#hotd fanfic ideas

[cbswonder]

Caraxes and Syrax human form aesthetic ✨️

@toadpeee human art of the dragons inspired me to do a human form aesthetic collage of my favorite dragon couple ❤️💛

[dontforgetoctober3rd]

Romantic Rhaemond vibes:

DOING EACH OTHERS’ ROCKSTAR LOOKING ASS HAIR

RHAENA BRUSHING OUT AEMOND’S MANE, BRAIDING IT, PUTTING IT IN A PONYTAIL ETC

AEMOND INTENTLY WATCHING AS RHAENA HAS HER MAIDS DO HER HAIR TO LEARN AND THEN A CUTE SCENE OF HIM INSISTING ON HELPING HER TIGHTEN THE ROOTS HIMSELF

[margoshansons]

Dreamfyre you’re still the mother of Daenerys’s dragons in my heart and will be until GRRM comes out of his hole to tell me otherwise

[the-daydreaming-show]

Concept/Sneak Peek: Aegon II Targaryen x OlderSister!Reader.

(UPDATE JUNE 2: I haven't forgotten about this, half of it is already written, but I'm having exams, so until the beginning of next month I won't be able to sit down and write, BUT I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN I'M GOING TO FINISH IT I SWEAR! !!)

“Do you love me?” Aegon asked in a tearful whisper. He looked angelic, in his white pajamas and his violet eyes filled with tears that refused to fall but were clearly there. The question had come out of nowhere, but you still answered it without any hesitation.

“Of course I love you, Aegon,” you told him, whispering back and making him feel like it was just you and him in the world. He looked at you surprised, perhaps a little relieved, and a tear slid down his cheek. “You are my brother, my blood. I love the bones off you, husband.”

The need struck Aegon suddenly, just with that, and he began to pray in his mind to the gods that you would take his offer. Well, now he did not want for anything in the world that his mother would fulfill her mission and annul your marriage. There was nothing more in the world than he wanted to stay by your side for the rest of his life, now he understood that.

Or

Where you, the youngest daughter of Aemma and Viserys, married Aegon, the eldest son of Alicent Hightower, after the incident of the eye of Aemond in Driftmark. Years after your marriage, you fulfill your duty as Hand of the King. Since no children have been born from you union, your stepmother plans to request the annulment of your marriage, to marry Aegon to a daughter of the Baratheon. This is to ensure the support of that house when Viserys dies.

Aegon, who has enjoyed suffocating freedom since he married you when he was only fourteen, doesn't want that, and for the wrong reasons. He resigns himself to doing his duty in order to remain free, you two need a child, but he finds himself with something much better than freedom: a life tied to you.

(Let me know if you're interested in a fanfic like this, I could make it a series, because I love the concept, but I don't know.

Edit: Let me know if you want to be tag in the the post)

[loonie-and-proud]

modern alicole au

criston cole has been the hightower's neighbor for ten years. he's always with them, he had dinner with them, he goes for the children to school, he sometimes spend the night at the house.

just for one day picking up aegon in his aa meeting someone make a comment on "aegon mom's boyfriend" and criston says they're just friends.

aegon is so confused.

he text his siblings about this and all of them are like "what the fuck do you mean they're not dating????"

[aemondwhoresworld]

AN IDEA FOR ANY WRITER/AUTHOR NEED IT

prince!aemond targaryen x noble!reader

warning: unrequited love, mention of being abandon, pregnancy, alys and aemond have a child together (son/daughter have dark hair), mention of alys, betrothed

mae: maybe if you write one base on this ideas please tag me to it cause i’d love to read it, also sorry about my grammar, english is not my native language

i have an angsty idea for Aemond Targaryen, tis will take place which Aemond and Alys secretly have a son/daughter together (you can decide how old this baby is) but the Targaryens are completely unaware to the existence of Alys as well as this baby.

And y/n is the youngest and only daughter of a noble family of the Waynwood family, both have been betrothed to each other since they were both very young and y/n has the ability to read minds someone else's sincerity (the reader is not a witch), so y/n soon learned of the existence of Alys and their child, even though she had been passionately in love with Aemond since the small meetings between the Targaryen family and the Waynwood family, but y/n still silently accepted her fate since she always wanted to fulfill her duty as a good wife to Aemond as well as become a part of the Targaryen family with some hope that Aemond would realize her feelings for him.

About 3 years have passed, everything for y/n becomes simpler and she gradually changes her lifestyle to be able to integrate into the place she calls her second home, which is also where her children will later live. But everything fell apart when Aemond, after some time arriving at Harrenhal, took Alys and their child to Kings Landing, and declared that Alys and their child would from now on live in Kings Landing. Everything happened so fast, and she decided to quietly leave Kings Landing with the twins she was carrying the night everything happened (she knows that she is with child, and planning on to tell Aemond the night he brought Alys and their child to KL), y/n did not tell anyone know even her family (there is only her maid who knows about y/n's current situation). Y/n then migrate to a remote area (like a small rural area, where no one knows her identity).

The scene is set about 1 year after y/n gives birth to twins, her children have this blonde white hair like Aemond. When the people in the village saw these kids with strange colored hair, they were very surprised and started spreading rumors about these kids being witches, and of course rumors spread to Kings Landing and Since then King Aegon (who y/n gets really close with since the day she married to Aemond, live in a cold marriages) sent people to the village where y/n lived to bring her back to the right place where y/n belonged.

this could be an angsty one with a happy ending (actually any ending you decide is fine but i love it when aemond would beg the forgiveness from y/n, hehe), of course this will not be all of it, if you need anymore of the details please let me know 🥹. btw this idea originally is for jacaerys but i think it’s more fit for aemond

[damneddamsy]

second sight | modern!cregan stark x fem!oc (part ii)

a/n: on this exciting version of 'second sight', it's the modern day, folks! Phones, fast cars, fame, college, apartments, tabloids, money!? (@justdazzling - I LOVE YOU, thank you, little genius)

summary: (read part i here) Ever wonder how they met? Claere and Cregan’s story forms at the intersection of opposites: a mysterious girl with a scandalous reputation and a fuelled, grounded hockey player, both trying to navigate lives that couldn’t seem more different. Parties, misunderstandings, and an unexpected kiss—that's where Claere and Cregan’s secret romance begins.

warnings: this is pure, tooth-rotting fluff and yearning. language. law-breaking. alcohol. drugs.

words: 18,000+, 45 min read (full-time job + sleepless nights = ?)

Cregan Stark had just won the game, but for the first time in his life, winning didn’t matter.

The locker room was alive with the kind of chaos only a hard-fought victory could ignite. Shouts echoed off the walls, and laughter bounced between the clangs of tossed helmets and stick taps on the floor. The air was electric, a cocktail of sweat, adrenaline, and triumph that made the walls feel like they might burst.

The riotous celebration almost drowned Coach’s gruff praise: “That’s how you fight, lads! That’s how you finish!” His words struck sparks in the room, igniting another round of cheers and fists banging against lockers.

Normally, Cregan would’ve been at the centre of it all, roaring with his team, drowning in the high of a win well-earned. His shoulders would feel lighter under the weight of the captain’s "C," his grin splitting his face as he soaked up the shared glory.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he sat slouched in his cubby, his jersey half-stripped and his skates still on, staring down at the phone lighting up in his hands like it was burning a hole through his palm. It was impossible to ignore—the insistent buzz of notifications, the glow of the screen, the words that blurred together in a flurry of disbelief and shock.

Bro, howwww XD I sniff the bullshit

How did you pull HER, Stark?

Score. You owe me a pint, brother

Lock it the fuck down, mate. She’s out of your league.

Cregan swiped the screen to dim the messages, jaw tight as the heat climbed his neck. This was what he’d signed up for, wasn’t it? The stares. The jokes. The endless fucking questions. He scrolled past the messages, thumb hovering over his camera roll. Hesitation flickered—just for a second—before he tapped on a photo. There she was, the light of his whole life.

The photo filled the screen like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Claere sat at his darkened dining table, a small strawberry cake glowing with two candles in front of her. Her silver hair was pulled into loose pigtails, her cheeks slightly flushed from the room's heat. She’d scrunched up her face for the camera, lips puckered, eyes two crescent moons of pure joy. She was laughing, the sound practically tangible even through a static image.

It was their second anniversary. He’d taken the picture after making a fool of himself trying to light the candles with a busted lighter. Claere had been in stitches. “You’re hopeless,” she had said, shaking her head before kissing him on the cheek.

“Godsdamnit, Stark.” A voice snapped him back to reality.

He jolted, fumbling to lock his phone, but not before the picture had been burned into someone else’s retinas. The voice belonged to Tomlin, his closest defenseman.

“She’s a fucking hottie, mate.”

“You lucky bastard,” someone else chimed in, and soon a cluster of guys crowded around him, craning their necks to see.

“All right, that’s my sister,” came a sharper voice.

Jacaerys Velaryon, Claere’s older brother and their star winger, emerged from the haze of damp towels and shattered sticks. His presence cut through the lingering noise of post-game banter, exasperation written in the hard set of his jaw as he shoved through the group crowding around Cregan’s bench.

“Back off, all of you. Evil eye assholes,” Jace snapped, swiping a towel from one of the guys as they dispersed. A few muttered half-hearted protests, others threw exaggerated thumbs-ups or winks in Cregan’s direction before retreating toward the showers.

Jace dropped onto the bench beside Cregan without ceremony, slinging the stolen towel over his shoulder. He didn’t say anything at first, focusing instead on unwrapping the compression bandages from his legs, wincing as the fabric peeled away from bruised, sweat-slicked skin.

“Tough game,” he muttered finally, not looking up.

Cregan let out a dry laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Just say it, Jace.”

“Say what?” Jace’s grin was maddeningly lopsided like he knew exactly what Cregan expected but wouldn’t give it to him. “That I’m proud of you?”

Cregan frowned, caught off guard. “The fuck?”

“Yeah,” Jace said, leaning back against the lockers with a groan. “About time you came out with this. Can’t imagine it feels good, keeping something like that buried.”

Cregan blinked. “You’re serious?”

“Bloody hell, I could not keep your secret any longer,” Jace added with a laugh, shaking his head. “It was fouling me up. Every time I saw her, it was like I had to bite my tongue in half not to slip.”

Cregan exhaled sharply, his shoulders loosening despite himself. “That simple, huh?”

“Guess so,” Jace said, shrugging. “You make her happy, Stark. That’s all I care about.”

Before Cregan could respond, his phone buzzed again. The screen lit up, illuminating Claere’s name. Everything else—the damp towels, the clatter of skates against the locker room floor, even Jace beside him—faded into the background. It was like the whole world narrowed to that one word, that one connection.

Her name. Just six letters, but somehow it carried the weight of everything they’d built together. The stolen glances, the late-night conversations, the quiet moments where words weren’t needed. It wasn’t just a name on a screen—it was her. Her laugh, her eyes, the way she looked at him like she saw straight through every wall he’d ever put up.

And now, here it was again, in the midst of the chaos: a reminder of what mattered.

He swiped open the message, already feeling the tension in his chest ease just a fraction.

I wish I could come down and find you, but I can't stay. Paps outside. I’ll see you at home <3

His eyes caught on a single word. Home.

For a second, it didn’t feel like the locker room around him existed. That word hit harder than anything else—unexpected, simple, and strangely grounding. His place wasn’t just a crash pad or an escape for her anymore; it was home. To her. That realization settled somewhere deep, quieting the noise of everything else.

He typed back, his fingers moving almost on instinct.

Anything, baby. I got you. Can't wait xx

The response felt effortless, not because it was routine but because it was true. They’d had this conversation many times before, and they had these covert plans to meet after the chaos. The same texts and soft promises whispered in a world that didn’t quite feel ready to see them.

But even now, with everything out in the open, nothing about the core of it had changed. They still had to navigate the same moments, the same carefully coordinated endings.

He stood, grabbing his gear. The familiar weight of his hockey bag slung over his shoulder was grounding, a reminder of everything that hadn’t changed.

“Off to play house already?” one of the guys called from across the room, his grin wicked.

Another chimed in, “Cardio plans for my boooooy!”

“Yeah, don’t forget your stamina, Stark.”

The room erupted into laughter, voices overlapping with whistles and exaggerated winks.

Cregan didn’t stop. Didn’t roll his eyes or even glance back. He just held up a middle finger as he walked, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Because, yeah, they could laugh. They could tease. They didn’t know what it felt like to have her waiting on the other side of all this noise.

As he stepped out into the cool night air, the chaos of the locker room faded behind him. The sky stretched wide and endless above the parking lot, the stars faint against the glow of the city. He pulled his bag higher on his cramped shoulder, the load of it barely registering. His mind was already miles away.

Home. That word clung to him, nestled somewhere deep in his chest. It wasn’t just a place anymore—it was her. It was Claere. And knowing that made everything else—the game, the chaos, the cameras—worth it.

He unlocked his truck and tossed his bag into the bed, letting out a long breath. But as he leaned back against the driver’s door, the quiet brought memories with it, as if the night itself wanted to remind him just how far he’d fallen.

Cregan Stark had it fucking bad, and he knew it.

He was done for from the moment he’d first noticed her—really noticed her. Not the way everyone else did, with their rumours and their whispers, their tabloid snapshots and snide commentary. No, for him, it had been something else entirely.

It was her first year at the quad. He remembered the exact moment because it was impossible to forget. He’d been sitting in his truck, waiting out the morning rush, his morning green juice spilling into the cupholder and his patience thinner than usual.

Then she pulled up. That absurd little white scooter stuttered into the lot a few rows ahead of him, a stark contrast to the roaring engines of bikes and cars around it. She unclipped her helmet and shook out her hair, so unhurried and deft, the sunshine catching in the silvery strands as they tumbled free. He would be lying if he said it wasn't playing out in faded hues and slow motion to him. She smoothed her skirt, adjusted her necklace, and—gods above—spread pink lip balm with surgical precision using the side mirror as her guide. Popped her lips into a pout.

He should’ve looked away, should’ve minded his business. He honestly couldn't. She had him entirely for a moment. He would've fought another person through blood, rain and mud for this unfamiliar girl.

She pointed at her reflection, mouthed something—“You’re not a quitter”—and nodded confidently, as if the girl staring back at her needed convincing. Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, she rummaged in her bag, pulled out a breath mint, and placed it gently on the pavement in front of a trail of ants.

And just like that, she was gone, walking toward the quad with her bag slung over one shoulder, peering into her phone, completely oblivious to the fact that she’d left a grown man sitting slack-jawed in his truck.

Gods-fucking-dammit. He’d been a goner for that fruitcake from that moment on.

Back then, he’d told himself it was just a passing fascination. A moment of curiosity, nothing more. Another pretty Targaryen chick, nothing less. But the memory stayed with him, surfacing at the most inconvenient times, dragging his thoughts back to her in ways he couldn’t shake.

It wasn’t until much later—until her quiet, steady presence started to fill spaces he didn’t know were empty—that he realized the truth.

Claere Velaryon wasn’t just someone he’d noticed. She was someone he couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard he tried.

Ever since then, he started paying attention to his surroundings more often. He picked out the clack of her strappy sandals in the halls, and noticed how her earrings changed every week—tiny hoops, dainty studs, dangling charms. Brown was her favourite colour; it showed in her clothes, her notebooks, and even the little leather straps on her bag. The way her braided silver hair caught the light, the delicate gold jewellery adorning her fingers as they moved across a notebook in slow, precise sketches—it was maddening. Fascinating. She was chipping away at him every moment she lingered.

A simple flick of her wrist as she shaded something in her sketchbook made his chest ache in ways he couldn’t explain. He didn’t even care what she was drawing; he just wanted to sit there, unnoticed, and watch her hands.

It was sick, he thought, the way he’d tailored his life around her. He’d signed up for a mind-numbingly boring horticulture elective just to be in the same room as her. His teammates had laughed for days about it—“Cregan Stark, the ice king, planting daisies?”—but none of it mattered. Not when she sat three rows ahead of him, her head bent over her notes, utterly oblivious to the chaos she caused in his chest. And every day, he longed to sit by her side and tuck that little tendril of silvery hair behind her ear.

Even at the rink, his sanctuary, she’d wormed her way into his thoughts. She rarely came to see Jace practice, but when she did, it was like the entire world shifted. He’d skate harder, faster, pulling off moves he barely practised, all in the hope that she might look up and watch him in his element. But Claere never seemed to care. She’d stretch out on her back over the benches, headphones in, world off, eyes closed. And yet, the mere sight of her was enough to light him up from the inside out.

But the thing that really drove him insane—truly made his brain short-circuit—was how she tried. She wasn’t exactly outgoing, but she made an effort. He’d see her in the library, offering an overly pleasant smile to someone in her study group, only for it to be met with an awkward nod. Or sometimes in the mess hall, where she’d hover near a table of classmates, tray in hand, like she was working up the nerve to sit down—just to turn away when no one waved her over.

He couldn’t understand it. Why did no one want to talk to this gorgeous girl? She was right there, looking like something out of a storybook, and yet everyone acted like she didn’t exist.

“I don’t get it,” he had muttered, half to himself, when his friends had finally gotten to having lunch. Claere had been perched at a table by the window, fiddling with a ring on her finger, her tray untouched.

“Get what?” his teammate, Wil, asked, not looking up from his fries.

“Why nobody talks to her,” Cregan had said, gesturing vaguely in Claere’s direction. “She’s… I mean, look at her. She’s—”

“Intense,” Wil had finished, shrugging.

Cregan frowned. “Intense?”

“You know, quiet. Standoffish. It’s like she doesn’t want to be here. Like she's above us all.” His teammate took another bite of his burger, speaking around the mouthful. “And then there’s the whole… Targaryen thing. People don’t know what to say to someone like that.”

Cregan had bristled. “Someone like what?”

Wil had shrugged again. “Rich. Loose screws. Scary-pretty.”

Scary? Cregan glanced at her again, noting the way her face softened as she leaned into her palm, absentmindedly tracing circles on her notebook.

There was nothing scary about her. Not in the way Wil meant, anyway. Sure, she was different. Quiet where others were loud. Graceful where others fumbled. She had a way of carrying herself that made her stand apart, like she was cut from a different cloth. Maybe she was. But none of that made her scary.

“She’s not scary,” Cregan said sharply, his tone brooking no argument.

Wil raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Hit a nerve, Cap?”

Cregan ignored him, his mind circling back to something else. “What about Jace, then? Why doesn’t he get this treatment? He’s just as rich, just as Targaryen, and no one seems to care.”

“Jace’s different,” Wil said with a shrug. “He’s always in your face, gets along with everyone, probably swallowed two loudspeakers. You know how it is. People don’t question you when you’re easy to like.”

Easy to like. The words sat uncomfortably in Cregan’s chest.

His gaze returned to Claere. Her soft smile lingered as she scribbled something in her notebook, completely unaware of the weight of the judgments thrown her way. Scary-pretty. What a load of bullshit. If anything, the way people talked about her was the real problem. Not her. Screw them.

“Yeah, well,” Cregan muttered, pushing his plate away, “some people wouldn’t know real class if it smacked them in the face.”

Wil snorted, but Cregan didn’t give him a chance to reply. His attention was back on Claere, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. Scary? No, she wasn’t scary. She was just different. And maybe that’s what scared everyone else.

He couldn’t even hide his big, fat crush anymore. Whenever the mess hall went quiet, the way it always did when she walked in, he’d find his seat with his friends, carefully angled just to catch a glimpse of her. And Jace—observant, infuriating, son of a bitch Jace—noticed everything.

“You’re disgusting, Cap,” Jace announced, shattering Cregan’s thoughts like glass.

“What?” Cregan muttered, dragging himself back to the pub, where the beer was warm, the lights were dim, and his best friend was clearly gearing up to humiliate him. A table beside them began to sound much like the laugh track in his disgraceful love life.

“You. With my little sister.” Jace gestured lazily with his bottle, smirking. “You’re disgusting. It’s like watching a wolf drool over a lamb.”

“Shut up,” Cregan snapped, leaning back against the booth. He tipped his head back, glaring at the ceiling. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh no? Not like what?” Jace leaned in, mock-serious now. “Not like you stare at her every time she’s within fifty feet?”

“I'm observant. She’s just not as weird as people make her out to be,” Cregan said sharply, ignoring the heat climbing up his neck.

“Who said anything about weird?” Jace’s grin was comically wolfish. “She’s whimsical. Isn’t that what you called her?”

Cregan slammed his beer down on the table, foam spilling over the side. “I swear, Velaryon—”

“What? You gonna fight me?” Jace barked a laugh, tossing his arm over the back of the booth. “Please. You’re too busy writing her name in little hearts in your pretty pink notebook.”

“Fuck. Off.” Cregan’s ears were burning now. He reached across the table, dipped his finger in his beer, and flicked the foam at Jace’s smug face.

“Oi!” Jace swatted the droplets away, laughing so hard his shoulders shook. “I’m just saying, mate. Everyone else avoids her like she’s radioactive, and you’re out here choosing the worst electives and peacocking on the ice like you’re trying to land a National Geographic-level mating ritual.”

Cregan groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face, but there was no real malice behind it. “Why are we friends again?”

“Because I’m the one person who calls you out on your bullshit,” Jace shot back, looking far too pleased with himself. “Speaking of bullshit, when are you actually going to talk to her? Or is this just gonna be one long, tragic love story where you pine away while she ignores your existence?”

Cregan opened his mouth to retort, but Jace held up a hand.

“Wait—no. Don’t answer that. I’ve got a better idea.” His grin turned wicked. “Party. My place. This Saturday. Just the guys and their dates. And... I'll ask Claere to come.”

Cregan blinked, his throat suddenly dry. “What?”

“You heard me.” Jace leaned back, tossing back the rest of his drink. “I’ll bring Claere, you bring the booze. Nothing fancy, just a bunch of idiots hanging out, and you can finally stop making heart eyes at her from a distance. No pressure, no theatrics.”

“That’s…” Cregan started, then trailed off. The words finally sank in. Was it a bad idea? Probably. Was it a terrible idea? No. It was something else entirely: a chance.

“That’s not the worst plan,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair.

