when she was facing a shirtless man, smiling at her. “Are you lost?” Wait, she remembered him. The tall guy from the bachelorette party. He probably knows Yuta right? “You look like you’re new here.” 

She breathed heavily before handing him the piece of paper, “I’m looking for Yuta Nakamoto.” 

The guy stared at the paper before glancing at her with a questionable expression. “I’ll call him. Wait for me at the bar.” Y/N only nodded, walking to where he pointed at. 

The uniformed man tending the bar was smiling when she sat on one of the high chairs, asking her what she wanted to drink. Should she drink? But she needed to drive back to her apartment. In the end, she asked for a non-alcoholic drink. It’s a different environment that she kept on guarding herself. This is more nerve-wracking than presenting in front of board members. 

Is this even a good idea? Maybe she could still make an escape. 

“Hey,” Y/N turned to see Yuta smiling at her. He was wearing a denim vest with a gray tank top underneath and a cowboy hat. She was suddenly thankful that he was rather clothed unlike the guy earlier. “You came.” 

She mirrored the same smile as him. “You said to find you when I wanted a drink.” 

Yuta chuckled, then eyed the drink that the bartender just served her. “Well, you wouldn’t be drunk with that.” 

“I have to drive back.” 

The guy shook his head, “I’ll get you a substitute driver.” Y/N nodded, putting her full trust in this man. “Whiskey?” Once again, she nodded. He ordered a bottle from the bartender and then glasses before asking Y/N to follow him. 

If the girl thought that was chaotic, she wasn’t prepared for the image by the hallways of the strip club. Couples were making out, not even reaching one of the many doors on both sides of the wall. It already seemed like a brothel. Now, she wonders what activities are happening inside the rooms. She shrugged, she didn't want to know.

Yuta opened one of the doors, letting the girl inside. He pushed open the lights which had a purple mood lighting that startled Y/N. With another push of the switch, the lights turned white. The room isn’t too bad. There was a couch in the middle with a small table, and a sound system located on the side of the room. The floor has a huge carpet but the ceiling has mirrors which she found odd. “Please feel at home,” The side of her lips curled up. That is a weird sentence. 

She sat down on the black leather couch as he put down the whiskey bottle and glasses on the table. Yuta walked to where the sound system was and started playing a sensual song that startled her. “Don’t mind the music, it’s just so the club manager won’t bother us.” 

Y/N lightly gulped at the idea that there were only the two of them inside the room so she tried easing her nerves by fidgeting on her seat and taking notice of anything around. Should she run away? Ask him how he was. “You’re wearing a cowboy outfit.” The girl noted as Yuta sat beside her on the couch. 

He started pouring drinks into one glass and handing it to her, “I was supposed to have a dance set next.” 

“Oh,” she claimed before drinking the whiskey in one gulp. That was so strong that she couldn’t help but hiss at the burning of her throat. “Then I came early.” Yuta smiled before pouring her whiskey. “You’re already making me drunk.” 

The guy laughed, “Isn’t that the idea why you’re here?” 

She smiled. It is. But it also isn’t at the same time. She now wondered why she was here in the first place. She took another gulp of the whiskey and then poured another into her glass, chugging the contents as if just drinking water. “I went on a date with a guy,” she started. Yuta just stared at her, listening intently. “He kept on saying that his father was happy that I agreed to see his son.” Another shot of whiskey. “Maybe his father was the one who wanted to marry me.” She tried to say it in the most humorous way possible. “Or they just want the company, not me.” 

Yuta brushed the strand of hair away from her face, staring at how she downed another shot of whiskey. “A company that isn’t mine to begin with.” She tried to pour the liquor into her glass but nothing came out of the bottle that made her chuckle. “In the end, I’m the only one who got drunk.” 

The guy smiled before giving her a light chuckle, “You’re so easily drunk, Y/N.” he teased while taking the empty bottle of whiskey. “Your face is so red.” 

She started feeling her cheeks and then her forehead before laughing at herself. She does feel warm. “I have never drank this much. My mom will definitely kill me.” Yuta chuckled at that then stood up to maybe get her something light to drink but before he could leave her side, she held his wrist. “Since I’m dying, do you think I can get that free lap dance tonight?” 

What the heck is wrong with this girl? She’s very unpredictable. 

Yuta sighed before sitting beside her, holding her warm cheek. “You are very drunk.” She shook her head, arguing that she was just tipsy. “You won’t die tonight, Y/N.”

“If I go home in this state, I might be.” 

Yuta laughed at that. She is a cute drunk. The music is still playing in the background and he guessed that it was just past the last half of the full song. “A little lap dance then I’ll get you a driver.” She nodded, making him smirk. How adorable. 

He had to walk back to the sound system, raising the volume. When he turned back to her, her eyes were on him and he felt self-conscious. He had been dancing for countless women before, even going as far as to give them private lap dances. But this was the first time that he got this nervous in front of someone. And she’s drunk for crying out loud. 

Yuta started swaying along the music, body rolling against the sensual beat, as he took gentle steps to her. His eyes locked on her expression but got annoyed that she wasn't showing much emotion. Slowly, he removed the denim vest followed by the tank top before kneeling on top of her. The stripper moved his body on her, hands on the headrest of the couch for balance. He’s shirtless, grinding against her, yet she still looks bored. And it frustrated him. 

Lap dances have different categories in Yuta’s book: the non-physical and the physical ones. He doesn’t need to explain it further. If you pay more, you’ll get the physical service. And although he knew this girl could pay, he offered this lap dance for free. Typical Yuta would keep on reminding in his head that it should be non-physical but the Yuta tonight, held her hand and placed it on his chest. He let her fingers trail south, warm skin against his. He had never liked someone’s touch like tonight. Her fingers were soft, her palm warm as she explored the muscles of his abdomen. 

It feels oddly sexy. Erotic, perhaps. 

His finger was on her chin, raising her head to face him. She’s very pretty with those glistening eyes, flushed cheeks, and plump red lips. Lips that looked so soft. He leaned closer, her breath warm and ticklish against his lips. Then the music came to a sudden stop. 

Yuta blinked in surprise before taking every self-control to get himself away from the girl. “I’ll call you a driver.” He walked briskly out of the room and into the bar where he asked for a glass of cold water. What the heck is wrong with him? Is he seriously trying to kiss her? He might be crazy. The bartender asked if he was alright and he just nodded, asking if he could call for a substitute driver. If he was a little embarrassed earlier, he’s more embarrassed now. He just wanted to be swallowed to the ground. Is this the result of having a beautiful client? Is it the result of his horniness these past nights? This is dangerous. 

“Hey,” he turned to the owner of the voice and there was Y/N, standing while tightly holding her handbag. “Thank you for tonight, Yuta.” She shouldn’t be thanking him. He almost did something sinful to her. There was a smile on her face, different from the expressionless face she had earlier. He felt betrayed that instant. Maybe she didn’t like his performance. “I left something for you back in the room.” 

The guy’s eyes squinted in confusion before standing from his chair to jog to the room. He offered the service for free so why is she paying him all of a sudden? And what is this obscene amount of money? This is way more than what Johnny or Taeyong gets from sleeping with their clients. He immediately returned outside with the empty whiskey bottle and glasses. “She’s rich, isn’t she?” Ten, the bartender, asked. “She paid for twenty bottles of whiskey but when I returned the payment to her, she claimed that I could keep it as a tip.” Why is she throwing money like this? “Just a week and you’ll probably be out of this club, Yuta hyung.” 

His feet started walking to go outside the club. Ten was right. If there is any way to help him get out of this club - to get out of this stripper business - it surely is this girl. But he cannot do that to her. She seemed to hate guys who only wanted her for money, guys who used her for their own comfort. 

He doesn’t want to be that kind of a guy. He cannot use her like this. 

Luckily, the car is still there. Yuta lightly knocked on the window of the driver’s seat and even Y/N looked surprised when the assigned driver asked Yuta what he wanted. The guy just pointed at her window and the driver immediately clicked on a button that pushed the tinted window of the backseat down. Yuta handed the thick cash back, “I gave you that service for free.” She was about to answer when he continued, “And this is too much for a tip, Y/N.” 

The girl only gave him a timid smile. “It’s fine, Yuta. Just keep it, you actually deserve more.” But the guy only laughed at how absurd that was. Is she even hearing herself? Or is she so out of touch with reality that she doesn’t know how huge this money is? “With your smile and handsome face, you should charge a million.” 

Fuck! Yuta thought. She’s fucking good at this game. And it’s pulling him in. He’s fucking interested.  

He wants her. 

So bad. 

“Then Y/N,” Yuta started in a low voice, leaning close that his arms were on the window of the car. “Sleep with me tonight.” 

Part Three

[junocandraw]

JEFF THE KILLER REWRITE 4/4

If you’ve made it this far, I owe you my firstborn. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Anyways, back to edgelord 9000.

Incase you couldn’t tell, this isn’t the beginning. The first part is linked at the top of my page!

The Inferno

It had been a week. An entire week since their aunt from Michigan had come to take Liu away. She pulled up to the Wood’s house in her beat up red minivan, and without even allowing him a hug, took Liu away to a town even smaller than Elmerville. Jeff cried out in the driveway for an hour, before his father pulled him inside.

That week was so painful for Jeff. He missed Liu’s random visits to his room. His drawings, his poetry, his stupid striped scarf. He began to eat even less, and pace even more. He would have moments of violence where he would throw things in his room, punch the walls, or pull out his hair, one strand at a time. He looked like a shell of what he used to be. His friends from Milwaukee, including Stanley, had tried to get into contact with him, but he wouldn’t answer his texts.

Jeff lost track of time. He was beginning to have the opposite problems with his sleep schedule. When he wasn’t pulling his hair out of his head, he was sleeping. He was grateful for this at the beginning, but soon hypersomnia became a problem. He would shut his blackout curtains, and sleep for 48 hours. Once in the week, he went three whole days without eating anything, and drinking out of a left over plastic water bottle in his room. He was so pale and skinny, he looked almost inhuman. All he knew was that everything was getting worse.

One Friday morning, Jeff had been sleeping for around 17 hours straight. His eyes were puffy and red from yet another night of crying himself to sleep. He began to stir when something caught his attention. A vacuum cleaner. His mom was vacuuming the hallway. It was around 11 in the morning. Jeff knew she wasn’t cleaning, she was trying to wake him up.

He buried his head under his pillow, his black nails gripping the white fabric case in an attempt to block out the noise. He desperately wanted more sleep, even though he had been getting more than enough. He realized his attempt was futile when his room door opened, and his stepmother entered. She wore pink capri jeans, an expensive belt, a patterned paisley tank-top, a revolting lipstick color, and a pair of flats. It was an odd choice for the dead of winter. Jeff peeked out from under his pillow, and saw her. He immediately knew that something was up. His suspicions were proved when his stepmother began to speak,

“Jeff! Wake up! It’s a beautiful morning!” She uninvitedly pulled his curtains open, and let the sunlight in, further angering her eldest son. He felt like a vampire being burned alive, as sunlight hadn’t touched his skin in days,

“Mom- What?” He groaned, sitting up in his bed. His stepmother frowned when she saw him. His shaggy black hair was messy, and streaks of eyeliner stained his pale cheeks,

“Jeff, wipe that depressing muck off of your face. It isn’t proper.” She scolded, switching the vacuum cleaner off,

“Are we going somewhere?” Jeff asked, pulling his slippers on as he stepped out of bed. He wore blue sweatpants from his old hockey team, and a black, Jason Vorhees themed hockey shirt.

“Jeff! I have a wonderful surprise for you!” She cheesed, moving to her stepson and grabbing his hands. Jeff was disgusted. This affection was so fake, and her words were sweetly superficial. They dripped from her mouth like honey,

“I know things haven’t been easy for you with Liu gone. I’ve struggled a bit myself.” She lied. Jeff resisted the urge to scoff, and instead raised a quick eyebrow, before settling back into his bored expression, “But, we’re going to set things right. We-“

“Is Liu coming home?” Jeff’s face lit up. This was mostly a jab at his stepmother, a way to show that whatever she was offering, he didn’t care. It was also a glimmer of hope that just maybe, he would see his brother again soon,

“Jeffery. We talked about that.” She looked up sternly at stepson.

“Jeff.” He corrected her. An unnoticeable smile tugged at the left corner of Jeff’s mouth, knowing his disinterest was absolutely killing her. She wanted so badly to fight, but she swallowed her pride, knowing she couldn’t fight to get what she wanted,

“Jeff… The Haydens have invited us over to their house. Randy’s mother and I want to set things right between the two of you.” Jeff felt like the floor had fallen from underneath him, and his heart rate began to increase at the mention of his foe. The feeling was back, the one he hadn’t felt since he was on the ice. That awful, sadistic hatred.

“No. No, Mom. Not in a million years, no.” He ripped his hands out of his stepmother’s grip, and ran one hand through his hair. He started to hyperventilate. He needed to calm down.

“Jeff! What is wrong with you?” His stepmother placed her hands on her hips, “Is it really that bad to make amends? Do you hate the idea of being friends with a normal person that much?”

“Normal person? Does she even know what he did?” Jeff thought, his knuckles whitening from the fists he was making. His stepmother prepared to use her secret weapon,

“This may change your mind. If you make this work for us, Liu can come home early.” Jeff stopped. This kind of a move was his father’s idea, as his stepmother was far too dull to come up with a plan as elaborate as this. His parents had absolutely backed him into a corner. He was trapped. He had no choice. His stepmother took his hands again, her fake, bedazzled nails clawing at Jeff’s skin. He sighed, begrudgingly admitting his defeat,

“Fine.” He muttered, staring down at the floor. Her expression changed from one of anger, back to one of superficial delight.

“I knew you would! Thank you, son. We’re leaving at 6 tonight. Make sure you eat something.” Before she left, she did a double take at Jeff’s black nails, “What is this? Jeff, just- I can’t- clean this off before we leave.” With that, she stormed out of his room, not shutting the door behind her. Jeff stood still, unable to process what had just happened. With all of this rage pent up inside of him, he did the only thing he could think to do.

Jeff gave a swift, unforgiving blow to the wall on his left, right through his Pantera poster, and right through the drywall. He didn’t care. It was just paper. He held his head in his hands, and sat on his bed.

He realized then that it was the first time in a week that he hadn’t been under the hazy trance that controlled his movements while he idly watched. He actually felt in control of his actions. This thought only lasted for a moment, before his attention was directed back towards getting Liu home,

“This is for Liu. It’s just one night. How bad can it be?” Jeff breathed in and out, “It’s fine. I’m fine. It’ll be fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was around when Jeff started getting ready. He found that he couldn’t decide what to wear. When he had come downstairs with a red band t-shirt, a black zip up jacket, black skinny jeans, and Converse, his parents were upset, and sent him back upstairs to change. Luckily, he still had around 30 minutes to decide.

He kept the pair of black skinny jeans on, and opened the door to his closet. All he had to wear were band tees, striped shirts, and patterned or printed hoodies. He furrowed his brow, and began to sift through his wardrobe. Finally, he made it to the back of the row of hangers. All he found was a plain white hoodie. He sighed, realizing it was his best bet. He threw it on over a black System of a Down t-shirt, his favorite band. He laced up his Converse again, and called it a day. It wasn’t exactly fashionable, but it was his.

Jeff picked up an eyeliner pencil and held it in his hand. He stared at it for a moment, examining the label. He remembered that he purchased it from a corner drugstore outside of his neighborhood in Milwaukee a week after he got his full license. He realized that he hadn’t thought about home in a while, which only made the memory more painful. Just as these thoughts flew through Jeff’s mind, he heard a voice call from downstairs,

“Jeff! We’re leaving!” His father called. Jeff looked at the clock on his wall. It read 5:55.

“One second!” Jeff called back, quickly lining his eyes and blending the pigment with his middle finger. He grabbed his phone and his earbuds, and ran swiftly down the stairs. When his parents saw him, they frowned,

“You’re wearing that?” They asked in unison, before Jeff’s stepmother looked at her phone,

“Oh, no time to change. Let’s just go.” His stepmother shook her head, moving out the front door in her over-the-top winter dress.

Once everyone was in the car, Jeff noticed the empty back seat next to him. Jeff looked at his family, noticing how overdressed they were,

“Jeff, why on earth do you think that attire is appropriate?” His father asked, glancing at him in the rear view mirror.

“Don’t you think you’re a little overdressed?” Jeff commented, sitting criss-cross in the car’s seat. His father was about to lecture Jeff, but he was stopped by his wife,

“Jeff, we may be overdressed, but this is how you go if you want to make an impression.” His stepmother explained, as Jeff quit listening. He plugged in his earbuds and began to mentally prepare to be in the same house with Randy for the whole night. He looked out the window. The sun had just begun to set, and the snow fell down gracefully. The sky was a dark blue color, with hints of a sunset behind a dreary overcast on the horizon. That winter hadn’t been super snowy, for Wisconsin at least. It only snowed every couple of days, but it was still very cold. Instead of admiring the beauty of nature, Jeff imagined a scene much more beautiful to him,

Jeff was digging a clip-point knife into Randy’s sternum, breaking each of his ribs with memorable cracking. The look of terror on his face was priceless, as was the crimson blood that stained Jeff’s clothes. He relished in the pained screams and the weak struggling that came from his prey.

“Jeff? Are you listening to me?” His stepmother’s shrill voice interrupted his train of thought,

“Um…yes?”

”Then what did I say?”

“I don’t- I don’t know?” His stepmother sighed, and shook her head. Jeff just continued to stare out the window, his mind wandering back to sadistic visions of gore.

The Woods had driven eastward a little ways out of town. This is where the dairy farms were in the county. All of the sudden, they were surrounded by a thick forest. After they drove a little ways longer down the winding back road, they made it to Randy’s house. They were around 20 minutes from Jeff’s house, and 10 minutes from the school.

They pulled into the Hayden’s long driveway slowly, so as to not lose traction on the ice. They drove for about a minute, before they found the house. It was huge, a borderline mansion. It was painted white with blue shutters and a matching navy blue door. The lawn was illuminated by the glow of warm lights coming from indoors. The house was in the middle of the woods, which made for great privacy. Jeff admired their place. Even he had to admit that it was nice.

They three exited the car, and walked up to the porch. Jeff’s father knocked on the door. Jeff shoved his hands into his hoodie’s pocket. The door opened, and they were greeted by Randy’s mom, whom Jeff hadn’t met. She was a taller, thinner woman. She had short blonde hair that framed her face, and the same dark blue eyes as Randy. She wore a light blue winter sweater, black dress pants, and white ankle boots. She gave the trio a smile, and welcomed them into her home. As Jeff walked in, he could smell roast beef and various vegetables and sides cooking. He had, once again, forgotten to eat, so his stomach growled at the smell of the delicious food. Randy’s mother turned her attention away from Jeff’s parents, and to Jeff,

“You must be Jeff. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Kirsten.” Randy’s mom was a brain surgeon, the breadwinner of the family. She had a strong Canadian accent. She offered Jeff a hand to shake, and he reluctantly obliged.

“Kirsten, are you aware that having your son was a mistake?” Jeff thought, putting his hand back into his pocket,

“I’m really sorry about everything that's happened,” Kirsten pouted her face deceitfully, “Randy never gets into fights. He told me that Jeff is new, and is still getting adjusted.” Jeff turned his head to the side, and then back to Mrs. Hayden. He just couldn’t resist a slight jab at her,

Jeff rolled his eyes, making sure that Mrs. Hayden could see him. Her face flickered with resentment before returning to its false hospitality.

”Jeff, the boys are upstairs in Randy’s room. It’s the second door on the right.” Jeff felt his stomach flip. The dreaded moment of the night had finally come. He gave a curt nod, and turned to the stairs beside where they stood. As he walked, he took note of the family pictures hung all over the walls of the staircase. Once he completed his ascent, he turned right.

There was a dim light coming from underneath one of the doors. Jeff took a shaky inhale, and knocked twice. The conversation inside stopped. He waited for a moment before the door opened. He was face-to-face with his redheaded enemy. Jeff quickly averted his eyes to the floor, waiting for something to happen.

“Hey.” Randy also averted his eyes from Jeff. They stood parallel to each other, unsure of what to do or say. Randy broke the silence with an awkward, “Come in.”

Randy’s room was decorated with Maple Leaf posters, and other hockey decorations. Jeff assumed by his mother’s accent, and Randy’s room, that she was from Toronto. Jeff noticed four other boys in the room with Randy. Tom and Adam sat on the carpeted floor around a TV with a paused video game displayed on the screen, and Troy and Keith sat on Randy’s bed. Jeff felt his heart rate increase. He was at least relieved to see two others who seemed to be there against their wills as well. Randy sat on a gaming chair next to his bed. All eyes were on Jeff, so he broke the incredibly awkward silence,

“I’m…sorry about…everything, dude.” He apologized, even though he didn’t mean a word of what he said. Swallowing his pride did not taste good, but he would have said anything to make Liu come back home. To Jeff’s surprise, Randy laughed.

“It’s fine. I don’t care if you don’t care.” He shrugged, grabbing the PlayStation controller and unpausing the game. Jeff let out a sigh of relief, and plopped down on the floor next to Tom. Tom was playing the game, and Adam was watching.

Jeff remembered Randy’s comment about how Adam “probably couldn’t afford” to go to Milwaukee. He wondered why Adam’s family was at Randy’s house if they disliked them so much. Despite his apology going well, Troy and Keith’s silence made Jeff nervous. Jeff pulled his hoodie off over his head to fight the heat in the house.

”You like System of a Down?” Randy asked, noticing Jeff’s T-shirt.

“Yeah.” Jeff replied, looking down at his t-shirt.

“Name three songs.” Jeff was a bit annoyed at Randy’s pretentious comment, as it seemed like something a middle schooler would say. However, when he looked up, he noticed that Randy was smiling. Not a mean smile, a genuine, happy smile. Jeff felt like he was dreaming,

“Sugar, Soil, and uh…Chop Suey.” Jeff answered proudly.

“Poser.” Randy leaned forward, throwing a punch at Tom’s video game character. Jeff couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, so he just tried to continue the conversation,

“What about you?” Jeff questioned,

“Huh?”

“What music do you like?”

“I’m a Led Zeppelin fan. My dad introduced me to them when I was younger.”

“Name three songs.”

“Gallows Pole, Immigrant Song, and The Battle of Evermore.” Randy answered as he won the match in his game, “Do you and Adam want a turn?” Randy asked, offering Jeff his controller. Jeff was hesitant, but agreed. He was a little weirded out by Randy’s weird shift in behavior, but he decided that he would just go downstairs and hide in a bathroom or something until it was time to leave.

After a while of being there, Jeff had actually started to relax a bit. He started to let his guard down, and actually began to have fun with the boys. They played video games, talked about music, hockey, girls, and other teenage-boys things. Jeff even got to hear about some of the town's gossip,

“What have you done while you’ve been out, Jeff?” Adam asked, watching Jeff and Tom fight in Randy’s video game. Jeff let out a long sigh, and shook his head,

“A whole lot of nothing.” He admitted, “My parents took pretty much everything from me, and thanks to the medication I’m on, I can’t drive anywhere. It sucks.” Suddenly, Randy snapped his fingers,

“Driving!” He smiled, eyes wide, “Jeff, do you like cars?” He asked, looking down at Jeff from his bed. When Randy said this, it seemed to grab Troy and Keith’s attention,

“Yeah, I know a little bit about them.” Jeff shrugged, pausing the game.

“Do you want to see my Dad’s 60s mustang? It’s really awesome.” Jeff raised a suspicious eyebrow at Randy,

“Where is it?”

”Oh, in the garage. Trust me, it’s beautiful. You’ll regret it if you don’t.” Jeff wanted to say no, but Randy looked so excited. Everything had been going so well. Randy might just want to show him a cool car. Maybe he would get mad if Jeff said no to him. Maybe there would be another fight. Maybe Liu couldn’t come home,

“Sure.” Jeff nodded, throwing his hoodie back on.

“Okay, but we have to be quiet. My dad doesn’t like me going outside after dark, okay?”

”Outside?” Jeff wondered out loud. Randy stood up, and motioned for his friends to follow behind him. Jeff wasn’t sure about going outside, but he was in too deep now, “For Liu. Do it for Liu.” His mind repeated, the thought of his brother coming home early warming his heart.

The six walked through the upstairs hallway into a large family room in the upstairs area. Randy had a second living room. It was to the right of Randy’s room. All of the lights were off. There was another staircase that led downstairs. At the bottom of it, there was a back door that led outside.

“There's a window outside of the door into the dining room, which is where everyone is.” Randy explained, “We have to be quick and quiet or we'll get caught.” The boys nodded, following Randy down the stairs. Once they made it to the door, Randy opened it, and led them outside. The snow was still falling peacefully, and a thick blanket of it covered the ground. It was very dark out, only the porch light illuminating the exterior of the house. They hurried off of the porch and into Randy’s backyard.

The snow crunched underneath the boys’ shoes. Jeff’s legs were cold, and he began to wonder if the jeans he had chosen were the best choice. He could see his breath as he exhaled, following Randy through the backyard.

“Where…are we going?” Jeff asked, feeling a tinge of nausea,

“The garage is a little ways back here. You can’t see it yet, but the light will come on automatically once we get there.” Just as Randy said this, a motion light lit over their heads, revealing a barn at the entrance of the woods. Jeff shivered, breathing hot air into his hands. The barn was about 60 yards from the house.

“Jeff, I promise, it’s gonna be super cool.” Tom smiled, his green eyes reflecting from the light above. Tom’s reassurance made Jeff feel a bit better. He wondered why they were suddenly on Randy’s side after the mean things he had said to them in the locker room.

Randy attempted to push the sliding barn door open, and eventually did after a long grunt. The inside of the barn was pitch black, only the front of the entrance dimly illuminated by the motion light.

“Come in, it’s toward the back.” Randy had an odd look in his eye, but Jeff moved inside anyway. The dirt floors dusted Jeff’s sneakers, and he couldn’t see a foot in front of him.

“So…where’s the ca-“ Jeff’s sentence was cut short by a blunt force connecting with the back of the head. His body hit the ground along with a metal pipe that Randy had just swung. Jeff clutched his head in pain. It was a trap.

Keith kicked him in his back with much force, knocking the wind out of his lungs. Jeff howled in pain. Just as he tried to stand up, another hard kick connected with the back of his neck. After much difficulty, he shakily stood up, facing away from Randy.

“You’re finally up?” Randy snickered, his two cronies by his side. Tom tried to intervene, but he was knocked to the floor by Troy by a swift punch in the throat. Adam was frozen in place while he watched Tom choking on the blood in his throat. Wasn’t really sure what he was going to do. He moved his feet into a shaky fighting stance, and glared at Randy through his brows. They were about 6 feet apart from each other.

Randy lunged at Jeff, and delivered a good punch to his cheek, knocking him back into a dusty chest on the ground. Suddenly, the ringing in his ears slowly started to return. A fire ignited in Jeff, bringing that feeling back. The fury. The sadistic urges. The pleasure. They had all led up to this moment. He rubbed the spot on his cheek where he had been hit, the violent haze beginning to consume him. He forgot everything he ever knew. He didn’t care about hockey, he didn’t care about Liu, and he didn’t care about Milwaukee. All he wanted to do was hurt the three boys in front of him. Jeff dusted his pants off, and looked up at Randy.

Jeff’s pale face was smeared with black eyeliner, dirt, and a slow drip of blood from his nose. What was the most alarming was the look in his eyes. He was like a violent predator closing in on his prey. Jeff slowly turned his head to the side, and stared at Randy. He wiped his nose on his hoodie sleeve, staining its pure fabric with red blood.

“Randy…what are you doing…?” Adam stuttered, watching Jeff and Randy faceoff in silence.

Randy balled up his fists ready to deliver another blow to Jeff’s face, but Jeff acted quicker. He wrapped his hands around Randy’s neck and pushed him to the ground. He wrestled Randy into the dirt, and pinned his arms down with his knees, just as he had done on the ice. He continued to choke Randy, watching him gasp and sputter for air. A surge of adrenaline ran through Randy’s body, and he pushed Jeff off of him. Jeff quickly recovered, and sent a powerful right hook to Randy’s face who was still on the ground, then another, then another. A wicked cackle escaped Jeff’s throat as he watched his visions become reality. Just then, Troy grabbed Jeff’s hoodie, and pulled him off of the ground. Jeff spun around and sent a strong knee to Troy’s groin, causing him to let go of Jeff and fall over.

Keith came out of nowhere and punched Jeff in the back of the neck. This hurt, but it didn’t stun Jeff. Jeff whipped around and sent a hard fist into Keith’s throat, and then into his chest at just the right moment, stopping his heart. Keith stood shocked for just a moment, before his lifeless body collapsed into the dirt with a thud. With a demented laugh, Jeff launched a final kick directly into Keith’s throat for good measure. He looked unconscious to everyone else, when he was in fact dead. Jeff turned around to Troy and Randy, a wicked grin tugging at the corners of his mouth,

“GUYS!” Tom called out, blood pouring from his mouth. He was far too scared to intervene. Troy stood up and pulled a knife on Adam and Tom so that they wouldn’t come between Jeff and Randy,

“NO ONE INTERRUPTS THEM, OR GUTS WILL FLY.” Troy barked, shoving Adam to the floor. They were helpless. It was between Jeff and Randy now. Randy’s nose was bleeding just like Jeff’s, and he had a nasty incision on his bottom lip. Jeff breathed heavily, reveling in the twisted satisfaction and pleasure that this violence gave him. Randy stared at Jeff, his eyes overflowing with unbridled hatred. He rushed Jeff, sending his fist flying into his opponent’s cheek. Jeff ducked just in time, but received a brutal kick to his back instead. He let out an angered groan before recovering as fast as he could. He then kicked Randy hard into a shelf on the barn’s wall. When Randy collided with the shelf, several items rattled around and fell to the ground.

A can of kerosene fell from the top shelf with a thud beside Randy, barely missing his head. Randy’s eyes landed on the can, lighting up with an idea so horrific, it made him smile. Jeff took his opportunity while he was still on the ground. Jeff punched Randy in the nose as hard as he could. Randy screamed in pain, and pushed Jeff off of him again. He was as angry as ever now. Randy grabbed a knife that had fallen off of the shelf and stood up. He refixed his gaze on Jeff,

“Randy…NO!” Adam called, running to break them up before being grabbed by Troy. It was too late. Randy stabbed Jeff hard in the shoulder. Jeff let out a guttural scream of agony. It was the most pain he had ever been in in his life. He grabbed Randy’s shoulders, and flipped over on top of him. He pulled the knife out of his own shoulder with another blood curdling scream, and held it right above Randy’s throat. Randy was terrified, and he and Jeff struggled for what felt like an eternity. Just as the tip of the knife connected with Randy’s throat, he felt a tug on the back of his bloodstained hoodie,

”JEFF! RANDY! STOP!” Adam begged, trying to pull Jeff off of him. Troy grabbed Adam, and slammed him onto the dirt floor of the barn, kicking him hard in the face with his cowboy boot.

“WHAT’RE YOU DOING?” Tom cried on his knees, trying not to look at Randy’s disgusting blood stained shirt. Jeff was trying to get back up, but he was losing a lot of blood. He was growing weak. Randy shoved Tom, knocking his small frame to the ground. While Adam was busy trying to calm Tom down, Randy grabbed the can of kerosene that had fallen off of the shelf. If you thought about it, Jeff and Randy weren’t that much different anymore. He was just as insane as Jeff was.

Jeff’s body began to try to crawl out to the snow. His vision was growing blurry. The night was so serene. Randy’s house silhouetted against the trees, the lights from inside shining onto the porch and into the backyard. He could see the adults in the dining room, oblivious to what was going on outside. The snow fell to the ground, only seen under the brassy motion activated light outside of the barn. He couldn’t really hear anything, the ringing in his ears had taken the sense away from him entirely.

He was almost to the outside. When his fingertips reached the cold surface, he was dragged back into the barn by his ankles. Randy kicked Jeff in his ribs as hard as he could. Randy shivered because his long sleeve shirt was so stained with blood, it had frozen halfway to his body. Jeff coughed up blood, the metallic liquid staining the dirt.

Randy turned around and stumbled to the shelf. He saw the half empty gallon of kerosene spilled on the ground. He picked it up and started to unscrew the cap.

“Randy…what are you doing?” Troy tried to talk to his friend while still holding Adam and Tom back. The bully realized how long Keith had been laying still for, and began to assume the worst,

“RANDY, THIS IS TOO FAR!!” Adam yelled, Randy pointed the knife at him, and widened his eyes. He could barely be seen in the darkness of the barn,

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP TROY! GET AWAY FROM US OR I SWEAR, I’LL GUT YOU!” Randy screeched, throwing the kerosene can’s cap to the ground. Tom, Troy and Adam were frozen. They wanted to run and tell the adults, but they were scared of what Randy would do to them. They watched helplessly as Randy poured what little was left in the gas tank onto Jeff’s body. Jeff groaned in pain when the gasoline met the wound on his shoulder. He used the last ounce of his strength trying to crawl away. The fluid made him colder than he already was. He shivered, his vision beginning to fade.

Randy let out a chilling laugh. He then took a lighter out of his coat pocket, and struggled to summon the flame. Finally, Randy’s face brightened in the darkness from the orange glow of the lighter. Adam ran towards Randy, but it was too late. As soon as the lighter hit Jeff’s kerosene soaked hoodie, his entire back went up in flames. The scream he let out shook all of the boys to their cores, including Randy. His adrenaline surged and he actually managed to stand up as Randy and Adam fought behind him. He was an inferno, using his last bit of life to tear what remained of his hoodie from his body. The fire had soaked into his teeshirt, which now burned into his skin. Jeff panicked as the flames seared his skin, moving up his body. His skin melted, and sloughed off into the snow in chunks, hissing when it hit the cold snow. The fire cauterized the wound on his shoulder as he collapsed backwards into the cold powder.

The back of his body was put out, but his front was still on fire. The flames had reached his face, and now up in his hair. He tore at his skin, trying to extinguish the blaze. Instead, he just tore pieces of flesh from his face, only worsening the pain. He used his last bit of life to flip his body over. He laid motionless in the cold snow. He still couldn’t hear anything. He stared sideways at the treeine against the night sky. The moon was hidden behind the clouds, and even if it was out, he wouldn’t have been able to see it over the motion light. Everything seemed completely peaceful as the snow fell around him. The pain slowly subsided, as did Jeff’s consciousness.

The last thing Jeff remembered seeing before he faded away was the tall, faceless man standing over him under the flickering barn light.

The Breaking

Jeff’s body had laid still in the hospital for 2 weeks, going in and out of stable condition. He was a medical miracle. If it hadn’t been for the thick blanket of powdery snow on the ground that put out the fire, he would have certainly died.

Jeff’s friends and close family members had visited him throughout his hospitalization. His parents had only stopped by when they absolutely had to, even Jeff’s stepmother, who was a stay-at-home mom. Jeff awoke in the hospital room on a Wednesday.

He could just barely open his eyes as his entire head was wrapped in sterile, white bandages. There were several vases of flowers beside his bed, including an especially beautiful blue and yellow bouquet from Jeff’s old travel hockey team in Milwaukee.

He made a weak attempt to sit up, not realizing the extent to which his upper-half was wrapped up. He was bandaged all the way down to his upper stomach, and all the way down his wrists. He tried to sit up one more time, and was successful. He brought his hands up to his face, and felt the coarse bandages under his fingertips. He tried to unwrap them, but was interrupted by a nurse rushing into his room,

“Hello, Jeffery!” She whispered cheerfully before grabbing Jeff’s hands. He was annoyed that she didn’t call him ‘Jeff’, but he could hardly speak to correct her,

“Water…” He croaked, his throat as dry as a desert. The nurse ran over to a sink in the room, and poured him a little paper cup of water. She put it up to Jeff’s lips, and let him drink in small sips. He started to take in his surroundings,

“Where…am I? What happe-“ This was all Jeff’s mind could process before the memories came pouring back in. His body engulfed in flames and the smell of kerosene and burnt flesh singing his nose after he had been beaten nearly to death. His hands clawing at the dirt floor of the barn to make it to the snow so that he could escape the agony. Randy’s sick grin under his disgusting blue eyes. Jeff felt rage flow through his veins at the thought of Randy.

“Jeffery? Hello?” The nurse asked, waving her hand in front of his face. Jeff responded without averting his gaze an inch,

“It’s Jeff.” He muttered faintly, memories of the fire scorching his skin replaying over and over in his mind.

“I’m sorry,” The nurse was a bit stunned at Jeff’s terrifying blue eyes, “So…Jeff…how are you feeling? Do you need more water?” She asked. Jeff didn’t answer with words. He instead shook his head slowly. The nurse hit the call button, and within minutes, doctors and nurses swarmed the hospital room.

The next few hours, Jeff was pelted with redundant questions from every direction. About an hour in, Jeff stopped answering them entirely. All he could think about was hurting people. Hurting the doctors. Hurting the nurses surrounding him. Mr. H, Coach Barkley, and of course, Randy.

That night, Jeff was left alone by everyone, excluding the first nurse that had originally come to check on him. She would periodically return to give him food or water whenever he needed it. That night, she entered Jeff’s room to find him watching a movie on the TV in front of his bed. On screen, Laurie Strode hid in her closet from Michael Myers, who was just about to break through the door.

“Halloween?” She smiled, carrying a tray of broth. Jeff slowly turned to look up at her. He nodded, “That’s one of my favorites. Have you seen Rob Zombie’s version?” She asked, setting the tray beside Jeff’s bed,

“I hate that movie.” Jeff mumbled, almost inaudibly. He tracked her every move out of the corner of his light blue eyes.

“Me too.” She laughed, agreeing with her patient. She looked to be fresh out of college, with dark, hazel eyes, and long, wavy, brown hair. Freckles dotted her pale face, and she wore dark blue scrubs.

“Michael Myers is my favorite slasher.” Jeff breathed, turning his face back to his movie.

“I love Scream.” She admitted, beginning to spoon feed Jeff his broth. If Jeff was in his right mind, he would have been very embarrassed. Instead, he was enveloped in the body that Michael Myers hung on the wall with a knife through the neck. Jeff found that he liked this nurse, and he wanted to know more about her,

“What’s your name?” He turned his gaze back to her without moving his head,

“Oh I’m Jane.” She smiled, and gave Jeff another spoonful of warm broth. When Jeff finished his dinner, the nurse switched the movie off, and tucked Jeff into bed,

“Will you be here in the morning?” Jeff wondered. His voice almost had a creepy, child-like tone to it.

“Um- Yes! I’ll be here.” She answered, “Goodnight, Jeff. Use the call button if you need anything.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jeff’s January, February, and the beginning of March were spent in the hospital healing from his burn wounds. Every couple of days, his favorite nurse, Jane, would come in to change his bandages. They would have the same conversation every time:

”Do you want to see your face, Jeff?” She would ask, offering him a mirror. He would shake his head, and giggle childishly,

“No, no, no…It’s not time yet.”

Jeff’s friends would visit sometimes, and Stanley came once a week to check on him. Jeff didn’t care anymore. When they would come, he would give them one word responses to all of their questions, hoping that they would go away. Sometimes, he would pretend to be asleep so that they would drop their gifts off and leave. He had much more important matters at hand.

He would mutter to himself about Randy, or his parents, and about how much he hated them. He would watch his movies, and imagine himself as the antagonist. Every character that died was Randy Hayden. These movies only fueled his twisted fantasies further.

Jeff also began to refuse treatment as much as he could, as it would interrupt his thoughts. His doctors and visitors were beginning to notice Jeff’s behavior. It concerned them, but they replaced their worries with blissful indifference, and moved on. Finally, the day Jeff would be discharged came.

Jeff had insisted multiple times every day that his family not be there when his bandages were finally removed, but unfortunately, his wishes weren’t granted. Jeff’s stepmother and father were scheduled to come in and see Jeff’s bandage removal. Little did Jeff know, there was a surprise that came with them.

“Jeff?” Liu’s voice caused Jeff to turn rapidly towards the doorway, hurting his neck a little in the process,

“Liu?” He called back as his half brother ran to him in an embrace.

“Jeff! I missed you so much!” Liu cried into Jeff’s shoulder, hugging him tight. Jeff’s reunion with Liu didn’t feel anything like he thought it would. He wasn’t really excited or joyed to see his brother. It was underwhelming. It felt empty. He realized then that he had barely given his brother’s absence a thought while in the hospital. Liu was taken away from Jeff with a gentle nudge by Jeff’s main doctor.

“Well…are you ready?” The doctor asked, standing beside Jeff’s bed in a pristine white lab coat. The 4 nurses that had cared for Jeff, including Jane, as well as Jeff’s parents, and Liu stood around the bed in anticipation. Jeff gave a little nod, and felt his arm bandages begin to be unwound. He shut his eyes tight to avoid spoiling the surprise. When the bandage at Jeff’s left shoulder was all the way off, he heard his stepmother irk in horror. The doctor shot her a look, before moving to the other side of the bed to unwrap Jeff’s other arm.

After his chest bandages had been unwrapped, it was time for the grand finale. The doctor unwrapped Jeff’s face, and shakily peeled away the gauze. The whole room gasped when his face was finally revealed.

Jeff opened his eyes, and immediately looked down. His upper arms, shoulders, and chest were covered in jagged peaks and valleys where smooth, pale skin had once been. Surgery scars etched shiny lines all along his upper body. He was a mosaic of pale pink and tan. He slowly moved his hands to touch his chest. The ridges and bumps felt unfamilar to him. Jeff gazed in the mirror that had been provided. The mirror shook, and his knuckles turned white from how hard he gripped the handle.

His face was covered in jagged burn scars that ran all across his face. The upper right side had been relatively unscathed, but his nose, cheeks, chin, and left eye were severely damaged. The outer half of his left eyebrow was gone. He moved his black hair to the side, and found that he had a bit of an undercut below his ear where his hair had been burned away. His blue eyes stood out even more now that his face was covered in scars, almost seeming to glow.

“Mr. And Mrs. Woods…May I speak to you outside?” The lead doctor asked, giving a look of sympathy to Jeff’s stepmother, who was now crying. They were taken outside, and the doctor began to speak,

“Your son is a very lucky boy. Dare I say a walking miracle. He made an incredible recovery, one of the best I’ve ever seen in my 25 years here. However, he still has a long road ahead of him.”