He stared at his beer, his pulse thundering. It felt like someone had lit his insides on fire. He wasn’t sure what scared him more—the thought of Claere being there or the hope that, for once, maybe this wasn’t a terrible idea.

“Exactly,” Jace said, smirking. “I'm a fuckin' wizard. My pleasure.”

“I didn’t say thank you.”

“Didn’t have to. Your face says it all.” Jace mimed a dreamy expression, batting his lashes.

Cregan smirked to himself, Jace’s relentless teasing still echoing in his mind. For all his best friend’s antics, the guy wasn’t wrong. That had been a moment—a real moment. A chance. Back then, it had all felt so simple, so impossibly far away. The only block in the road seemed to be the courage to talk to her.

Now, as his truck rolled toward the entrance of his building, reality hit him like a body check on the ice. The flash of cameras erupted before he even reached the gate, a wave of chaotic light that made his head throb. The photographers swarmed the sidewalk, their lenses gleaming like predators’ eyes in the night. The cameras followed his every move like they could peel back the tinted windows and see through him.

He tightened his grip on the wheel, navigating the truck slowly and carefully, his jaw clenched. The last thing he needed was to give these vultures another story by running someone over. The beams from their cameras flickered in his mirrors, disorienting him.

Someone darted closer, their camera barely missing his side mirror. He muttered a curse under his breath and leaned on the horn, easing through the gates as they finally slid open.

He finally made it into the underground parking, the echoes of the chaos fading as the gate sealed shut behind him.

“Like hell you're all going to get to me,” he muttered, parking in his designated spot.

When he stepped out, Kennet, his building’s elderly doorman, was already waiting with his usual calm, holding the entrance door open. Kennet gave him a pointed look, nodding toward the commotion outside.

“Your girl brought them here,” he said with the faintest smile, his voice low and amused.

“Yeah,” Cregan said, tugging his bag higher on his shoulder. He fished out his key fob and handed it over. “Thanks anyway, sir.”

“Anytime,” Kennet replied with a polite nod, tipping his hat.

Cregan stepped inside the building, and the air shifted. The noise, the flashes, the chaos—all of it disappeared behind the heavy glass doors. His boots echoed softly against the pristine floors as he made his way to the elevator.

As the doors slid shut, he felt his pulse settle. And then the anticipation kicked in.

The thought of Claere waiting for him upstairs lit something electric in his chest, just like the first time at the party. It had been a few hours since they’d texted, but the idea of seeing her—really seeing her—sent his mind spinning. He leaned against the elevator wall, conjuring up a dozen images of her: the way she’d smile when she opened the door, the way she'd clap for his victory, share a kiss, the warmth of her touch when she wrapped her arms around him.

He could feel the ghost of her fingertips already, his heart racing as the elevator climbed higher. And higher.

But as the doors slid open, the cold hard facts crept back in. Those photographers outside? This wasn’t the same as it used to be. Back then, when things were simpler, no one cared who he brought to Jace’s parties or why. But now? Now, this was different. Harder. More complicated.

He stepped into the hallway, steadying himself as he reached his door. This was bigger than anything they’d faced before. But for her? For Claere? He was ready to face it all over again.

He turned the key, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

X

Maybe this was an outright terrible idea. He had a lot of them, but this one was possibly the worst.

The tequila in Cregan's cup stared back at him like a challenge, daring him to go for another round. He downed his third—or was it fourth?—shot, wincing as the burn of alcohol clawed its way down his throat. He sucked in a breath and leaned back against the couch, trying to summon some kind of confidence. The party was in full swing, the music a deafening thrum that rattled his chest. Bodies pressed in around him, their movements hazy with the shimmer of dresses and dim lighting.

Maybe this was what rock bottom felt like—half-drunk on a couch, a girl perched on his lap for reasons that didn’t feel entirely clear, and no sign of the one person he actually wanted to see.

The party had started off promising enough. Jace had hyped him up earlier at night, cracking jokes and shoving a drink into his hand. “She’ll be here, man. Nine. Claere doesn’t flake, she’s just... punctual. You know, painfully so.”

But now, it was 9:15. Then 9:25. And every time the door opened, it wasn’t her. He’d stopped pretending to care about who walked in.

The girl on his lap—Sophie? Sophia? Who the fuck knew—twirled a lock of her hair, the motion somehow managing to be both coy and bored. “You’re really broody. Lighten up,” she said with a little pout, trailing a finger down his chest. “Parties are supposed to make you... un-broody.”

Cregan mustered a tight smile, muttering something noncommital, not trusting himself to say much more. He shifted under her weight, uncomfortable in more ways than one. Across the room, Jace was holding court with a group of partygoers, his laugh carrying easily over the thrum of the music. A card fluttered from his mouth as he lost a round of Suck and Blow, and he burst into laughter, slapping his knee.

“Dude, you can’t drop it! That’s the one rule!” Jace hollered, barely managing to stay upright.

Cregan tried to laugh along, but it sounded forced, even to his own ears. He glanced at the door again, his heart sinking further with every empty second.

Then, just as he was about to give up hope, at around half past nine, the door opened.

Claere stepped in, her silhouette framed by the light from the hallway. She wore a simple dress—nothing flashy, but it fit her perfectly, brushing just above her ankles, baby blue, billowing—and a pair of delicate heels. Her hair was left loose, like curled silver curtains around her, her face in a faint flush that rose as she took in the room. In her hands, she held a box.

Cregan froze, his breath catching in his chest.

She hesitated at the threshold, her eyes sweeping over the chaos—the laughing crowd, the spilt drinks, the pounding music. Her lips pressed together, her grip tightening on the box as if it might anchor her. She looked so out of place it almost hurt. She didn’t belong here.

No, that wasn’t it. She belonged everywhere, but this scene—the loud crowd, the half-drunken revelry, the boy on the couch who couldn’t stop screwing up—wasn’t good enough for her.

“Claaaerie!” Jace’s voice cut through the noise as he stumbled toward her, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. He wasn’t as drunk as he looked—Cregan could tell by the way he managed to thread through the crowd without knocking over a single cup.

“Oh, finally. I'm so drunk right now.”

Claere blinked, her brow furrowing slightly. “You said to come late,” she said quietly.

Cregan watched the interaction with a hollow pit forming in his stomach. He had waited all night for her, and now he felt like some idiot kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Or, in this case, with another girl on his lap.

“Right, right! And you did that way too well!” Jace exclaimed, throwing an arm around her shoulder. He squinted at the box in her hands. “Wait, what’s that? Is that pot? Please tell me it’s pot.”

Claere tilted her head, unamused. She lifted the lid open slightly. “Mom told me to bring brownies.”

Jace groaned, leaning heavily on her. He took the box out of her hands and chucked it straight into the fridge. “Gods, Claere. Daemon would’ve stuffed weed in it at least.”

“He suggested,” she said with a shrug. Her mouth twitched into something resembling a smile, and Cregan’s chest ached. It wasn’t fair, how effortlessly she could cut through the noise with the smallest expression.

Snickering, Jace plucked a pre-filled plastic shot glass from a nearby table and thrust it into her hands. “Here. Bottoms up.”

“I’m not legal,” she pointed out, eyeing the shot.

“Someone here is. Shut up and do me proud,” Jace said, grinning.

Claere hesitated, then took a cautious sip. She winced, shuddering violently, but didn’t spit it out. She hacked up a cough, waving her hand under her scrunched nose which made Jace burst out into raucous laughter.

From across the room, unable to stop staring at her, Cregan’s chest twisted in a way that made him want to both laugh and scream. She was here. She was finally here. Can you die of proximity? Even somewhat drunk and confident, it felt like he was about to.

But then her eyes landed on him and he swore his heart tripped over itself. For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then she glanced at the girl on his lap, who was leaning in to whisper something in his ear, sliding her arm around his shoulder. Claere’s gaze lingered for only a moment before she looked away as if she'd seen too much, her expression as uninterested as ever.

Panic surged through Cregan like a jolt of electricity, a sudden, visceral reminder that this was exactly the moment he’d been hoping for—and he was unprepared. With another fucking girl on his lap. As he scrambled to his feet, entirely too fast for his unsteady body to follow, the world tilted, and he promptly flopped back onto the couch with all the grace of a baby deer.

The girl next to him giggled, patting his arm like he was a child trying and failing at something cute. The embarrassment was immediate and scorching. He didn’t even look her way—didn’t dare. His attention was fixed on Claere.

Cregan’s stomach twisted painfully when her gaze flicked his way again, startled. She saw him—oh, she saw him, alright—sprawled gracelessly on the couch, the girl next to him still giggling at something he didn’t hear. His heart sank like a stone when Claere’s expression shifted. Cool. Detached. Unimpressed.

He wanted to disappear. Or rewind. Or do something. But he was rooted to the spot, a growing knot of shame, frustration, and longing keeping him frozen.

Jace, either oblivious or brilliantly strategic, started ushering Claere toward the balcony. “Hey, so. Have you seen the view from here? It’s like fifty floors up. Amazing. You can see the whole city.”

Claere allowed herself to be led away, and for a split second, she glanced back at Cregan. It wasn’t a long look. It wasn’t anything profound. But it gutted him all the same.

Her lips moved in a brief murmur—something to Jace—but Cregan didn’t hear it. It could've been minutes after, but his brain was stuck on the way her earrings caught the light and how much he hated himself for letting her see him like this.

The kick to Cregan’s shin was not gentle.

“You dumbass,” Jace sighed.

Cregan glared up at him. “What?”

“Snap out of it.” Jace leaned closer, his face barely serious enough to be sober. “She’s on the balcony. Alone. Do something. Sober up first.”

Cregan groaned, leaning forward to bury his head in his hands. “I’m never drinking again.”

“Yeah, sure. After you go talk to her.” Jace nudged him again, harder this time. “Do it. Or I’ll do it for you—and make it weird.”

That was enough to get him moving. Groaning again, he pushed himself off the couch, weaving through the crowd toward the kitchen like a man on a mission—or possibly one being sent to his doom.

The mission: sober the fuck up.

He chugged a near-full gallon of water, the cold shocking his system as he tipped his head back. His stomach sloshed in protest, but he ignored it, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth. Chewing furiously, he stumbled into the bathroom, fumbling with the lock.

Inside, he inspected the damage in the mirror. His hair was a mess, his breath foul enough to make him wince, and his shirt—Gods, how had it always been this wrinkled?

He turned on the faucet and splashed water on his face, scrubbing at it like it might erase his lingering tipsiness. “Get it together, Stark,” he muttered under his breath, finger-brushing his teeth with a dab of toothpaste from the sink’s edge.

By the time he re-buttoned his shirt and smoothed it down, he almost looked like himself again. Almost. His reflection stared back at him, still wasted and slightly flushed. You can do this, he told himself. It’s just a conversation. You're the fucking alpha. You got this.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, he didn’t even have to search. She was still there, standing on the balcony, her skin seizing the glow of the city lights, hair slightly weaving with the breeze.

She was devastating. Heartbreaking. Breathtaking. And she was still alone.

Cregan grabbed two cans of soda from the counter—one for her, one to give his hands something to do—and started toward the balcony. His heart pounded like he was stepping onto the ice for the biggest game of his life. Gathering every ounce of courage, he approached with steady steps, balancing the sodas. His nerves must’ve betrayed him because his toe caught the edge of the balcony frame, sending him pitching forward onto his knee.

The cans clattered to the floor. For a split second, Cregan just knelt there, staring at the sodas rolling away like they were escaping his dignity. This could easily be his supervillain genesis.

“Oh, gosh. Are you okay?” Claere’s voice cut through his self-loathing spiral, soft and startled. She crouched beside him, her hand settling on his shoulder, light as a feather but searing into his skin like a brand.

His brain short-circuited. Every nerve in his body screamed, and for one horrifying moment, he thought his soul might actually leave him. He jolted upright with the force of a man fleeing a crime scene, flailing to regain some semblance of control.

“Hey-ey-ey!” His laugh was too loud, too forced. He jabbed the air a couple of times like a boxer warming up, then, because his body clearly wasn’t done betraying him, he dropped into a single, stiff jumping jack. “Tripped and fell for you, didn’t I?”

Claere’s brows arched delicately. Her mouth opened, and for a second, he thought she might laugh—but instead, she let out a quiet, sceptical hum. “'Kay.”

Cregan’s heart plummeted through the floor. Idiot, idiot, idiot. He cleared his throat, trying desperately to salvage what was left of his pride. “Sorry. Just... didn’t watch my step.”

Claere’s expression softened, and she straightened, brushing her dress. “It happens,” she said simply, like she wasn’t watching him fall apart in real-time.

When she turned back to the balcony, leaning against the railing with that same poise she carried everywhere, Cregan wanted to both thank and curse the gods. He joined her, not too close, but close enough that he could catch the faint scent of something floral—probably her perfume. He didn’t dare ask.

His eyes slid her way, the urge to glance at her irresistible. Those violet eyes, one look and his knees would buckle again. So his gaze inevitably dropped to her hands. Her rings had changed again. One was thicker than the delicate bands she usually wore, with a subtle green gem at its centre. Another, on her pinky, looked like two tiny gold snakes entwined.

Does she pick these out every day? Does she have a collection? How does she decide which ones to wear? His thoughts tumbled over one another, but all of them circled back to a singular fact: she was breaking him apart, and she didn’t even know it.

“You like rings?” The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Claere turned her head slightly, regarding him with mild curiosity. “Um, yes. I don't like my hands empty, I guess.” She twisted one of them absently. “This one’s my favourite.” She held out her hand, the golden dragonfly ring glinting faintly in the light. He'd seen it on her before. “It’s a dragonfly. Symbolizes new beginnings.”

Cregan swallowed hard. He wanted to hold that hand. Kiss that hand. Pull her closer. Kiss her—and he shook himself out of it. He managed a swift smile.

“That’s... cool. Really cool.”

“Thank you.” Her lips curved into the smallest smile, and his chest felt like it might explode.

For a moment, there was silence. Cregan searched for something, anything, to say, but everything that came to mind sounded stupid or desperate. He settled for leaning casually against the railing, imitating her posture, though his arms felt too long and his shoulders too stiff. His head was still buzzing, partly from all the confidence-boosting drinks but mostly from her.

Claere broke the silence first. “That girl from earlier…” Her voice was light, but there was a guarded undertone. “Is she your girlfriend?”

Cregan choked. “No!” The word came out too fast, too loud, and he winced, dragging a hand through his hair. “No, definitely not. Ha. Not my girlfriend. I'm not... yeah.”

Claere tilted her head, her expression unreadable. Then she let out a soft, “Alright,” and turned back to the city lights. From their vantage point, the streets looked like glowing microchips, an intricate network of lights and motion that stretched endlessly.

Cregan felt the silence settle again between them, but this time, it wasn’t stifling. It was tentative, like a bridge suspended by threads, fragile yet holding. His nerves were frayed, his thoughts looping in a chaotic spiral, but there was something disarmingly steady about Claere’s presence. For a moment, he thought he might just enjoy the quiet—until his mouth decided otherwise.

“You know, actually,” he started, the words spilling out before his brain could catch up, “you’re... really awesome.”

Claere turned to him, her brow lifting in surprise. “Am I?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding a little too enthusiastically. “I mean, you’re... you’re beautiful, too. Really beautiful. But, uh...” He trailed off, realizing with dawning horror where this was going. His brain scrambled to pull the handbrake, but the alcohol had other plans. “It's always. Not just now. I just think you’re kind of... perfect? In a normal way. Not weird or anything.”

She blinked at him, startled, her lips parting slightly. “Oh.”

And that was it. That one syllable. That soft, quiet oh—like she didn’t know whether to laugh or bolt—that sent his already precarious control careening over the edge.

As if preordained by the devil himself, Cregan’s stomach twisted, the telltale churn of nausea bubbling up with alarming speed. “Oh, gods,” he muttered, doubling over. “No, no, no—”

“What’s wrong?” Claere asked, stepping toward him, her voice sharp with concern.

He didn’t answer, too busy stumbling toward the nearest flowerpot. The retching came in violent waves, hunching entirely into himself, humiliating and unstoppable. His knees hit the ground with a dull thud, and he groaned, eyes watering, clutching the edge of the planter for dear life.

Claere was beside him in an instant, kneeling on the concrete. A hand stroked his spine gently, steadying him as he retched again, this time less savagely. When it was over, she rose to her feet, returning moments later with a glass of water.

“Here,” she said. She crouched again, offering him the glass. “Sip slowly.”

Cregan took the glass, his hands trembling. He swished the water in his mouth before spitting into the flowerpot, grimacing. “I’m so sorry,” he croaked, his voice raw and thick with shame. “Why me? Why, gods, why?”

Claere’s hand resumed its place on his back, rubbing gentle circles. “You’re fine. Happens to the best of us.”

“Not really,” he mumbled, still hunched over. “Or in front of...” His voice trailed off as he realized what he’d been about to say. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the ground to swallow him whole.

“In front of the carnations?” she asked lightly, almost teasing.

“In front of you,” he admitted, barely louder than a whisper. His stomach clenched, though whether it was from the lingering nausea or the sheer mortification, he couldn’t tell.

Claere laughed softly, a sound that felt more like an exhale than a noise. “So much it made you barf?” she asked, a tiny smile tugging at her lips.

“The shots,” he muttered, burying his face in his hands. “Definitely the shots.”

“Okay,” she said, the amusement evident in her voice as she retrieved the empty glass from him. “Do you want to stand up?”

Her hand shifted to his shoulder, helping him to his feet. For a moment, Cregan wavered, the spinning world around him making his knees weak, but she steadied him with surprising strength.

“You’re so nice,” he said, his voice gruff and still a little slurred. His gaze met hers, blurry but sincere. “And so fuckin' gorgeous. I love your rings, too...”

Claere let out a short laugh, shaking her head as she hooked her arm through his. “Let’s get you sitting down before you take another dive.”

Cregan leaned into her, her arm the only thing keeping him steady as the world continued to tilt under the haze of alcohol. The sharp edges of his humiliation faded, replaced by the quiet lure of her presence—the warmth of her touch, the faint scent of her perfume, the glimmer of amusement she didn’t bother to hide. He wasn’t sure what burned hotter, the lingering shame or the realization that even at his worst, she hadn’t let go.

X

Regret always hit hardest in the morning. Cregan woke with a start, to sunlight streaming through gauzy curtains. His head throbbed like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, and his mouth was a desert, his tongue stuck to the roof of it like glue. Groaning, he rolled over, clutching the soft covers closer—and stilled.

This wasn’t his room.

The walls were muted green, and the trim, a soft brown, reminded him of some forest retreat. There was a small balcony visible through the open curtains, looking out over a sea of treetops swaying in the morning breeze. The bed was far too big for his apartment, the sheets too floral, too soft, too... feminine.

And he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Fuck no, this is not happening.

Panic lurched him upright—bad idea. His head spun, and he clutched his temples, groaning again as the events of last night teased the edges of his memory. So blurry. So unwanted.

“Morning, Cap!”

The voice—cheerful, bordering on obnoxious—came from the door. Cregan squinted to see Jace leaning against the frame, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. Cregan rubbed his temples again.

“What the—where—why am I—” His words tumbled over each other like tripping toddlers.

“Don’t hurt yourself, vomit comet,” Jace said, casually strolling in. “We drove you back to our place last night. You were drunk as a skunk, started belting George Michael in the driveway, and insisted on sleeping in Claere’s room. With her.”

Oh, gods. It hit him like a sledgehammer. Flashes of last night came back in blurred scenes: the car ride home. His gods-awful singing. The flowerpot. The balcony. And then, stumbling over stairs, standing outside her door, swaying like an idiot, declaring to Jace and anyone who’d listen that he had to sleep next to Claere because, and he’d quote himself now, “the world would just make sense that way.”

“Just kill me,” he muttered, pulling the covers over his face.

Lingering just behind Jace was Claere. She hovered by the door, breaking his heart with that nightdress of hers, looking unsure whether to step in or vanish into thin air. When he peeked over the covers, their eyes met briefly before she glanced away, cheeks pink. Jace noticed her hesitation and, because that cheeky fucker thrived on chaos, decided to stoke the fire.

“Well,” Jace said, clapping his hands together, “I’ll leave you two babies to figure everything out.” He flashed a brazen grin and turned to leave.

“Jace, don’t you fucking dare—” Cregan started, but the traitor was already halfway down the hall, cackling. “I’m serious, asshole!” Cregan called after him, voice cracking. Jace’s only response was a loud, taunting laugh.

Claere stepped into the room, hesitant but steady, like she wasn’t sure if she was intruding. In her palm rested a small white pill, a painkiller.

“Good morning,” she said softly, holding it out to him.

Cregan wanted to sink deeper into the mattress like it might swallow him whole and save him from this mortification. He reached for the pill, avoiding her eyes as though direct contact might fry whatever remained of his dignity. Dry-swallowing it, he grimaced at the bitter aftertaste.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, the word barely audible, his throat dry as sandpaper.

“You can use my bathroom,” Claere offered, her voice uncertain, a thread of politeness holding it together. “There’s fresh towels, soap—feel free to use anything.”

“I think I’m just gonna get out of your hair,” Cregan cut in, running a hand through his tangled hair, every movement weighed down by shame and the dull throb in his skull.

Before Claere could respond, a new voice rang out, loud and entirely unwelcome.

“Wash yo’ stanky ass, son! You’re messing up the place!”

Lucerys, Jace’s younger brother, popped his head into the doorway with a grin wide enough to rival a Cheshire cat. He didn’t linger, though, darting off before Cregan could summon the strength to retort. His cackling echoed down the hall, each note like a nail in the coffin of Cregan’s pride.

Groaning, Cregan swung his legs off the bed, moving with all the grace of a crapulous toddler. His muscles protested, his joints creaked, and the dull ache behind his eyes felt like a jackhammer trying to carve through his brain.

Claere shifted on her feet, her fingers toying with the collar of her nightie. “There's a toothbrush for you, too,” she said, quiet. There was a strange softness in her tone like she was offering more than just towels—some unspoken reassurance that this wasn’t as bad as it felt.

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face, his palm catching the faint stubble on his jaw. “Yeah. Thank you. I’ll... uh, clean up before I head out. Thank you.”

“Three times the thanks,” she said, smiling a little.