Jeff’s father glared at the doctor, and moved to comfort his wife. The nurses and doctors exited Jeff’s room so that he could spend time alone with his family. Jeff’s parents stayed outside, and spoke quietly together in the lobby of the hospital.

Meanwhile, Liu watched with a great deal of concern as his older brother stared at himself in the mirror. He wore a green hospital gown, and grippy socks. Jeff would feel his skin, and stare at his scarred face. Liu couldn’t tell how he was feeling, as Jeff hadn’t said anything since they had embraced.

“Jeff…It’s not that bad…” Liu tried to comfort him, setting a gentle hand on Jeff’s lower back to avoid touching his scars.

“Not that bad?” He spun around to look at Liu, “It’s perfect!” Jeff turned back around, and laughed.

“Um…What?” Liu raised an eyebrow, worry beginning to simmer inside of him.

“This new face…It matches me perfectly! It’s perfect. It-It looks like me.” Jeff began to repeat ‘It’s perfect’ over and over under his breath, wrapping his fingers in his hair. Liu backed out of the hospital room’s bathroom without his brother noticing. He crept into the hallway, looking for a doctor. He ran straight into Jane, who was carrying clothes for Jeff.

“U-um…are you a doctor?” He mumbled, a bit taken aback by her beauty.

”I’m a nurse, sweetheart.” She answered, “What can I do for you?”

”Um…I don’t think my brother is…okay.” He whispered, not wanting to alert Jeff to his conversation. Jane looked slightly confused,

“How so?”

“He isn’t upset about his face at all…he’s happy. He keeps talking about how “perfect” it is.” Liu answered, talking nervously with his hands.

“Ah…um…I’ll tell the doctor. In the meantime, you can wait outside while your brother gets changed.” Liu nodded, and sat on a bench beside his brother’s room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jeff gave his doctors and nurses a final goodbye right before he was discharged. He never really cared for any of them, except for Jane. He found her odd. She wasn’t like the rest of the staff. She was the only one who got a hug from Jeff.

The car ride home was bleak and empty. Muffled sobs from Jeff’s stepmother, the engine, and the wind rushing past the car were the only sounds that could be heard. Jeff didn’t pay attention, and instead smiled widely while looking out the window. Liu felt odd, and decided to break the silence,

“What’s for dinner? We should go somewhere special for Jeff.” He suggested, before a scoff from his father,

“Shut up, Liu.” He spoke bluntly, as his wife continued to sob. Liu was alarmed. His parents were mean, but never that bluntly. He looked back at Jeff, to see if this had elicited any reaction from him. Nothing. He continued to smile wide, and stare out the window.

Liu couldn’t explain it, but he had a horrible feeling. A gut-wrenching, sickening, alarm-bell-ringing feeling. His brother needed help, and he knew that his parents would delay a psychiatry appointment for as long as they could.

The End

That night, Jeff hadn’t been able to sleep a wink. All he could think about were his parents, Randy, and his beautiful new face.

They had ruined everything. His parents took his home, his school, hockey, and his brother from him. They wouldn’t listen to his (or his half-brother’s) cries for help, no matter how desperate they were. And when he thought that it couldn’t possibly get worse, they sent him to the slaughter house. They sent him to die. Though Jeff didn’t view his appearance in a negative way, they were why he was disfigured. It was all their fault.

And Randy. He had been a nuisance since the moment he arrived in Elmerville. If he had just left Jeff alone, they might have made a great team. Jeff hated him. He hated him more than his parents. His heart pounded harder than it ever had before. Then, he realized something. He had beat Randy pretty badly when he had first arrived at the school, but Randy had hit him back harder. He had bit off more revenge than he could chew. He hadn’t even been punished for it, as his parents just paid for an expensive lawyer to get him out of the trouble.

Jeff wasn’t like him. He knew that the score needed to be settled. He knew that justice needed to be served. Jeff’s cheeks burned from his manic smiling, and he dropped the facial expression. He sat up in his bed, and shook his fluffy hair around.

“I can’t smile anymore.” He whispered out loud to himself, followed by an angry head shake and groan. He gripped his head in his hands, and gave a loud sigh. Then, an idea popped into his broken mind. He regained his smile, and jumped out of bed with a start to head downstairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jeff’s stepmother awoke when she heard a noise coming from outside of her bedroom. She had always been a light sleeper, unlike her husband. She sighed, and tried to ignore it. It was around 12 in the morning. Her hair was in curlers, and she wore pink satin pajamas. The noise grew louder, and she found that she couldn’t ignore it any longer. She figured it was Liu trying to sneak a midnight snack. Too bad he couldn’t be any quieter.

She pulled her slippers on, and walked slowly to her bedroom door. She opened it, allowing her to better hear the noises. The guest bathroom’s light was on. It was across the living room from their room, about 25 feet away. She crept towards it, finding that the door was slightly opened. It sounded almost like crying. As she approached the door, her mind made more sense of what she heard. It was laughter. Twisted, evil laughter. A chill ran down her spine.

When she set her hand on the door to open it, the laughter instantly stopped. She took a quick breath, unsure of what to do. She hesitated before pushing the door all the way open. What she saw horrified her. Her hands moved to cover her agape mouth as her body was frozen in shock.

Jeff stood in front of the bathroom vanity, which was covered in blood. Bloody handprints covered the mirror, as well as the walls, the sink, the floor, and even the cabinet below the sink. The bathroom looked like a piece of modern art. Jeff gripped a blood soaked knife in his right hand, evidence of what he had just done. His burned cheeks were freshly sliced open into a gruesome smile. Blood poured out onto his light gray band tee-shirt, underneath which he wore a long sleeved black shirt. Mrs. Woods had a look of disbelief on her face as she stared at what her son had done to himself,

“You…Jeff- What- What have you done?” She stared at him as he let out a soul-chilling cackle.

“I-I couldn’t keep smiling…It….It hurt after a while…so…I did this! Now, I can smile forever...” His pale blue eyes were ringed in black. He had taken his eyeliner in a messy attempt to enhance his appearance.

“Son…you look hideous…w-what have you done!?” She screamed, tears rolling down her cheeks, “All these years your father and I have been through, and for what?!” Jeff’s psychotic smile changed. His chin tilted downwards, and he stared at his stepmother through his eyebrows. His smile fled his face,

“You…d-don’t think I’m beautiful…do you?” He cocked his head slightly to the side. Before his stepmother could answer, he rushed her with his knife, gutting her. Her organs and copious amounts of red blood spilled out onto the bathroom floor, furthering the mess he had already created. Jeff couldn’t contain his laughter as he watched her lifeless body fall to the floor, twitching and sputtering for air. When he looked up, he saw his father standing in the darkness of the living room, frozen in terror,

“Son…” Was all he said. Jeff resumed a smile, although it wasn’t quite as large this time,

“Dad?” Jeff questioned, wiping the blood on his knife off with his sleeve, “Do you think I’m beautiful?” Jeff’s father stared at his wife’s bloody corpse on the floor. He said nothing, his biggest mistake. Jeff’s smile faded again, and he lunged at his father.

His shoved his son, but it had nothing to it. Jeff was a machine that was running off of adrenaline, bloodlust, and rage, a deadly combination. He stabbed his father in the chest, his ribs cracking loudly. When Jeff pulled the knife out. Jeff’s father yowled, clutching his bloody shirt. He staggered backwards, unsure of what to do. He fell into the short coffee table with a loud crash. The glass shattered beneath his weight, and the wood support that held the table up in the middle impaled him straight through his stomach. He tried to scream, but no sound came out.

He looked up at his eldest son, his blue eyes seeming to glow in the dark. The only sounds were Jeff’s footsteps and the drops of his own blood hitting the floor. Jeff tilted his head to the side again, staring at his helpless father’s suffering. When he was bored of this sight, he leaned over him, and slit his throat, blood spurting out on the carpet.

When Jeff stood back up, he sighed out and smiled again. He was pleased with what he saw. He had made such quick work of his parents, and it felt great. They wouldn’t be there to bother him anymore. When he stood up to leave, he heard a soft groaning sound coming from behind him. When he turned around, he saw his stepmother crawling towards him, dragging her intestines out behind her. She left a smear of blood on the floor like a snail. Jeff got down to her level, and finished her off with a quick stab in the back of her neck.

He flopped down on the couch for a moment, examining the chaos of the living room that was only illuminated by the light from the guest bathroom. Warm blood flowed slowly down his chin and neck, but he couldn’t feel a thing. It was eerily silent, his surroundings standing in awe at what he had just done.

He pondered his next move, and decided to go for a drive. He padded silently up the stairs, and stepped quietly through the hallway. Just as he was about to enter his room, he remembered his brother. He walked slowly to Liu’s room, his door already cracked open. When he pushed on the wood, he found his brother asleep in his bed. He listened to music with headphones, so Jeff knew he wouldn’t have heard any of the commotion downstairs.

Jeff moved silently to Liu’s bed, and leaned over him. This woke Liu up, but just barely. The room was too dark for him to actually see Jeff’s appearance.

“Jeff…?” He muttered sleepily. Jeff gave his brother a bloody kiss on the forehead, “Jeff did you…wash your face?” Liu chuckled, wiping his forehead with his sleeve and pulling his covers over his shoulder. Jeff smiled slightly, stroking his brother’s brown hair with his hand.

“Go to sleep, asshole.” Liu whispered, hugging his pillow and trying to return to his slumber. Jeff said nothing and took his knife out of his pocket, wiping it clean of his parent’s blood with his hoodie sleeve.

“No, Liu.” He uttered, a short giggle escaping his lungs. Liu stirred more, sitting up in his bed. Jeff grabbed Liu’s shoulder, and pushed him back down into his bed with force, “Jeff, stop-”

Jeff raised his knife above his head, the light from the hallway catching the blade. It took Liu a moment to process, but when he did, he let out a scream so loud, Jeff had to cover his mouth with his hand to shut him up. He plunged the knife directly into Liu’s chest. Directly into his beating heart. Liu looked stunned, like he couldn’t believe what had just happened to him. Jeff yanked the knife out, and stabbed him again. Then again. Then again. He kept going for around 5 minutes, until Liu’s poor body had around 34 stab wounds in it. He looked like a slush of blood, organs, and bone fragments. His face was unrecognizable because Jeff had carved a deep smile into his cheeks to match his own. Liu didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. He was dead. Jeff’s beloved brother was dead, and he felt nothing.

Jeff climbed out of Liu’s blood-soaked bed, and dusted himself off. Obviously, this did no good. He threw Liu’s door open, knowing now that he was basically home alone. He felt sick to his stomach. What he had done hadn’t quite registered yet. He was too focused on what he was going to do next. He had limited time. He had to make the most of it.

Jeff went back to his room, leaving bloody footprints in the carpet. He flipped his bedroom light on, and began to search for what he needed. He changed his clothes, as the ones he was wearing were completely saturated in blood, and would become unbearable in the cold. He put on a team hockey hoodie from his old school, and a Black Veil Brides shirt over it for warmth. He grabbed a black jacket, his fuzzy socks, boots, and a thicker pair of insulated pants. He had some fingerless gloves that he pulled on, along with a couple of bracelets from his nightstand.

Jeff walked down the stairs, and passed the site where he murdered his parents. He admired his work for one more quick moment, before grabbing his car keys off of the kitchen’s island with shaking hands. When he opened the house’s garage door, he felt a rush of chilly air surround his body. He looked out into the serene night sky, dusted with stars and the occasional clouds. It was mesmerising. With one final glance backwards at his parents, he disappeared into the night, leaving the new house’s door wide open.

OH MY GOSH??? YOU READ THE WHOLE THING???? THIS MUST MEAN THAT YOU LIKED IT?? THANKS!!

[hiatuswhore]

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑀𝑜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝓎 𝒪𝓃𝑒 𝐼𝒱 — 𝐵𝓇𝒾𝒹𝑔𝑒𝓇𝓉𝑜𝓃

♕ A/N: I am so sorry for just disappearing on this fic. I love this fic but I’ve been struggling with writers block BADLY. My think tank is broken or something. So since I disappeared for so long the word count is double the usual. Thanks for your patience. Feedback please!

♕ SUMMARY: Oh, the most scandalous season of the year has come to pass. After quite the successful year for the Bridgerton’s the eldest son plans to throw his hat in the ring. Concurrently the Sharma sisters do just the same. One a spinster, the other hopeful romantic, and the middle daughter? What can be said about such a force that is not said when she enters the room. Good luck to all who pursue her.

♕ WORD COUNT: 17.6K

♕ WARNINGS: None

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THE NIGHT SKY SITS HIGH UP WITH A COOL BREEZE THROUGH THE WINDOW. Sitting alone in front of a vanity worth more than most of your things combined, you sit in the mirror, brushing your hair, toying with the idea of a marriage to William. It’s ideal—more than ideal, it comes with everything you want in life. An out from society, the means to do as you please, but still, it burdens you with a new level of expectations and responsibilities. No matter how much the choice glitters, it’s not gold. You cannot bring yourself to give him an answer.

Opening your room door slowly, you poke your head out quietly, scanning the corridor. At the sight of no one and the low hum of everyone to their own devices, you move cautiously through the hall. The stairs proved to be their own obstacle, with every creak threatening to reveal your scheming. Your end goal? The back porch, certain a moment beneath the stars.

“—you cannot be serious!” Stopping short, the back door sits in view a mere few steps away, but William’s voice halts your movement. The closed-door staring back at you, the persistent padding of the floor matching the faint shadow beneath hastily moving back and forth.

“Spare me, William! You speak on speculation alone!” Anthony seethes, his attempts to whisper clashing with his own frustration. A scandal? You want to listen, to cling to any information the private conversation offers, but the foyer lacks any semblance of coverage. It would only take one person opening the door to reveal your highly inappropriate snooping. As a guest of the Bridgertons, no good would come from this kind of trouble. You cast the moment to the back of your mind, acknowledging that you have more complicated matters than two Englishmen in a row.

Rising early the following day. Typically the beaming sun through the curtains and the loud chirping of birds result in dramatic whines and huffs. Not today. Before your mother or even Lady Danbury can rise to object, you ask Lady Violet to use the driver to see some of the countryside. Her nescience to your troublesome nature granting you jovial approval.

In the carriage, you rest your arms on the open window, the cool air blowing across your skin. The sun warms your face as you melt into the calm that comes with endless farmland.

“Excuse me, sir. Can you pull over, please?” You call out. The vibrant green shines with a sea of endless flowers, assuring John, the driver, that you will soon return while entering the open field. Walking through the grass, you march without a destination. Occasionally swatting away a fly or bug, your smile remains.

“Appa, look at this,” You whisper, eyes shining at the flowers around you. John’s no longer in sight. You are not positive about how far you have journeyed when you turn around. Without a worry, you continue back straight from the direction you came. After a long while, the lack of the familiar carriage comes with a wave of ambivalence. The silence continues on as a frown settles on your face, the terrain on a continuous loop.

Scolding your inability to follow any directions ever given to you. You drag your feet huffing at the uncomfortable rub of your boots. The concept of time now an illusion. Your mind says it’s been hours as your feet cry days. You thank the heavens above at the sound of a horse until you see who rides toward you with a pointed look.

“Must you always be so erratic? William and I have been searching for you for hours! Do tell, how does one get lost with no turns?” Anthony exclaims, stopping expertly at your side. You wipe the discomfort from your face as you cross your arms in front of your chest.

“First, I’ll have you know that I am not lost. Secondly, no one asked you to come searching for me!” Anthony points out the ways off you are from where the carriage let you out. Falling silent, you roll your eyes before holding out your hand to join Anthony on the horse.

“You can’t be seen riding on the back of my horse. It would be improper,” He says, keeping your hand out; you narrow your eyes at his words, “So, to be clear, you journeyed out here with no alternative of getting me to the estate? Have you come only to chastise me, Mother?”

“If you put it like that, then, of course, it sounds foolish,” Anthony grumbles, your right eye twitching as you fight the urge to push him off the horse, “Because it is foolish! Now spare me your silly formalities and help me up!”

His nose scrunches as a sigh leaves him. Taking your hand and pulling you up, he utilizes the opportunity to lecture you on every worst-case scenario. You secure your arms around his lower back and lean your head on his shoulder. He drones about the dangers of the particular area and how fortunate nothing occurred. While he continues listing every action of yours he deems a nuisance, you soak in the release of the tensions on your legs and feet. Before you know it, his words and the smooth trot of the horse lull you away.

“—are you even listening? Of course, you are not. Why would (Y/n) Sharma listen to anyone else other than herself?” Anthony says, glancing on his shoulder to find your eyes closed.

“Don’t be such a boorish oaf. It’s been a phenomenal day,” Yawning, you find yourself nuzzling further into the back of his shoulder as if nothing else matters. Anthony lets out a dry chuckle, keeping his focus ahead as his mind pushes William’s confession to the back of his thoughts.

Before you know it, Aubrey Hall stands in view like your saving grace. Daphne steps through the doors as Anthony helps you down from the horse. Her eyebrows furrow as she carefully eyes the two of you, “No matter how painfully dull I find you, I must say thank you for coming to get me. Repeat that to anyone and I’ll deny it to my dying breath.”

“I expect nothing less from you, Miss Sharma,” Anthony nods his head at your thank you as Daphne lingers by the steps. Her eyebrows furrow at the two of you as her mind generates connections she previously presumed to be false.

“(Y/n) Sharma! Have you gone mad? I was worried sick, my child,” Your mother rushes down the stairs pulling you into a tight hug. While relief fills her, it subsides as she pulls back from the hug with a pointed stare. “What have you done?”

“If I may, Lady Mary? It appears our driver just made haste. Miss Sharma was only a little ways off of the path. Indeed partaking in a breathtaking but safe area of the countryside,” You turn to Anthony as he speaks with a charming smile. His easygoing nature saves you from a long lecture you would have inevitably received from your mother.

“Well, then, my apologies, dearest. Lord Bridgerton, please accept my utmost gratitude for ensuring my daughters' safe return,” Lady Mary says as she takes your arms. She excuses the two of you with a polite smile before dragging you toward the house. You look back at Anthony with narrowed eyes, but he only offers a sardonic smile with a mocking wave. You are certain his help does not come without cost.

“Though Lord Bridgerton vouches for the safety of your insolence, you know better (Y/n)!” Your mother sighs with her back on the door.

“Mama, I did not wish to upset anyone. I just wanted to explore the countryside. You should have seen it. It was beautiful!” You sit on the edge of the bed as your mind fills with the flowers splintering in your memory. The reds, blues, and purples blending in your mind, the ache of your feet long gone.

“My darling, can we please just focus on ensuring tonight’s dinner goes without shenanigans?” Mary sighs, holding her composure she stares at you with patient eyes. “I need your word that while we are here as guests, you will do everything possible to ensure this visit goes smoothly. For Edwina’s sake.”

“Mama, it was only—“ You huff, but as she shakes her head, asking only for your word. “Of course, Mama. I want to make clear I would never do anything to jeopardize our family or Edwina’s happiness. I need to know you know that?”

Mary’s shoulders fall as she takes in your glassy-eyed gaze. She joins you on the edge of the bed, taking both your cheeks in her hand. “(Y/n) I know you believe that, but you fail to remember your actions have consequences. When it is just us, I am more than okay with your adventurousness. But here, my wildflower child is a different world than you know. One wrong move, and it can ruin us all.”

The heaviness of her words does not come without consequence. Even long after your mother leaves you, her words do not. The arrival of dinner does not allow you to dwell on the implications of your mothers' words. You sit between Colin and Benedict, with Kate and Eloise across from you.

“This room is exceptionally well-lit. Have you noticed, Col? How bout you, Lady (Y/n)? The twinkles of the candles, it’s as if—we sit among the stars,” Benedict speaks in awe that exceeds the contents of his words—amusement dances across your face as Colin's eyes continuously bounce to his mother and back to Benedict.

“What is wrong with you?” Eloise questions, mirroring your expression as she eyes her elder brother.

“I was just telling Benedict how brilliant the stars were in Greece,” Colin says as if his mind formulates his sentence as it leaves him.

“No, you weren—“ You raise an eyebrow as Colin lightly kicks your shin. The rest of the table watches the pause between the two of you. Colin offers you a pleading smile as you shake your head, shielding your lips with your glass. “You should know that I weaponize my silence. The cost is simple. Why is Benedict acting odd?”

“I gave him a powder that I acquired from my travels. He took far too much of it,” Colin says, earning a loud laugh that draws the attention of the rest of the table. You quickly recover by bringing your glass to your lips again; meeting William’s gaze, he raises an eyebrow. Shrugging your shoulders, you tilt your head toward Benedict until William’s eyes move to the left of you. The longer you stare at the Bridgerton, the more apparent his altered state appears.

“Are you enjoying your time here, Miss Edwina?” Daphne asks, diverting the attention to the opposite end of the table. Edwina sits with Colin to her right and Anthony to her left. Daphne sits across from her with Anthony to her left and William to her right.

“I am, very much. The buzz of the city is thrilling indeed, but I quite enjoy the peace of the country,” Edwina smiles brightly as most of the table watches her. Your attention more on Benedict, who continues quietly in your ear about the room's beauty. Lady Danbury watches you quietly with Kate at her left and Lady Violet at her right. You silently thank whoever made the seating arrangements as your mother sits beside Benedict, unable to eye you the entire night.

“As do I. Though I dare say. It is not quite so peaceful with my entire family in residence,” Anthony points out. Rolling your eyes, you find William chuckling softly, his eyes on you.

“Certainly, I cannot compare my family to your seven brothers and sisters, but you have all become familiar with my wonderfully chaotic sister (Y/n). Kate and I were known to be a handful growing up, but Mama always had her hands full with (Y/n),” Edwina says, leaning forward to catch her gaze; you offer a playful wink. Kate does not miss the opportunity to share when you decided you no longer desired the hair on your head.

“Not this again,” You whine, shaking your head as Kate details how you excitedly carried your hair in your hand.

“I had never seen Mama become so flustered so rapidly. She was endlessly chasing (Y/n) throughout our home,” Edwina details as a chorus of laughter fills the table. Daphne's giggles cease as William huffs to the right of her. She follows his gaze to her left. A smile ghosts on Anthony’s lips as he watches how you laugh sheepishly. Anthony’s eyes focus on you, a nostalgic glint in his eyes,

“(Y/n) was such a fast child I could rarely catch her when she was determined to not be caught,” Your mother smiles, her eyes glazing over as if she leaves the dinner table to relive that memory. The story lacks the part where your father caught you. Despite your upset mother, he only laughed. Not a simple laugh, one without end—he laughed so hard the rest of you could not help but follow suit.

“In seriousness, both Kate and (Y/n) bear heavy responsibilities for our family. (Y/n) has never allowed any moment, no matter how hard in our lives to go without some silver lining. If anyone can help you through a tough time, it’s her. We’d have never survived the tough days without her,” Edwina continues as you look to find her gaze, only to find Anthony’s. It lasts seconds as you roll your eyes at him before looking at your sister. A chuckle leaves his lips as he fails to hear Edwina talk about Kate. Daphne watches warily as William silently watches his oblivious best friend.

“That sounds remarkably similar to you, Anthony,” Daphne says, watching as her brother snaps back into the conversation, “Much familial responsibility to bear, indeed.”

Kate catches Daphne's knowing gaze, and the two watch each other silently for several seconds. You sit watching Colin fail to keep Benedict in check, knocking over his glass and covering his face. When he removes his hand, it reveals a child-like grin, sheer contentment.

“Benedict dear, you alarm our guests,” Lady Violet says with the grace of a seasoned noble. A perfect blend of warmth and patronization. You know that tone all too well.

“Not at all,” Kate says as you offer a giant smile to Lady Violet. The sound of Lady Danbury’s fork against her glass commands the room's attention.

“It is time for a toast,” Lady Danbury says. A smooth distraction, chuckling, you glance at Benedict.

“A good idea. To cheer our guests,” Lady Violet says as your mother beams happily at the idea. It’s clear what they hope to achieve at this dinner, and you find it rather nauseating how they puppeteer it all.

“Or to tend to other pressing matters,” Lady Danbury's words are everything short of subtle. The attention turns to Anthony and Edwina quickly. Kate makes eye contact with Daphne, then with you. While you look unfazed by the inevitable purpose of this invitation, it’s clear Kate seeks a haste exit.

“My—I believe my sisters and I have grown weary,” Kate says. A sharp kick to your shin blocks your attempts to deny her words as you hiss quietly.

“Whatever you gave Benedict, you might need to give it to Kate,” You whisper to Colin, who turns to your sister. She holds her wine close to her lips as her fingers drum against the glass. Her posture’s stiff as she looks at Anthony as if her eyes can strike him dead.

“A toast. Yes,” Anthony rises from the head of the table as you all raise your glasses. “My sincere gratitude to the Sharmas for joining us. It has been splendid having you here to witness what is now my second annual loss at Pall-Mall. Not to be repeated, I assure you. And my special gratitude to Miss Edwina. It has certainly been a privilege to truly make your acquaintance these past few days. In fact, I believe there is a question I would like to ask you.”

You watch as most of the table sits at the very edge of their seats as Anthony pauses. Your eyes cut to Daphne, your eyebrows furrowing at the sight. Daphne steals glances at William, whose lips press tight as he stares at Anthony with—confusion? Kate shares Daphne’s weary expression, and you furrow your eyebrows as something does not quite click. Anthony now stands with his hands clasped behind his back, scanning the room. His eyes find your own, furthering your confusion as he pauses for a second. Anthony moves his gaze to William, and the two appear to speak to one another without saying a single word.

“I should like to uh—I should like to ask you please refrain from telling anyone back in London about yesterday's loss. I fear the harm to my reputation would simply be too great,” Awkward chuckles chorus through the room, but you glare daggers at the Viscount. You may not know classic literature well or Latin, but you know your sisters. The fall of Edwina’s face appears subtle, but the sting of Anthony’s words are unmistakable. Daphne and Kate let out sighs of relief as William stares at you. You cannot decipher what he contemplates, but you are sure it has something to do with Kate, Daphne, and Anthony. Dinner continues, and the end cannot come fast enough.

Finally, just your sisters and yourself. Kate rubs Edwina’s head as you sit without words. Deep frown lines crease Edwina’s forehead, her eyes misty, and you are confident that her self-scrutiny eats away at her insides.

“You must know you did nothing wrong,” Kate dares to say, but Edwina’s words are sharp as she speaks almost instantly, “I must have done something. The rest of the ton are now set to join us in the country. Surely, if the Viscount were to propose, he’d have done it by now. Yes?”

“Edwina, you are putting far too much pressure on yourself. You are wonderful, and they know it,” You take her hand in both your own, bringing it up to your lips.

“That is easy for you to say. People always love you, no matter where you go. You were proposed to by a man in line for the throne of England, Lady Violet dotes on you, and you charmed the Queen. You don’t even try and have done far better than I am. What if I missed my chance? Perhaps I should’ve found out more about the Bridgertons. I should’ve known more about their interests. I should’ve been better,” Edwina does not allow either of you to get a word in as a tear escapes her eyes. You place a chaste kiss on the back of her hand as your chest aches at her words.

“Edwina, do not fool yourself. How am I doing better, and yet you are the diamond of the season? You are amazing and do not need to study a man's family to prove your worthiness. If a proposal is what you want, I will beat it out of the Viscount myself if you so wish it,” Earning a chuckle from Edwina and Kate, the tension eases as a small smile plays on Edwina’s lips. It does not reach her eyes, but you do not expect to expel her fears so quickly.

A soft cry leaves her lips in one shaky breath, “I have bungled this entire affair, and now I feel like a fool.”

“Never say such a thing, Bon. I knew he would only end up hurting you. Come here,” Kate says, wrapping Edwina in her arms. You join the other side closing your youngest sister in. Your heads touch as you focus on the sound of Edwina's quiet sobs. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“I thought he liked me,” Edwina cries, her hand squeezing you both a little tighter. You meet Kate's gaze, nudging your head, telling her it was now her turn to give a pep talk.

“(Y/n) is right, Bon. You are the diamond of the season. There is nary a gentleman back in London who does not wish for your hand. You have choices, Bon. I assure you that all will be well despite this disappointment with the Viscount. Plus, do you truly wish to marry someone our sister might murder?” A loud laugh leaves Edwina’s lips as you nod in agreement with Kate. Despite the heaviness of the conversation, a warmth lingers in the air.

The following day you wake to Kate rushing into your room, sitting up; you grumble as she mutters apologies. She moves to your things, removing the cream you have used on many cuts over the years.

“Are you alright?” You ask as she applies it near her collarbone. She assures you everything’s fine. “What happened to your chest?”

“I got a bee sting while near the gardens—“ You frown as she trails off, her eyebrows furrowing as your presence seems no longer relevant. “While I am not fond of the Viscount, you could help him.”

“Why am I helping him?” You ask. Initially, you do not believe her tale of being stung in the gardens and the Viscounts' familiar reaction.

“I do not know his history, Bon. What I do know is there is something with him and bees. I think he shares your ailment. It appeared like he could not breathe. He looked so afraid—his hands were shaking. Bon, I fear I will never understand your ailment, but for the first time, there is someone who can. Please talk to him, not for him—for you.” Kate crouches at your bedside, brushing your hair with her fingers much like she would after one of your episodes. You do not say a word during the entirety of her explanation. Rarely do any of you talk about your ailment. Kate caught it during the announcement of the season’s diamond, but beyond that, it had been relatively dormant.

“I will not seek him out, but if we happen to cross each other paths, I will inquire if he is indeed alright,” You say. Kate smiles, kissing your forehead before leaving your room. It only takes you mere minutes to get ready, not bothered by doing your hair in some precious way. Your mother, Lady Violet, Lady Danbury, and Daphne appear busy planning the lunch. The Bridgerton siblings scatter amongst the large estate to their own devices, and your sister appears nowhere in sight.

While you said you would not seek him out, you find yourself in the gardens. The flowers bloom beautifully with a significant number of hyacinths in view. You marvel at the simplicity.

“Miss Sharma,” Anthony joins your side, but his gaze stays on the flowers. You watch him carefully as he eyes them not in awe but with a cloudy disposition.

“Lord Bridgerton,” You say, turning to the flowers. Anthony's expression does not change, leaving you wondering if he even heard you. Uncertainty plagues you as you are sure what you want to say but not when to say it. “I will not dawdle any longer. I fear I am familiar with where you are now in this ailment. After the horrifying feeling as if all the air will leave your body at once comes that strange calm, where you feel as though you cannot feel anything.”

Anthony’s head whips in your direction, but you do not move your eyes from the flowers. The look on his face tells you that you are on the right track, but it does not confirm your assumptions, “Kate told me what occurred earlier. Correct me if I am wrong, but typically it comes randomly, right? Often in the most inopportune times but typically from certain settings.”

“I—you are mistaken, Miss Sharma. I, the Viscount, suffer no ailment, just temporary lapses,” He does not offer you much as he turns his attention back to the flowers, and you both share similar frowns.

“There is no shame in it, Lord Bridgerton. My father used to say we all have something, if not an ailment—an insecurity. A lot of my insecurities trigger my ailment, if I am quite honest. I have a lot to live up to with two great sisters. I am a lousy shot and not as cognizant as Kate. I lack resilience. I just bury my troubles with humor. Then there’s Edwina, whom you would be a fool to not marry. She checks every box of those silly questions of yours—excelling in modern and classical literature. Which are without a doubt boring,” Anthony chuckles as he listens intently. You let out a huff as you look up and meet his gaze. He appears in awe almost.

“Miss Sharma, I think you are undoubtedly your own harshest critic. You need not be like Kate because you find and elevate the room's most exciting part. Who cares if you are a lousy shot? My younger brothers excelled in shooting before I. You have voiced your distaste for classic literature, and it does edify the mind, but one has to enjoy it to sharpen their wit,” He clasps his hands in front of him, offering a sheepish smile as you look at him. A small smile threatens to break the frown on your lips. While you look off at nothing in particular, you miss how he looks at you. At ease, he appears unusually calm, not stressing the ball or his search for a wife.

“I—I must admit that I was wrong about you, Lord Bridgerton,” You say. A chuckle left his lips while correcting you.

“Anthony,” He says. You nod your head as a smirk tugs at your lips before mocking him.

“You suddenly think we are friends?” He looks incredulously at your sardonic tone, “Oh, do not look at me as if you are unfamiliar with who I am? You can call me by my name if you like. Last I checked, I lack a title and am not a man.”

He scrunched his nose before chuckling as your personality shined through. “With much regret (Y/n), I do agree with you to a point. You lack a title, but I am a gentleman.”

“Spare me your self-righteousness, Lord Bridgerton. I guess I should congratulate you. You have finally acquired the favor of one Sharma sister, now only one more to go, and you can wed Edwina,” Anthony’s face falls at your words. Looking past the garden, William walks toward you both. He ignores your playful smile as his eyes focus on Anthony to your right.

“Miss Sharma, we require a moment alone,” William says, glaring daggers in Anthony’s direction. He does not spare you a single glance as he waits for your departure.

“Miss Sharma?” You scoff at the formality, waiting for him to look at you. After a few seconds, William’s pointed gaze turns toward you.

“Your presence is likely needed elsewhere, and if I am not mistaken, it is highly inappropriate to be with Viscount Bridgerton unchaperoned,” He sounds like your mother, and you do nothing to cover your scowl.

“I know not of your issue, and I do not like whoever this is before me. When you find the time to pull your head out of your arse, then and only then will I happily enjoy your presence. Good day Lord Beauregard,” Your mocking curtsy’s evident before you stomp from the gardens into Aubrey Hall. The rest of the day continues in a blur of your mother preparing you and Edwina for lunch. In the middle of your mother doing your hair, a tap on the door becomes the room's focal point. Mary calls out enter, to which a maid reveals a letter for you from the Duke.

Lady (Y/n),

My apologies for my demeanor earlier. I am cross with my very best friend, and I fear I took it out on you. I will not be in attendance for lunch, for I fear tensions run far too high between Anthony and I. I will be in attendance at the ball. Until then.

Lord Beauregard

“Why is the Duke cross with the Viscount? They are dear friends,” Your mother says, reading over your shoulder, shrugging lazily at the neat cursive you toss it aside.

“Lord Beauregard is upset with Lord Bridgerton? Maybe that is why he did not propose?” Edwina says. You say nothing as Kate observes you as Edwina and your mother continue theorizing. Newton nuzzles at your feet as you hold your tongue. Your mother excuses herself, leaving the three of you alone. Kate still urges Edwina to recognize that she has no shortage of options in terms of suitors. This reality matters little, Edwina speaks passionately, and you cannot discredit her logic. Anthony can indeed provide her with the life she wants—deserves. Kate sighs, looking toward you. Shrugging your shoulders, you scratch the top of Newton’s head. Edwina keeps her gaze low as she speaks cautiously, “Sisters, I’ve been thinking.”

“Clearly,” You mutter under your breath, earning a pointed stare from Kate. Edwina’s shoulders fall as she glances between the two of you. “Apologies, bon, continue.”

Edwina straightens her posture lifting her chin. Raising your eyebrow, you cannot help the faint quirk of your lips. The anticipation of Edwina’s following words nearly comical, far too dramatic for your liking, “I am now quite certain I know why he has not yet made his declaration.”

Kate stiffens, glancing at you briefly before looking back at Edwina. The action terse, earning a furrow in your eyebrows at her. Edwina looks between the two of you with this confidence that you are certain has the strength of wet tissue paper. Her features too frail, and her voice far too delicate, “It's because of the two of you. (Y/n) you push too harshly at him and Kate; you hate one another.”

Edwina crosses the room crossing her arms, contemplating the situation. You eye Kate, her posture loosens, and a long breath leaves her. She looks back at you, and the pause lasts far longer than it should. Kate shakes her gently while turning to Edwina, “Uh, hate is probably too strong a word.”

“And quite frankly, I have been going rather easy on the Viscount,” You say, leaning back in your seat, taking note to later ask Kate what’s going on. Edwina's eyes widen, a glint flashing across her irises. “Oh no, whatever it is you’re thinking, I already hate it.”

“It is clear from your exchanges with the Viscount that he shares the feelings you each have for him. (Y/n) the two of you often banter, but the line between friendship and disdain is far too blurry. Kate, the two of you simply bicker, the line is very clear, and you are on the wrong side of it. All of this time, I thought I needed help getting him to fall in love with me. But I now realize I neeapparentting him to fall in love with both of you,” Edwina speaks softly, joining you on the couch. You can feel Kate’s gaze searing into your skin as she frowns at Edwina.

“Well, I don’t know about love, but the Viscount and I have recently found some common ground. I actually gave him my blessing earlier today,” You speak casually, watching Edwina squeal excitedly. She quickly pecks your cheek before turning to Kate with a soft smile. Kate’s sharp stare does not leave you even as Edwina urges Kate to try harder.

“I have not given up, I will not give up,” Edwina says with a dreamy look in her eyes. She rests her head on your shoulder, failing to see the tense stare between the two of you. Kate wastes no time in asking Edwina to go retrieve your mother.

At the closing of the door, the room still, you both stare each other waiting for the other to speak. Newton whines softly from the floor, the tension all-consuming in the sunlit room. You scoff, crossing your arms, “If you have something to say, just say it. The shared looks with Daphne and William and looks of scrutiny are becoming rather irritating.”

Kate huffs as her shoulders fall. She glances around the room before her eyes come back to you. The second she speaks, you do nothing to hide the grimace that takes your features, her tones gentle. Too gentle, you know it all too well, “Have you lost your mind? Why would you give Anthony your blessing? This will only further complicate things.”

“Do not patronize me, Kate. What are you even on about? We do not have to like him, Kate, but we cannot deny that he can give Edwina the life she wants. A large family, simple affections, dutiful husband,” You stand up with an incredulous glint in your eyes.

“A life where her husband and sister have feelings for each other?” Kate’s words rip through you. The weight of her allegation thinning the air around you. You blink several times as though if you do it enough, it will reset time, virtually ending this conversation.

“I would never hurt Edwina like that. That is a vile accusation,” You seethe, stepping closer to Kate, the breeze from the window cooling the fury that burns your skin. Kate places her hands cautiously on your shoulders. She knows how to anger you just as easily as soothe you.

“I know, bon, but we cannot ignore the truth of the matter,” Kate says, biting the inside of your cheek; you shake her hand off your shoulder. At the window, you peer out at nothing, in particular, swallowing thickly.

“He is courting Edwina, that is all,” You do not look at her as you speak, busying yourself with the many who prepare the backyard of Aubrey Hall with tables and umbrellas.

“I confronted him during Pall Mall about this subject matter. He, too, dismissed me. Neither of you even deny your feelings, only emphasize the inappropriate nature to which your relationship treks dangerously close,” Kate says, being greeted with your silence as you focus as though the workers perform for you. A long sigh fills the silence, “I do not wish to upset you, sister. We swim in precarious waters. If not careful, we’ll drown.”

You turn to Kate, your eyes glassy. Neither of you move, and Edwina’s jubilant voice sounds in the corridor. Before the door opens, you speak barely above a whisper, “We’re friends, that is all.”

Edwina rushes into the room ahead of your mother. She runs to the clothing, insistent on picking her best dress. Your mother glances between you and Kate. It seems she catches all that Edwina misses, and still, no one speaks a word of it.

Though not customary, you wear a sleeveless apricot dress that your mother forces you to pair with a sheer shawl. You walk without a destination with Kate through the backyard, the sea of faces, unfamiliar--the people, uninteresting.

“Sisters!” You can recognize Edwina’s light tone anywhere, her voice lacking the faint bass of your tone. Edwina sits with Anthony. Kate glances your way as Anthony meets your gaze. The pause brief. You glance at Kate before both of you look back to Edwina, her smile beaming. If she notices the hesitancy, she does not show it. “Come sit with us!”

Anthony rises as you both approach. As you approach the seat across from Anthony, Kate stands by the chair across from Edwina. Your eyebrows pinch as you look at Anthony, now questioning every little detail about his demeanor—every little detail about your own.

“Miss Sharma,” Anthony stands with his hands behind his back, dutifully nodding at both of you. You fight every urge to call him Serg.

“Lord Bridgerton,” Kate says. You nod your head fighting your better nature. The boundary between yourself and your potential brother-in-law now hazy. You like his disdain, maybe even prefer it. Contempt can be understood, but anything else resembles putting together a puzzle with missing pieces. You always did like to hide away parts of the puzzles to avoid finishing them.

The three of you sit down, sharing awkward glances as Edwina smiles, sticking out amongst the polite smiles. Anthony clears his throat, momentarily filling the silence. You fidget with a string hanging from your dress as Edwina looks at Kate.

“Did you tell the Viscount about your bee sting?” Your eyes cut to Kate, then Anthony as the question seemingly stills the table further. Kate chuckles softly. She looks at Anthony, speaking plainly. He offers a mock ah that earns an eye roll as you fiddle with your dress string. Edwina’s gaze turns to you, “Sister, you are quiet. Are you alright?”

“Tired perhaps,” Shrugging, Edwina huffs softly but maintains her chipper smile. The table conversation relies focally on Edwina bouncing between the three of you. Edwina suggests that Anthony give you and Kate a tour before you can decline; both Anthony and Kate speak over each other.

“I’ll be shooting with the other gentlemen. The party is to leave quite soon, I’m afraid,” Anthony offers a charming smile toward Edwina. Your younger sister perks up, not missing the opportunity to announce your adept skills in tracking and Kate’s excellent shot. Kate scoffs as Anthony laughs, seemingly dismissing the revelation.

“Do you not think it true?” Kate says. Benedict approaches, reminding Anthony it’s almost time to go. You cannot fight the grin off your lips at the sight of Kate. She has that look on her face. The one where she gets crazy competitive and enables your shenanigans.

Anthony chuckles, glancing at you just as you roll your eyes and laugh, “Perhaps your sister excels in fields with straight aim and level ground, but surely they would have some trouble managing—“

“Well, that certainly wasn’t condescending at all,” You murmur very clearly, raising an eyebrow as you look at him. Kate follows with her own question as Anthony steps further into it. Benedict smiles largely as his oldest brother crashes and burns rather quickly.

“I only mean to say—“ Anthony's slow drawl fuels your amusement. He meets your gaze, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly.

“Because we are women?” Kate says.

“No. I did not say that.” Anthony's gaze swiftly turns to Kate. At this point, he fumbles to clarify his point, merely shoving his foot farther into his mouth.

“But you implied it,” You point out, glancing at Benedict, whose grin falls as Anthony looks at him. Anthony then chuckles, speaking with a newfound diction, “Ladies, do not hunt.”