He cleared his throat. “Meant it.”

He shuffled toward the adjoining bathroom, each step heavy, like walking through quicksand. The door clicked shut behind him, and he let out a long, shaky breath, his head falling forward against the cool porcelain of the sink.

The reflection in the mirror was a sight to behold: bloodshot eyes, dishevelled hair sticking up at every angle, and a faint red mark on his forehead that he didn’t even want to begin dissecting. Absolutely filthy. What fool had he made of himself?

“You fucking idiot,” he muttered at his reflection, the word laced with all the self-loathing he could muster.

Cregan splashed more cold water onto his face, the icy shock grounding him momentarily from the swirling storm in his head. He leaned heavily on the sink, letting water drip from his chin as fragments of last night replayed once again, more clearly, in sharp, humiliating bursts.

The balcony. The flowerpot. The singing. The driveway. Her face.

“No,” he groaned aloud, gripping the edge of the sink like it might steady his spiralling thoughts.

He tried to piece together what had happened, but every memory hit like a sucker punch. Cornering himself into her room, shirtless and half-conscious, while Claere had been all soft words and calm gestures, trying to coax him to rest. His drunken, slurred insistence that he’d rather sleep there—with her. What else had he said? Something about her eyes? Her butt? Something so embarrassingly sincere that even in his haze, he knew it had crossed a line.

He rubbed his face hard, as if sheer force could scrub the memory away, and grabbed one of the neatly folded towels on the rack. It was pink, fluffy, and faintly smelled like lavender—subtle but unmistakably hers.

With the towel pressed to his face, he took a deep breath, letting the scent calm him. He finally looked around the bathroom, his nerves gradually giving way to a strange sort of awe.

It wasn’t just a bathroom—it was her bathroom. Three months ago, this would've sent him to a stroke. The tiles were an earthy green, complemented by dark brown accents. A tiny potted plant sat on the windowsill, its leaves glossy and thriving, and the counter was meticulously organized. A small porcelain dish held a few rings, ones she must’ve taken off last night.

He couldn’t help himself; his eyes lingered on them, grinning. The dragonfly ring caught the light, the delicate details were more intricate up close. New beginnings.

His gaze shifted to the mirror, where the faint outline of a scratched smiley face peeked through the fog left from his shower. It was uneven like she’d etched it carelessly but with purpose. Gods, this girl.

He stepped out of the bathroom, towel slung over his shoulder, still nursing the remnants of his hangover—and the crushing weight of his own embarrassment. The room was empty, golden light filtering through sheer curtains tied back in perfect symmetry. For a second, he just stood there, taking it in.

Her room was impossibly tidy. It was the kind of immaculate that only came from an army of helpers because no college kid lived like this on their own. But the more he looked, the more her he saw in it. This was Claere untold.

Her desk was pristine, glistening oak, but not barren. There was a stack of botany textbooks, their covers faded and worn like they’d been thumbed through countless times. He drifted closer, eyes catching on a half-filled page in one, the writing neat and slanted around a diagram of a cross-section of a stem, penned in a dark ink that somehow suited her.

And then there were the books. Of course, there were books. Tomes. Some were glossy, clearly fantasy or romance, their spines gleaming with titles he’d seen in a hundred social media posts. Others were thicker, heavier—textbooks or academic volumes, one of them bookmarked halfway through with a folded ticket stub. His hand itched to flip it open, but he shoved both hands into his pockets instead.

Her jewellery was arranged in a delicate tray by the edge of the desk. Rings, thin bracelets, small earrings that sparkled. Definitely diamonds or rubies. Some looked dainty enough to crush under the weight of his clumsy fingers, and yet they suited her perfectly. Like her. Elegant, expensive, untouchable.

And then his eyes landed on something else. A small stack of photo stubs on a decorated, large corkboard—some with dates, some with locations scrawled in the corners. The Amalfi Coast, Kyoto, Antibes, Mallorca, Croatia, Goa, Edinburgh, Kamchatka. One was recent, a kimono-clad Claere feeding a piece of sushi to little Viserys who had his mouth open. One of Jace and her, no older than eleven, making outlandish duck faces before a rocky cliff. One in a fancy apartment with a sea view and all the family, even Daemon, beaming for the camera in matching bathrobes. One was an expensive-looking yacht over crystal waters, all four brothers in swimsuits, squinting against the sunlight, Jace holding up a fish like it was a trophy. And there she was, off to the side, an arm slung around Luke, grinning in a wide-brimmed hat, her smile so natural it felt like it was meant to be caught on camera.

And then he saw it.

A different photo, tucked into the corner of her dresser mirror, slightly bent at the edges. Oh, he was not meant to see this at all. She wore a tight, strappy red dress, one that made his mouth go dry and his brain go fuzzy. Her lips were painted to match, her hair loose in soft waves, violet eyes striking, and even though she wasn’t smiling—just staring into the camera with a serene expression—it made something in his chest squeeze tight.

So, she could be sexy, too. He gulped, pulling his gaze away as his ears burned. He suddenly felt like he was intruding on something too personal like he’d caught her in a moment she hadn’t meant to share.

Cregan rubbed the back of his neck and wandered back to the bed, where his watch sat glinting innocently on the nightstand. As he bent to grab it, he caught his reflection in the mirror above the dresser. His hair was damp, flumping down in wet curls, and the towel slung low on his hips didn’t help him look any less ridiculous. But he caught himself grinning anyway.

She’d let him into her world—if only accidentally. And he was falling for her more with every stupid little detail he noticed.

Sliding the watch onto his wrist, he glanced back at the desk one last time, then forced himself to straighten. No more gawking, no more lingering. He needed to pull himself together before she—or worse, Jace—came back and caught him acting like an idiot.

Still, as he tied the drawstring on his borrowed sweats and reached for his shirt, he couldn’t stop the thought: She’s incredible. Every part of her is incredible. And no amount of awkwardness or hangover-induced mortification could change that.

Cregan followed the sound of voices down the wide, sunlit corridor. His socked feet padded over the marble floors, the faint scent of something buttery and warm teasing the air. And his stomach. As he rounded the corner, the dining room came into view—a sprawling table laden with plates of eggs, toast, pastries, and an array of juices in glass pitchers. A subtle reminder that these people lived in a different world. On a Sunday like this, at this time, he'd be out the door, running his miles.

The Targaryen kids were scattered around the table, each in their own universe. Joff and Luke were locked in a heated video game battle on their phones, their thumbs flying over the screens, accompanied by the occasional, “Eat this!” and “You wish, loser!” Whereas Jace was seated across from a very tiny and very serious Viserys, who looked all of five years old. The kid clutched a spoon like a sceptre, scowling at Jace, who was sneakily stealing bacon off his plate one strip at a time.

“Jace, give it back!” Viserys whine-screamed at Jace, who grinned unapologetically.

“You snooze, you lose.” Jace wiggled the strip of bacon before biting into it.

Claere sat a little apart from them, scrolling idly through her phone, her chin propped in one hand, both bored and tired. Her silver hair was loosely tied back, and she was still in something soft and casual—a far cry from the glamorous red dress etched into Cregan’s brain.

For a moment, he just stood in the doorway, watching them. It wasn’t the scene itself that hit him—it was the ease of it. The casual chaos in the sunlit room, the implicit rhythm of siblings who knew how to push each other’s buttons without real malice. The way Jace leaned over to swipe a croissant next, dodging Viserys’s attempt to slap his hand away. He never had this growing up.

“Hey!” Jace’s voice snapped him out of it. “Look who finally made it. Breakfast is served.”

Every head turned his way, even Viserys, who blinked up at him like he wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or annoyed.

“Morning,” Cregan said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. His gaze darted to Claere, but she barely glanced up from her phone. His stomach dropped.

“Good morning, buttercup!” Luke grinned, still not looking up from his game.

“Didn’t think you’d ever wake up after last night,” Joff added, smirking.

Cregan shuffled toward the empty seat next to Claere, trying not to think too hard about the warmth of her so close. “Still here,” he muttered.

“Alive, somehow,” Jace said, smirking. “Barely.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Cregan shot back, grabbing a piece of toast and trying not to look like he wanted to crawl under the table.

Jace leaned back in his chair, the picture of smugness. “So, Claere, how much do you bet he’s got one of your panties stuffed in his pocket right now?”

Claere’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with horror. “Jacaerys!” she hissed, her face flooding with colour.

Cregan didn’t hesitate—he kicked the back of Jace’s chair hard enough to send him jerking forward, nearly face-planting into his meal.

“Fucking shithead,” Cregan muttered darkly as Luke and Joff dissolved into laughter. Even little Viserys giggled, his spoon clinking against his plate.

Jace coughed dramatically, thumping his chest while glaring back at Cregan. “What’s your problem? Just saying what we’re all thinking.”

“No one’s thinking that,” Cregan hissed at him.

Bad, bad idea to even think about lingering here. Not with Claere around. His fork clattered against his plate, his appetite long gone. The room felt too loud, too full of eyes and jokes he couldn’t handle this early. His face burned as Jace’s words replayed in his head. Every second he sat there felt like he was sinking deeper into quicksand.

“So, anyway. Thanks for breakfast, guys,” he said abruptly, pushing back from the table. His chair scraped loudly against the floor, earning glances from everyone. “I think I'm gonna take off.”

Luke snorted, not even looking up from his game. “You’re not serious. You barely ate anything.”

“C’mon, Jace was just joking around,” Joff added, but his tone was more amused than convincing.

Cregan shook his head, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. “Nah, I’ve already imposed enough. I’ll call a cab and get out of here.”

But Jace, ever the insufferable matchmaker, leaned back in his chair, his smirk practically dripping with mischief. “Claere, why don’t you help my buddy out? Make sure he doesn’t end up puking into someone else’s flowerpot this time.”

Cregan’s jaw tightened as Claere shot Jace a sharp glare.

“Jace, not funny anymore,” she hissed under her breath, but it was too late. The damage was done. Every eye was now on her, and before Cregan could even protest, she was already sliding out of her chair.

“I got it,” Cregan said quickly, his voice gruff and unconvincing. He didn’t. He really didn’t.

Claere didn’t so much as glance at him, brushing past with a waft of soft lavender. “It's alright. Come on,” she said simply, her tone clipped but not unkind.

Reluctantly, he followed her out of the dining room, the laughter and noise of breakfast fading behind them like a dull hum. The house suddenly felt too quiet, the sound of a clock ticking in the foyer sharp and relentless. Claere was a step ahead, her cherry-patterned pyjama pants swaying with her movements. Cregan caught himself staring, his eyes trailing over the soft curve of her back, that perky little butt, the effortless grace of her stride. She wasn’t even trying, and yet she managed to look... perfect. The kind of perfect that made his chest feel tight and his thoughts too loud.

She stopped by the counter, her phone already in hand as she pulled up the ride-share app.

“The driver should be here in a few minutes,” she said without looking at him, her voice calm and composed. Too composed, like she was purposely avoiding the tension that lingered between them. “Do you need—”

“I’m good,” he interrupted, too quickly, too harshly. His hands clenched into fists in his jacket pockets as the memories of last night came rushing back with a vengeance. The flowerpot. The puking. The singing. And worst of all—the half-drunken declaration outside her bedroom door.

His stomach churned. He didn’t know if he wanted to crawl into a hole or sprint out of the house and never look back.

Claere tilted her head slightly, her sharp eyes flickering over him like she could see through the walls he was trying to throw up. “Are you feeling better?” she asked softly, the words careful, like she wasn’t sure how much she should push.

Better? No. Not even close. He felt like a cataclysm in human form, his brain replaying every humiliating second of last night on a loop. And yet, here she was, standing there like a bare-faced angel that looked unfairly radiant, asking him if he was okay.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, the words dry and unconvincing. He tugged at the hem of his jacket, avoiding her gaze. “Just need some air... and coffee... and maybe a new brain.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips, soft and fleeting, but it was enough to make his chest squeeze uncomfortably. He didn’t deserve that smile. Not after last night.

“Let me get you some coffee for the road. There’s also this hangover cure thing Jace got delivered from Korea,” she said after a moment, already turning on her heel. “I'll just get—”

“No, no, wait.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them, and his hand shot out instinctively, wrapping around her wrist. The contact sent a jolt through him, her skin soft and warm beneath his fingers. She froze, turning back to look at him, her expression unreadable.

Realizing what he’d done, Cregan quickly let go, his hand falling to his side like it had been burned. “Sorry. Shit. Gods, I—I didn’t mean to...” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. But there was something in the way she looked at him—curious, almost cautious—that made his pulse quicken.

“I’m fine, thank you. But really,” he added hastily, the lie tumbling out of his mouth like a reflex. “I don’t need anything. I just...” He gestured vaguely toward the door. “I just need to get going.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before she stepped back, putting an almost imperceptible amount of distance between them. “Okay.”

A horn blared outside, shattering the fragile quiet between them.

“That’s your ride,” she said, her voice quieter now.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his chest tightening as he reached for the porch stairs. He hesitated for a beat, his eyes darting back to her. She stood there, framed by the morning light streaming through the windows, her hair slightly mussed, every bit calm but equally guarded. Even like this—bare, casual, impossibly real—she was breathtaking.

And he... he was just a guy who’d embarrassed himself beyond belief the night before. A guy who didn’t know how to say what he was feeling without screwing it up.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

She didn’t respond, only nodded, her arms folding loosely across her chest as she watched him go.

Cregan stepped outside into the crisp morning air, the chill biting at his skin as the cab idled at the curb. He climbed in without looking back, the weight in his chest heavier than his duffel bag.

As the car pulled away, he couldn’t shake the image of her standing in that foyer, sunlight catching the curve of her cheek, her cherry-patterned pyjamas swaying softly. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but the ache in his chest told him one thing: leaving didn’t feel like the solution he thought it would.

X

Claere thought Cregan Stark was hot. Really, really hot. Like break-my-heart-and-crush-it-under-your-foot-hot.

It wasn’t exactly a groundbreaking realization—half the student body seemed to agree, judging by the way his name floated through conversations like a shared inside joke. Country boy charm, someone had called it once, humble, down-to-earth in a way that felt rare around here. He had that easy grin, the kind that could smooth over tension in any room, a personality that seemed just... good—not performative, not forced. The fact that he also happened to be jaw-droppingly attractive? That was just an added bonus.

Not that Claere had noticed before. Not really. He wasn’t her type—or at least, she’d convinced herself of that. Too loud, too comfortable in the spotlight, too... not for her.

But then she caught him looking at her.

The first time, she hadn’t even been sure it happened. She’d glanced up from her textbook in the library, and there he was, leaning back in his chair, surrounded by his friends, laughing at something Jace had said. His eyes flicked to hers like a reflex, lingering for a beat too long before he snapped his gaze away until a faint pink dusted her ears.

It happened again in the dining hall. And again, in the quad. Again, in the parking bay. And every single time, he’d look away like it was some criminal offence, like being caught noticing her was some great humiliation.

And that... that made her start noticing him. More than she wanted to admit. What was so special about him anyway?

She wasn’t sure when she started paying closer attention to herself. It was gradual, little things she told herself were unrelated—applying a slightly darker shade of lipstick one morning instead of her usual tinted balm, smearing a little more kohl under her eyes, clasping a delicate anklet around her ankle before slipping on her sandals. She fussed over her clothes more, spending an extra minute smoothing the fabric or adjusting the neckline. Dresses became her uniform, just short enough, not glaringly noticeable, muted shades that stood out a little more. One morning, she braided her hair more intricately than she had in years, and the realization hit her mid-braid, leaving her staring at herself in the mirror, mortified.

What was she even doing?

So one morning, when the classroom door groaned as Claere eased it open, late enough to draw every pair of eyes in the room. She hurried inside, head slightly bowed, hoping to avoid attention. No such luck.

“Miss Velaryon,” the professor’s voice rang out, dripping with thinly veiled condescension. He leaned back against his desk, arms crossed. “I trust you had a glamorous evening at the gala last night? So glamorous, it made you forget we have a punctuality policy?”

A faint ripple of laughter skittered through the room. Her stomach tightened, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of flinching. “Sorry,” she said simply, before making her up the aisle.

The only empty seat was next to Cregan. Her chest gave a traitorous flutter as she slid into it. “Good morning,” she murmured, risking a small smile his way.

“Hey.” His reply was polite, but distant. His gaze didn’t shift from the notes his buddy had scribbled on the desk between them, and whatever they were talking about seemed infinitely more important than her existence.

Claere tucked her bag beneath the chair and tried to ignore the knot forming in her chest. It wasn’t a big deal, she told herself. He was probably just busy, focused on whatever inside joke his friend had thrown his way. She dragged her eyes to the professor, scribbling half-hearted notes, though none of the words sank in.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Cregan laughing quietly. The low, rumbling sound twisted something inside her. The same voice that had been warm and teasing with her just nights ago now felt impossibly far away.

When the lecture ended, she hesitated, giving him an opening—maybe he’d turn, say something, even just an offhanded “See you later.”

But he didn’t. Cregan slung his bag over his shoulder in one fluid motion, already halfway through some joke with his friend as they headed for the door. He didn’t glance back. Claere stayed seated, staring blankly at the desk in front of her, the noise of the room fading into a dull hum.

And yet, the next day in the hallway, when Cregan passed her with that silent, infinitesimal nod, her heart faltered anyway. Very absurd, she had to confess.

Her lips parted, the start of a breathy greeting on her tongue, but before she could speak, he was gone—off with his buddies, laughing about something she couldn’t hear. She was left standing there, her hands tightening around the strap of her bag, feeling like she’d missed some implicit opportunity.

X

The night Claere truly first made notice of Cregan Stark was chaos. Jace’s parties always were, but this one felt particularly loud, with more people spilling into every corner of the house than Claere remembered agreeing to. She’d mostly kept to herself, lingering in the less crowded spaces with her phone, occasionally letting someone drag her into polite conversation.

Then like an unmissable red dot in the distance: Cregan Stark, sprawled out like a giant overstuffed pillow, one arm slung dramatically over his face. His shirt was rumpled, his usually sharp features softened by a faint, dopey smile. Still, between his legs, he nursed a warm beer.

“He’s alive,” Jace muttered, nudging Cregan’s knee with his foot. “Hardly.”

Claere raised an eyebrow. “Hardly is right. He looks awful.”

Cregan’s head lolled to the side, his glassy eyes catching hers. For a moment, he seemed to come alive, his entire expression lighting up in drunken delight. “Claaaaaere,” he said as if her name were some profound revelation. “Queen of my heart. My queen.”

Jace groaned, hauling Cregan’s arm over his shoulder to get him upright. “C’mon, Stark. You’ve overstayed your welcome.”

Claere stepped forward to help, grabbing Cregan’s other arm. His weight was surprising, all lean muscle but heavy as a boulder. Together, they managed to shuffle him toward the door.

“You’re so strong,” Cregan mumbled, blinking blearily at Claere. His lips quirked into a lopsided grin. “Do you work out, baby girl? You have to, right? Like… how else do you carry the moon around on your ears every Wednesday?”

Claere blinked. “What?”

Jace snorted, clearly enjoying this far more than she was. “Ignore him. He’s hammered.”

But Cregan wasn’t done. He leaned closer, his breath warm and smelling of tequila. “No, really. Your earrings? The little diamond hoops on Wednesdays? Like the moon decided to accessorize.” He turned his attention to Jace, though his words were still clearly about her. “She’s—she’s like… I dunno, man, too fuckin' cute. Not fair. That you make me feel this way.”

Claere’s face burned. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be flattered or mortified. Maybe both.

“Let’s just get him to the car,” she muttered, tugging Cregan with more force than necessary.

It wasn’t exactly graceful. Nothing about him was. Between his stumbling feet and Jace’s half-hearted attempts to steer him straight, they barely managed to manoeuvre him out the front door. Cregan’s head lolled dramatically as he let out an exaggerated sigh, almost dragging both of them to the ground.

“You’re a lot heavier than you look,” Claere grumbled, her arm straining under his weight.

“Not heavy,” Cregan murmured, his words slurring together. “Just... dense. Like a star. Heavy but, y’know... radiant. A suuuuperstar.”

Jace barked out a laugh. “You are absolutely fucking wasted, man.”

After what felt like an eternity, they finally got him into the backseat of Jace’s car. Claere leaned against the doorframe, catching her breath while Jace tossed his keys in the air and caught them with a smirk.

“So, uh, where does he live?” Jace asked.

Claere looked at him blankly. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I know? He’s your admirer.”

Claere’s lips parted, ready with a retort, but Cregan stirred in the backseat, mumbling something unintelligible. They exchanged a look.

“Fine,” Jace said, shaking his head as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “We’re taking him back to ours. He can sleep it off there. Mom's not home anyways.”

Claere sighed but didn’t argue, sliding into the passenger seat.

The drive was quiet at first, the hum of the tyres filling the space between them. Jace fiddled with the radio, skipping through stations until a pop song came on.

From the backseat, Cregan perked up like a sunflower in the sun. “I love this song,” he slurred, grinning from ear to ear.

Before either of them could stop him, he launched into a spirited—and wildly off-key—rendition of the chorus to George Michael's Faith.

Claere pressed her lips together, trying to stifle her laughter, but a giggle escaped. She couldn't help it. He was so cute.

“You’re enabling him,” Jace complained.

Claere shrugged, her voice soft as she tentatively joined in, humming along to the melody. Jace groaned but couldn’t help joining them, and soon the car was filled with their mismatched chorus.

Cregan, for all his drunkenness, sang with his whole heart, belting out the lyrics like he was performing to a sold-out stadium. Claere found herself laughing more than singing, stealing glances at him in the rearview mirror. His face was flushed, his hair a mess, but there was something oddly endearing about his drunken enthusiasm.

By the time they pulled into the Targaryen mansion’s long driveway, all three of them were breathless with laughter.

“Alright, big guy,” Jace said, killing the engine. “Time to haul your ass upstairs.”

Getting Cregan out of the car proved even more difficult than getting him in. He stumbled, tripping over his own feet, but before Claere and Jace could grab him, he took off up the stairs, all but gracefully. This was the same person who shot goals from halfway across the rink.

“Where the hell is he going now?” Claere asked, watching in disbelief as Cregan bounded ahead like a man on a mission.