Kate quickly distinguishes between what ladies are and are not allowed to do. You bite your bottom lip, mirroring Benedict’s grin as Edwina redirects the conversation. Before you know it, you chuckle while changing in your room as Kate grumbles about Anthony, her irritation of the smug Bridgerton allowing you reprieve from her hefty assumptions. You push her accusation and William's proposal to the back of your mind. The fresh country air pulls a large smile to your lips. The glances from the other men barely reach you as Kate glares at them. Your and Kate's chaperone struggling like a fool on her horse behind the two of you. You sit on the back of Kate’s horse, your eyes taking in all the greenery, specifically the dirt that sits just faintly visible beneath it. The untrained eye would miss the faint but present signs of life in the area. One of the gentlemen up ahead calls the hunting party to the right.

“To the right?” You mutter, your eyebrows pinching as you glance over Kate’s shoulder. Several men steer their horses right as your eyes lock on Anthony’s back, the mocking tone leaving you with ease, “Viscount Bridgerton, do we intend to merely gaze at nature this day?”

“I do like your riddles, Miss Sharma, but I would love it if you spoke plainly,” Anthony says, his overly saccharine smile matching his mocking tone. Kate supplants Benedict spot riding next to Anthony, putting the two of you in clear view of the other.

“My sister's, right. Look, tracks are going off to the left. You can see the cloven shape in the moss,” Kate says. You spot her find, nodding your head as you gesture to the closest tree to the tracks, “The markings of the tree, deer like to rub their antlers against them.”

“Let’s stay with the group. If we find nothing, I shall offer myself up for both your target practice,” Anthony says, rolling your eyes as you scoff.

“You shall most likely come out unscathed as my target but rest assured, Kate won’t miss,” You taunt, tilting your head mockingly. Anthony narrows his eyes at you, a smile ghosting upon his lips. Kate glances between the two of you, sighing as she clears her throat, ending the moment as swiftly as it arrives. Silence blankets the three of you. You rest your head on the back of Kate’s shoulder, huffing quietly. The silence lives for only a few seconds as you perk up, “Lord Bridgerton, do you know why Lord Beauregard departed so abruptly?”

“He likely made haste once he realized you are more vexing than you are charming,” Anthony says with a matter-of-fact tone as you roll your eyes.

“I knew you thought me charming. The rest of your family certainly finds me to be so,” You fire back instantly, a smirk on your lips as you hold your chin up high. Anthony mimics your eye roll while looking ahead, your moment short-lived as William’s proposal lingers in your mind. You continue with half-hearted amusement while drumming against the saddle, “It’s unlikely William runs from me given his desire to make me his bride.”

Your eyes fog over as you presently leave the moment, Anthony’s locked stare failing to garner your attention. His voice lacks the condescension it has carried throughout the entirety of the day. He ignores Kate’s stare as he looks at you, asking, “You are engaged?”

The drop of your stomach at his question makes you sit straight as a pencil, a distant ringing in your ear faint and nagging. If Kate notices, she does not show or voice it. It seems that minutes—no perhaps hours pass since the question leaves Anthony’s lips, and yet his brother calls after him mere seconds after. Yet the question still lingers. You find yourself considering the possibilities. Will you marry him? You should have an answer. At least that’s what you believe.

Uncertain. Unbecoming. Unworthy.

A foolish—Kate’s voice pulls you back to the present. The horse comes to a stop as the masses dismount and scatters amongst the woods, “Sister, are you alright?”

“Always,” You say, climbing down with a grin. Kate eyes you carefully, and you wonder if she can see how you bury the anxiety, smothering its fire and leaving mere smoke in its wake.

Marching through the woods, you put your focus on your surroundings. You ignore how Kate challenges the others on how to go about the hunt. Kate and Anthony, too consumed bickering to notice how you veer off further and further from each of them. The lean, long-legged ruminant mammal greets your gaze with glowing reddish-brown fur with a cream-colored underbelly. A quiet chuckle leaves your lips, placing your gun down. You watch it in awe.

“Good find, bon!” Kate whispers. She joins your side, meeting your amazed expression with a proud smile. Anthony joins the two of you quite loudly, both of you shushing him as he thankfully did not manage to rouse the deer.

“Are you two quite serious? You cannot just go off like that,” Anthony scolds. Rolling your eyes, you scoff.

“If I wished to just see the trees and shrubbery, I would’ve gladly stayed and followed your very skilled guide,” Your sardonic tone earns a mocking smile, the two of you appearing like squabbling children.

“Lord Bridgerton, would you please be quiet. Bon, it’s your find. You should take the shot,” Kate says. All eyes fall on you, a chuckle leaving your parted lips as you stammer before the words escape you. Your sentences do not form or leave you as you glance at your gun.

Anthony purses his lips as Kate holds her gun out to you. You stare at the gun for several seconds, swallowing thickly. Just as you go to refuse, your blood boils as Anthony’s words reach your ears, “Miss Sharma, cowardice looks good on no one.”

“Takes a craven to know one,” You grumble. Taking the gun from Kate’s hand, you crouch down on the fallen tree. The barrel, at a comfortable place below your shoulder against your armpit, you inhale deeply, controlling the subtle tremble of your hands. Your palms glide against the gun faintly, coating it in a light sheen of sweat. You squeeze the trigger, closing your eyes, the sound scurrying away, telling you the verdict of your shot. Standing up, the sound of the hunting party rushing overfills your ears. Biting the inside of your cheek, your mind scrambles to prepare quick comebacks at the inevitable teasing that heads your way from the Viscount Bridgerton.

Just as the first few faces arrive, Anthony’s voice fills the silence, “It headed that way. It appears I am a bit rusty, but both Miss Kate and Miss (Y/n) are to be credited for finding the deer.“

Kate meets your gaze with a knowing look, but it does not matter as neither of you says a word to the other. The bout of confusion silencing, Kate does not push the subject any further than earlier, and you are grateful.

As the sky bleeds orange, it soon blackens, leaving you to lie awake with the pattering of rain outside your window to keep you company. Like most nights, you slip out of your room to your favorite part of Aubrey Hall, the steps. Sheltered by the house without being in the place. You rest your legs on your elbows on your knees, your chin against your palms like a patient child. The rain falls in heavy droplets, and light splashes mist up, just barely reaching you. It’s constant and unwavering. Approaching steps lull as soft as the pouring rain. You glance at the cup placed at your side.

“I like to have tea on my restless nights. It’s soothing,” Anthony sits at your side, staring out at the rain as he speaks. He takes a cautious sip of his own tea, glancing over at you when silence greets him. You stare at him with a raised brow glancing between him and the cup sitting next to you.

“I prefer—“

“Coffee. Perhaps if you take the time to look at the cup, you will recognize it,” Anthony says casually, taking another sip of his tea. You look at the light brown drink, steam wafting from it to your nose. The sweet smell leaves your mouth salivating in anticipation.

“Is your plot to assassinate me, Viscount Bridgerton? Presenting as a dutiful potential future brother-in-law with a cup of arsenic in hand?” You ask. Taking the handle of your cup, you bring it to your lips while holding Anthony’s gaze, amusement dancing in your eyes.

“Why, of course, my lady. Name a better pass time. I’ll wait,” He says, earning a chuckle as you wipe the remnant of the coffee from your lips. It lacks the nutmeg and cardamom you are used to. The bittersweet taste familiar but all the more different.

“Very funny, Viscount Bridgerton,” You chuckle softly, taking another sip as you peer back out at the rain. The muggy air and warm drinks flush your skin, a faint tint of reddish pink covering you. It’s serene but not perfect with the uncomfortable temperature, poor visibility, and loud silence. Yet it works. Neither you nor he moves to break this solitude. It lasts for seemingly a lifetime in mere minutes.

“William asked you to marry him?” Anthony says. You sigh, placing down your cup of coffee. You can see Anthony’s watching you from the corner of your eye.

“I presumed he would tell his best friend,” You are quick but not fast enough.

“Do you love him?” Anthony asks. You stare out at the rain with an unreadable expression. Your silence does not paint your truth to its full scope.

“I love William, I do. But I’m not in love with William,” You swallow thickly, your fingers fidgeting in your lap, “He wishes for me to be happy. Yet he does not understand what love does.”

“And what is that?” Anthony murmurs. He looks away from you, tracing the rim of his cup.

“It—“ You open your mouth just as your thoughts jumble in your mind. Taking a deep breath, Anthony glances over at you, a curious glint in his eyes. You cannot help but notice how you hold his full attention, “Love is like an anchor. It drags down to the sea. Further and further from reality, the reality is that marriage is an economic proposition. I do not wish to delve into detail, but the fantasy of love and marriage have long been sullied for me. I do not desire it nor require it. I know that may sound harsh, but it is my truth.”

“Not harsh at all. Refreshing perhaps,” Anthony says quietly. You nearly do not hear him. He takes a sip of his tea before clearing his throat, “After, uh, after my father passed, it took such a heavy toll on my mother. They shared a great love which showed all the good, but once you’ve seen the bad, it’s near—near—“

“Irreversible,” You say softly, finishing his sentence and meeting his eyes. The rain rages on, the soothing white noise all-consuming. You flinch as the sky brightens with the strike of purple lightning that flashes across the sky. The loud following booms rumbling the ancestral home.

“Perhaps it is time to retire to our rooms. Allow me to escort you,” Anthony says. You raise an eyebrow at him with a teasing grin. He rolls his eyes taking a taunting tone, “To ensure the arsenic takes, of course.”

Chuckling softly, you reach for your cup, cut off as Anthony takes it before you. You offer a mock surrender raising your hands in defeat earning a chuckle. Anthony walks you to your room door. Pausing before entering, speaking just barely above a whisper, “Tell anyone of this, and I will deny it. You are not as dreadful as you present yourself to be.”

“Great final words, my lady,” Anthony jokes, earning an eye roll as you bid him goodnight before disappearing into your room. Inside you choose not to dwell on the conversation too long, finding sleep at the touch of your face to your pillow.

You stand with Lady Danbury flittering with the uncomfortable corset rather than pay attention to all in attendance. Lady Danbury glances at you, vocalizing the arrival of Lord Beauregard. Your eyes dart across the room, considering blending into the sea of ambitious ladies and their slithering mothers.

“Miss Sharma,” William offers a warm smile while holding out a glass of wine. He apologizes for his absence, suggesting they dance.

“Mhm, do I let you off the hook so easily?” You sip your wine with a tilt of your head, a playful glint dazzling your eyes. William lets out a hearty laugh, his own sparkle shining with mischief.

“Please, oh beautiful Miss Sharma. Please forgive me, for I cannot continue without your forgiveness,” William clutches his chest, throwing his head back dramatically. The laugh that leaves your lips rises from deep in your stomach. Your cheeks grow sore as you ignore the looks of others. It’s almost easy to forget the frivolity of being in William’s company.

“Shut up and dance with me,” You chuckle. Discarding your cup, you take William’s hand, leading him to the dance floor. He bows as you curtsy, the two of you taking your uniform positions. Step back. Chin up high. Lift your hand. Turn. Each step visibly graceful and painfully robotic, controlled.

“I don’t wish to pressure you, but I cannot help but wonder where your thoughts are on my proposition of sorts,” William says. He makes the dance look easy. Each move carried out as though instinctive.

“Mhm, binding myself to the royal family who currently lacks an heir puts me dangerously close to being wed to a man who could be king someday. You offer not a simple proposition but a hefty proposal that cannot be taken lightly,” Your matter-of-fact tone impedes your count. William shifts right, covering your stumble with a light lift as he turns the both of you. When your feet touch the ground, you grumble a thank you continuing the dance, “I am too uncoordinated.”

“Some could say unique,” William counters. Taking your hand, he spins you gently.

“Unfit,” You fire back, continuing your count, step back. Hand on his shoulder, the other in his hand.

As expected of the dance, William steps forward following your step back. His nose brushes your own as his gaze does not falter, “Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Without a doubt.”

Your voice catches in your throat, William looking at you as imagine man did upon discovering fire. While your decision remains unclear, you are certain of one thing. The security and companionship of William’s offer. Your eyes glaze over, thoughts flooding your mind all at once. William chuckles softly, pulling away, continuing a simple sway. “I do not aim to make you uncomfortable or pressure you. Only for you to see you as I do.

“It appears Eloise is enjoying this night just as much as you,” William looks over at Eloise. She dances a few paces to your left. Her eyebrows pinched as her eyes narrowed at Lord…you cannot put a name to his face. In seconds the gentleman walks away as Lady Bridgerton follows Eloise to the stairs. Her exchange with her mother does not reach you, but the looks are all too familiar. Lady Violet's unable to understand her daughter but proceeds with gentle patience, Eloise’s frustration. Neither understands the other. You find yourself glancing across the room at your own mother.

She smiles encouragingly, blissfully unaware of your plight. Unable to see the world through your eyes.

“You should go after her,” William says, pulling away from the simple box step you’ve both resigned to. Your eyebrows furrow as William bows, with a fond smile as he speaks, “Eloise Bridgerton. A comely lady of the ton going against the norms of the system set upon them. Sound familiar?”

You cannot stop the smile that spreads across your face. William nudges his head toward the direction Eloise disappeared. Nodding your head, you follow the stairs, passing Penelope on your way. She quickly calls out where to find Eloise. It does not take you long to find her door. You offer two light knocks, turning your head to listen in.

“I wish to be alone!”

“Might I join you? I certainly wish for a reprieve from the farce that occurs in your family home,” Chuckling, you lean on the door frame. Shuffling behind the door greeting you with the distant music of the ball continuing on down the hall. After a few seconds, you are sure she will ignore you, but the opening of the door welcomes you. Eloise sits on the floor a few feet from the door. She pulls at the string of her dress, watching as a piece of hem gently unravels. You take a seat next to her, drumming your fingers against your thighs, “do you wish to talk about it?”

“Being my mothers' disappointment? Not particularly,” Eloise says with a matter-of-fact tone.

“I get it. The feeling is rather draining. Focus on it too much, and you’ll find yourself scrutinizing every detail about yourself,” You say, resting your head back against the wall. The laxness of your tone contrasts her furrowed eyebrows.

“You feel like your mothers' disappointment?” Her incredulous tone earns a chuckle as you nod with a gentle smile. “Not a chance. You’re pretty and charismatic, every mother's dream.”

“Many find me argumentative and blunt. Kate is more reserved. She has mastered proper etiquette. Edwina is the comely charismatic one. Most days, I can’t tell if Mother fears what I might do or what I might say,” Your words leave you quickly, shrugging as you near ramble. Wetting your lips, you chuckle as Eloise continues your rambling, “And even when you say something outside of the norm as they’re expecting, they act as though it surprises them. As if they don’t know our natures.”

“Ah, so my Mom isn’t special. It just comes with the having a mother package, I see,” You jest, chuckling softly as Eloise does as well. Only little shards of the prior remains. A reminder in the music that plays from downstairs as the ball continues. The fancy dresses you both wear that itch at the neckline and constrict your midsection. Reminders in your stations amongst society, “Eloise, we are the second daughters. The middle children, like shadows not clearly seen but fairly visible. Existing behind the first and last born daughters. It may sound like a sad reality, but there’s something rather amazing about us.”

“Being ignored and forced to conform?” Eloise’s eyebrows pinch as she stares at your chuffed stupor.

After a few seconds of staring off with the grin of a fool, you speak. Your voice much like velvet, appearing as though nothing in the world could hurt you, “We get to be whomever we wish, not what our mothers molded us to be for society.”

“Are you certain you don’t want to marry any of my brothers?” Eloise smiles, sliding closer. She rests her head on your shoulder. You kiss the crown of her head before resting your own head on hers. Eloise yawns as her words leave her, resembling a sleepy child as she says, “I do not wish for you to leave. My sisters don’t get me.”

“It’s okay. Sisters aren’t supposed to. It keeps things interesting that way,” You joke, earning a weak chuckle. Eloise does not say a word. She continues resting her head on your shoulder. A few minutes pass before Benedict pokes his head in, and you do your best to help get Eloise to bed. You both walk back to the main room together, where the party continues.

“Eloise seems to really like you,” Benedict says with a big grin. You furrow your eyebrows, looking at him.

“And just what exactly are you implying, Lord Bridgerton?” Your playful and straightened posture earns a laugh.

“Just that whether we become in-laws through our siblings or not, you, Miss Sharma, are always welcome back here. Especially for Pall-Mall,” Benedict says. His smile spreads across his face, even his eyes smiling.

“I will remember this invitation and hold you to it,” You tease, grinning as Benedict assures you his word is his bond. As you both walk, he cuts right at the dance floor. You cut left, following the outskirts of the dance floor. Edwina’s smile shines on the opposite side, the light of a young girl in her eyes. Reaching Edwina’s side, she clings to your arm with a giddy smile.

“Oh, sister! Lord Bridgerton and I have danced twice tonight. Twice!” Edwina exclaims, her smile shining up at you as she interlaces her fingers in yours. She gestures to the dance floor where Kate and Anthony dance. Your eyes stay on them as Edwina speaks, her words not fully registering as Anthony’s eyebrow furrow at something Kate says. Edwina gives your hand a light squeeze, “Oh, Didi, I’m certain he’d not have asked me for two if he did not have intentions for the evening. Kate should be giving her blessing as we speak. Oh, isn’t it all so exciting, sister? We shall both be wed before the season's end!”

“Yeah,” Chuckling softly, your eyes stay on Kate and Anthony. Anthony’s eyes widen before scanning around the room. His search halts as he captures your gaze. Edwina still speaks, oblivious to your lack of attention or how Kate looks between you and your staring partner. Anthony glances at the door and back at you; arching your brow, you turn to Edwina. Your pensive stare eludes her as she rambles with a large smile, painting the vision she sees of your future. Anthony politely bows to Kate before leaving the room as Kate joins you and Edwina. If she notices how your eyes follow Anthony out of the room, she does not give any inkling of it as she nods along to Edwina’s excitement. Your ears ring as the various colored gowns of the room muddle, and your vision splinters. You swallow dryly, the ringing in your ears growing louder. Pulling at the edge of your short-sleeved dress brings a faint cool to your flushed skin.

“Sister, are you alright?” Edwina’s voice snaps you back into the present, looking at her with a weak smile.

“Just a bit warm. I think I shall take a moment to get some air,” The words leave you quickly, almost incoherently. You do not look at Kate, her gaze burning a hole into the side of your head. The corridor outside of the ball greets you with low light and a cool breeze from the open back door. Anthony stands on the porch pacing back and forth. You look at him and then glance back at the doors that lead into the ball. You should go back inside, of this you are sure. Despite this, you take a few steps forward, your light efforts capturing his attention. You tilt your head toward the library doors before entering without a word. The room is far more lit than the hall, with many candles and closed windows drying your mouth. You eye the pitcher and cup on the desk, undoubtedly some form of alcohol—hopefully far stronger than wine.

Anthony slams the door behind him, his fists clenching as he paces. You roll your eyes, crossing your arms, your mocking tone filling the silence, “Please just share what I have done this time. The suspense is killing me.”

“When will you leave? Huh?” He asks, furrowing your eyebrows; he gives you no time to speak. A mirthless chuckle leaves his lips, “Oh, Miss Sharma, now you are one for silence?”

“What are you going on about?” You scoff, narrowing your eyes at his condescension.

“Your sister speaks of your plans to depart back to India, so when shall you leave?” Anthony grits his teeth, hissing his words as he steps closer to you. Your eyebrows quirk up, staring into his eyes, quickly identifying what lies across his face—utter betrayal. Anthony shakes his head, scoffing, “Of course, you grow silent when one desires you to speak. You live to get under my skin. I’m almost certain god has sent you to punish me.”

“Lord Bridgerton, I fear we have found ourselves in a conundrum that if it ever came to light, I fear my family would never forgive me. We mustn’t confuse our understanding and friendly nature for something entirely different. Yes, I can be infuriating and insolent, but it's a part of my charm, I think. We are just confused. A line is blurring between us,” A weak chuckle leaves your lips. How can one want to punch and kiss someone all at once? You shake your head as though to rid yourself of the thought and feeling. Internally scolding yourself for ignoring Kate’s warnings, you clear your throat, “You seek a wife of perfection, which my sister can provide. That is simply where we must stand.”

“I am a man of honor and of certainty. I have been certain of what I seek of what I want from start to finish in all things. Especially matters of my family, and yet—“ He pauses, inhaling sharply as he looks at you. The look in his eyes that was not there before that you have not seen before.

“Here, in your quick wit and inability to listen to reason, you challenge all I stand on—all my certainty. Your sister and I share understanding, but there is no shroud for what we share,” Anthony stands before you with a look of utter desperation, of devotion. His eyes reflect all you feel. The confusion, the frustration, the desire.

“Lord Bridgerton—” Straightening your posture, you clear your throat. It falls on deaf ears as Anthony steps closer, his hand ghosting over your cheek. The heat of his palm spreads across your face like wildfire that never quite touches. He speaks quietly as though coveting his words “(Y/n). Tell me you feel nothing. Tell me, your mind does not feel the temptation of this dalliance? Do you have no comprehension of how you plague me?”

Your voice sits in your throat. Every muscle in your body tense as though you await something cataclysmic. Neither of you takes your eyes off the other. His hand still cradles the air centimeters from your cheek. The crackling of the fireplace fills the silence.

It all implodes with the faintest tilt of your head into his palm. You both pull forward sharply. His hands cradle your face as your foreheads touch. You place a hand on his shoulder. The proximity dizzying. The feel of him all-consuming. You squeeze your eyes shut, the consequences be damned.

“This is wrong,” You whisper, gripping his shoulder and taking long deep breaths through your nose. His breath tickles your lips as the space between you further closes.

“Oh!” You flinch back, Daphne’s eyes looking from you to her brother. Her eyes are wide as Anthony steps toward her. She looks back at you, speaking softly as your glassy eyes stare back at her like a fearful child, “I’m sorry.”

Daphne leaves the room hastily, with Anthony chasing behind her. You walk to the desk, pouring a quick glass of the drink. The drink makes you grimace as you swallow it down in one go. You do not look up as the door opens again, crying out desperately, “I require something stronger, please!”

“Oh, Bon,” Kate says softly. You rest your hands flat on the desk letting your head hang as your tears fall beneath you. She pulls you into a tight hug, letting you sob into her shoulder. You refuse to share the source of your despair, your thoughts haunting you. Kate was right. Even William was aware, “Oh (Y/n).”

“Didi, it’s all wrong. It’s all wrong! ” You cry out, looking up at her. She cradles your face. All red and puffy.

“Bon, we will get through this, I promise you. Wipe your tears and show me the fearsome (Y/n) I know.” Kate says, kissing your forehead. She takes you up to bed, tucking you in, even brushing her fingers through your hair as you quietly cry with your back toward her. When Edwina stops in, she offers well wishes before bed. It only fuels the fire of your despair.

The following day, you rise early, bathing before hastily packing your things. You thank the heavens that Kate makes no mention of the night prior, nor does Daphne. Your goodbyes? Almost robotic as you anxiously await packing away into the carriage and leaving Aubrey Hall behind. Kate holds your hand, offering occasional light squeezes as the three of you stand by the carriage. Edwina glances at your interlaced hands and says nothing as she takes your free hand in her own, kissing the top of your hand.

The slight chill of the morning breeze does nothing to cool the warmth that holds you captive. Your palms are sweaty as your stomach wrestles itself. You look at Edwina on the brink of tears, her eyebrows furrowing at the sight.

“Sister, are you alright?” Edwina’s head tilts as she gently squeezes your hand. Your throat drying just before you can find your words.

“Um, I need to—“ You speak quietly, the calling of wait making you tense as you all turn toward the front door of Aubrey Hall. Anthony marches down the stairs with unwavering confidence, squeezing Kate’s hand tight; you swallow dryly.

“May I speak with you?” He says. You fail to notice how Edwina slips her hand out of yours as well as how Anthony's eyes do not meet your own. Your ears ring so loud you do not hear the words that leave Anthony’s lips, only registering the knee he takes as he holds a ring out to Edwina. Kate whispers in your ear, coaching you to keep it together as your nails dig into her palms. Edwina’s eyes are large and shining. She looks at you and Kate. The smokescreen of pending nuptials blinds her to the mournful look that holds your face. Your mother focuses too intently on Edwina and Anthony to notice but Lady Danbury? Lady Danbury eyes you with a knowing look, but still, she says nothing. As the seconds pass like hours, your expression sharpens as though the despair never existed. You look at Kate, offering a curt nod.

“I do wonder about the trim. Is it too much?” Edwina asks, standing up on the podium as your mother beams up at her. You are certain the last you saw her so happy was when your father was still alive. Sitting by the window, you lazily peer out at nothing in particular. No one comments on your icy demeanor, but you know they have noticed it.

“Nothing is too much now that the Queen is hosting,” Your mother smiles, looking from Edwina to the Modiste. As your mother continues to look over different fabrics, Edwina may like the room grows silent in her absence. Kate steals glances at you as Edwina takes in the view of her gown.

“Did I mention we will be married by the archbishop himself?” Edwina says gleefully. Kate's smile does not reach her eyes as she nods and watches you. The bride-to-be glances over at you with a frown, “Sister, did something happen between you and the Duke? You’ve been unwell since the last night before we left Aubrey Hall.”

“We are fine,” Your flat tone barely audible as you continue eyeing the bustling road outside.

“Sister, you should accept his proposal. Then we would both have royal weddings, and you would be a royal! The Queen already adores you, and I’ve seen the way Lord Beauregard looks at you,” Edwina says, her smile large and tone encouraging. You purse your lips looking over at Kate. She holds your gaze before you turn back to the window. Edwina frowns, observing the brief moment, but she says nothing. Instead, she maintains her smile, “We must get you both dresses as well. Special ones. This wedding is as much both for your triumphs as it is for mine. Both of you clearly said something that swayed him to declare himself.”

“We cannot claim credit, Bon,” Kate says, chuckling slowly while shaking her head, but Edwina insists. You chew on your bottom lip, ignoring the burn of your throat, blinking continuously. Kate reminds Edwina that you both plan to leave after the wedding if you have not accepted William’s proposal.

Back at Lady Danbury’s, you hide away in your shared room, sitting by the window lazily drumming your fingers against your leg. You let out a frustrated huff, your sulking growing utterly dull. Biting the inside of your cheek, you glance at your room door, perhaps a venture outside. You stick your head out of the door, looking down both sides of the corridor before stepping lightly out. Where your mother is currently is not to your knowledge, but you know she will prevent wandering if she catches wind of it. You move carefully past the tearoom, freezing in your tracks.

“—nothing appropriate about what you’re doing proceeding with your engagement,” Kate seethes. Frowning, you press your ear to the door.

“On the contrary, I believe it is the most proper outcome for all,” Anthony says, rolling your eyes as you glare at the door as though he stands before you.

“Oh, and what of everything that has happened between you and my sister at Aubrey Hall?” Kate says. The silence tenses every muscle in your body as you await his answer.

“Nothing passed between Miss (Y/n) and I,” Anthony says cooly, a blatant lie. You bawl your fists. How dare he! Opening your eyes to something you could have easily continued oblivious to, only to shut you out completely. You march off to the stairs, stopping at the sight of your mother and sister at the bottom of them.

“Is that so? If I recall correctly, you appeared angrier than hornets at the prospect of her departure,” Kate says, “I can recall the way your eyes find her in every room. The way you look at her, far more than a prospective brother-in-law. If she accepts Lord Beauregard’s proposal, you will be bound to each other in a tortuous way forever. ”

“Would Miss (Y/n) and I being the ones to marry after all my public courting of Miss Edwina, be the outcome you desire?” Anthony asks. You greet them with a large smile stalling as you scratch the back of your neck.

“No, but I’m certain it’s yours,” Kate says. You make certain to enter the room first, giving Lord Bridgerton and Kate a moment to step away from each other. Anthony greets your sister and mother with a polite smile. It falters as he meets your gaze. You roll your eyes quickly, averting your gaze to your mother.

“I will return in seconds. You lot can begin without me,” You sputter, leaving the room before your mother can protest. She calls out to you, but you are already out of the door and halfway down the stairs. A pair of hands steadying you at your waist as you crash into a chest.

“Easy there. Are you always so spritely?” William chuckles, offering a warm grin as you recollect yourself. He frowns, taking a good look at you, “(Y/n) are you—?”

“If we were to wed, would you consider coming to India?” You ask. It’s selfish and wrong, complicating your situation even further if possible.

“I uh—well, I could, but once my grandfather leaves us, I will have to return. His responsibilities shall fall to me,” William says, his eyebrows furrowing as he looks at you, “(Y/n) I only want you to consider this if you truly see it in your future.”

“Let’s not fret over it now. Mother will wish to see you. Come,” You take his arm, pulling him along with you to the tearoom. Your mother and Edwina smile happily at William’s presence in the room. Anthony stares at the two of you, his eyes locked on your intertwined arms.

“Well, now that you are all here. I have news. Lord and Lady Sheffield sent word they are in London,” Lady Danbury says. You do not hide your grimace, looking up at Lady Danbury in pure disgust. Kate looks at your mother as Edwina smiles.

“Our grandparents?” Edwina says, looking at you. You look down at the door, counting each line you can see in the wood.

“Indeed. It seems they read the engagement announcement and wish to make your acquaintance and, uh, that of your future husband, of course,” Lady Danbury ignores the lack of reaction from all of you except Edwina. You scoff quietly, muttering to yourself, “Of course they do.”

“They are already in town?” Kate asks. William glances between you and your family, and so does Anthony. The best friends look at each other before Anthony addresses the elephant in the room. You glance at your mother, the way she controls her shallow breathing—looking around as though seeking an escape. Her mannerisms are familiar, too familiar.

Anthony escorts Edwina to the promenade as William escorts you. Your disposition even lower than before somehow. William stops in his tracks, crossing his arms. You stop not looking up, just waiting for him to rejoin you. When he does not, you look up with a frown.

“I’ve never seen you so, so gloomy. There must be some form of an insult or jest just charging up in there,” William smiles gently, watching as you shake your head, lowering your gaze. “Do you wish to talk about it?”

You sigh as the two of you walk again, nodding your head slowly, “My grandparents are just awful. Overcritical and impossible to please. I’m in no mood for them presently.”

“Well then, before the impending doom that comes from your grandparents' presence, perhaps you shall humor me?” William asks, standing on the ports and gesturing to the secured rowboat. “If I become insufferable, I will happily allow you to throw me overboard.”

“Promise?” You say quietly, fighting the grin that takes your lips as William smirks.

“You have my word,” He says, offering his hand out to her. She takes it, allowing him to help her into the board. He then gets in himself, untying the rope and pushing off the port. “In the colder season, this freezes over. It’s rather fun to step on the top of the ice and glide around. I tend to fall a lot doing it, but it’s all in good fun, I swear it.”

“Really?” The laugh that leaves your lips appears foreign, replacing your petulant stares. You look over the side of the water, picturing William struggling to stay atop the frozen terrain.

“Careful, you’re tilting the boat,” William says, raising an eyebrow. You smirk. Your eyes shine with a glint of mischief.

“What, like this?” You say, shifting your weight from one side to the other William gives grips the edge of the boat, giving you a hard stare. After a few seconds, it melts into a grin as he dips his hand in the water, splashing it up at you. You squeal, shielding your face as you splash water up at him. The two of you laugh like giddy children, gaining the attention of the many who walk around the promenade.

Kate chaperones Edwina and Anthony. They watch the two of you. Anthony’s gaze does not leave your form. Edwina’s words fall on deaf ears as he locks onto your laughter. Your younger sister gasping, pulls Anthony back into the present as the boat overturns, sending both you and William into the water. Both you and William resurface, laughing infectiously, not caring how everyone watches the two of you.

“You tipped the boat over, not me!” You exclaim, helping William push the boat toward the port.

“Says the one who insisted on rocking the boat,” William playfully scoffs as the two of you near the port flipping the boat right side up. You look up, grinning as Kate shakes her head at you, and Edwina happily points out your better mood.

“It seems you always know how to lift her spirits, Lord Beauregard,” Edwina says with a smile. William smiles at your sister, giving her a polite nod, his smile lessening as his gaze moves to Anthony.

“Miss Sharma, please allow me,” Anthony says, offering his hand out to you as he bends down. You stare at it, set on ignoring it, but Kate gives you a look as she gestures to the wandering eyes around you all. Accepting his hand begrudgingly, you quickly pull away from him, standing next to Kate. Your dress clings to you, dripping water down your entire body. William climbs onto the pier turning to fasten the boat back to the log, but Anthony’s already tying it tight.

“Fret not, friend. You always did struggle with tying knots,” The dig’s not lost on you nor Kate. You glare at Anthony, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Anthony and William stare at each other, the tension high as you look around, noticing the other onlookers growing. You narrow your eyes, stepping forward and pushing your palm against Anthony’s side. He stumbles forward into William, the two crashing into the lake.

Your jaw drops as they hurdle into the water, Edwina exclaiming your name as you fail to fight back your laughter. The water splashing up at the three of you, only fueling your amusement. Kate's eyes widen as her gaze bounces between you and the two lords in the water.

Anthony plants his hands flat on the pier glaring up at you as he lifts himself up first. His soaking-wet shirt now sheer, leaving nothing to the imagination. Kate nudges your side, reminding both you and Edwina of the inappropriate nature of staring. Even as the words leave her lips, the three of you shamelessly watch him. The show not ending as William pulls himself up. It’s wrong, oh so wrong, but every passing thought in your mind bubbles, leaving a warmth at your core.

“That was fun,” Smiling, you look between your sisters, who both shake their heads at you. Kate suggests it’s time to head back in worry of you getting sick. Your dress still drips water as you casually bounce on the balls of your feet. In the carriage, you sit next to Kate, resting your head on her shoulder while gently kicking Edwina’s feet.

“Bon, your hair is still wet,” Kate sighs, failing to shrug you off. Edwina giggles softly, moving her feet as you follow hers.

“Quite observant, Miss Sharma,” You chuckle, rubbing your hair against her side, earning a groan as she pushes you away. Edwina covers her soft chuckles with her hand as she watches the two of you. The carriage ride’s mostly quiet beyond a few snickers and Kate’s annoyance with your persistence.

Back at Lady Danbury’s, you openly gape at the sight of an indisputable fact—you are indeed your mothers' child. For hours your mother rushes around like a mad woman. She rushes about the house between making sure you all wear the perfect dress to the intricate styles of your hair and the jewelry you accessorize with. Not a single thing out of place, snarkily reminding you that today’s not the day for nonsense, as she calls it.

Kate offers you a weak smile as you roll your eyes grumbling beneath your breath. If either your mother or Kate dislikes the Sheffields more than you, they hide it well. The last time you can recall seeing them at the ripe age of five, you glared at them for the entirety of your visit. Their interest only stemming from the gossip about your exciting personality, to later deem you unruly. You never did understand why your mother even sent you there. The damage—irreversible.

“It’s just one dinner,” Kate says, fiddling gently with your hair smoothing out every little menial imperfection.

“Yes, one dinner of those people we have to call family scrutinizing every little detail about us. About mother. About you,” You take a deep breath, your expression hardening as you swallow dryly. Edwina enters the room doing a light twirl, her smile large. There’s a clear difference between who can remember meeting the Sheffields and who does not. Edwina’s smile falters at the sight of your pensive stare. She walks, placing her hands on your shoulders with an encouraging smile.

“There is still time to take a small nap if you need didi. I can distract Mama,” Edwina says, chuckling softly as you shake your head, leaning your head onto her hand.

“I appreciate it, bon, but I know a nap will do nothing but agitate me further,” You glance at the door watching your mother jet past. A chuckle leaves your lips, “And quite frankly, Mama as well.”

“Edwina dear, I need to speak with your sister alone,” Your mother enters the room, taking a deep breath as she softly pants. Edwina smiles, nodding her head and leaving the room without a further word. Lady Mary looks at you with her lips pursed.

“I know, Mother. I do not require further instructions for dinner tonight. Be punctual, proper, and pleasant,” You huff, crossing your arms. Lady Mary sighs, walking over. She takes your hands.

“Oh, my wildflower child, you are all those things. I’ve come not to lecture you but to check on you. I know you carry strong feelings about my parents, and if at any point this dinner is too much, you do not have to stay for the entirety of it,” She says softly. You know her words are untrue. To leave dinner so abruptly would only further their thoughts of you.

“Right, so they can nod their heads and look down on me as the defective one of their bloodline. I will not,” Your words are sharp and tense. You stand with perfect posture. Lady Mary shakes her head, but her protests mean nothing, do nothing. You stand, appearing the complete antithesis of the girl everyone knows. “If I could get through two weeks of your parents as a child, then I can get through one dinner. I no longer wish to continue discussing this topic, Mother.”

She takes a half step back from you, keeping your hands in hers. The glint in her eyes as familiar as the one all those years ago when you returned home, guilt. She does not say another word. Nodding her head, she kisses the tops of your hands softly before leaving the room. You fan yourself with your hands, the room uncomfortably hot. The faint tremble of your hands clear as you clasp them in front of you, taking a long deep breath.

After a few minutes, you leave the room in search of your sisters. Lady Danbury smiles, walking with her cane as she calls out to you. She compliments your appearance, the rich red gown complimenting your skin tone. Lady Danbury wears her knowing smirk with a present glint in her eyes, seemingly always present. The two of you enter the room together, clearly interrupting your sisters. Lady Danbury smiles as you appear ready to walk the plank.

“Our guests have arrived,” Lady Danbury announces with a large smile. Her eyes solely on Edwina, who giggles with a giddy smile, leaving the room hastily. Before either of you can follow, Lady Danbury's hand shoots out, halting you as she sidesteps Kate. Her smile falls as eyes look between the two of you.

“You may spare us the instruction, Lady Danbury. We know we are to be on our best behavior,” Kate says with a polite smile. You bite the inside of your cheek, staring off with a blank expression.

“You think me an unfeeling harridan,” She says to Kate before turning to look at you, “and you hide from me as though I see right through you. Well, ladies, I am hosting this dinner for both your sakes.”

“You know nothing of my relationship with those people,” You scoff, glaring up at her.

“And yet I do,” Lady Danbury says, her gaze softening just a tad. Mother told her. You look away from her crossing your arms as you shift on the balls of your feet. “Going forward, Edwina’s betrothal may be the end of certain hopes you’ve harbored regarding the Viscount but access to the Sheffield fortune.”

“I want nothing to do with those people or the Viscount. I will take a lifetime of struggle before I am under the Sheffields' control or ruin this for Edwina. You speak so far out of place,” You narrow your eyes at her, but she merely chuckles.

“Oh dear, you can do better than that. Dear, the life of independence you seek is close, Kate. And you (Y/n)? You have been presented with an opportunity of a lifetime. A marriage to a royal. Security for the rest of your life and full independence from your grandparents. I implore you both to think of the reward of the coming events. Think of your futures. Deny the feelings and passions as you please, but once it cools. You dear have an abundant future ahead of you, where you and your sisters are happy,” Lady Danbury stands in front of both of you. Nostalgia dances in her eyes as she smiles with a bittersweetness to her expression. You blink away the heat in your eyes, taking a deep breath to will away the bundle of nerves that dance in your stomach. When neither of you says a word, Lady Danbury smiles once more, “Come along, girls, it’s time for dinner.”

In the hallway, Edwina follows closely behind Lady Danbury. Her light pink dress sparkling in the warm candlelight. You walk with your arm folded into Kate’s, your jewel-tone gowns matching just as much as your forced polite smiles.

“Ah, Lord and Lady Sheffield, it has been too long,” Lady Danbury’s jubilant demeanor easing the suffocating tension. Not long enough, in any other circumstance, these words leave your lips, but now? Now you keep your head high and posture statue-like, “May I present Miss Sharma, Miss (Y/n), and Miss Edwina Sharma.”

You and Edwina stand before your grandparents with differing expressions as Lady and Lord Sheffield take you both in.

“Oh, my dears, look at the two of you. Aren’t they lovely?” Lady Sheffield gushes, looking between the two of you. You meet Lord Sheffield's gaze, both of you eyeing the other with similar scrutiny. Edwina voices pleasantries for the both of you. Their questions and invitations flowed quickly, evidently aimed at Edwina. They remember you just as vividly as you remember them. Still, you keep your head high, posture perfect, and expression neutral.

“Mother. Father,” Your mother greets them, leaving a chilling silence in her wake.

“I do enjoy the opera. My sister Kate is the one who introduced me to it,” Edwina says, maintaining her high spirits as she smiles over at Kate. Your jaw clenches at the forced smile Lady Sheffield sends Kate’s way, her disapproval coated in honey. Another painstakingly loud silence follows before Lady Danbury recommends they all head to the dinner table. Her diversion from the simmering tension was swift, temporarily successful.

You meet Anthony’s gaze, offering a mocking smile before following behind the others. His eyes follow you into the room, a soft sigh leaving his lips as you join Kate’s side. Edwina walks hand in hand with Lady Sheffield, who dotes upon her.

At the table, Kate sits to your right, with Lady Sheffield to your left. To your further misfortune, Anthony sits in front of you. You ignore the hole he stares into your head at the start of dinner.

“And, of course, you must be our guests at the Sheffield Manor. It is nothing compared to the estates at Aubrey Hall, to be sure, but I think it a most pretty part of Hertfordshire,” You stare at the place setting as though it’s the most incredible thing you have ever seen. Analyzing every minuscule detail of the fall colors as a better alternative to the active conversation. If you notice the glances from Kate and Anthony, you do not show it.

“Do you shoot? We a have a fine stock of birds, and you're always welcome,” Lord Sheffield says, his voice booming through the dining room. Anthony’s gaze flicks from you to your grandfather. He thanks Lord Sheffield for the invitation, expressing his enjoyment in shooting.

“Kate and (Y/n) do as well. (Y/n) is an excellent tracker, and Kate, a great shot. A most efficient duo. All three of them nearly bagged a stag on our trip to the country,” Edwina looks at you, smiling. You mirror her smile before lowering your gaze once more. The cold food and untouched table setting sit staring back at you. Lady Sheffield's mirthless chuckle fills your ears as she looks over at you. Her faux saccharine smile and words pointed, “How unusual. Do they teach young ladies to hunt and shoot in India?”

“Only the fortunate ones,” Kate mutters, snickering; you bite the inside of your cheek. It’s the first real smile on your lips all night. You catch your mothers' smirk at Kate, her gaze shifting to you. She wears a soft smile.