Jace sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Probably looking for a bed. Or a plant to retch in again. Who knows?”

They trailed after him, footsteps echoing through the quiet mansion as they rounded the hallway toward Claere’s wing. When they caught up, Cregan was standing outside her door, swaying slightly, his expression grave as though he’d uncovered a universal truth.

“She comes out of here all the time,” he whispered loudly to Jace, pointing at the door.

Claere stiffened.

“Wearing those teeny, tiny little shorts. My queen,” Cregan added, his voice tinged with awe.

Claere’s face went up in flames. “Excuse me?”

At that moment, Luke’s door creaked open, his blond head poking out groggily. “What’s going on?” he muttered, squinting at the scene.

“Drunk confession hour,” Jace said, grinning as he motioned to Cregan.

Cregan turned to Claere, blinking slowly, his words spilling out in a rush. “I don’t look! Not for too long! Just... y’know, accidentally. The finest butt I've ever seen.”

Luke’s mouth fell open. He glanced between Claere, who looked mortified, and Cregan, who was now teetering on his feet like a happy idiot. “This is amazing,” Luke said, fully stepping into the hallway to watch.

“Alright, Stark,” Jace said, shaking his head but unable to hide his amusement, “time for bed. Not her bed.”

But Cregan, apparently, had other ideas. Before anyone could stop him, he turned the doorknob, stumbled into Claere’s room, and declared triumphantly, “You mean our bed. It's ours. This one makes sense! The world makes sense! We make sense!”

Claere, thoroughly exasperated, followed after him just in time to see Cregan yank his shirt over his head and toss it carelessly onto the floor. He flopped onto her bed, sprawling out like a starfish.

“So soft,” he mumbled, burying his face into her pillow.

Luke leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “Is he calling her his queen yet, or do I need to come back later for that?”

“He’s done for,” Jace said, slapping Claere on the shoulder with a laugh. “Good luck. Dude won't be up for hours. You can crash in Mom's room.”

She tried to grab his arm. “Jace, what—but he's—”

The door clicked shut behind her, muffling the sound of Jace and Luke’s retreating laughter, leaving Claere alone with Cregan sprawled out across her bed. She stared at him, her pulse pounding in her ears, trying to decide what on earth she was supposed to do with a half-naked, stunningly attractive, and very drunk boy fawning over her.

“Hi, Claere,” Cregan said again, a crooked grin tugging at his lips as he propped himself up on one elbow. His hair was a mess, falling into his eyes, and he looked utterly shameless.

Claere swallowed hard. “You... you should really get some sleep,” she stammered, carefully stepping closer.

“But I don’t want to sleep,” he said, his voice soft and velvety, like he was sharing a secret. His blue eyes locked onto hers with startling intensity, even if they were glassy and unfocused. “You’re here. All alone. All pretty. Why would I want to miss a second of that?”

Her cheeks burned hotter, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh, cry, or crawl under her bed to escape this moment entirely. She took a steadying breath, then reached out, brushing against his shoulder.

“God's sake,” she muttered, her voice tight with nerves. “Come on, sit up. You can’t just sprawl here like this.”

He let her guide him, his body warm and heavy under her hands. It was impossible not to notice his sheer solidness—broad shoulders, taut muscles that shifted under her touch like they belonged to someone who worked too hard to look like this without trying. Her fingers grazed the skin just above his waistband, and she yanked her hand back like she’d been burned.

“Do you just get to be like this?” she mumbled under her breath, more to herself than to him.

Cregan blinked up at her, eyes glassy but unmissably earnest. “Like what?” he asked, his voice rasping in a way that felt unfairly intimate.

“Like…” She waved a hand vaguely at him. “Like that. It’s—ugh. Never mind.”

His lips curved into a lopsided grin. “You think I’m stupid,” he said softly, his voice dropping into something deeper, almost tender. His gaze locked on hers with an intensity that made her stomach flutter in ways she didn’t want to acknowledge. He pounded a fist near his heart. “But I think you’re my whole heart.”

Her hands froze, the blanket she’d been tucking around him falling slack. Her heart gave an odd, traitorous flip. She forced herself to shake it off, focusing on pulling the covers up instead of his words. “You’re drunk,” she reminded him, her tone sharper now as if saying it firmly enough would make her immune to his charm. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“Don’t I?” he countered, his voice soft and a little pleading, like he was trying to convince her—or maybe himself. “You think this is the alcohol talking, but it’s not. I’ve been wanting to say it for weeks. Months. You don’t even know.”

“Don’t even know what?” she asked, her voice quieter now, despite herself.

“How many times I’ve seen you walk into a room and just—just forgotten how to make sounds with my mouth,” he said, his words tumbling out with unfiltered honesty. “Do you know how hard that is for me? I never shut up. Never. But you—” He broke off, shaking his head like the thought overwhelmed him.

Her hands trembled as she busied herself smoothing the edge of the blanket. She didn’t trust herself to look at him directly. Her heart was pounding too hard, her face too warm. “Cregan, you’re not thinking clearly right now,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cregan leaned back into the pillow, his gaze softening even further, somewhere between wonder and longing. “You’re it for me,” he whispered. “You’re so it for me. I love your face, your hands, and—” His eyes darted briefly downward, and he gave a sheepish, drunken grin. “And your butt. Your perky butt. And your eyes—did I say your eyes?—and your little anklets... gods, they're like music. I can hear you before I see you.”

Claere’s breath hitched, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh, scream, or hide behind the nearest piece of furniture. “You’re a mess,” she muttered, but the words lacked real heat.

He smiled, a warm, goofy smile that only made him look more handsome, more devastatingly sincere. “Maybe. But I’m your mess.” His eyelids drooped, and his voice softened to a murmur. “You’re magic, Claere. My queen.”

Her chest tightened, and for a long moment, she stood frozen, unsure what to do or feel. This shouldn’t mean anything. He was drunk, very drunk, and she had no reason to take his words seriously. And yet…

As his breathing evened out and his head sank deeper into the pillow, she released a shaky breath and rose to her feet. She turned off the light, the room plunging into a soft glow.

Standing in the doorway, she glanced back one last time. The sight of him lying there, vulnerable and unguarded, did something strange to her. She didn’t want to admit how much he had flustered her, how much she wished his words weren’t just the result of too much alcohol.

As she stepped into the hall and shut the door, her heart was racing in a way that had nothing to do with helping a drunk boy to bed. Cregan Stark was dangerous—for all his foolishness, charm, and ridiculous smiles. And somehow, she wasn’t sure she minded.

Late one afternoon, Claere tried to focus on her sketch, but the lines on her tablet refused to cooperate. She hated it, but this module required precision. The precision that her notebooks or freehand didn't offer. The university quad was noisy, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the grass, and her usual spot felt... exposed today. Her gaze kept straying, involuntarily drawn to the opposite side of the lawn.

Cregan was there, sitting on a low bench near the edge of the quad, leaning back with his arm draped lazily over the backrest. Except he wasn’t alone.

The girl next to him—brunette, chatty, and way too close—leaned in with a laugh that carried across the space between them. She lightly touched his arm, and Claere’s stomach knotted. Cregan wasn’t pulling away. If anything, he looked... relaxed, even entertained, his usual easy grin in place as he leaned forward to say something in return.

At first, Claere told herself it was just a glance. Just a quick flick of her eyes before returning to her tablet, like usual. It was virtually impossible.

Cregan had this thing about him. This tenor. A secret note in the musical language. His dark hair was mussed in that careless way that looked accidental but probably wasn’t. The sunlight caught the hints of chestnut in it, making it nearly glow. Or maybe it was just her head, adding pizzazz to her sight-seeing. His jawline—sharp enough to be unfair—was tilted slightly as he laughed at something the girl next to him had said. How was it possible for someone to just exist like that? Did he escape a runway recently?

The curve of his lips, the effortless, boyish smile—it made something flutter in her chest, unwelcome and persistent. His faded-black shirt clung to his shoulders, loose in some places, fitted in others, and when he shifted, she caught a glimpse of skin where the hem lifted. Just a hint of toned, weathered muscle, definitely Bow-Flexed, the kind that came from hours on the ice and in the gym. It felt immoral to examine this.

Her stomach churned as the girl next to him leaned closer, laughing again, her hand brushing his forearm. He didn’t pull away. If anything, he seemed perfectly at ease, his head dipping toward her slightly as if he were sharing a secret.

Claere tightened her grip on her tablet, staring blankly at the unfinished lines on the screen. Her heart gave a stubborn, traitorous tug. So unfair that he got to make her feel this way.

He really was incredible. That much was obvious to everyone on campus. Cregan Stark wasn’t just good-looking—he was obnoxiously good-looking. The kind that fueled campus-wide crushes and gossip, made people giggle in hallways. The kind that felt unattainable. Claere hadn’t cared much before. She wasn’t the type to swoon or get caught up in the hype, not when she had her own life to manage. But now... now she wasn’t so convinced.

What was she even watching this for? She shouldn’t care. She didn’t care.

Except—hadn’t this been the same guy fawning over her four nights ago? The same guy who’d drunkenly spilt his feelings, gushed about her hair and her dress and her hands, who’d looked at her like she was the most stunning thing he’d ever seen, who’d asked her out? The way he’d stood there, shirtless and rambling, his words surging in a mess of nerves and sincerity. It had left her rattled, unsure of what to think.

Seeing him like this—comfortable, laughing, and effortlessly charming with someone else—stirred something sharp and unexpected in her chest. Jealousy? No, that couldn’t be it.

Her chest tightened, the ache catching her off guard. Well, it wasn’t like he’d promised anything. He hadn’t texted her. He’d just spilled his guts, like it had been an afterthought, something tacked onto the heat of the moment.

Claere sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear, trying to focus on her sketch again. The lines were still wrong, and the proportions were off. Her fingers tightened around the stylus.

Later that night, in the quiet of her room, Claere stared at her phone lying face-up on the blanket beside her. She shouldn’t. She knew she shouldn’t.

But that nagging, unanswered question had burrowed deep. She hadn’t seen Cregan like this before, and the frustration of not knowing where she stood with him was unbearable. This wasn’t about feelings, she told herself. It wasn’t about that pinch of jealousy she definitely didn’t feel. No, this was just... curiosity. Barely anything.

She pulled her knees to her chest, the soft hum of the air-conditioning the only sound in the room. Jace’s bedroom had been unnervingly easy to slip into earlier—and his room was a filthy mess, so Claere hadn’t lingered. She’d found what she was looking for and quickly came out with a number, scribbled hastily on a crumpled piece of paper, Cregan’s name scrawled beside it.

It was wrong. Horribly wrong. She could already hear the judgment in her own mind. But here she was, sitting cross-legged on her bed, staring at her phone’s message screen like it held all the answers to her conflicted thoughts.

It was probably for the best if he didn’t reply, anyway. A boy like Cregan Stark—golden, fortuitous, uncomplicated, and so clearly idolised—wasn’t meant for someone like her. Someone of the Targaryen family. It wasn’t self-pity; it was just the truth. He was too pleasant for that.

Her gaze shifted to the phone again. The soft glow of the screen seemed to taunt her. This was ridiculous. She was ridiculous.

Her fingers hovered over the keys. What would she even say?

Hey, it’s Claere. How’s it going? Too vague. So, about the other night... Too presuming. Do you like me? Because I think I like... Ugh, what was she, twelve?

Finally, she settled on something neutral; safe. Sweet. Unassuming.

Hi :) Hope this isn’t weird, but this is Claere.

She stared at the words until they blurred. Her thumb loomed over the send button, doubt creeping in with every second. This is stupid. Just delete it. Forget about him. He doesn’t matter.

Her thumb betrayed her. The message was sent.

The little "Delivered" notification appeared almost instantly, and her heart lurched painfully. For a long moment, she just sat there, frozen, staring at the screen like it might detonate in her palms.

She flipped the phone face-down on the blanket, burying her head in her knees and groaning. What had she done? Why did this matter? Why did he matter? The minutes dragged into more, filled with more overthinking. Her room was too quiet, the hum of, well, everything was too loud. She tried to distract herself, convincing herself she didn’t care if he replied.

Then her phone buzzed.

X

The library was quieter than usual for a Friday evening. Most students were at the bars, drowning the week in beer and bad decisions, but Cregan needed the stillness. Hockey practice had been brutal—his arms ached, his legs felt like dead weight—but it wasn’t the drills keeping him here tonight.

His books lay open on the table, untouched. A blank notebook page stared back at him like it knew he wasn’t fooling anyone.

Cregan leaned back in his chair, letting his gaze drift to the tall windows. Outside, the campus quad was bathed in the soft glow of lamplight. Couples strolled along the paths, their laughter carrying faintly through the glass. Friends clustered on benches, sharing fries and stories from their week. It all looked so... easy. Effortless.

Not for him. It never had been.

The scholarship had been a lifeline—a ticket to a world he wasn’t sure he belonged in. And it wasn’t just about hockey. It was about proving he deserved to be here. That his place on the ice, in the classroom, in this life, was earned—not handed to him by a family name no one at this school even knew.

He hadn’t told anyone about the Stark Resorts empire or the decades of wealth and expectations tied to it. That part of his life stayed buried, just like the pressure to live up to it. To succeed without leaning on it. Because if anyone found out, everything he’d worked for—every goal he’d scored, every paper he’d aced—would be stained by doubt.

Which was why Claere Velaryon was a problem.

Her name alone carried significance. Notoriety. Fuckton of fame. Old money. Stupidly beautiful. Infuriatingly out of reach. She’d slipped into his thoughts when he wasn’t paying attention, her presence lingering in ways that felt almost physical. The way she adjusted the thin chain of her anklet when she crossed her legs during a lecture. The plum shade of her lipstick, perfectly smudged like she didn’t care. The thin, pale scar just above her elbow that caught the light when she gestured—small, faint, a mystery he wanted to solve.

He noticed everything about her. Too much. He hated himself for it. This one-sided crush shit was breaking him apart.

Cregan leaned forward, running a hand through his hair. God, he was pathetic. He wanted her so much. She was right there, right between his fingertips. And he was giving it up.

But it wasn’t just her looks. It was the way she tilted her head when she was listening, really listening, as if she were cataloguing every word. The way her laugh was quiet but rich, like she’d saved it just for you. The way she’d said his name once—just that once—but it had stuck in his head, echoing like a melody he couldn’t shake.

And he’d been stupid enough to think he had a chance.

A few nights ago, when he’d seen her at that party—looking like something out of a painting—he’d let the tequila and the nerves and whatever else was eating at him take over. He’d said too much. Blurted out things he wasn’t ready to say, things he wasn’t sure he even meant. He’d asked her out. Asked her like an idiot.

And now? Nothing.

No follow-up. No calls. Not even a passing glance in the quad. She probably thought he was a joke. Some cocky jock who got drunk and decided to shoot his shot. She wouldn’t be wrong.

Cregan sighed, rubbing his temples. He shouldn’t care. There were a million reasons to let it go. She was too much—too beautiful, too untouchable, too tied to the life he was running from. And the guys? They’d eat him alive if they knew. The whispers were already bad enough.

“Velaryon’s not his type, huh?”

“Stark’s all talk. Like she’d look at him twice.”

“Bet he’s just trying to cash in.”

“Can you blame him? That’s a golden ticket right there. He’s probably already planning his next career move.”

Their voices still rattled around his head, half-joking but sharp enough to cut. The butt of the joke. It didn’t matter that they didn’t know the first thing about him—or about her. The perception was everything. He knew that better than anyone. And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. About the way she’d stood in the lamplight that night, her smile soft but guarded. The way she’d looked at him—not like a rumour, or a player, or someone to laugh off—but like he was... real.

Maybe that’s what scared him most.

Because the more he let himself think about her, the harder it became to ignore the ache in his chest. The pull. The quiet, desperate hope that maybe—just maybe—she felt it too.

But hope wasn’t enough. Not here. Not for someone like him.

Cregan shut the notebook, pushing it aside. The books didn’t matter. None of it did. Not tonight.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted—but he knew exactly what he couldn’t have. And Claere Velaryon was at the top of that list.

Cregan barely registered Jace’s approach until he heard his voice.

“Hey.”

Startled, he glanced up to find Jace standing there, hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie, his expression somewhere between amused and inquisitive. Without waiting for an invitation, Jace dropped into the chair across from him, swivelling it slightly as if testing its stability.

“You look like you’re about to solve world hunger—or self-destruct,” Jace quipped, propping his chin on his folded arms. “What’s going on, man?”

Cregan straightened, quickly masking the storm churning inside him. “Nothing. Just... studying.” He gestured vaguely at the closed notebook in front of him.

Jace snorted, unimpressed. “Yeah, right.”

Cregan sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Seriously, fuck off.”

Jace gave him a long, exaggerated stare before shrugging. “Fine, keep your secrets. But you might want to let Claere know you’re alive. She’s been walking around like someone stole her favourite pair of shoes.”

Cregan froze, his chest tightening. “What?”

“You heard me.” Jace leaned closer, his tone turning more serious. “She’s been off. Distracted. And considering the way you’ve been dodging her lately, I’m guessing it’s not a coincidence.”

Cregan stiffened, his jaw tightening. “You're just a shit-stirrer, Jace.”

Jace tilted his head, giving him a look that screamed really? “Sure. And I’m not trying to get you two to stop acting like idiots.”

“I’m not—” Cregan started, but Jace cut him off with a raised hand.

“Relax, I’m not here to lecture you,” Jace said, his tone light but purposeful. “I’m just saying—if you’re into her, maybe stop overthinking everything and do something about it.”

Cregan blinked, caught off guard by how direct Jace was being. “It’s not that simple,” he muttered, his voice quieter now.

Jace sighed, shaking his head with a small smile. “It’s not that complicated either, man. You like her, she likes you—yes, she does, don’t even try denying it—and the only thing standing in the way is you.”

Cregan looked away, his fingers gripping his pen tightly. He didn’t know how to explain it—the fear, the doubt, the nagging voice in his head that told him he wasn’t good enough for someone like Claere.

Jace leaned forward, his voice softening. “Look, I get it. You’re scared. Maybe you think you’ll mess it up, or maybe you’re overthinking what people will say. But here’s the thing—Claere doesn’t care about all that. And she deserves someone willing to take a chance on her.”

Cregan’s chest tightened, his pulse thudding in his ears.

“And honestly?” Jace added, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’d be an idiot to let her slip away. So, do yourself a favour—text her, call her, do something. Because trust me, you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Cregan hesitated, his thoughts warring with each other.

“C’mon,” Jace said, leaning back with a grin. “You’re Cregan fuckin' Stark. You can handle a puck flying at your face at ninety miles an hour, but you can’t handle texting one girl? Weak.”

Despite himself, Cregan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re a pain in my ass, Velaryon.”

“It’s my greatest strength,” Jace said with a wink. He stood, clapping Cregan on the shoulder. “Seriously, though. Don't be a little bitch.”

The words hung in the air, the consequences ploughing against him with every step. He couldn’t help but wonder—was Jace right? Or was he just another fool caught in something he couldn’t handle?

X

Claere stared at her phone, pulse racing. She cared a lot. Should she check now? Would that make her seem too needy? Should she check later? Then, would it make her seem dismissive? Slowly, she flipped it over, trying to temper the ridiculous flutter in her chest, bracing herself for something dismissive—or worse, nothing at all. The screen lit up with a message from him.

Only weird if I start asking how you got my number. So - hi, Claere.

She couldn’t help it—the grin spread across her face before she could stop it. He was being cheeky. Her kind of cheeky. A laugh bubbled out of her as she fell back onto the bed, her phone clutched to her chest.

But just as quickly, her smile faded. Stop it. Why was she letting herself feel like this? Like he mattered. Like this mattered. She let her phone slip from her hands, flopping dramatically against the mattress.

“Nothing. Who cares? I don’t care,” she muttered to herself.

The phone buzzed again. Her eyes slid to her phone screen.

Unless you’re here to talk ice hockey. Then I’ll have to charge you a fee.

Claere snorted. Her fingers moved before she could overthink it.

Hard pass. You’re good, though. For a beginner.

Ouch. Right in the ego. Guess I’ll stick to what I know.

Clare chewed on a hangnail on her thumb, typing out a few responses, deleting the words and typing again. He sooner replied.

So... what're you up to right now?

The next buzz made her sit up, her stomach doing a little flip.

Because I was thinking, since I'm a shitty texter... wanna meet up?

Her eyes darted to the clock on her bedside table. Ten p.m. Late, but not too late. She bit her lip, the tug of a smile teasing her mouth. Her thumbs danced over the screen as she typed:

Bold of you to assume I’m not already in bed.

Bold of you to assume that is something I'm opposed to.

Her cheeks warmed as she bit back a laugh, typing a response.

Twenty minutes. Don’t make me regret this.

The three little dots appeared immediately.

I’ll be outside.

Claere tossed her phone aside, covering her face with her hands as she fought back the ridiculous giddiness rising in her chest. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt this nervous—this alive. The feeling was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating, bubbling up in a way she couldn’t quite contain.

With a deep breath, she adjusted the hem of her dress for what felt like the tenth time, smoothing it over her thighs as she stepped out toward the tall iron gates. The sprawling house loomed behind her, its gardens stretching into the quiet evening, their stillness a stark contrast to the whirlwind inside her. Her sandals scuffed lightly against the pavement as she shifted her weight, clutching her phone in both hands like it was an anchor.

Her reflection in the screen stared back at her. A loose, floral dress (not at all her style) that she’d thrown on at the last second, kohl under her eyes, lip tint, undone braids she’d hurried through, and her usual sandals. Presentable enough, she hoped. Not overdressed, not underdressed. Just right.

The low rumble of an engine seized her attention. A familiar truck rolled down the quiet street, its headlights softening the dim evening haze. Claere’s breath hitched as it slowed to a stop right in front of her.

This was ridiculous. What was she doing? She should go back. Her fingers tightened around her phone, and she briefly considered turning around, walking back through the gates, and pretending this never happened. Without anyone knowing—without Jace knowing—she was about to meet a boy.