“Uh, Lord and Lady Sheffield, how long do you plan to stay in town?” Kate asks politely. You reach for your cup of wine, taking a long sip. Say in the morning, preferably in the hour.

“Oh, we shall stay for the wedding. And of course, for (Y/n)’s when she weds the Queen’s nephew,” Lady Sheffield speaks definitely with merriment to her tone. She speaks as though she’s boasting of something she’s accomplished as if she knows you—any of you truly.

“I have yet to decide if I will accept his proposal,” Your neutral facade wavers, your jaw clenching once more. The grip on your glass so tight that the brown of your knuckles shines white.

“Oh nonsense dear, you shall not let such a generous offer pass you,” Lady Sheffield chuckles as though she shares a beautiful joke. Only Lord Sheffield laughs. You take a deep breath covering your grimace with another long sip of wine. The bounce of your leg beneath the tablecloth gently rattles the glass atop the table. To your disdain, Lady Sheffield continues, “Imagine. The Queen herself overseeing my granddaughter's nuptials and welcoming my other granddaughter into her own family, with all things considered. Her majesty is kind to be so forgiving after everything that has happened.”

“Now, now. We are all family here,” Lord Sheffield says. You finish your wine, letting out a long shaky sigh. To your surprise, your grandfather tries and fails to deter his wife.

“An earl, no less than twelve thousand acres. Any other young lady would’ve fallen to her knees in gratitude that her parents were showing such care,” Lady Sheffield says. You glance at your mother, your patience thinning by the second. She shakes her head slightly. Lady Violet's attempts to switch the topic falls on ears, your deep breaths growing louder. Even Lady Danbury tries to engage Lady Sheffield in pleasant conversation, but it’s clear the elephant in the room will not be ignored. “And all for what? A mere clerk, was he? And with a child from a previous marriage to God-knows-who.”

“My mother has a name,” Kate maintains an even tone, her shoulders squaring as you now openly glare at your grandmother. The wine warms your skin, shoving you closer to your wit's end.

“We could not show our faces in society for years. Not that she should care. She simply sailed away from all of us with that man,” Lady Sheffields says, your fist hitting the table with a loud bang. Reveling in how she flinches, her eyes widen at your nerve. The room stills, all eyes on you.

“That man is my father, and you do well to speak of him with reverence. You cry about appearance in society when you ignore your beautiful family in favor of acrimonious feelings toward the glue that holds the three of us together. Kate may not share our mother, but she is the very best of us. So you will not sit here and speak ill of her before me,” You practically hiss your words as you stare at your grandmother. There’s so much more that you must say that you want to say, but as always, you are never truly heard.

“Dear, we do not aim to hurt you or your half-sister. It is your mother who sailed away with that man robbing us of our two grandchildren.” Lady Sheffield ignores your comment about your father, omitting him entirely. The tenderness in her words like poison in your ears.

“Three. Your three grandchildren. I have three daughters with whom you have had every opportunity to form a connection. Like a fool, I sent one of them in hopes of you all fostering a connection only for her to return, unlike herself. But at the end of it all, the choice to shun us was yours alone,” Your mother speaks with an impressive blend of being stern and soft-spoken. “And do not think I took it lightly being cast out by the only family I had ever known. I was heartbroken, indeed. But in time, I came to see that, in your cruelty, you did us all a great service.”

“Mother, you require no explanation for these people,” You say, earning a warm smile from your mother as she looks at you.

“I have always admired your warrior spirit, my sweet girl, but this is not your fight,” Lady Mary says. You nod your head swallowing thickly as Lord Sheffield tries to dissuade you all from continuing. Your mother stares at her own, “When you cast me out, you set me free. Free to raise my daughters far from your constant judgment and craven demands that they should chase wealth and titles above all else!”

You smile to yourself. Never had you seen your mother so defiant. Never had you felt so close to her, so like her. Lady Sheffield scoffs, “You are a fine one to talk. You turn your nose up at my parenting but look at your children. The child not of this family is a spinster who muddles the very integrity and reputation of your own daughters. (Y/n) shoots and speaks with volatility unbecoming of a young lady. It’s a miracle she has the prospect of securing English nobility? It is clear Edwina will succeed, and I will always question the very foundation of how with such influences.”

Unbecoming. Unfit. Unworthy.

The words ring loudly in your ears, inhaling sharply, the table squabble no longer reaches you. Your shoulders drop as your stomach turns. Lady Sheffield rehashing the terms of yours and Edwina’s trust fund barely reaching you. You swallow the burn in your throat, struggling to blink away the water that wells in your eyes. Gaze low; the high-pitched ringing in your ears—disorienting.

“That is enough!” Anthony’s voice rips you from your own head. He looks from your grandmother to meet your teary-eyed gaze. His own only softens for a second at the sight of you before turning back to your grandparents, his expression one of frustration, “I can only think you’ve been exiled from good society because of your deficient manners rather than any other sin. Since the moment you arrived, you have failed to show the proper respect for the Sharma family and I will not stand for it.”

“I declare—“ Lord Sheffield says.

“I will not stand for it. Lady Mary has done admirably in raising her daughters. They are intelligent, kind, and loyal women. A credit to both their parents. And since you clearly do not wish to jeopardize your social standing by associating with such company, I suggest you do not. You may leave at once!” Anthony declares, staring at him. Your head spins as it did that night in Aubrey Hall. The weight of your reality harrowing as you glance at Edwina. Anthony rises from his chair. Your grandmother voices her disbelief as he walks away from the table. Standing by the door, he calls out, “Please send for Lord and Lady Sheffield’s carriage. They can wait outside. And do not trouble yourself waiting for an invitation to the wedding, for you shall not receive one.”

Your mother’s the first to apologize, but Anthony sternly announces he and his mother will be departing immediately. The tension in the air far more thick than it began. Your mother and Kate run after Edwina leaving you and Lady Danbury alone. After a few seconds, you exit the room without a further word, ignoring her knowing stare. You do not realize where your feet carry you through the corridors until you see the back of Lady Violet and Anthony.

“Lord Bridgerton, a word,” You call out, narrowing your eyes as he disregards you, “I have spent this night being insulted and humiliated. All I’m asking for is a moment of your time.”

“I owe you nothing,” Anthony huffs, looking back at you. You tilt your head, not needing to say, but you do with actual words. He pauses, sighing before telling his mother he will meet her at their home. You walk him to one of the many side rooms, your words leaving you quickly as you assure him Edwina did not know.

“It is clear she was as much in the dark as I. I am not upset with your sister. Is there something further you wish to discuss?” Anthony speaks sternly, his hands behind his back as he glowers at you.

Your eyebrows furrow, his understanding words not matching his expression. You continue cautiously, “No, uh, I just wanted to thank you for what you did back in there.”

“That is of no import. I take it there’ll be no dowry. Now that the Sheffields have withdrawn their support,” He speaks mechanically, like a cog in the machine of English nobility. You open your mouth, but no words leave you, “I’ll take your silence as confirmation. Clearly, both Miss Edwina and I have been misled, and it is best to call off this doomed engagement.”

“Oh, now you suddenly lack the desire to wed my sister,” You scoff, shaking your head, narrowing your eyes at him, “I am many things, but a fool is not one. Something is happening between us, and you’re using this lapse as an out for the mess you put us in.”

“Says the one who weaponizes her disdain for marriage as a tool against her grandparents,” He counters his accusatory tone and steps forward, doing little to faze you.

“The resentment of my grandparents and my resulting outlook on marriage is of no consequence to our dilemma. You are to wed Edwina, and I am to return to India with Kate,” You watch as his jaw clenches at the mention of India. Rolling your eyes, you huff, “Why do you insist upon casting Edwina aside?”

“You are the very source of all my strenuous relationships. I jeopardize my longest and dearest friendship due to your very presence. Your sister, Kathani, battles me daily not against my union with Miss Edwina but how I look upon you. Now you wish me to bind myself to you for all eternity, doomed to never have you in the light to which I desire. I am a gentleman. My father raised me to act with honor, but that honor thins and weakens with every interaction we share. Vanquishing you from my mind proves to be futile, as you plague my being without endless.” You move away from pacing faintly as you shake your head. His eyes stay on you, longing—pleading for a response.

“No, Lord Bridgerton. I cannot—I will not take part in this dalliance any longer. You confuse your feelings. Edwina is who you seek,” You speak barely above a whisper, your voice catching in your throat as he steps closer again. His hand on your cheek.

“Yet you are who I found. You challenge my feelings, yet you make no objection to my close proximity. You told your sister you intend to bend my nerves till they break. Miss Sharma, they have broken. Give me your love, hate, disgust. I want it all as long as it comes from you, only from you. You are infectious and come without a cure,” He whispers, his lips ghosting over your own. Shamelessly allowing him to drink you in, and as fast as the moment comes, it goes. He pulls away, walking hastily to the door, his words low, “I must take my leave.”

You let out a breath you had not been aware of holding. Your hand comes to cover your lips as your tears flow. The door opens once more, but you do not look up, uncaring of who has found you.

“Oh, Bon,” Kate says at your side. She pulls you into her arms. She knows the looks, the pauses, the warnings—Kate’s known all along.

“Didi, I fear you have been right. The Viscount and I dance around feelings I cannot explain nor reveal to Bon. I have ruined everything. I will ruin everything.” Kate shushes you softly, cradling you in her arms like an injured animal. When she finally coaxes you to walk with her to your shared room, you cannot meet Edwina’s eye inside.

“Oh, Didi,” Edwina gasps, taking your hands as she leans down, attempting to meet your gaze. You squeeze your eyes shut, taking a deep breath in as you build your courage.

“Bon, I fear you will hate me, but you must know I carried no intention to keep this from you so—” Your voice wavers as you still fail to meet her eye. Once the words are out, you cannot hide them. Not from Edwina, not from yourself.

“Didi, I could never hate you. I understand your disdain against marriage now, and once I am married to the Viscount, there will be ample funds to provide for all of us,” Her words strike you quickly. You say her name softly, but she shakes her head, “I want nothing more than to be his wife. His Viscountess. But first, he must forgive us. Do you think he will?”

Kate glances at you, your teary-eyed expression hardening. Before your sister's eyes, you bury it. You bury it so deep that not even looking in the mirror will show you signs of it. You clear your throat nodding your head, “He will. I will make certain of it, Bon.”

You lay with Edwina in her bed, rubbing her scalp as you soothe her to bed. As sleep captures her, you look at Kate. Mouthing your words, ending the previous conversation for good.

“He must marry Edwina.”

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #6: Promise

Prompt: halcyon || Master Post || On AO3

A/N: Spoilers for Dawntrail.

---

There are days when Gulool Ja Ja misses when his children were small, precocious things.

Zoraal Ja had had a solemnity about him from a young age, even then the pressure of the court’s expectations hanging heavy on the shoulders of the son of Blessing Siblings. But he had still smiled, rare, precious things, every small tilt of his lips and crinkling of his eyes a treasure to Gulool Ja Ja, as he treasured, too, the little trinkets Zoraal Ja brought back for him from his adventures. His eldest thrived most in the training arena and both Resolve had delighted in teaching Zoraal Ja to wield twin blades, gently guiding him through his first practice motions with wooden practice swords as a hatchling, sparring with him as a stripling when he was finally old enough for live steel. Zoraal Ja had beamed with pride in those days with every word of praise from Resolve or Reason or every congratulatory pat on the head or shoulder.

But despite Gulool Ja Ja’s love, and praise, and the assurances that Zoraal Ja needed to be nothing save himself, the expectations continued to pile on his son’s shoulders, that he needed to be more.

Those had been the days where Tural had been as newborn as Zoraal Ja, too, and Gulool Ja Ja regrets the time taken away from his son that being Dawnservant demanded. Now Zoraal Ja is a young man whose smiles had long since vanished and whose compassion had seemingly withered away, and Gulool Ja Ja can only hope the reserved but happy little boy, the one who had proudly handed him a rock shaped like a wivre, still lives within him.

Koana had also been a reserved little boy, almost painfully shy when he first came home to the palace. He had been Gulool Ja Ja’s faithful shadow, the unspoken fear that he would be left behind once more lurking in his big purple eyes. Teaching him to read and write had seen Koana begin to blossom, however, and Reason had never hesitated to reach for a scroll or book just out of range of the little boy’s chubby arms or answer any question Koana had about what he had read or learned from a tutor or heard around the palace. Always Koana had questions—though never about his people among the Hhetsarro.

It wasn’t until even Reason struggled to keep with Koana’s voracious appetite for learning that Gulool Ja Ja was faced with the knowledge he would need to let his son leave the nest in order for him to thrive. Resolve had fretted, and Reason had soothed, and he had sent many a letter to his old friend Galuf to assess the Studium as an adequate institution for his brilliant boy. But he had seen Koana off to Sharlayan at the docks with pride and an enthusiastic wave and known he would be fine.

His son had brought home many wondrous things to improve Tural, and Gulool Ja Ja is as awed as any of his people by dirigibles and steam engines. Koana had gained confidence in his time away, but Gulool Ja Ja worries his son was blinded by the newness of technological and magical wonders and had lost sight of the brilliance Tural’s own people, that he had not done enough to impart the belief that the past still has wisdom aplenty to guide the present into the future.

Wuk Lamat—his sweet, big-hearted Lamaty’i—had come to be his daughter in secret sorrow, entrusted to him by an old friend. And even as a full grown woman, he would never forget how small she had been as a kitten, nestled in the palm of his hand. She had been such a happy child, and that happiness had followed her into adulthood. Rambunctious, energetic, the terror of the palace; if it hadn’t been himself chasing after his wayward daughter through the halls as she shrieked with laughter, it had been Namikka. Lamaty’i had been a bright ball of sunshine, dragging her older brothers and Cahcuia’s quiet little boy into her games whenever she could.

She had taken to the axe with an enthusiasm that had almost made him leery. But for all her talent and hard work in the training yards, Lamaty’i did not rise to the same level of martial prowess as Zoraal Ja. She made friends easily, effortlessly charming many of the people she met, and she knew the names and families and histories of many of the citizens in Tuliyollal. But empathy and a willingness to listen paled before the intellectual brilliance of Koana.

Gulool Ja Ja should not have been so protective a father with his daughter, should have encouraged her to explore the wilds of their beautiful nation rather than keep her sheltered within the safety of Tuliyollal’s walls. Lamaty’i needs confidence and worldliness still, a deeper understanding of why the elders she listens to so love the Tural of today, of what Tural means.

Gulool Ja Ja misses being able to carry his children in his arms as if they were but little quetzals perched on his shoulders. But the future looms ever closer; age nips at his heels, and as Reason fades and fights with every part of his will to stay with his brother for just one more day, he knows he cannot hold onto the image of his sons and daughter as little innocents. And so he writes to his friends and their own children in Wachenpelo, and Ok’hanu, and Earthenshire, and Iq Br’aax, and Mamook, crafting a Rite to not just test his children—and whomever wins the contest he has planned—but to teach them. To guide them. To mold them.

Gulool Ja Ja is a father, but he is also a ruler, imperfect at both, and he cannot let down the people of Tural anymore than he can his children.

The Dawnservant’s children are called the Promises for a reason. The Promises for an ever better and brighter future.

(But that does not mean, late at night, hunched over the enormous desk in his office, as Reason fights growing weariness and Resolve shifts the stylus from his left hand to his right and moves the lamp closer to his side, that Gulool Ja Ja doesn’t wish he had a tiny, sleeping Lamaty’i  squished into his chair next to him on one side, Koana on the other with a book in his small hands, and Zoraal Ja leaning against his shins while tending to his new blades.)

[aemondsbeloved]

The Lady Strong

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x strong!reader

summary: your father's death left two ghosts that haunt you in the shape of Rhaenyra's bastard children, but you have more ghosts to tend to and justice for wrongs unknown to you cannot go ignored for long. When Aemond has to decide between justice for the only one who could have his heart or to continue to betray his elder sister, the choice is easy. He chooses you. (4.5k)

warnings: canon violence, reader is an OC because she is a strong and is described as bearing resemblance to Jace and Luke

“Why must you go?”

This is what you asked your father that late afternoon in your solar those many years ago. A young girl of no more than ten, he had sat you down and kneeled in front of the chair. “It is for the best,” he had told you after struggling to find the words. “Harrenhal is our family’s seat and I will be the Lord of Harrenhal one day. And one day, it will be yours.”

“But I cannot come with you?” your eyes searched his for an answer. All you saw in his amber eyes was regret.

“Once I am settled I will come for you. Your uncle will stay here in the meantime, but your grandsire will return to you.” He kissed your forehead before he rose, affectionately placing a gloved hand on your head briefly. The touch is fleeting and full a warmth. It is a touch you will try to remember for years.

Those words never came true. Your father did not return to you and neither did your grandsire. The King’s Hand and your grandsire Lord Lyonel Strong along with your father, Ser Harwin Strong had died in an accidental fire in Harrenhal.

People always did whisper that Harrenhal was haunted. You could only try to stop thinking of their charred bodies in the aftermath of the fires.

The loneliness had been fiercer than the grief after the death of your family and there was nothing that could be said by Septas to quell your anger. It was only in your fury that you could forget your dead father and grandsire.

Days after the deaths it seemed the stranger was visiting another. There was nothing that could keep you from Driftmark and Lady Laena’s funeral, even your imprudent refusal to your uncle.

“Why should I care about her?” you had demanded when your uncle told you this. “I have a greater loss to mourn. My mother is already dead. Now my father and my grandsire join her. You are the only one left of my family, why should I care of someone else dying?”

Your voice had trembled towards the end, sounding like angry and more uncertain. “We must go,” your uncle said softly. “Do not worry. I will not die, have no fear.” The words sounded placating at the time.

Despite the stares at Driftmark you had not noticed Princess Rhaenyra’s eldest son looking at you by your uncle’s side. Neither had your uncle who was smiling proudly at the Queen, though that day you would not notice such a thing. Moving in front of the flames the brown haired prince was there and a silver haired one you knew as Prince Aemond.

Jacaerys left immediately but Prince Aemond glanced at you. “I am sorry for your loss, my lady.”

His words sounded peculiar, especially as he called you a lady. It was all so formal and you were children. But still, no one had truly sounded sorry for you these past few days. “Thank you, my prince,” you said in a small voice as you warmed your hands in front of the fire.

A long pause passed between you both. Quietly, though determined to meet his eyes, you told him your name.

“I know,” he replied and smiled half heartedly. “I am Aemond.”

“I know,” you repeated but this time it was easier to smile.

Despite the turn of the night at Driftmark and the changes that had occurred, as well as the truth of your father’s deeds finding your ears, the friendship that had begun there did not fade. The only constant throughout the years to follow was the silence and peace you only found around Aemond.

Eight Years Later

“Lady Strong,” a voice behind you greets. As you turn around from where you stood near the staircase to the royal family’s apartments, you are met with a hair of brown hair and dark amber eyes that are familiar, though the one who has them now is a stranger.

“Prince Jacaerys,” you greet politely with a nod. Your voice is constrained, perhaps due to the knowledge of who he is and who you were. Perhaps it is the bad blood with Aemond. “I did not know your family was visiting the Capitol.”

“Her Grace Queen Alicent bid my mother to relocate to the Red Keep as King Viserys health worsens. It would be best for our family to be together when time for the coronation comes. There is a pact being agreed for peace as they speak I am told.”

You nod in understanding, but you do not know why he is telling you this information because it is not something a prince tells a lady of a minor house. Perhaps it is because he knows the truth, but unlike you does not ignore it.

“I was hoping to speak to you.” It is the hand he holds in front of himself between you and the nervous yet determined gleam in his eyes that made you understand his meaning.

“That is what we are presently doing,” you tell him dryly and seeking some distance, you turn your body away from him.

His eyes were bright like a Targaryens but gleamed amber like your fathers. He looked much like your father. Once that would have swayed you to his side in foolish childish disputes had you known the truth.

Before Driftmark and your attachment to his uncle. Aemond might be cold, ruthless and cruel to some but he had also been maimed without consequences as a child. Now Jacaerys eyes so like your fathers only made you think of the righteous air about him and his brother.

“I thought we might speak freely about my father—”

You could not let this go on. “Many speak highly of Ser Laenor,” you cut him off, not daring to look at him as you tell the same lie many had done for years.

Jacaerys stiffens when you do glance his way. A strange, faraway part of you pities him for a moment. “Your father and mine suffered poor fates,” you went on, thinking of the tales of Ser Laenor’s death and the charring of the flesh in his father’s hall. How your father’s death was more or less the same. “The burden of carrying our father’s fates is a heavy one. Best to prepare to wear it well.”

You smile at him in an attempt to reassure to and perhaps silently warn him not to approach you again to speak of what he wished. To admit he is a bastard would ruin more than his life as yours was held by a thread. He is not Aemond, so the smile you give him feels mechanical. Jacaerys seems to understand the message all the same and nods in a rough gesture, though we he lifts his head his eyes are tender.

So like your father he looked in that moment you were sure your father might have looked just like Jacaerys at this age.

You walk up the staircase to the Queen’s chambers. Being summoned to her is an occasional occurrence and one you do not begrudge. She is fair and kind despite what people like Daemon Targaryen would have others believe. Her trust for your uncle has seemed to grow into trust for you too.

Most days you would find Aemond but you knew he was in the courtyard training with Ser Criston. You would take the Queen’s company instead.