The thought hit her hard. Jace would lose it. The image of his incredulous glare surfaced in her mind, his hypothetical voice dripping with mockery: “You’re dating my teammate?” Wait, was this a date? She bit the inside of her cheek. What even counted as one? Was it when he showed up outside your house? When he texted you or when you texted him? When he said he wanted to hang out? Or did it have to be something more official?

Her thoughts scattered as the truck’s passenger door clicked open.

Cregan leaned over from the driver’s seat, one arm reaching across to push the door wide for her. “Hey,” he greeted, his voice low, but there was eagerness in how his gaze lingered on her.

“Hi,” she mumbled.

She hesitated for half a second, smoothing the hem of her dress again, before stepping forward. With quite a bit of effort and grunting, her breath hitched as she climbed in.

He was… well, wow.

His hair was damp, darker at the ends where it stuck just slightly to his ears and temples like he’d rushed out of the shower. She caught a faint whiff of soap, something warm and earthy, and it shouldn’t have smelled as good as it did. Her chest tightened, completely against her will.

His shirt—a button-up that clearly hadn’t seen the business end of an iron—was only half-fastened, hanging loose enough to tease a glimpse of tanned skin and the sharp edges of his collarbone. Why did that look so good? Her eyes trailed down to his jersey shorts, and her brain helpfully supplied an unprompted, unnecessary observation: oh, those were made for sex. Strong, muscular, and relaxed in a way that made it clear he didn’t overthink a single thing about this.

And then there were his arms. For the love of all the gods, the arms. Broad, resting casually on the steering wheel like they had no business stealing anyone’s attention. The compression bandages on his left didn’t ruin the effect at all; in fact, they added to it somehow, like a reminder that this was the arm of someone who did things—vigorous, sporty things. When he shifted gears, his forearm tensed, the muscles flexing in a way that felt so unreasonably intentional she almost wanted to laugh at herself.

He’s literally just driving, she calmed herself, but her gaze had already flicked back up to his face. And, well, that didn’t help either.

Even in the dim light, he was stupidly, unfairly attractive. Sharp features that somehow didn’t look harsh, a jawline that belonged in one of those broody cologne ads, and an expression so at ease it bordered on maddening. How was it possible for someone to just exist like that? Did he escape a runway recently? Meanwhile, she was sitting there, clutching her phone like it was some kind of emotional lifeline, praying she didn’t trip over her own words. Was this normal? Did people just… look like this?

Her gaze darted away quickly before he could notice her staring, her cheeks burning as she focused very hard on her phone in her lap. Or tried to. What was she even doing here?

“All okay?” His voice broke through her thoughts, low and calm, but his brow furrowed slightly as he glanced her way, catching the tension she hadn’t realized was so obvious.

“Yeah, yeah. All okay,” she said quickly, too quickly, her voice a little higher than she’d meant. Heat rushed to her face as she tried to sound casual, but the slight curve of his lips told her she’d failed.

He followed her gaze as it dipped to his bandaged arm, and then he laughed—a short, self-conscious sound as he rolled his shoulder oh-so-sexily. “Hard drills today,” he said like it was nothing.

Her frown deepened. “You shouldn’t be driving.”

He shrugged, the movement making him wince despite himself. His free hand reached up to knead the edge of his shoulder, a small grimace flashing across his face before he smoothed it away. “‘S’all good,” he said, trying for nonchalance, but the stiffness in his movements told a different story.

“Cregan,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper, but the concern laced through it made his eyes flick back to her.

His lips quirked up in a lopsided grin, almost sheepish. “I’m fine, really. Part of the package. Just need to stretch it out.”

She wasn’t convinced, not in the slightest, but what could she say? He didn’t seem the type to take being fussed over well. Instead, her gaze betrayed her again, dipping to the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders, to the faint curl in his damp hair, to the easy confidence in every part of him.

Calm down. He’s just a guy. Ordinary dude. Pedestrian. A stupidly attractive guy who probably doesn’t even—no, stop. Just stop.

“Buckle up,” he said, his tone light, but his attention flicked meaningfully to her seatbelt.

“Oh, yes,” she mumbled, fumbling for the strap with clumsy fingers. The fabric caught awkwardly, and her nerves made her struggle to untangle it.

Cregan chuckled, a quiet sound that sent her already heightened awareness into overdrive. She glanced up sharply. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head with a grin that was far too amused for her liking. He turned back to the road, but the smile lingered, tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Her heart hammered unsteadily, her thoughts a chaotic mess of self-reproach and stubborn fascination. She folded her hands in her lap once the seatbelt was secure, trying to force herself to focus on anything else.

And yet, one thought pressed at her relentlessly, no matter how much she tried to shove it aside.

What am I doing here?

He was too much. Too effortless, too magnetic, too… perfect. The kind of guy who should’ve been with someone who matched him, someone equally flawless. Not Claere, with her name already a whispered scandal and a lingering sense of not quite belonging.

But when he glanced at her again, offering her that easy, lopsided grin, she couldn’t help but feel it—quiet and dangerous, like stepping off the edge of something she couldn’t yet see. She swallowed hard, trying to push the ridiculous thoughts down, but it didn’t help much. This was already overwhelming. And he wasn’t even trying.

He began to ask her, “Have you had dinner? There's this great new place that—”

“I can’t step out without my parents knowing.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, sharper than she intended. She turned toward him, a little embarrassed, but the confusion on his face made her heart pinch. “I'm sorry,” she added quickly. “It’s just… if I go anywhere, someone’s bound to see. I don't have security on me. It’ll be all over the papers by morning. And probably you will be, too.”

He blinked at her, clearly trying to process this. “The papers?”

She nodded, her cheeks heating. “My mom’s very particular. If they find out…” She trailed off, pressing her lips together. “It’ll be really, really bad. Sorry.”

His brow furrowed, but there wasn’t any judgment in his expression—just quiet understanding. “Oh. No worries.”

For a moment, the air between them felt too quiet, too heavy.

“Are you hungry?” she asked softly, breaking the silence, and trying to redirect the conversation.

“Well, I—”

“You know what,” she interrupted, rubbing her eyes as frustration bubbled to the surface, “maybe you should just drop me back home. This was a bad idea.”

Cregan shifted in his seat, his gaze steady on her. “Hey-ey. It’s alright,” he said gently. “We can figure something out. Non-public.”

She hesitated, surprised by the steadiness in his voice. It wasn’t pity or dismissal—it was just calm, easy reassurance. She exhaled, both relief and guilt tugging at her chest.

The truck began to move, but instead of turning back toward her house, he pulled into the parking lot of a small convenience store. Claere frowned, watching him climb out without another word. What was he doing?

“Be right back,” he called before breaking out into a jog.

Claere sat stiffly in her seat, her hands clasped over her phone, staring straight ahead at the glowing sign of the convenience store. She tried to focus on her breathing and tried not to think too much about the sheer absurdity of what she was doing. Meeting a boy. Spontaneously. Alone. Without anyone knowing. Daemon would be livid if he found out. Her mother, less so. She would make a lecture out of it. Be protective. Screw over Cregan's whole life. Yet here she was.

The sound of the driver’s door opening made her jump. She glanced over as Cregan slid into his seat, dropping a crinkling plastic bag onto the centre armrest. He didn’t say anything at first, just started pulling things out, unpacking it all.

A bag of chips. A pack of candy bars. Two bottles of iced tea. Two small containers of sliced fruit. An inexplicable, single can of olives.

“What… is all this?” she asked, unable to stop herself.

He leaned back, flashing her a leisurely grin that made her chest do a weird little flip. “Dinner,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He popped open the bag of chips and nudged it toward her. “Go on. You like sour cream and onion, right?”

She blinked at him. “You didn’t even ask.”

“Didn’t need to.” He winked. “Everyone likes sour cream and onion.”

A reluctant smile tugged at her lips, and she shook her head, taking a chip despite herself. She wanted to call it silly or absurd, but really she loved that he'd put in effort to make her stay.

“Hey, you said no going out,” he replied, leaning an elbow on the centre console as he opened the container of fruit. “So, I improvised.” He plucked a grape from the mix and popped it into his mouth, shrugging as if this was a completely normal way to spend a night.

“Look, we stay in the car. Nobody sees anything. It’s not a five-star meal, but it works. And,” he added, picking up the can of olives with a wink, “it’s classy. See? Gourmet.”

She couldn’t hold back the laugh this time, a quiet sound that surprised even her. “Really? Do you even eat olives?”

“Not really,” he admitted, shaking the can. “But you never know. Felt like the right move.”

“Did it?”

“Absolutely.” He tossed the can onto the armrest like it sealed the deal, then leaned back, relaxed and entirely at ease in his seat. “I mean, they’re expensive. Ten bucks a bottle. Fancy schmancy. Impressive?”

Claere snorted, shaking her head. “I’m pretty sure that’s the least impressive thing you’ve done tonight.”

“Ouch.” He clutched his chest, feigning injury. “Here I am, going out of my way to craft the perfect car date, and you’re out here throwing shade.”

Date. The word landed between them, soft but deliberate, making her stomach flip. Was that what this was? A date? She couldn’t tell if he’d meant to say it or if it just slipped out, but the way he casually tossed it in made her pulse quicken. Claere glanced out the window, needing a moment to collect herself. Her hands rested on her lap, fidgeting with the corner of a napkin. He wasn’t trying too hard, wasn’t pushing for anything beyond this odd, makeshift moment. It felt easy—easier than she’d expected.

She glanced back at him. He leaned comfortably against the driver’s seat, the soft light highlighted the curve of his jaw and the faint smile playing on his lips—like he knew exactly what he was doing to her. It struck her again how different he was now from the nervous, slightly reckless guy she’d been introduced to weeks ago. That version of him had been a little too cocky and chaotic, and a little too rough around the edges to fit their carefully curated image of what her life should look like. But this—this version of him was steady, charming.

He cleared his throat, shuffling awkwardly in the seat. “Look, before I say anything else—I owe you an apology.”

Claere blinked, caught off guard by his sceptical tone. She stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue.

“I know I’ve been… distant.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze flickering between hers and the floor. “I didn’t mean to avoid you. I just—” He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I was really ashamed. About what I did that night. About everything.”

Her brow furrowed, confusion and something gentler. “Why embarrassed?”

Cregan let out a humourless laugh, shaking his head. “To state the obvious. Because I was drunk off my ass, made a fool of myself, and dragged you into it. God, the flowerpot… the singing…” He groaned, burying his face briefly in his hands. “And then crashing in your bed like some—”

“It's okay,” she interrupted, her voice soft but firm. “You don’t have to apologize for that.” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “You didn’t do anything wrong. People get drunk and, do and say unfortunate things.”

He looked at her then, a little more vulnerable now. “Still. I didn’t handle things right after. I shouldn’t have just—avoided you. That was a dick move.”

Claere’s lips parted slightly, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when he finally approached her, but this wasn’t it.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is…” He met her gaze fully now, his voice quieter, more sincere. “I’m sorry, Claere. For being an ass. For avoiding you. And for making things weird when you were just—” He paused, swallowing. “When you were just being nice to me.”

Her chest ached at the honesty in his words. She wasn’t used to this—people owning up to their mistakes, much less in such a raw, unpolished way.

“You don’t need to apologize for that,” she said after a beat, a small, almost hesitant smile tugging at her lips. “But… thank you for saying it.”

He nodded, relief flickering across his face, though his hands still fidgeted with a candy bar wrapper. “I don’t exactly remember what I said at that party,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “I hope I didn’t cross a line or—”

“No.” She cut him off, her voice soft but sure. “No, you were actually very sweet. And observant.”

“Observant,” he repeated slowly, raising a brow as if he didn’t trust where this was going.

“You pointed out my weird pattern for how I wear my clothes. Like how I like brown or wear my twisted braids on Wednesdays.”

His face fell, and he groaned, shutting his eyes in clear mortification. “God, I did say that, didn’t I? I am so sorry. So creepy of me.”

She laughed, the sound light and unguarded. “Nothing to be sorry about. I thought it was cute. And... kind of impressive.”

He opened one eye, peeking at her like a cautious kid checking if the coast was clear. “Really? That was all it took to impress you? Not my rugged handsomeness or the fact that I bought you a bottle of olives?”

She laughed with a shrug. “People don’t notice that little things.”

His lips twitched into a small, sheepish smile, but he didn’t say anything. The silence between them was comfortable, humming with something unsaid but not unwelcome.

Claere glanced at him again, studying his profile—the relaxed set of his shoulders, the way his fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel. He wasn’t trying to break the quiet or fill it with meaningless chatter. He wasn’t pressuring her to leave the car or convincing her to let her guard down for his sake. He was just... here. With her.

“I just...” She hesitated, then pushed on. “Uh, this is nice. Most guys would’ve tried to force me out of the car by now. Insist we go somewhere just because, you know, it’d look better or something.”

At that, his posture shifted ever so slightly, and his head tilted toward her, his tone dipping into a playful drawl. “Most guys?” he asked, his voice tinged with obvious jealousy. “How many guys are we talking about here?”

She shook her head, laughing softly. “A few. And most of them were purely for business relations. My parents’ idea, not mine. Not exactly fun.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes softened. “Yeah, sounds like a blast,” he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“It wasn’t,” she said simply, leaning her head back against the seat. Her gaze flicked to him again, and her smile softened. “But this? It’s the most audacious I’ve been in a while.”

His grin returned, slow and wide, as he reached for another chip from the bag between them. “Yeah?”

She nodded, her lips curving up softly. “I like this. I really do.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he studied her for a moment, his gaze lingering in a way that made her feel exposed but not uncomfortable. It wasn’t like the way most people looked at her—curious, judgmental, or critical. And maybe that’s why what he said next hit her like a freight train.

“I'm not going to play for time. I'll say it: I’ve liked you for a while now,” he admitted, his voice quieter, tinged with a vulnerability she wasn’t expecting.

Her breath caught, and for a moment, all she could do was blink at him. “Oh,” she said, barely managing the single syllable. It sounded stupid, but her brain felt like it had short-circuited.

He gave a small laugh, but it wasn’t mocking. “Yeah, that’s pretty much how I feel too. Everyday.”

“What... what do you mean by a while?” she asked, her voice steadier now, though her heart was still pounding.

Cregan hesitated, running a hand through his hair, his gaze dropping to the steering wheel like he needed something to ground himself. “Since the start of the year? Before that, maybe?” He looked back at her with a half-smile. “It’s a blur. But then you texted me, and... I’ll be honest, I almost crashed my car.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “What?”

“I mean it,” he said, laughing now. “I was pulling out of practice, checked my phone—stupid, I know—and your name, just sitting on my screen. I swerved so hard, that I almost got rear-ended. The guy behind me rolled down his window and called me a fuckface.”

Claere burst out laughing, the image too ridiculous not to. She could picture it perfectly: Cregan, bold and unbothered on the ice, suddenly reduced to a flustered mess at the sight of her name.

“I’m serious,” he said, laughing along with her. “I had to pull over. I don’t even know why. It was just a text. But you...” He trailed off, his grin fading slightly as his voice softened. “You get to me, Claere. You did. You do.”

Her laughter faded, leaving the quiet between them thick and charged. Something in her chest tightened—a subtle ache she hadn’t expected. His words were so simple, so direct, yet they carried a weight she wasn’t used to.

No one ever spoke to her like this. Not the tabloids, who reduced her to a headline, not her family, who crafted her image like she was part of their empire, and certainly not boys. Boys always wanted something from her—a photo, a name to drop, a chance to prove they could handle someone like her. But Cregan…he just sat there, watching her like she was someone worth looking at. Really looking at.

She didn’t know what to say. Her lips parted, then closed again as her thoughts tangled. Words felt too clumsy for what was twisting inside her. Instead, she just looked at him, her fingers twisting the edge of her sweater as if anchoring herself to the moment.

“I like you, Claere,” he said, and his voice cut through her overthinking like a steady hand on her shoulder. There was no teasing lilt, no hesitation, just earnestness that caught her completely off guard. “And I’d love to get to know you. Really get to know you. Spend time with you. No people, no gossip. Just you.”

Something shifted inside her, like a thread she hadn’t noticed was pulled taut had finally gone slack. Her chest ached with something warm and unfamiliar. Maybe it was relief, or maybe it was fear—fear of how much she wanted to believe him. To trust that he meant it.

Without thinking, without planning, she leaned forward. It wasn’t calculated or bold; it was instinct, a soft, quiet urge she couldn’t ignore. Her lips brushed against his cheek, feather-light, and she lingered for just a moment before pulling back.

When she did, her breath caught. She expected him to be startled, maybe even confused. She braced herself for an awkward laugh or some offhand joke to ease the tension. But instead, he was grinning. Slow and lazy, like she’d just confirmed something he’d already known for a long time.

“Gods-fucking-damnit, thought I'd be a gentleman tonight,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, roughened at the edges in a way that made her stomach flip.

She opened her mouth to reply, but no words came. Her thoughts were spinning too fast, caught between the way he was looking at her and the way her heart felt like it was about to hammer out of her chest.

And then he leaned in.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t some dramatic movie moment. It was careful and conscious like he was giving her all the time in the world to stop him, even though she never would have. When his lips met hers, it was soft at first, like a question he didn’t want to push too hard.

But the second her hand moved—gripping the front of his shirt like she needed something to hold on to—it deepened. His other hand came up, cradling her cheek, stroking down the length of her throat, tongue spearing between her lips, in a way that sent a shiver through her. The kiss wasn’t perfect. It was a little messy, a little uncoordinated, too heated, silly, and breathy, but it was warm and real, and her chest felt like it might burst with the intensity of it all.

Her senses were on overdrive. The faint scent of his soap, the slight scratch of his stubble against her skin, the quiet hitch of his breath when her hand slid up to his shoulder—all of it sank into her like she was trying to memorize every second of this.

When he finally pulled back, her eyes fluttered open, her cheeks flushed and lips tingling. His forehead rested against hers, his breath fanning across her skin as they both tried to catch up with themselves. His hands found a home against her waist, rubbing and squeezing, feeling the lunes of her spine and hips.

“Was that okay?” he asked, his voice so soft it almost broke something inside her.

She nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Better than okay. Really nice.”

His quiet laugh warmed the space between them. “Good,” he said, his thumb still tracing gentle, absent-minded circles on her waist.

She couldn’t look away from him. The way his stormy grey eyes searched hers, like he was trying to memorize every flicker of emotion on her face. Like he was waiting for her to pull away, to tell him this was a mistake. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

His hand, warm and steady, lingered against her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over her skin in a touch so tender it made her heart ache. And in that moment, with the soft hum of the engine filling the space around them, she felt something she hadn’t let herself feel in years.

Safe. Seen. Wanted.

“Can we keep this to ourselves for a bit?” he asked softly, his voice laced with hesitation, as though he wasn’t sure how the words would land.

Her brows knit together slightly, her head tilting just enough to catch his gaze. “Why’s that?” she asked, not accusing, just curious. Her voice was soft, a gentle thread pulling the question closer between them.

He let out a breath, his hand falling from her cheek to rest against the console between them. It left a hollow ache where his touch had been, but she didn’t move. “It’s not that I don’t want people to know,” he started, his tone quiet but steady, each word weighed with meaning. “Trust me, I want everyone to know.”

His eyes flicked up to hers, earnest and steady. “I just… I don’t want anyone ruining this. Not yet. Not before we even figure out what this is.”

She blinked, his words wrapping around her like a fragile cocoon. The flicker of vulnerability in his expression—a barely-there crack in the armor he wore so well—hit her with the force of something unspoken but deeply felt. He wasn’t ashamed of her. He wasn’t hiding her. This wasn’t about fear or hesitation.

He was protecting this. Protecting them.

From the noise. From the outside world that had taken her life and painted it in hues that weren’t hers to begin with.

“That makes sense,” she said softly, her voice gentler than she meant it to be. But it felt right. It felt true.

“Yeah?” he asked, his gaze lifting to meet hers again, as if searching for the faintest shadow of doubt.

She smiled faintly, the curve of her lips soft and sure. “I think… we could use the quiet for a while.”

The relief that spread across his face was almost tangible. His shoulders eased, the edges of his features softening as if a weight he’d carried for too long had finally slipped away. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice so full of sincerity it nearly undid her.

She leaned back in her seat, her body slowly releasing the tension she hadn’t even realized she was holding. The silence between them felt warm, companionable, like an unspoken promise.

“You know,” she said, tilting her head slightly to look at him again, her tone lighter now, “for someone who’s usually so daring, you’re really nervous about this.”

He glanced at her, his lips curving into a crooked, self-deprecating smile. His fingers tapped absently against the steering wheel. “You’re the one who does that to me,” he admitted, his voice low, steady, and entirely too vulnerable. “I’m not used to it.”

Her laugh came without warning, bubbling up light and genuine, and it caught him so off guard that his smile widened, bright and boyish.

“That’s nice,” she teased, nudging his arm with hers. “Maybe that means you’ll behave.”

His brows lifted, his grin turning mischievous. “Behave?” He looked at her like the word itself was an insult. “Is that what you want? A well-behaved guy?”

She tilted her head as if in deep thought, though the playful glint in her eyes betrayed her. “Hmm,” she hummed, drawing it out, “I don’t know. Depends on the day, I guess. Some days I might prefer a misbehaving one.”

His laughter filled the space between them, rich and warm, a sound that made her feel like the entire world had shrunk down to just this car, just this moment. “You’re trouble, aren’t you?”

Her lips twitched, her smile turning coy as she leaned back. “Oh, I’ve been told.”

X

[and there you have it - sort of... I've planned another part, possibly the last one, so stay tuned!]

[ taglist: @pearldaisy , @thatkindofgurll , @theadharablack , @cherryheairt , @beingalive1 , @oxymakestheworldgoround , @tigolebittiez , @cosmosnkaz , @lv7867 , @piper570 , @danikasthings , @acsc8 , @justdazzling ] -> thank you for your endless support everyone!

[flowerandblood]

Glass Cuts Deepest Masterlist

[ professor! • Aemond x student! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, fingering, smut, angst, trauma, desription of rape, panic attacks, mention of sexual harassment, violence, swearing, self-destructive behavior ]

[ description: A female painting student is finally able to choose the specialisation she has dreamt of - stained glass. She wants to become a student of the best specialist in this field, but he, for some reason, refuses to accept female students into his workshop. She finds out that he once slapped a female student of one of the other professors. Nevertheless, she makes an attempt to find out what happened then and to convince him to teach her. Slow burn, sexual tension, dark, agressive Aemond, great childhood traumas. ]

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Epilogue

The Art of Body (Milestone Celebration) Headcanons after Series Series Moodboard Series Aemond Photo Edit Heroine Sketches Example Works of art used in story

[dulcewrites]

ewan in the saltburn trailer is j sooo giving private school filthy rich aemond i love it

AND YES HE NEEDS HIS POC GF

I have been feeling…. less than inspired lately about hotd tbh but hopefully this will spark something. I know no one asked for this lol. This was inspired by Beyoncé’s Upgrade U. Honestly, I don't think Aemond would be much of a loser in a modern setting. He would be far too elusive and people would find him interesting simply based on that. But I am combining/changing some lore here so he is a #loser in this like I am assuming Ewan's character is Saltburn is.

Upgrade You

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x rich!reader (wc: 2k)

Summary: You have always enjoyed having a project to build or fix up and Aemond Targaryen is no different

You flick a spoolie brush over your brows as you finished up your makeup. The lights from your vanity mirror illuminating you as you put the last touches on your face.

"I don't get it," Melanie sighed as she hugged one of your pillows to her chest. She sat crossed legged on your California king bed. "You're like the smartest person I know. Why do you need to be tutored?"

"Everyone can improve themselves, no matter what someone's specialty may be. Remember that."

Melanie nodded enthusiastically. Sweet girl, you think. A little daft at times but nothing some time under your guidance cannot fix.

She tilts her head curiously. "You are pretty dressed up for a library meeting too."

"Another lesson," you fluff your curls then turn from the mirror to her. "Do not let anyone tell you that you are overdressed. Does the library have a dress code?"

Melanie shakes her head slowly.

"So, who is going to tell me to change?"

"... No one?"

"Exactly."

Melanie chews on her lip in thought as if she is taking mental notes in her head. Though she is not wrong you are quite dressed up just to be studying. But your advice was also not wrong; any moment to be noticed should be taken and made the most of. If are to come into contact with any of your peers, why not make the best impression possible. You also do not have in it in you to tell your new pupil about the real reason as to why you were making this little trip. Best move through life with your cards close to your chest as your mother tells you. You can only imagine how wide Melanie's hazel eyes would get if you told her what you had up your sleeve.

Much like how you help the girls around you cultivate their futures, you must look out for your own as well. Your phone dings, and you smile when you check the notification.

Aemond Targaryen.

Archaic, some would say. Sending the feminist movement back 50 years, many could argue. Being realistic is more how you would put it. You have money, sure. Your parents have afforded you all the opportunities they wanted you to have, and for that you are grateful. But you are not naive; this is still very much a man's world. No matter how much money you have, there will be people who will look at you and hate you for having the gall to want more. For having ideas and wanting to express them. For looking the way, you do - for using the way you look against them.

You may not be able to have a seat at the table... but you can have someone build another for you.

Your family may have resources and money. But they do not have 'my father can use company family buy his way into politics; my mom has ancestry that traces back to French royalty' reach.

Luckily for you, there is someone who does have that access.

A little rough around the edges, but nothing some TLC cannot fix. It was one of your best traits: finding the diamonds in the rough and polishing them off so they shine brighter than before.

You go over to your closet and open the double doors. As your eyes search over the different handbags, you call out back to Melanie.

"Watercolor Dior saddle or creme Bottega Jodie?"

"Dior," she calls back.

You check yourself in the mirror before existing the closet.

"Well," you twirl for Melanie. You run hand over your midi turtleneck dress. You knee length boots clanked around as you moved in a circle.

"Perfect," she beams.

She sees you out to your car. With the window rolled down, she waves you off like a mother seeing their child off for kindergarten.

"Happy studying!"

Sweet and simple, just how you like em.

———

You always thought the best thing about Oxford was how it looked in the fall. The leaves begun to change, sprite green to a blend of red, orange, purple, and brown. Made the most picturesque background. But it seemed like how gently the leaves fell from the trees was the only thing that was coming easily.

Maybe it was naivety on your part, but you thought when you showed up in four-inch patent leather Aquazzura heels and literally no books, Aemond would have got the hint. And yet, here you were talking about the components of stockholder’s equity, as if you cared.

"So," you interrupt him mid rant. "Any fun plans for Winter break? I know it is a while away, but everyone is already taking about what they are doing."

He wrinkles his nose, his glasses being pushes up in the process. "Probably just dinner with the family."

Right. The compound. At least that is what the Targaryen main home looks like. You of course needed to your research.

"Well, there is this crazy Christmas that happens before everyone leaves," you shuffle closer to him, and you hope he gets a whiff of your perfume. "Maybe we can go together?"

Aemond snorts and looks down bit sheepishly. "Highly doubt, I am invited."

You fight the urge to sigh wistfully. Cute, smart, wealthy as fuck... and apparently awfully insecure. Everyone throwing the party should be falling at their knees to have him around. But you have since understood during your time at Oxford that many students here do not understand the opportunities in front of them.

If Aemond had any real confidence, he'd say fuck it because he could buy everyone going if he wanted to. They ignore him because he allows them to. And then you realize he is one of those people; the delusional 'I want to get by on my merit not my name' kind of people.

Oh sweet, silly boy.

"That doesn't matter," you wave him off. "Besides, if anyone says anything, you can just say you're with me. Consider it a thank you for doing this for me."

You let your hand slip on his thigh and squeeze slightly.

"Better yet, let's call it a date."

Rhaenyra would think for the amount of money her family has; they would be able to afford stronger liquor. But she has a feeling that it has nothing to do with money, and more about the 'champagne only' rule Alicent liked.

The expansive backyard was decorated impeccably, as it always is for the annual holiday party that they throw. Twinkly lights in the trees, red and green everywhere, and even a frankly nouveau riche ice sculpture. The affair was black tie, and Rhaenyra could feel the eyes of some guess when she showed up in a red fitted suit. Taking small sips from her glass, she looks around the area. She swears the more years go on, the less she recognizes who is invited to things like this.

"Don't tell me step-mommy has put you in timeout."

She rolls her eyes when she hears a familiar voice. Daemon comes to stand next to her, with a small glass in his hand.

"No, you fucker," Rhaenyra rolls her eyes then frowns. "Where did you get the scotch?"

"Why do you think I am in timeout?"

Her uncle always found a way around the rules. Rhaenyra blows air out of her cheeks in annoyance. She looks down at her watch; another rule is that they were required to stay at 2 hours. Only 45 minutes has passed since she arrived.

"Heard you are going to the company retreat this year," Daemon downs the rest of the drink and winces at the burning.

"Someone has to represent the family with dad," she shrugs, a small amount of smugness seeping into her tone. "He asked me to go."

"Hmmm," Daemon smirks at her smugness. "You and Aemond."

Rhaenyra blinks confused. "What?"

"Yup," he leans against the wall. "I suppose Viserys has found a new muse."

Rhaenyra snorts at his words but then licks her lips curiously. It sounds cruel to think, but it was never something she ever really worried about - her father possibly preferring her siblings over her. At least not something she worried about in her adulthood. Sure, as a girl, freshly off the passing of her mother and seeing her father marry a woman only six years her senior, rattled her. Aegon being born shortly after only made things more tense. But, and to his own detriment really, Viserys had made sure she came first.

"I did not know Aemond had an interest in the company in the first place."

"He didn't," Daemon's mouth pinches a little. "Not until... recently."

Rhaenyra follows her uncle's gaze out to where Aemond was standing. He always managed to look more grow up than his sibling, more than Helaena and Aegon. A mimicry that Rhaenyra thinks he picked up from his mother, but something seemed different now. New haircut, no glasses, new suit. Armani? No, Tom Ford. With a Cartier tie clip and sparking cuff links to match. He is surrounded by some of the lawyers that work at the company.

"Looks like university has done him well," Rhaenyra tries to sound as even keeled as possible. "Good for him."

"No," Daemon sounds bored with her strained pleasantries. "That is what pussy does someone who has never got any before."

Rhaenyra blanches. The last thing she wants to think about is her younger brother having sex. She sets her champagne down in disgust.

"Don't be gross."

Daemon huffs before directing his attention towards the other side of the courtyard. His eyes zero in on Alicent, who tosses her auburn hair over her shoulder as she laughs with a young woman. A pretty young woman.

"Only met this semester and managed to get a holiday party invite, and a seat next to mother dearest. She must some charmer."

"You know," Rhaenyra starts. "Not every woman that is around this family is some sort of ruthless social climber."

"Of course, not every woman. Only the smart ones."

She sighs. That was not just pointed at the girl, but at Alicent too. Even though Alicent grew up with an even cushier life than they did. A type of old money that even the Targaryens had to give credence to. Strangely enough, Daemon seemed to take Viserys remarrying worse than Rhaenyra did. Hellbent on insisting that this was some sort of grand plan of the Hightowers. Even Rhaenyra over the years had grown to accept the fate that is their blended family. Accepted it enough to be cordial, albeit sometimes still awkward, with Alicent. They have forever been bonded in having to deal with the ever changing moods that come with being in Viserys Targaryen’s orbit. But Daemon... it seems like he has never forgiven his brother for moving on. He seemed to only grow more jaded since the divorce from Laena.

"How do you even know this?"

"Aemond told Aegon who told Helaena who told Rhaena who told Baela who told me."

Rhaenyra breaks her gaze from the two women. "Keeping tabs on your nephew that you barely speak to?"

Daemon gave her an empty smile. Almost a little cruel like he would crush her like a bug if it was not so pitiful. "You naive little thing. When you figure things out, let me know."

Rhaenyra wants to ask him what he means by that, but Daemon pushes himself off the wall he was leaning against to leave Rhaenyra alone.

Alone was a feeling she was used to. Rhaenyra often found solace in the loneliness that she found herself stuck in. If she did not find comfort in it, it would swallow her whole. Jaw unhinged and bloodthirsty.

Her eyes went back to the where Alicent and the girl were sitting, but Helaena seemed to replace the girl's place to speak with her mother. Instead of getting chummy with Alicent, the mystery woman had gone over to Aemond. Rhaenyra felt a little queasy watching them. Like watching two little dolls or those silly little cake toppers people get. Picture perfect like the stock photos that came in picture frames.

She shook her head at herself with an internal laugh. Here she was picking apart her baby brother's seemingly first real relationship; she was no better than Daemon if she did that. It was what she told herself when she watched one of the wives of the company's lawyers come up to the girl and give her kiss on the cheek. Like they were old family friends. Rhaenyra suddenly finds herself straightening out her jacket and her heels moving across the outdoor area. Might as well introduce herself... as a kind sister figure, of course.

She had a funny feeling she will be seeing this girl around more often.

[alicesivory]

Just watched Alien: Romulus now I want to make an Alien AU with Ettore

[officialaemondtargaryen]

Fall In Love With A Girl

❝she'll make you feel like the world is on your shoulder.❞

Summary: What can go wrong, will go wrong. That is until you meet the most beautiful woman you've ever seen and her brother's puppy.

Pairing: Modern Helaena Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: ~3.3k

Author’s Note: This is a re-write of an old fic of mine. I'm in my re-writing era and this is Megan's Version. I felt like this would be the perfect time to remind everyone that I love women.

Warnings: language, fluff, women loving women (if you are against this unfollow me?)

There were certain rules to being a veterinary technician.

Number one, waterproof mascara and eyeliner always; you’ll never get used to those abuse cases or having to hold someone’s hand as they say goodbye to their beloved pet. Number two, carry a lint roller on you at all times; it’s best to get the pocket-sized one, because both dogs and cats shed a lot! Especially Bella the Saint Bernard who was due for her yearly check up today. Number three, iron your scrubs! And it’s probably best to keep an extra pair in your car, because it’s more likely than not that you’ll end up getting peed on by someone’s over-excited pup.

Even though you knew these rules by heart and you followed them every single day of your work life, today was an exception. It was just one of those days that absolutely nothing- no matter how hard you tried- was going right. You were covered in fluffy cat hairs, Mrs. Comier’s Jack Russell, Hankie, peed on your leg twice, and you had run out of waterproof mascara. So, when Mr. Langley brought in his thirteen year old Labrador to put her down, he cried and so you cried, and in the end you looked like the raccoon that liked to sneak into the office dumpsters at closing hoping to find some cat food.

Today just wasn’t your day.

It was fifteen minutes until closing time, and you could feel the excitement and exhaustion in your bones. You were desperate for rest, to go home and take a shower, crawl in bed and watch terribly written romantic comedies on Netflix until you passed out. If only you could snap your fingers and make those last few minutes fly by, but that was impossible and unfortunately manipulating time wasn’t a superpower you had acquired yet, so instead you swept and mopped the floors for the sixth time that day.

And that was when you heard it. 

The tiny bell over the door chimed, signaling that a customer had just walked in and you could hear the pitter-patter of doggie feet on the linoleum floors. As far as you knew, there weren’t any more customers scheduled for the day; the last appointment was over thirty minutes ago and they were a no-show. From your spot in the back hallway, you could hear your coworker, talking to the patient and before you knew it, she was charging through the back door. You took one look at her, knowing what her question would be before she even opened her mouth. That shit-eating-grin was always plastered on her face when she wanted something. 

“No,” you said as you swept the dirt into the dustpan.

“Come on, bestie,” she whined. “I really need to get out of here on time tonight! It’s just a simple check-up and she seems really nice! Please will you take them?” 

Not wanting to argue or cause an issue, you sighed, exhaling every ounce of oxygen in your lungs before finally giving in. She was practically beaming with excitement as your shoulders slumped, eyes rolling back as you sat the broom down. 

“Oh, my God! Thank you so much! I owe you, big time,” she went to hug you but you stepped to the side, avoiding her embrace at all costs. 

You simply nod at your coworker as you try to dust some of the cat hairs from your scrubs. It was no use, and you knew that, but still, you at least tried to look more professional. After the day you’ve had, you should have known that clocking out on time was just too good to be true, but you still put a smile on your face as you walked up to the front desk. One day you’d cash in on all of the times she owed you for, but today wasn’t that day. Everything that could have gone wrong today had already gone wrong, and at this point you were only giving in to her for the plot. What else could possibly happen? 

When you got to the front desk, you looked over the counter to see the customer on one knee as she played with the tiny puppy; rubbing its belly and tickling its sides. 

“How can I help you?” You asked with that fake customer service voice.

The young woman turned around and looked up at you, flashing one of the most brilliant smiles you had ever seen, and you could have sworn that a chorus of angels were singing in the background– or maybe it was just the classical music on the radio that your boss liked to play, who knows? She was absolutely stunning though, with her pale blonde hair and striking lavender eyes. 

“Hey, uh- I had an appointment for this little guy,” she replied with a soft smile as she moved to stand.

“Okay,” you nodded, trying to remember to breathe. You could smell her perfume as she took a step up to the counter. “What’s this little guy’s name?” 

“His name is Sunfyre.”

“Oh,” you realized that this was that no-show appointment that should have been here thirty minutes ago. It was then that you looked right past her good looks and lilac scented perfume and let the irritation settle back in. “You’re Mr. Targaryen? You had an appointment with us at 5:00.”

The woman rubbed a hand on the back of her neck and gave you a sheepish smile.

“Not Mr. Targaryen, that’s my brother. I’m Helaena,” then she lets out a sigh. “He’s out of town and forgot to mention that I needed to be here until ten minutes before I was supposed to be here and then there was traffic, and I’m really sorry that I’m late. I hope I can still get him in, I mean, if that’s okay. If it’s too late then I’ll just make another appointment, I guess”

Your eyes widened as she rambled on and then you smiled at her. If it were anyone else, you probably would have told them to make another appointment and kick rocks. But this girl was just so gorgeous and her smile was just so beautiful, and your hopes of getting home on time were already sacked, so you led her back to the exam room and told her that it was no problem.

“Hopefully this doesn’t take too long,” she mentioned as she picked Sunfyre up and sat him on the table. 

Wait, was she actually rushing you?

“I’ve got this stupid thing I’m supposed to go to tonight,” she continued as you checked the puppy’s weight.

She really was rushing you.

“It’s a blind date that Aegon, uh-”

Before she could say ‘Mr. Targaryen’, you nodded your head to let her know that you understood who she was talking about. 

“Yeah,” Helaena kept on, not really caring that you weren’t really listening. “He set it up and I’m just nervous. I’ve never really been on a date- well, I’ve been on dates, but never a blind one. With the way this day has been going, he’ll probably end up being an alien with six eyes.”

“I know how you feel,” you mumbled under your breath.

“What’s that?” She asked.

“Oh, I just agreed with you,” you replied, not really wanting to go into details about your day with a girl who was about to go on a blind date and probably fall in love with someone that wasn’t the vet tech with a piss stain on her leg. Besides, her blind date was with a man which meant your chances were pretty much shot. “About the way this day has been going.”

“You’ve had a bad day, too?”

“I’m going to let Dr. Strong know you’re ready and we’ll try to get you out of here as soon as possible,” you say, ignoring her question. 

“Oh, okay. Thanks,” she replied as you shuffled out of the exam room.

Your boss looked up at you from his desk and raised his eyebrows underneath his glasses. You said nothing and only dropped the puppy’s chart on his desk with a thud, before turning back around and heading into the back hallway. You could hear that Helaena girl sweet talking the pup from behind the door and your expression softened for a moment. But that was only until you glanced at the clock and saw that it was well past closing time, and you should’ve been walking through your front door right now; maneuvering out of your bra and kicking off your non-slip, worn out tennis shoes. Your frown came right back as you looked over the front desk, making sure everything was in order before your boss eventually called you in for an extra hand. 

You sighed as you saw that your coworker had bailed on stamping the outgoing bill statements, a job which was tedious and tiring, and usually ended in cramped hands and sticky fingertips. With a soft groan, you sat down, flexing your toes in your shoes and tried to quickly stamp as many envelopes as you could.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dr. Strong called from somewhere within the office. “Can you lend me a hand for a moment?”

You stood up and tossed the envelopes in the mailing bin before heading towards the back hallway. 

“What’s up, doc?” You asked with a forced grin as you tried to lighten the mood. Your boss, Harwin, had been under constant stress ever since his partner veterinarian, Dr. Tully, quit the practice to focus on his family. 

“Can you draw me up 1cc of Nobivac?” He asked as he scribbled something down in the chart in front of him. “And I’m going to need you in the room when I administer it, there’s a note in the little guy’s chart that says he’s not very good with shots.”

“Yes, sir,” you replied as you pulled the keys to the medical cabinet out of the front pocket of your scrubs.

Helaena smiled at you when you entered the exam room once again. The puppy in her hands jumped in your direction, tail wagging from side to side as he whined for attention. “I think he likes you,” the girl commented as she tried to hold the puppy back. 

“That’s nice,” you replied with a soft smile, not really wanting to make small talk with Ms. I-Have-A-Blind-Date-Can-You-Hurry-Up. “But he’s probably not going to like me very much after getting poked.”

“Probably not,” Helaena laughed. You couldn’t help but feel a little light-headed at the sight of her smile, despite your tough facade. The sound of her laugh was just as attractive, if not more so. “But who knows, maybe he’ll forgive you.”

Dr. Strong stepped into the room, cutting your conversation short to begin his own spiel; informing Sunfyre’s short term owner of the possible side effects of the rabies vaccine, and also why it is important to have one. Information that, hopefully, Helaena would pass on to the absent Mr. Targaryen.

While your boss prepped the puppy for his first rabies shot, your job was to try and distract the little guy as much as possible and to keep him comfortable, of course. Helaena stood off to the side, letting the two of you work your magic, and within seconds- without even so much as a yelp- the procedure was finished and Sunfyre’s tail was still wagging. 

“All done,” you cooed, placing a kiss on the puppy’s wet nose. 

“Looks like he still likes you,” Helaena said as she hooked Sunfyre’s leash back to his collar. “I had a feeling he would.”

You went to say something, but Dr. Strong got there first, sticking his hand out to Helaena for a handshake and saying, “It was nice to meet you. Please tell Mr. Targaryan that we look forward to seeing him at the next visit, which you can coordinate at the front desk.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “I’ll be sure to let him know.”

“You can follow me, this way,” you told her, ushering her and Sunfyre out of the exam room and into the lobby. “That’ll be $115,” you told her after tallying up the total sum of the visit. 

She let out a low whistle and pulled her wallet from her back pocket, “is there any way to leave a tip for your excellent customer service?”

You let out a dry laugh, and bit the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something that would get you in trouble. “While I appreciate the offer, you should probably save it for your date tonight.” 

“Date?” She asked as she signed the credit card receipt. “Shit, right, my date!” She exclaimed, thrusting the tiny piece of paper your way. “I gotta go!”

You made a face and hurriedly handed her a copy of the bill and a rabies tag for Sunfyre. 

“Good luck,” you told her as she rushed out the front door. “And you're welcome,” you said with a frown after she didn’t even say ‘thank you’. 

Happy that your day was finally over, you couldn’t help but feel like you had just been kicked in the gut. As you finished stamping the monthly statements, your mind was stuck on what Helaena and her blind date– who may or may not be an alien with six eyes– were doing right now. Was he smart? Was he making her laugh? Did he appreciate how absolutely breathtaking her smile was? Did she see him and immediately know that he was the one she had been searching for? Did time stop?

“Hey,” you heard Dr. Strong’s voice from behind you and realized that you had been standing in the same spot for minutes now, holding a stack of envelopes that you had meant to drop into the bin. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied as you came back to reality.

“Don’t forget you’re fostering Nugget tonight to make sure that he doesn’t pull out his stitches,” he told you before disappearing back into the hallway. 

“Ah, yes, Nugget,” you replied, mostly to yourself, as you were sure your boss was out of earshot. “The overweight Chihuahua who looks like he ate one, too many nuggets. I couldn’t be more excited.”

After you locked up and had Nugget on a leash, you said your goodbyes to your boss; happy as ever that- even though it was well after dark- you were finally going home. You picked the chunky Chihuahua up, making sure not to touch his freshly removed manhood and placed him in the backseat, where he quickly made a home. Before you even pulled your seatbelt on, you pulled your hair out of its ponytail and ran your fingers over your tender scalp. It was the first step to comfort after what you were sure was the worst days you might have ever had. You’d take your shoes off if you could,, but you were sure there was some crazy law about driving barefoot, so you left them on.