Larys is not in the Queen’s chamber as he usually is in the evenings. On this morning it is only Queen Alicent and though a pleased smile is directed towards her upon walking in, it drops slightly when you see her grim face.

“Princess Rhaenyra has just been to see me,” she admitted to you. Following her gesture to sit at her table, you slowly lower yourself into the chair. For years the Queen had made it known how much she dislikes the Princess, but since Driftmark and the decline of the King’s health and Rhaenyra’s move to Dragonstone, there was a longing made unavoidable since Rhaenyra had announced she would return. Few knew it was the Queen who asked her to. “She fears there will be resistance when she claims her father’s crown.”

The long look the Queen gives you is not missed. In private you had never denied who the father of Rhaenyra’s sons were. “No one would resist the rightful heir.”

This is not the answer to the Queen’s silent question and she regards you wearily. You think this must be about the loss of station for herself and her children when Rhaenyra comes into power. There is nothing else there could be bothering her.

“No,” she smiles at you in reassurance. You see through the facade quickly but say nothing. “You are right, of course, my dear.”

That afternoon Aemond was a ghost. Where you had once always been relied upon to find him, he was nowhere. Not in the training yard and not in the library. You felt your will to see him slipping away, resigning to letting him come to you when he wished to, until you hear a roar that could only be from one dragon.

Rushing to his rooms, you forgot what it was to be a lady and have some sense of propriety. He does not come for a lifetime as you pace the room. The books near the fireplace are familiar to you as are the weapons he has hanging on his walls.

“What are you doing here?” Aemond asks in his doorway, quickly shutting the door before his guard saw you here. You might look frenzied from your pacing and worry but Aemond is something stranger, surprised.

Still in his black riding leathers and hair swept messy from the skies, he take a few steps toward you. He opens his mouth to say something but you wouldn’t know what it is nor do you noticed the hardened look of a man who knows a horrible truth in his lilac eye.

“Something is wrong, Aemond. I can feel it,” you whisper harshly, taking a step near him. “Your mother looked grim this morning when I saw her. All because of Rhaenyra and her sons, no doubt.”

You are growing more angry towards your father’s bastards by the minute as the day went on and for no reason at all. If anything you should hate your father or maybe hate your friend for leaving the Keep for the day without telling you, but instead you hate Jacaerys Velaryon and are sure every problem is his doing.

“My sister sent me on a mission for the crown,” Aemond admits. Your pacing stops and you look at him, something between anger and confusion.

Much had happened that you could not understand. The slip of Aemond calling Rhaenyra his sister, something he had always refused, did not escape you.

He takes another step toward you, more cautious as he guages your reaction. “Viserys is not long for the world. It is important that no one usurps the rightful heir.”

Your eyes feel like they could be bulging at that. His hands are crossed behind his back and it is almost easy to ignore the wariness and knowledge in his expression.

“My uncle has been assisting in making sure Aegon would be King one day.” This is a truth you had not been blind to but not involved in. Your love for Rhaenyra was nonexistent and you trusted your uncle, what more was there than that?

Aemond jerked his head down in a quick nod. “Rhaenyra will be Queen and my family will have a high standing, heir to the throne or not.”

“So you cleave to her for a higher standing, for power?” you ask him harshly, looking like your father then and there with the way your pride is ruling you.

“We know Aegon would be a poor king,” Aemond insisted, for the first time showing a hint of emotion as he pleaded with you.

“This has never bothered you before. You will have my father’s bastard sit a throne after everything he has done?”

You do not know if you are fighting for the wrongs done to Aemond or to your own pride and the proof of who your father loved. Pride was a festering wound eating you whole as it once did to Aemond, except now he seemed to see something else.

“Jacaerys is not a monster.” These words seem to cost Aemond everything, making you wonder what caused his change of heart. In your heart you know Aemond is right but feeling frustrated at everything, you turn away and want to flee the scene.

The hand on your wrist that pulls you back to him is unexpected. “Let go,” you say in a choked breath, not wanting to look at him as the tears fall. “You can do as you please and support Rhaenyra, what I say will mean nothing.”

He is persistent, gently tugging your wrist until you turn your head and look at him with tired eyes. “I would not help her without cause,” he points out and pulls your body nearer to his. Another time this would have felt romantic as you both towed the line of friendship or something more, but with your tears and the secrecy you are simply exhausted. “You know that.”

You do. Aemond had never liked his sister and hated his nephews. Maybe it was because he had lost much at their hands, maybe it was because his closest friend had been resigned to watching her father’s bastards walk around the Keep, Ser Harwin’s ghost never leaving his daughter. Aemond does nothing without reason even amidst your anger.

“There was a whisper passing through the lands of Harrenhal that the fire that killed your grandsire and father was no accident,” Aemond tells you, watching your reaction with careful eyes and his hand refusing to leave your wrist. “Someone started it. Rhaenyra sent me to find out who.”

You feel a wave of sickness overtake your body and for once, you feel like one of the maidens in the stories and think you might faint. Aemond holds you by your upper arms. “The news is grim, my lady.”

Again you are a girl and he is a boy, and the titles feel strange and formal for ones so close friends. “Why would anyone kill my grandsire and father?” you ask in disbelief, shaking in his grip from the shock. “My grandsire was a good hand to your father, respected by all. My father had left the Red Keep, he was not a threat to any Targaryen.”

He sees where your mind is going and stops it by cutting it out root and stem. “There was no Targaryen who is responsible. Rhaenyra is the last one who would have done it.”

“Then who?” you are desperate, hanging onto his arms now as you search his face. No longer do you flee his touch and are desperate for it.

“Larys Strong,” he tells you the news in a soft voice, the blow is twice as hard as it knocks the air form your lungs.

“Liar,” you accuse as you grow rigid in his grip, wanting to claw through his very skin. “This is a lie. An illogical one. My uncle–”

“Stole your position,” he interrupts you. “By all rights you should be the heir of Harrenhal but he took that from you. Your father wanted it to be yours.”

You shut your eyes tightly as a heavy breath moves past your lips. Looking at Aemond again, you steel yourself. “My uncle loved his family. He would not kill his father and brother.”

“And yet he did kill his father and brother.”

“Why?” you demand, now glaring at him, or maybe the truth he has learned. You were comfortable in your misery before he spoke it. “My father loved him. He would never do this to us.”

Aemond’s eye roves your features. From the tremble of your lips to the agony in your eyes, he will not look away. “He betrayed you still.”

Protests continue to pass your lips, determined to cling onto pretty lies but Aemond does not move and slowly, you come to terms with the reality. Your uncle, the one who had been there for you when you got the news and comforted you, had betrayed you.

“Why?” you beg Aemond again, body beginning to fall into his as he holds your limp body to yours.

“Power and position,” he tells you, his hands rubbing soothing circles into your sides.

His words only make you cry louder but he still holds you. “He will pay for this, my love,” he swears as your cries quiet. Neither of you are bold enough to determine what his last words mean for you. You only have energy enough to be in his arms.

“Can I stay?” you ask him. Your voice is a quiet in a way that makes it sound like a ghost of yours.

“Always,” he answers immediately.

That night you sleep in Aemond’s arms and knowing a line is being crossed, neither of you speak of it. Tonight was a night of rest, justice would have to wait for the sun to rise.

In the morning your eyes are not open yet when you feel Aemond’s arms wrapped around your middle. At some point in the night he must have reached for you, or you reached for him. Whisps of his pale hair rest on your shoulder and tickle your face. If it were anyone else you feel out of comfort and push them away, but it is Aemond, so you pretend to be asleep to live in your fantasy.

If the world were different, it would be expected for him to hold you in your sleep and there would be nothing wrong about sleeping in his rooms. In a fantasy that stayed in your mind, he might be your husband, but he was not. Your uncle had frequently alluded to the match that was bond to happen, one between you and Aemond. It had not been for your happiness, just another trick to get himself closer to power Queen Alicent yielded.

“How will it happen?” you whisper, knowing he was awake.

Aemond breathes over your shoulder and rest his chin on your shoulder. “In the throne room, before he expects the severity of his fate.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and do not feel pity as you think of Larys’ fate.

Aemond’s fingers leave a featherlight touch to your sides as you leave his bed. His bed, you think, half mourning your fantasy and the other half of you giddy for this moment you had even in your devastation. Before you leave the room, you turn to him. There is a smile on your lips as you regard him and though it is one of someone who has lost everything, you smile all the same.

“I will be by your side,” he promises and because he has never lied to you, you believe him.

It could have been minutes or hours until you were in the throne room, but you found yourself there all the same. A dress of the pale blue found on your house’s coat of arms drapes across your figure. Not for the first time in your life, you feel every part of the Lady Strong. But there is a change, one you do not realize until you alone walk down the steps into the throne room.

Everyone is there— the Queen, the Hand, Princess Rhaenyra in her father’s place, beside her is your father’s bastards. Rhaenyra’s new consort, Prince Daemon is there. As is your uncle, but he sees the change in you too and for the first time, Larys Strong appears perplexed.

You do not stand next to Aemond, though even in a room full of other people of the court, you are drawn to him. He is a Targaryen as he stands next to his brother and sister, but you are a Strong. You must stand alone.

When Queen Alicent moves forward closer to Rhaenyra than she had ever been, they almost look like allies despite the polarizing green and black dresses they both wore as Alicent faces the court.

“It is the responsibility of the Protector of the Realm to insure that the lines of succession in every house across the realm are just. In the absence of King Viserys, his true heir Princess Rhaenyra will be the hand of justice today.”

Your uncle looks at you for a long moment, but your eyes do not leave the Queen’s. When the Queen steps back to stand near her children and father, and Rhaenyra sits the Iron Throne you are sure your uncle is quivering. When you glance at him you are sure that his grip on his cane is stronger than ever before.

“Lord Larys,” Rhaenyra says cooly. “You are accused of treason. You are deemed guilty of starting the fire in Harrenhal that killed Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin Strong, and corrupting the line of succession of House Strong by usurping your niece. You are accused of colluding to usurp me in favor of Prince Aegon.”

He flounders but only for a moment and when Larys recovers, the performance is convincing if you forget that this man had lied to you for half your life. “This is slander, Princess. You have been lied to. I loved my father and brother as I love my niece.” He smiles and perhaps it is charming once, but now you can only look at him and chant liar, liar, liar in your mind. “And as far a colluding to usurp you,” he laughs, lightly making a joke of justice as he turns to you. “Niece, tell the Princess how she has been lied to.”

“I think not,” you say as though you were musing, a poet finding his words instead of calling your uncle a traitor to the court.

He laughs without humor and shakes his head at you. “What is this?” he asks with a chill that would surely travel up your spine if the whole court was not witnessing this, if Aemond were not here. “You believe these lies?”

You say nothing, knowing when your restraint would weaken and he is testing every bit of it.

“How do you plead, Lord Larys?” Rhaenyra demands.

“Not guilty,” he proclaims with an edge to his voice. “Of course I am not guilty.”

The bite of ugliness in his voice does nothing to put off Rhaenyra. Somewhere deep within you, there is a ghost that whispers she would make a fine queen. Even now, your father haunts you by whispering the truth in unwanted moments.

“Queen Alicent has told me the truth of how you killed your own father so that her own would be reinstated the Hand, a favor she did not ask you and one that you thought might give you more power. I see your niece’s rightful title you stole from her did not sate your lust for power.”

All eyes on him, your uncle directs his rage at Alicent. “You lie for her now?” he spits the words, no respect for Princess Rhaenyra and the power she wields now.

“There is no lie,” Alicent says cooly without a care for his rage. “You frequently spoke of how the Princess Rhaenyra would not sit the Iron Throne because there were many who supported Aegon’s claim. In many of our private audiences your niece heard these words being said.”

“Niece,” Larys pleads and this is the first time he has ever sounded like a beggar when he turns to you. “Tell them this is slander. You know in your heart these lies mean to set House Strong apart.”

“I cannot say that which is not true,” you tell him lowly, your hatred for him coming in the shape of a frown pinched on your lips. Looking to Rhaenyra, you decided to put your loathing for her aside for a moment. “My uncle often spoke of Aegon’s claim and how one day it was he who would be King. His intentions were clear, the treason from him is no slander.”

There is a flicker of appreciation in Rhaenyra’s purple eyes as she regards you before she turns her sight to Lord Larys. “You see, you are already guilty of the highest treason of colluding against the crown. You will die, Lord Larys. Do you wish to meet the stranger without speaking the truth?”

You were sure he would not budge. What was the truth to a man like him? He had lied to you for an age.

“Your father was never meant to die,” he turns to you, and the grip on his cane is desperate as he looks to you.

“And yet you killed him,” you meet his gaze unflinching. “You stole my inheritance and had my grandsire and father killed all for your own greed.”

He cannot fight the truth now, not when the sentence has already been given. “You have been a daughter to me. I would never had—”

“And yet, you did betray me and our house. I do not want whatever affection you think recompenses this.”

There is something ugly that creeps up his face. He is a man without anything to lose. “You think your father’s bastards could be your family?”

In the silence, the sound of steel being drawn is heard and out of the corner of your eye, you are sure Prince Jacaerys and Lucerys grimace at the insult.

“You took my family from me. I have nothing that you have not already taken from me, Uncle.”

“For years you had hated him for what he did,” Larys reminds you. “The sons he gave to a woman that was not your late mother, the ghosts that haunt you for their likeness to him.”

That is true enough. “For years I have been lied to.” And that is all that matters.

He says nothing, spatting at the floor in Rhaenyra’s direction. His lies are all that matter, you remind yourself.

“So be it,” he concedes. “Short may your reign be, whore.” You do not know if it is the Princess he speaks of or yourself as the new Lady of Harrenhall.

Nothing else matters when the blade wielded by Daemon cuts off his head, the blood and remains of your uncle on the floor now. Nearly the last of House Strong on the floor of the throne room. You are all that remains now.

In the chaos of it all you do not look at Larys anymore. Across the room your eyes find Aemond. His pale lilac eye is already on your face. Something tells you that all will be well now, so long as Aemond is there with you.

“It was Ser Harwin’s wish that his daughter would succeed him,” you hear Rhaenyra vaguely over the buzzing in your ears. Still, you do not look away from Aemond. You cannot bear it. “To the Lady Strong, the rightful heir of Harrenhall.”

Your eyes meet Rhaenyra’s and if it were any day except this one, you would think she had another motive to give you your inheritance back. But there is something in her eyes that makes you change your mind. Maybe your father haunts her too. Maybe her sons are the ghosts of Harwin Strong to her as well.

You wonder if you haunt her sons as well.

[annabthesolitarywriter]

✍️For the oc ask thing.

Hi and sorry if it took me so long to answer your ask! I took a Tumblr hiatus and then it was hard to think of a specific character to talk about...I literally have so many, which can be a good thing...but a bad one as well.

Ask from THIS ASK GAME (I need to start referencing everything since it takes me ages to reply)

The character I'm talking about today is...Finnas!

Finnas

He was born in TA 2977 in Dol Amroth, the eldest son of well-to-do family. He was never a noble, but his family didn't lack money and that money enabled him to travel extensively as a young boy and to get familiar with most cultures in Middle-earth. At a very young age, he learned to travel and survive on his own. He learned to hunt and sail and worked several jobs (carpenter, blacksmith, farmer, stable boy etc) while simultaneously learning languages and customs that were not his own. He kept a notebook where he dutifully and systematically jotted down all that he learned and, for a long while, he only spent money in quills and ink. He rather enjoyed his nomadic lifestyle, but he eventually returned to Dol Amroth to tend to family matters and organize his father’s funeral. Since he was now the head of family and in charge of his younger siblings, traveling was no longer an option for him and, after a period of self-doubt, mourning and depression, he was employed as an assistant shoemaker. He worked there for a while and struck up a friendship with his employer, who was also the owner of the shop. This shoe-shop was a “high-end” place and many people among thr highest ranks of the nobility bought their footwear there. One of the shop’s regulars was Húrin the Tall, Warden of the Keys, who, at the time, was desperately in need of a tutor for his young daughter Morwen. This whole thing about Finnas traveling, attending his dad’s funeral and being employed in the shoe shop takes place years before the War of the Ring and won’t be featured in LOI directly, but only through conversation or maybe if/when Finnas ever reminisces on his past. It’s mainly just for me to have somewhat of a reference and to give the character some sort of a personality and Finnas has plenty of it.

Lord Húrin takes notice of the young man who is trying to sell him a new pair of leather boots and, as he is intrigued by him, soon starts questioning him on his life and an on several other matters that have nothing to do with shoes. He understands that Finnas is wise and learned far beyond his years and offers him a tutoring job in his household. Finnas is hesitant as his formal education is fairly limited and he supposes his teaching methods would be unconventional and not suited for a highborn lady. Húrin though is more stubborn than he is and eventually Finnas accepts the job without even meeting Morwen first. You may wonder how Finnas was persuaded to accept the job. Want the unfiltered truth? He did it not for prestige, but for money. He thoughts his siblings might need it, so he said yes, although it was not what he really wanted. He moves into Húrin’s mansion almost at once and starts tutoring Morwen. Morwen is one of Tolkien’s scrapped characters and since she was originally supposed to marry Éomer, I think she might be Lothiriel’s age? Maybe a year older or younger? Maybe a couple years younger? As I have mentioned earlier, this whole thing takes place years before the War of the Ring and children normally started being tutored at five or six? Finnas might not be Morwen’s first tutor anyway, but I doubt I will have her be born before TA 2999. I don’t even know if she shows up in LOI, so I really don’t know anything about her as of now. I only know Finnas tutors her for a long while and she makes remarkable progress studying with him. As I am typing this, I think Morwen has what we today would classify as ADHD so I assume she struggled retaining information and found it hard to stay focused during lessons. Finnas manages to build a relationship with her and the fact that she sees him as unconventional and “weird” compared to other tutors actually helps her. He tutors her for quite a while (until her teenage years) and, by then, he has become the talk of the town and he’s one of the most sought-after tutors. As such, he becomes extremely wealthy and begins building a network of important acquaintances. During the War of the Ring his number of students is significantly reduced and when the war is over and Aragorn is made King and things go back to normal, noblemen—especially the newly-created ones—requests for tutorship come flocking in again. A few years pass (five or six) and he is hired by a certain Steward to oversee his young and extremely bright daughter’s education and that is how Finnas enters Enna’s life. She is a little happy baby then and she doesn’t know what fate has in store for her yet. She is just this tiny little perfect lady who desperately wants to learn things. She does most of the work herself and Finnas is impressed by her self-discipline and her ability to retain complicated information. He admires her intellectual curiosity and proudly tells Faramir shes the best student he has ever had. He actually kind of feels useless because he feels like Enna could as well study on her own. He guides in he right direction. tells what is important for her to remember and praises her. That’s about it.

As he did with Morwen, he tutors Enna (and later Elboron) for a number of years and Faramir grows to value and respect him immensely. At the Steward's suggestion, Finnas is offered titles and lands, as Faramir plans to have an opinionated and intelligent ally in the King’s Council, someone that both he and Aragorn can trust. Finnas rejects the offer as he is disgusted by the corruption and the general attitude of the nobles. He was never interested in wealth and power, he only wants to support his family and share his knowledge and what he's learned with others. He would do it even if he wasn't paid, I suppose. He wants to help and be useful to his community and his kingdom, but he's been around too many high-borns to know that morals and values don't matter to them and he’s afraid that being granted more power than he actually needs—and he needs and wants none—will eventually cause him to fall down a rabbit hole of greediness, cynicism, ruthlessness and general unhappiness and he doesn't want that to happen. He's content with his life and doesn't want any more trouble. He's probably Enna's most trusted ally and a good friend to her. He basically acts as her confidant and he'll basically fill the void Faramir leaves once they stop talking. Yes, for those of you who don't know, Enna and Faramir will grow apart later in the story, but no spoilers for now. Trust the process and trust in me (hopefully). Finnas essentially replaces Faramir and becomes a father figure to her.

He will serve Enna as her main secretary in both Lebennin and Ithilien until he retires due to old age. Even when he does retire, he keeps in touch with her and advises her. He's extremely protective of her and fights for her at any chance he gets. He's never been married—he’s too much of a free spirit to get married—but I think Enna will try to set him up with some lady regardless (possibly Ivonneth). His nephew works for him as an assistant secretary and will fully take over once Finnas retires due to old age and gout. Yep, his father died from gout and he inherits it. I think he will still outlive Enna though and him attending her funeral will probably be his last public appearance.

Fun fact: due to his travels, his accent is a bit all over the place and baby Enna was initially very confused by it stares at him with a confused and adorable judgy face.

Finnas’ nephew (I haven't picked a name yet, I only know it starts with F) is a poet who has a major platonic crush on Enna (a bit like the Dante/Beatrice dynamic if you know about the Divine Comedy) and spends most of his times writing rhymes about her instead of fulfilling his secretarial duties. Finnas wants to him to become more responsible, but the guy is a dreamer and not cut out for an actual job. He loves literature and poetry—he doesn't claim to be a poet though—and would happily survive by reading books if it were possible. As far as names go, I thought of Faras, Finbor, Finbar…

I already have a Findor (another one of the newest OCs that I haven't included in the Tumblr character profiles—I have too many Gondorian OCs and I need to rearrange things before add him and the others), so I suppose I'll need to get creative.

Thank you for the ask!

FANCASTS

Anthony Brophy as Finnas

Jamie Thomas King as... Finbar? (The nephew)

(That's literally his face whenever Enna glances at him.)