Nugget stayed quiet for most of the way, until he unexpectedly started to whine. Thinking that he might need to go potty, you pulled over into the parking lot of an ice cream parlor. He hopped out of your backseat gingerly, and led you over to the grassy area where he proceeded to squat and relieve himself. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” you heard from across the parking lot and turned to see none other than Mrs. Blind Date herself, Helaena. Just when you thought this day was starting to get better, she began walking toward you with Sunfyre in tow.

“Oh, hi,” you replied, cautiously looking around for the hot shot that would inevitably be introduced as her date. You didn’t want to ask, but curiosity got the best of you and, “how was your date?”

“Well, I was supposed to meet him here and he never showed,” she replied, looking a bit dejected. “I’m honestly not surprised at all. I mean, if you knew my brother, you probably wouldn’t be surprised either. Besides, what else should one expect from a man?” You laughed at that. “I was just about to leave, but then I saw you, and figured I’d say hello.”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling again at her rambling, unable to help yourself when you heard that there was no date, and that this extremely attractive stranger was somehow still single. “Well, hello.”

Helaena smiled brightly before taking notice of Nugget, who was shaking at the thought of being petted by someone new, and dropped down to a knee so that she could reach him. “Who’s this little chunker?”

“This is Nugget,” you replied. “I’m fostering him for the night.”

“Fitting name,” she laughed, standing back to her regular height. “So, can I buy you an ice cream? I don’t think I said thanks before I ran out of your office earlier and I’d like to make it up to you.”

“Sure,” you replied quickly before you gave yourself a chance to say no. “I mean, yeah, that would be nice.”

Helaena smiled as you fell in step with each other, making your way to the front of the booth. Sunfyre and Nugget were playing with each other; romping around and playing together; putting you and Helaena into a few awkward positions as you had to unwrap their leashes from around each other’s legs. You learned that she was an artist, mostly oil paintings and photography, who lived on the quiet side of the city with Aegon, her brother. And you told her all about your bad day, and what it was like working in a veterinary office, and some of your funny stories from college. 

Before you could even eat three bites of your ice cream, Nugget had coerced you into giving him most of it; which probably wasn’t what his actual owners intended for him to eat after his surgery. Helaena didn’t mind that the ice cream she had bought for you went to satisfying a fat Chihuahua’s sweet tooth, especially not when most of her own ice cream was being lapped up by little Sunfyre.

“Well, I should get home,” you told her after seeing the neon ‘open’ sign of the parlor shut off. “It’s getting late.” 

She nodded, standing up from the bench that you had been sitting on, “It was really nice running into you.”

“I agree,” you replied with a smile. 

“If you’d like to, maybe I can take you to dinner next?” She asked as she nervously ran a hand through her hair. You blinked a few times, wondering if you had heard her correctly or if it was your mind playing tricks on you. “You don’t have to.”

“I’d like to go to dinner with you,” you told her quickly and honestly. 

“Really?” She asked excitedly. “I mean, that’s cool.”

“Should we?” You asked, taking out your phone to swap numbers and she laughed.

“That’s probably a good idea.”

You repeated the numbers twice to make sure she typed in the right ones, and after an awkward hug that seemed like it was almost a kiss on the cheek, you and Nugget happily walked back to your car. As soon as the driver’s side door was shut, you let out a joyous squeal and did a small dance in your seat. Your phone vibrated from the cup holder as you shifted into gear. You picked it up quickly and swiped at the screen until an unsaved number popped up on your screen. Your heart soared at the message that could only have been from one person.

212-555-6789

That was the best blind date ever! ;)

[cbswonder]

I'm here to inspire people's HOTD modern AU's

Part one

Viserys/Rhaenyra/Aemma

Viserys/Alicent/Aegon/Heleana/Aemond

Otto/Gwayne/Alicent

Rhaenys/Corlys/Laena/Laenor

[kjwaikiki]

I have a moden fic idea for House of the Dragon:

When Jace, Luke, and Joff came out with brown hair and eyes someone took it upon themselves to get rid of the children. It could be Larys, Otto, Alicent getting rid of Rhaenyra’s heirs. Maybe it is Rhaenyra herself to keep her reputation unstained, maybe Viserys for the same reason, or maybe Rhaenys or Corlys for their house’s honor and reputation as they don’t want their son to be known as a cuckold.

The end result is that Jace and Luke end up in an orphanage together and grow up as brothers with most if not all of their immediate family believing they are dead. Joff is not raised with them because of the age difference and goes somewhere else and this is where it goes wrong.

Joff is discovered, maybe he has an illness that only Targaryens get, a rare gene marker, his hair turns white, something to indicate that he is Rhaenyra’s son. Someone puts it together, tells Rhaenyra and she goes to see. She looks at Joff and decides that she will raise him. She brings him home and the whole story comes out and Rhaenyra and/or Viserys and/or the rest of the family realize that the other two boys are alive and are determined to look for them.

This brings us to Jace and Luke who grew up together and consider themselves brothers. I imagine they are both in high school when all this happens and they don’t really want a family now. Jace has an older boyfriend who lives in the North, Cregan, who he is planning on moving in with after graduation. Luke will join them after he graduates. They have a plan and they are happy, so when the Targaryens and Velaryons crash into their life and ruin their peace neither of them are happy.

They run. Jace tries to get him and Luke on a train to the North and to Cregan. Once there Jace is planning on asking Cregan for help. Cregan has some money so he can maybe help him get a lawyer or they could get married. In my mind Jace isn’t that far off from 18 so he is using this more as a stalling tactic (Jace and Cregan are in love and have always planned on getting married and this unfortunate situation only sped up the timeline).

Luke is a little more tricky because he is a minor and will be a minor for a few more years. It is very likely that the Targaryens will get custody of him and he knows that. Luke doesn’t like it but he has accepted the reality of the situation unlike Jace who is fully prepared to throw hands.

In the end Jace and Luke do manage to get North and meet up with Cregan but now the Targaryens and Velaryons have the whole country looking for them. Jace and Luke try to lay low but there is only so long they can hide before they are discovered and brought before the rest of the family. Jace and Luke are not pleased.

It devolves into a huge angsty, family drama, custody battle. Jace does not want to stay with these people and absolutely makes it known. Jace wants to stay with Cregan or go back to the orphanage if that is not an option. This does not endear Cregan to the Targaryens or Velaryons who do not like this older Northerner who is in a relationship with their son/nephew/grandson/cousin.

Luke is a different story. He is quieter, not happy but not as angry as Jace. He is polite but he maintains a clear distance between himself and anyone who isn’t Jace or Cregan (as a note before this whole debacle Luke wasn’t super close with Cregan, now he is relying on him in a way he doesn’t really do with anyone but Jace).

No one is completely happy with the situation but many of them think they can make it work once custody is awarded. It doesn’t get better. Jace clings to Cregan when it is announced that the boys are now under Rhaenyra’s custody. Luke is very stoic and won’t say anything. It is like the brothers have switched personalities and for everyone who knows them it is very worrying.

In the end the boys have to go home with Rhaenyra and it is awkward. Rhaenyra tries to connect with them but neither boys are having it. Jace and Luke are both distant and Jace seems to have decided to ice them out rather than blow up on them. This works until the family realizes that Jace is still in contact with Cregan and ban him from talking with him. Jace does not handle this restriction well, he spits vitriol at everyone peeling back their soft spots and burning their underbelly. He slams doors and while he doesn’t scream or yell he is noticeably angry. In this he embodies the Targaryen words and in his anger his eyes burn🔥.

Luke isn’t happy either. He doesn’t like how everyone is treating his big brother. He doesn’t like how everyone is acting like they can or will be one big happy family. He doesn’t like how everyone is trying to kick over a decade alone with only each other to rely on under the rug and acting like it never happened. He doesn’t like how everyone is acting like they know what’s best for them and have any say in their lives when they met them a few months ago, and ran from them right after.

I want Jace and Luke being a team against everyone else. I want the adults trying, wanting to make a connection, sometimes succeeding, but also messing up most of the time. I want Jace to lash out and be afraid that the future he envisioned with Cregan will not be possible anymore because of the Targaryens and Velaryons. I want Jace to be so afraid that one of the few things in his life that made him feel safe and secure and loved may be in jeopardy because the family may not let him go even after he turns 18 or that Cregan may leave him because of all the problems his family is causing (Cregan will never leave Jace he is in love and devoted and trying to find a way around the Targaryens and Velaryons to talk to Jace).

Jace is spiraling down a hole of increasingly irrational fears that cause him to lash out and cling to any piece of normalcy which is often Luke or sometimes the little children (they remind him of the other children from the orphanage). Luke sees what is happening to his brother but doesn’t know how to help because while Jace’s fears aren’t entirely rational they aren’t entirely irrational either. Luke always knew that since he was younger there would be more time before he was free of the system and thus more time for something to happen to him. Luke is dealing with this easier because this custody arrangement ensures that his worst fear won’t happen, because they are related through blood Luke and Jace cannot be separated.

More time goes on and the situation devolves and Jace gets more scared, more reserved, and lashes out more as a result. Luke knows what is happening but can’t help. The family won’t let Jace see Cregan and with every slammed door and argument each side is more sure they are right. Meanwhile Luke tries to mediate and as a result does form some bonds with the family. Luke does feel guilty about this as he knows it will not help any of Jace’s fears but he does find it nice to have someone other than Jace care about his well being.

Luke just wants his brother who has always taken the weight of the world on his shoulders to be able to trust someone to take care of him. Cregan was the first person to do that but the rest of the family is blocking Cregan and his lawyers. With each week that passes that Cregan doesn’t call and Luke settles in more Jace gets worse until he ultimately tries to run away.

Jace doesn’t get far but he does get hurt. The family gets called into the hospital and is worried sick when Cregan arrives. Luke called him. The family is not happy but Luke convinces them to let Cregan go in and talk to Jace. Cregan goes in and the minute Jace sees Cregan he breaks down crying. Cregan holds him for a while and Jace tells him all his fears. Cregan reassures Jace that he isn’t going anywhere and Cregan convinces Jace to give the family a chance. Jace agrees to try.

Jace speaks to the family with Cregan in the room and he tells them he is willing to try with them. Jace does stipulate that he wants to be able to see and call Cregan when he wants as long as he tries and the family agrees. Jace really scared them and at this point they just want Jace to be able to relax. Lucerys explained a lot of Jace’s fears while he and Cregan talked and the family has come to realize that they screwed up with the boys.

Jace gets out of the hospital and Cregan has to go back home but promises Jace that they will talk, video call, and that he will visit. Jace goes home with the family and makes an effort. I imagine at this point we will have some time where Jace, and to a lesser degree Luke, open up to the family little by little.

I am not sure how this story ends. Maybe with the whole family coming together for Jace’s wedding. But I imagine the whole fic is chalk full of angst, family feels, the very tight brotherly bond between Luke and Jace, and plenty of exploration of the very devoted and loving relationship between Jace and Cregan

[sylvancastor]

Writing out my preferred way the battle at Rook's Rest should have gone because why not.

The beginning mostly stays the same. Criston signals for Aemond and Vhagar, but Sunfyre arrives first. Aemond sees him fly overhead and is pissed, but he doesn't wait to follow him into battle because he's not an idiot and as much as he wants the crown, he's aware of the intensity of the blow losing Aegon would be to their cause.

Still, Vhagar is slow and has to launch herself off the ground, so Aegon gets their first and has an initial fight with Meleys but Vhagar's quick arrival keeps Sunfyre's injuries from being quite so intense. The two of them attack Meleys side by side, but due to her speed and Rhaenys's expertise, she manages to keep evading them with fairly light damage.

Meleys takes off high into the clouds and Aemond and Aegon follow her. No one can see them from below. Aegon urges Sunfyre to engage directly with Meleys and the two dragons become locked together. Instead of intervening this time, Aemond simply watches as Sunfyre is injured and Aegon cries out for his help. Aemond only watches.

We can see the anger in his eyes. It would be so easy to allow Meleys to kill Aegon and Sunfyre. He could say he did his best, but that Aegon refused to battle carefully. He would be honored after he died and Aemond would become king. Aegon doesn't notice the inaction, too focused on saving Sunfyre and himself. In a desperate move, Aegon unclips one of his restraints to grab the dagger at his side and drives it into Meleys's eye as Rhaenys screams in shock and fury.

Meleys wails and lets go of Sunfyre, dropping out of view. Aegon is triumphant and turns to his brother with a smile. Aemond isn't smiling. We watch as he follows Meleys's descent and decides he's safe for now. He returns his attention to Aegon. It would be so easy to do the deed himself and blame Meleys. He contemplates it only for a split second, but Aegon's face goes from smiling to horror. We think he's understood what Aemond plans to do, but in fact, his eyes are fixed on a sight behind him. Meleys has darted up from behind, mouth open and poised to burn Aemond in his saddle.

Aegon doesn't hesitate. He urges Sunfyre forward and as Meleys breathes out a wall of fire, he throws himself and Sunfyre in front of it to protect Aemond from the blast. Before Aemond can react, Meleys sinks her claws into Sunfyre's chest and pulls him out of sight.

Aemond pursues, but it's too late. Meleys has bit into Sunfyre's wing and Aegon can barely stay in the saddle with his one remaining restraint. Meleys rips her head back breaking off part of Sunfyre's wing and the king and his dragon fall through the air, landing in the forest.

Similarly to the show, Aemond is able to defeat Rhaenys and Meleys on his own after Aegon's fall.

Later on, we learn the only reason Aegon was able to survive was the one remaining restraint held him to the saddle but allowed him to slide off to the side enough to evade some of the dragonfire. He's still burned and in pain. He sacrificed himself for his brother and Aemond can't betray him now. Not when he owes his brother a life debt, not when he's seen how deeply Aegon loves him. He becomes Prince Regent and reconciles himself to forever protecting his brother from this point forward.

[mrs-starkgaryen]

Going off Page

Modern Au! Aegon x Reader & Aemond x Reader

✌️ (My other writings)✌️

Summary: You are a woman who lives her life through the characters in her books.

But you want more. Something real. Something off page.

You desire to have what they have and that includes a magnicent love which surpasses time and space. And you know who you want it with.

The only problem is he's out of your league. So you turn to his loser brother for help.

In a journey of embarrassing failures, humbling realisations, and joys you've never experienced, you come to understand life is a lot like your stories.

You just got to be brave enough to write it.

Teaser

I tap him on the shoulder, light as a fly. He swivels round on the stool, wondering who or what interrupted his alcoholic reverie; the drink in his hand swishing with his movement. He looks at me with screwed-up, violet eyes until they widen with recognition. 

“I knew you'd come back,” he points to me with the glass-occupied hand, his intoxication making the clear liquid drip over the edge, “they can't resist-”

I put a halt to his ramblings, “I need your help.” 

He shuts up, but his confusion is overtaken by a smirk crawling along his mouth. He takes a slug and shallows before asking, “And how can I assist you, kitten?” 

I look at him resolutely, “I want your brother. And I need you to help me get him.”

[fairysluna]

NOT THE BEST IDEA — Modern!AU | Part 3

MASTERLIST | Part 1 ; Part 2 ; Part 3 ; Part 4

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Fem!Reader x Aemond Targaryen.

Summary: the aftermath of the fight is making you feel like your old self again. Cregan noticed something is wrong and decides to do something to cheer you up, however things don't go as planned as an unwanted guest arrives.

Tags/TW: angst, smut (p in v, kinda public sex bc they are in open space) and fluff, mentions of panic attacks, emotional instability and emotional attachment, manipulation, aegon being oblivious but cute.

Author's Note: not gonna lie, I did struggle writing this part bc my mind wasn't working lmao, but I hope you like this either way. big credits to the anons who sent their ideas !! I didn't proof read it so, sorry if there's mistakes

Word Count: 6.4k

Tag List: @immyowndefender @bellameshipper @mysticgothicgirl @aemondswifeisme @issshhh @serrhaewin @loglady00 @melsunshine @izzy-the-ginger @champomiel @iiamthehybrid @ghostheartbeat

Feedback, shares and comments are always welcome!!

Cregan hissed when he felt the little piece of cotton brushing against the cut on his cheekbone. You tried your best to clean the wound, getting rid of the dried blood while your mind was so lost in your thoughts that you barely heard him complaining about the slight pain he felt with each touch.

Your mind was now a mess, and it was quite hard to hide that aspect from Cregan, who was carefully looking at your lost eyes, knowing that you were drowning in your own thoughts and knowing that you were replaying the prior scene over and over again. It was quite impossible for him to wonder whether your feelings towards him have changed now that you saw Aemond after a long time, his own insecurities and your reactions towards the situation made him doubt himself.

He tried not to think about it, but you were so quiet, so lost in the memories that once tormented you. Cregan tried to give you space for you to talk first and whenever you felt comfortable enough to do it, but the anxiety was eating him alive, taking the best of him. After a while, the silence was starting to bother him, it managed to feel too loud inside his head.

Once he finally decided to speak, his voice came out as dubious and insecure, a bit lower than he expected, "How are you feeling?"

His question seemed to have woken you up from the trance you were in, because your lost stare suddenly moved away from his wound to reach his eyes. You looked down at him with a small, tiny smile that flickered and trembled, showing your restlessness quite clearly.

"I should be the one asking that," you joked, trying to make you feel like yourself again, and not as a wandering body with a lost mind.

However, your words did not seem to amuse Cregan, who remained serious as he spoke again,

"I'm talking about Aemond," he added. Your hands stopped their movements and your whole body went still. The tension in your shoulders was visible to the man in front of you, who immediately noticed the nervousness in your body language. "What are you feeling about Aemond now?" He asked again.

"I'm feeling nothing, Cregan," you replied, without hesitation.

"It didn't seem like nothing a few seconds ago," he accused you, using an odd tone that you have never heard in him before, which made you feel uneasy, "were you thinking about him?"

You scoffed, "what? you're telling me you're jealous now?"

"He was staring at you the whole time!" He exclaimed, pointing it out as if it was obvious, "eating you with his eyes like a creep."

"That's nonsense," you scoffed, shaking your head.

"Nonsense?" he repeated, offended.

"Whatever happened between Aemond and me is in the past, I can assure you that," you tried to go back to what you were doing, but Cregan leaned back as a sign that the conversation was not over yet. You pressed your lips, starting to lose your patience, "he has a girlfriend, Cregan."

"Well, if he has a girlfriend I guess he was willing to cheat on her with you," he spoke mockingly, almost in a bitter tone, "he told me that with just a few minutes alone with you he will have you eating from the palm of his hand again."

The shock came over your body as you took a step back. Your eyes widened as your brows furrowed with confusion and bewilderment; you blinked a couple times, slowly shaking your head.

"What are you talking about?" you questioned incredulously.

"I told him to stop looking at you, to stop being so obsessed and creepy... and he beat me up because of it."

"We're talking about the man that a year ago made me have a mental breakdown because he did not love me back," you raised your voice, trying to convince him… and yourself, "why would he fight you over me when he was very clear when he told me he did not love me anymore?"

"He's jealous, y/n."

"It's been almost two years, Cregan," you sighed, "I'm sure Aemond has no feelings for me anymore."

"But do you have feelings for him?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, "now you're being stupid."

"Answer the question."

"Are you serious?" you asked surprised.

"Yes, I am serious," he stood up, and immediately you looked up at his face, "do you still have feelings for him?"

"Of course I don't!" You said loudly, as if raising your voice would make the words carve into his brain.

He took a small pause, as if he was thinking whether to say the next question or to just stay silent. The first option seemed to have won.

"Do you love me?"

His words made you tilt your head, as if he was asking something so obviously stupid that it didn't even need an answer. You saw how he regretted asking that in the same instant his words left his mouth; he blushed. You left the cotton and the pomade on the nightstand and cupped his face between your hands. You caressed his cheeks while you directly stared at his beautiful brown eyes, you stood on your tiptoes trying to reach his lips and leave a soft kiss on them. Cregan sighed, closing his eyes and burying his face on your neck.

"I love you." you whispered, stroking his hair as his arms wrapped around your waist. "Aemond is my past now, I promise you that."

"I know, I'm sorry. I was stupid," he muttered against you, holding you close, "I love you too."

You sighed, stroking his thick brown hair as he caressed your waist. You could feel the insecurity in his voice which made you feel guilty, thinking that there might have been some reaction that had given him the impression of you still having feelings for Aemond. And that wasn't the truth at all.

Right?

As you have told your boyfriend, Aemond was now long forgotten. However, it was a bit shocking for you to learn all the things that he had said to Cregan, and the reason why their fight started in the first place. You have thought everything had begun because of their past, thinking that Cregan may have said something that might upset him.

Aemond was a very patient person. He was collected and calm, always trying to avoid big problems. That's why it was a big surprise for everyone, including you, seeing him act so… feral. It was uncommon for him to react in that way. Perhaps he had troubles with his girlfriend and that caused him to be in a bad mood. Perhaps seeing Cregan after many years had affected him somehow. There must've been an explanation for his sudden and violent behavior, but him having feelings for you was not an option you would believe to be true.

Later that night, while Cregan was peacefully sleeping between your arms with his head on your chest and your hand on his hair, you started to do what you tried to avoid; you thought about Aemond. The questions and doubts in your mind resulted in a sleepless night in which you spent the darkest hours staring at the ceiling, hearing your boyfriend's calm breathing and soft snoring.

You did not understand it. When you saw him you were certain that you felt nothing for him, not even a small tinkle on your gut, but why are you still awake thinking about him now?

It was two in the morning when your phone started to vibrate. You frowned, curious to know who is calling you at this hour, and you stretched your arm to reach for it before the noise could wake up Cregan. You saw it was an unknown number, which you would usually ignore, but now you felt the need to pick up. So you did.

"Hello?" you answer in a whisper.

In the other line you could hear an uneven breathing that was a bit creepy, perhaps it was a sign that told you to hang up the phone, but you didn't. Instead, you eyed Cregan who was still soundly sleeping between your arms, you sighed.

"Hello?" you repeated, a bit louder this time.

No one answered again. You were about to hang up when you finally heard something. Although you wish you hadn't heard it at all.

"I miss you, y/n."

And then, the call ended. You froze, almost throwing your phone across the room due to the panic you felt. Your breathing became faster, and your heart was beating so fast you thought it would explode. You saw your phone, now showing a picture of you and Helaena in fourth grade as the hour showed up on the screen.

3.42 am.

You moved again, placing your phone back on the nightstand with a quick movement that managed to wake up Cregan. He blinked a couple times, yawning as he stretched his body, and looked at you with worry in his eyes.

"Are you okay, love?" his raspy voice reached your ears as a soft touch. It brought some peace to your endless turmoil.

You slightly nodded, trying to remain calm even though you were visibly shaking. Luckily for you, Cregan was too sleepy to notice it.

"Yes, I'm- I'm fine…" you whispered, "I just had a bad dream."

Gods, how you wish it was just that; a bad dream.

"Come here," he muttered, slowly shifting his position until he wrapped his arms around your frame, holding you close to his body, "I'm here, okay? Wake me up if you have another nightmare."

You rested your head on his chest, feeling his warmth surrounding your shaky body. He kissed your forehead before whispering a small 'I love yous' and falling asleep once again. It took you some time to close your eyes, still hearing that voice that you knew too well. Those four words that made you want to fade into the air.

Your body curled up against Cregan, hugging him tightly, trying to hold him close to you as if that would be enough to erase Aemond's voice from your mind; but it wasn't. The only thing on your mind were curses directed to that silver haired man that once ruined your life, and who seems eager to keep messing with you.

The next few days were a blur in your mind. Aemond once again managed to keep you away almost every night as your mind was so confused to the extent that you barely have been able to be intimate with Cregan.

Of course he would never pressure you to do anything, but you knew him, and you were able to see the disappointment whenever he would kiss your neck and you would stop him, coming up with some excuse that might not be completely convincing.

He thought you needed a break from everything, you were working too hard, and he knew this whole situation with Aemond had put you in a complicated situation that had brought a lot of stress in your life. That's why he spoke to Helaena and they both started to plan a surprise visit to the lake house of Helaena's parents over the weekend.

At first it would be only you and him, but Aegon was around when they planned this little vacation, and he insisted he wanted to go too. Cregan did not have the heart to deny him, and so he also invited Helaena. That's how a romantic escape turned into an excuse to drink.

When Cregan gave you the news you couldn't help but feel so bad; he has been trying to make you feel better while your mind was still being invaded by Aemond and that call. You accepted it without hesitation, feeling too guilty to even try and think about rejecting the idea.

Friday came and Cregan, Helaena and you were in his car, driving towards the destination. Aegon had left on Thursday night in his own car. The trip was fun enough to make you think about something else, Cregan's hand was caressing your thigh during the whole ride, squeezing it every now and then as you cheerfully spoke and laughed with Helaena. He would glance at you, glad to see you laugh and look better. Your smile gave him the sign that he was doing the right thing, that this was an excellent idea.

A few minutes later, they arrived at the Lake House. Cregan parked his car beside Aegon's and the three of you started to take your backpacks to the inside of the enormous house. Helaena called for Aegon, and you heard footsteps going down the stairs. All of you turned, expecting to see the eldest brother of Helaena, but it wasn’t him.

It was Aemond.

You and Cregan stood still in your places as the smug grin on Aemond’s face appeared, leaving a sour taste in your mouth. Your heart stopped for a second, your breathing became heavier and your mind felt dizzy and blurry. Seeing him, standing there in the middle of the stairs, in this house which once was the biggest witness of the love and desire you used to hold for each other; you felt as if you were about to faint.

Helaena immediately looked at your direction, looking paler than she usually is. Her hands covering her ears as a sign of distress, her eyes were wide and full of surprise. You felt Cregan’s hand grabbing your waist tightly, as if he was trying to keep you by his side as Aemond started to speak

"It's been a while since we haven't reunited in this house," he pointed out, "now, we bought some things to make pizza for lunch, who's hungry?"

A dead silence was present in the room. His boldness was so shamelessly showing that you could not simply believe this was actually happening. His mere presence was enough to make you feel the urge to cry, no out of sadness but out of rage. You hated him for what he was doing to you, you were raging; your face almost turning red.

The silence was interrupted when Aegon walked down the stairs wearing his swimsuit and his face white with sunscreen. He was smiling widely, happy to see you all but oblivious of the tension that was currently in the room.

"You finally are here!" he happily said up, hugging you first. Cregan barely let you go of his grip, keeping you close, "I brought Aemond too, I thought we should do this like the old times, remember?"

"Aegon…" Helaena whispered, shaking her head as a sign that told him that something was not right.

Aegon frowned, "why those serious faces? Did you two fight on the way here?" Those words seemed to have amused Aemond, who shamelessly smiled widely, "come on guys, don't be such a bummer, we need to leave our differences aside to cheer this pretty lady up!" He grabbed your hand and kissed it gently.

For the first time, Cregan acted jealous towards Aegon, pulling you closer to him in a subtle movement that only you noticed.

"Helaena, y/n, why don't you chop the vegetables while we prepare the dough for the-"

"Excuse me, I'll go to the room first," you interrupted him, walking towards the stairs and bravely walking past Aemond.

Your perfume left a trail that he breathed in, closing his eyes and enjoying your scent; so delicious, sweet, showing the innocence you once had when you first started your relationship with him. He took a deep breath and smiled slightly. Cregan soon followed you, and he purposely pushed Aemond's shoulder with his when he walked by his side.

Once you entered the room, you started to breath fast and unsteady, you tried to collect yourself before you had a panic attack that would certainly ruin everything. You were pacing back and forth around the room that was designated to you by Alicent the first time you came to the house when you were ten.

So many memories were flooding you, especially once you saw the bed, which was the same bed where Aemond took your virginity. You wanted to cry, to escape, everywhere you looked in that house was a memory of your disastrous relationship with him, you really wished to run away. Jumping out of the widow was not the best idea, and going back to the entrance either. You started crying once you felt the thick and comforting arms of your sweet boyfriend wrapping you as you looked out of the window.

He started to kiss your temple, holding you close as you silently wept.

"I'm so sorry, my love…" he whispered, "If I had known he was going to be here I wouldn't have brought you here."

You turned around, only to bury your face on his chest. He was quick to stroke your hair, swinging you softly from one side to another, soothing you and making you feel somehow safe.

"I won't let him get close to you, I swear it,” he promised you, “if I see him putting one hand in your body I'm going to break his bones." he cupped your face, wiping your tears with his thumbs as he kissed your forehead, "you're safe with me, you know that, right?"

You hiccuped, nodding.

"And you know I love you so, so much, right?" You sobbed.

Cregan smiled, his soft haze staring down at you with devotion and genuine love, "of course, my love… and I love you too."

He brushed his nose against yours, still caressing your wet cheeks when the door was open suddenly. Helaena walked in with her face filled with regret and angst. Your gaze softened and you slowly pulled away from Cregan.

"I'm so sorry, guys…" Helaena whined, "I didn't know he was coming, when I called Aegon this morning he didn't say anything, I'm truly sorry, Cregan… I'm sorry-"

"No need to apologize, Hel," he told her, "it's not your fault. It's Aegon's," he muttered, obviously pissed.

"No," you quickly said, "he doesn't know what happened between me and Aemond… no one knows, just you and Helaena."

"Well, what do we do now?" The blonde girl asked, "should we stay here?"

Cregan shrugged, "it's y/n’s decision. We can ignore him for the weekend or we can grab our stuff and just leave."

You looked at Helaena,

"What do you think?" you asked her.

"Do what you think it's best for you, no one will be mad at you for it."

Your pride took the best of you. Your logic was simple; if you leave now, it would mean that Aemond had managed to intimidate you, which was obviously his purpose. It would mean that his mission of ruining your romantic escapade with Cregan was successful.You would not give him the pleasure of it. The power of screwing and messing with you again.

Your decision was simple; you just shook your head.

“We’re staying.”

A few hours later, when you had already eaten a delicious pizza made by Aegon, you decided to go and spend some time in the pool. Aegon was sunbathing, with a bottle of beer on his hand; Helaena was sitting at the border of the pool, with her legs on the water, and Aemond was reading some book while he laid on the pool chairs.

You and Cregan came out of the house grabbing hands and laughing. Aemond rolled his eyes trying to focus on his reading, but your chuckles were too loud to ignore.

You sat on the chair that was further from Aemond, Cregan sat in front of you and his huge back was on display for you. You smiled slightly once you saw some scratches on it, and you couldn’t help but blush as you grabbed the sunscreen and started to spread a layer of it on Cregan’s back.

Aemond was looking at your direction with a bitter look that no one seemed to notice, not even you.

Your hands were rubbing on Cregan’s back so delicately that it made him hum on many occasions. You would occasionally lean forward just to leave soft kisses on his soft skin.

“The sunscreen burns,” he said between breathy chuckles.

“You have a lot of scratches on your back,” you replied, with a tone that came out as worried. You were not able to see his face, but you know there was a wide smirk on it.

He leaned back a little, enough to get closer to you, “don’t act so innocent, love, you know very well why they are there.”

Aemond was able to hear those words, and he just stood up from his chair, walking inside the house. You looked at him, following his steps until he disappeared from your sight. You rolled your eyes as you kept covering your boyfriend’s back with soft caresses and small kisses.

Aemond’s torment continued as you both kept giving each other public displays of attention. It never stopped, it seemed to him that you were doing all of this on purpose. His ego made him think that you were doing this to make him jealous.

You spent the day hanging from Cregan's arms, kissing him and hugging him at each opportunity you have. It was not something unusual between you two; Cregan knew how touch deprived you were in your past relationship, especially because Aemond never gave you any kind of affection when you were in public, just small hugs and soft pats on your back.

Cregan wanted to show you how loved you were by him, which is why he always makes sure to give you all the things that Aemond never provided you. And he wasn't going to lie; he loved how annoyed Aemond would look whenever he wraps his arms around you. Cregan knew you were his now, and he loved to show how happy you were to the man that once had made you miserable.

Now the night arrived, you were around a small bonfire in the backyard. Cregan was talking with Aegon while you were braiding Helaena's hair. Aemond was nowhere to be seen, but you preferred it that way.

In some part of the evening you walked back inside the house, towards the kitchen. You were looking for ice in the fridge when you felt a presence behind your back. At first you thought it was Cregan, but when you sensed that familiar scent, you realized it was actually Aemond.

You turned around almost instantly, and the rage you felt this morning came back to your body.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, moving away from him.

"This is my kitchen," he shrugged.

You tilted your head, "No, why are you here?"

"Aegon invited me."

"Stop this, Aemond, I'm serious," you spoke harshly.

"I don't know what you mean, love," he put extra emphasis in that last word.

It made you shrink in your own place, and a weird sensation was installed in your gut. You did not like the way he said that, you immediately knew he had double intentions, and that only made you even more scared.

Aemond used to have a lot of power over you, the idea of him regaining that power made you feel frightened.

"The call at 2 am?" You reminded him, "Your sudden appearance here? You're telling me it was all a coincidence?"

He looked down at you, smirking as he remained silent for a few seconds while he looked around the kitchen.

"Do you remember this kitchen?" He asked, completely ignoring your prior words, "Because I remember it… I remember how soft your skin felt, the way I had to kiss you because you were being so loud, remember?" With each word he stepped closer and closer to you, making you feel small, and weak. "It was right here… in this counter."

Your cheeks flushed with his words, and you forced yourself to look away.

"Whatever you're trying to do, stop it right now, Aemond."

"I made you mine in almost every room of this house," he said softly, lifting his hand to touch your cheek. You just froze and your bottom lip started to shake, "including that bed where your boyfriend will sleep so soundly tonight."

"Stop bothering me, stop bothering us, please," you weakly said, at the verge of tears.

"That call… Why did you answer it in the first place?"

"It- it was an unknown number," you replied with a shaky voice.

Aemond's smirk became wider as he heard your words, "I've known you for years, my sweet y/n… you never pick up calls from unknown numbers," he chuckled softly, his thumb caressing your quivering lip, "you knew it was me, didn't you?"

You grabbed his hand, pushing it away from you. He hummed in disappointment.

"Stop it," you begged, "you're being mean."

"Mean?"

"You told me to move on, you broke up with me, why are you doing this?" you sighed, wiping the tears that started to fall down your rosy cheeks, "do you- dou you think I'm your fucking dog? That I'm going to run to your side every time you whistle? Fuck you, Aemond," you spat.

He cupped your face, forcing you to stare at his face. A sob escaped from your lips, your heart aching and beating so fast that you thought it would explode.

"I miss you, y/n," he muttered, leaning closer to your face. His tight grip makes it impossible to escape from his touch, "I want you back- I will have you back."

You pouted as your vision became blurry with tears, you shook your head, you needed to get out of the situation, but your body wasn't able to move.

"Stop this… please," you begged.

Aemond let go of your face, and kissed your forehead. A touch that felt so cold and odd, which left you with an overwhelming and indescribable feeling in your gut.

"You look so pretty when you beg me, my love."

He left the kitchen, and then you could breathe properly once again. You leaned over the counter, taking deep breaths until you could feel your heartbeats returning to their normal speed. Your body was still shaking, but at least you finally stopped crying.

Staying here with Aemond around was a terrible idea. You regret your decision, and now you wished you could turn back time to leave this goddamn house as soon as you found out he was here too. But it was too late.

"Here you are…" you heard a soft voice. You lifted your face and Cregan's eyes softened with the sight of you, "I thought you were in the bathroom."

He walked towards you, and cupped your face with a gentle touch, so different from Aemond's. You felt relieved when he did that, feeling his comforting embrace giving the peace you were craving for.

Cregan kissed you, so softly, so delicately. His hands caressing your skin with such devotion that made you melt in his arms.

While Aemond always made a mess out of you, Cregan was the one who always brought calmness to you. You loved him so much.

"Are you okay, baby?" he asked you with that sweet tone of his that you so deeply adored.

You couldn't bring yourself to lie to him, "Not really…" you whispered, putting your hands on his chest, "can we go somewhere else? Just the two of us?"

"Of course…" he replied without hesitation, "we can go to the lake, does that sound nice?"

You nodded, "it sounds perfect."

He kissed you one last time before grabbing your hand, leading you towards the door. A part of you felt guilty because you were leaving without letting Helaena know, but she will know you're safe. She knows you're with Cregan.

He lit up the flashlight of his phone and illuminated the dark path in front of you both. You were guiding him throughout the trees and bushes, until the moonlight pointed at your final destination. The lake looked even more gorgeous at night, as the moon was reflected on the calm waters. The sound of crickets and owls was the only thing you were able to hear; it was so peaceful and quiet, you both loved it.

You felt the calmness of your surroundings, the view, the sound of the place and Cregan's presence and embrace was enough to make you relax. Your body was no longer tense, and your jaw was unclenched. You took a big, deep breath, and you smiled at your sweet and loving boyfriend.

He smiled back,

"Better?" he spoke softly.

"Way better."

He held you in his arms, resting his chin on the top of your head. You looked at the calm water and the urge to submerge your body in it was very tempting. Cregan seemed to have read your mind, for he started to get rid of his shirt, and then he unbuckled his pants.

You couldn't help but chuckle, "what are you doing?"

"Let's go for a swim… I know you want to," he said as he got rid of his jeans.

You bit your lip, "I didn't bring my swimsuit."

"You don't need one," he winked at you, before pulling down his underwear along with his pants.

"Oh, Gods…"

You felt the blush running to your cheeks as you saw him standing in front of you fully naked, you haven't been able to stop drooling over him. You covered your face for a couple minutes before looking around, just to make sure you were truly alone, and then you imitated his action.

After a few seconds, your clothes were folded in the grass right next to Cregan's, and he was holding your hand as he guided you towards the lake.

A small chuckle left your lips as you felt the cold water touching your feet. It gave you chills, the water was freezing cold, which made you shake and giggle.

When he saw you struggling, he let out a small breathy laugh. In a quick and sudden movement, he grabbed your thighs, lifting you up and forcing you to wrap your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his waist. You sweetly smiled at him as you pressed your chest against his and hid your face on the crook of his neck.

Your warmth being so close to him was enough to arouse him. It's been days since the last time he touched you, and he was already starting to feel the absence of your lustful touch against his body. However, he tried to brush away the desire, because he didn't want you to pressure you. He would just wait.

Once the water reached your upper body, you laughed softly. Cregan was still holding you tight, hugging your waist as he kissed your shoulder. You were trembling due to the cold water.

"It's so cold, I'm freezing," you said as you shivered, still pressing yourself into his wide chest.

"It's okay, I'll keep you warm," he murmured, stroking your lower back.

You leaned back as he wrapped his big hands around your waist, swinging your body from one side to another. Your legs were still attached to his hips as your arms spreaded in the water. Cregan's eyes were fixed on your shape; the way you looked so peaceful with your eyes closed and under the dim moonlight, the way your hair was floating making you look ethereal and surreal.

His curious eyes wandered around your body, now looking at your neck, your collarbones -which still have those little maroon marks that he left behind-, and your pebbled nipples. The low temperature was causing you shivers in your body, and the way your body reacted was a clear proof of it.

Your eyes opened once you heard a sharp breath coming from him, and you found his dark eyes staring back at you with desire. You sit back up, placing your hands on his shoulders as you teased him by brushing your nose against his. After tortuous days, you finally felt the need to have him again. To feel his touch, so delicate and careful.

After feeling Aemond's roughness, you needed Cregan's gentleness.

Next thing you knew, your lips were pressed against his kissing him slowly and softly. He did not waste the time, and soon he was kissing you back, swirling his tongue against you as he sighed. You hummed in response, cupping his face as he tightened the grip on your waist. Everything felt so calm, there were only you two, the sound of your wet and slow kiss joined the sounds of the nocturnal nature around you.

Your hips started to move against his hardening length, and his hands soon reached your rear in order to control your movements as you rubbed yourself against him, stealing a loud moan from his lips. This action only made him more desperate for you, and he deepened the kiss as a proof of his neediness for your touch. He was devouring your lips as a starved man while his groans and your moans would be silenced by each other's mouths. He couldn't get enough of your sweet taste.

His hands left your arse to reach your breasts, fondling the soft skin and nipping your pebbled nipples.

"I've missed your body so fucking much…" he confessed between the kiss, "I need you so bad."

His last words came out as a slight whine that made you hum. Your fingers soon find their way to his thick brown hair, tangling your digits between his soft locks and pulling it softly as he leaned his head back. Your lips attacked his neck with wet kisses, and his hands squeezed your breasts making you whimper.

"They won't come near," you told him, your voice already showing how much you desired him, "No one will see, no one will hear."

"Go on," he growled, searching for your lips to kiss you again, "tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you," his hands went back to your arse, pressing you against his hardened length. You moaned against his lips, "come on, baby, say it."

You quickly succumbed to his words,

"Fuck me, please…" you begged in a sigh.

That was enough for Cregan to lift your body and align himself with your tight entrance. You were both so desperate for each other that you didn't even take the time to adjust to his big size as you would usually do. Your hips started to move against his hard thrusts while the water surrounding your bodies splashed and moved.

"Oh, fuck, baby, you feel so fucking good," he groaned, feeling your tight walls squeezing him so nicely, "so good for me… that's it."

His low and deep voice praising you had you moaning loudly, forcing you to close your eyes as he filled you so well. Cregan's face was buried on your neck, as he gripped your hips controlling your movements while you rode him, going up and down on his shaft. He was so deep inside you, touching every sweet spot that would make you shake and drool. Suddenly the coldness of the water was nothing compared to the heat of your lustful bodies begging for each other.

"Mhm…" you whimpered, "it feels so good, so, so good."

Cregan sighed, hearing your whiny voice made him twitch inside of you.

"Yeah?" he said in a teasing way while a subtle side smile was decorating his beautiful face.

"Yes… so good."

He trapped your lips in an erotic wet kiss that was far from being soft now. His tongue clicked against yours while he was touching every single part of your body. You both were so lost in the pleasure, in the feeling your bodies would experience while rubbing against each other.

You both were so blinded by the lust of the moment that none of you noticed a pair of eyes watching. Eyes that were filled with wrath, jealousy and contempt.

Aemond looked away, unable to keep watching that tortuous scene. He leaned his back against a tree as he looked at the dark night sky, his stare blurred with hatred. He was hearing you, your moans, whines and dirty words were too loud for him to ignore. They made him furious, blinded with rage.

He was the one that used to provoke you to make those sweet sounds, the one that had you shaking and squirming under his harsh touch. The only one who knew your body so perfectly, and the only one who could provide you with what you need without you even asking for it.

Under his resentful eyes, Cregan was just a distraction; a plaything you use to entertain yourself in your path back to him. At the end of the day, you will always belong to him.

At that moment, Aemond decided that he had to get rid of Cregan. He could not bear the idea of another man taking what he claimed first; your body, especially when that man was Cregan fucking Stark, the one who always took everything from him. Now he added you to the list, and Aemond will not allow it.

He had to get him out of his way.

Aemond left almost immediately, not wanting to hear this profanity any longer. He walked away from the lake, clenching his fists and his jaw as his scheming started.

Meanwhile, you were just coming down from your orgasm when you heard some leaves crackling in the distance. You quickly moved your head, looking around searching for the source of the sound.

"What is it?" Cregsn asked with his raspy voice.

"I heard something," you said, looking back at his face.

"It was probably just the wind, love…" he tried to play down the situation, soothing you with his comforting voice, "would you like to go back to the house?"

You looked around one more time before turning your head back at him. You shook your head before pecking his lips.

"No, let's stay here a little longer."

Cregan kissed you again, and before you noticed, he started to move his hips again, making you moan with surprise and blurring your mind.

"Gods…" you chuckled, "you're insatiable, aren't you?"

He grunted, smirking as he pushed deeper, "You're too fucking irresistible, baby."

As he started to thrust against you, you looked around one last time, just to be sure. You tried to focus on the pleasure that your boyfriend was giving you, but you couldn't help being creeped out; you could've sworn you saw a shadow moving between the trees, but that was probably just your mind playing tricks with you…

Right?