#i have no more words i used them all writing this

[alllgator-blood]

'FOGGY STREETS AND CHRISTMAS LIGHTS'

(part 3/3)

I'm gonna infodump about the backstory of this comic, don't feel obligated to read it because it's not cotl related it's just personal stuff, I just want to be able to write about it somewhere cause I can't really talk to anyone about it.

As always, thanks for reading this far, sorry my stuff has been such a bummer so consistently. This comic goes out to all my "christmas induced depression" homies, I left my house maybe like ~5 times all month and it was NOT pleasant hearing "IT'S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR!!" on the radio when I'm so ready for it to be over. Gonna take it reaaaaal easy til the year ends, you guys take it easy too!! Got some asks I have to respond to when I'm more stable but probably no new comic pages til january

Alright uhhh so this part of the comic is pretty much taken directly from the last time I saw my great-grandma alive, a few days before christmas. She didn't remember me, but at the nursing home there was a piano, and I sat down and played some stuff because I didn't know what to say. I was really into lisa the painful rpg at the time, and I played that "I've got the joy" song that the villain sings without realizing it was an old christian campfire song. She didn't really say much or move that whole night, just kind of gave me a polite blank smile, but started singing the words when I played the notes to that song.

I kinda stopped in shock, my dad frantically asked me to keep playing, so I did. While the comic I made is way more sappy than the actual moment was, I wish I'd cherished the moment longer. I didn't know it was the last time I'd see her alive. Every family christmas was held at her house when she was around, so it's been weird the past few years. I actually lost another dementia-addled grandma to cancer on christmas eve in 2009, so the holiday was already kind of weird for me on top of everything else that makes me sad this time of year. That's what part 2 was about, I'll spare the details but I wrote leshy to act out how I felt back then. Why are we all sad? This is supposed to be a happy time, all the decorations are up and we're almost all here, so why is everyone smiling yet everything feels so wrong? I feel like since leshy's canonically the most ignorant one to things lurking below the surface, he'd be the one to try and make everyone feel better but not quite understand why everyone is so miserable. My first memory of having self injurious behavior came from then, hence why I had leshy pull his leaves off in the last comic. It was confusing and frustrating and I was just old enough to comprehend something was wrong, but not old enough to understand the depth of it, it DEFINITELY didn't help that nobody helped me back then so I made leshy's siblings actually come in clutch instead of grabbing him/yelling at him.

That night with the piano was something that's stuck with me the few years she's been gone, but I felt kind of strange when I asked my dad and my sister about it and neither of them remembered it. The room we were in was completely empty so nobody else witnessed it but us three. I myself have a history of head trauma and memory loss (plus, native americans are disproportionately more likely to develop dementia... lucky us) so if I ever forgot about that moment, there'd be nobody left to remember it. Sometimes when I do comics, it's my way of going "this happened at some point, and the only evidence it ever happened was me witnessing it, so if something happens to me I want the memory to stay alive in some form."

Anyway. The autistic urge to overshare, am I right? Idk what my religious ass great-grandma would think of me drawing demonic comics about my last memory of her, she'd probably think it's funny though cause she raised my dad whose interests have always been "death metal and devil worship". I'm not sure if anyone read this far, I just hope my dumb comics can convey the things I can't say with my voice and struggle to say through text. None of this was supposed to be "feel bad for me!! Woe is me!!", it was supposed to me more like...cathartic? Healing? I almost didn't post this comic because it felt kinda weird, but seeing people connect with it made it worth it imo. Thank you

[karaeilishh]

Hello! I loveee holiday fics they are just so cozy and cute! Do you think you could write about Billie and reader's first Christmas together, where reader has a tough family life so reader stays with Billie's family and it's finally a holiday where reader is all safe and happy? I'm a sucker for fluff-- hope all is well!

𝜗𝜚 you are my family b. eilish . . .

xmas fic n. 1

“billie, i’m still not sure..” your voice trembles slightly, either from the cold or from the excitement that has been spreading through your chest for the last few hours. this wasn’t the first time you’d met billie’s family, and you could tell they loved you, the way maggie’s eyes lit up when she saw you holding her daughter’s hand tenderly every time you came over to their house. they’d all been so nice to you, but celebrating christmas, no, that was different. you’d probably be too much.

“i’m afraid i’d be a burden to you,” your eyes trail down to where her fingers were tightly intertwined with yours. you could barely feel your fingertips through the snow that was so cold it was hard to feel, but that was okay, her icy hand was warming the frost on your pale red skin. “how it was with my family”

you almost let the memories wash over your thoughts when her soft voice stirs your existence. “angel, look at me, please” her blue eyes, so heavenly and bright, taking on a fairytale hue under the warm light of the street lamp. you look at her, already knowing what she’s going to say, how she’ll calm you down. but you just need to hear her say it, need to know that she’s still on your side.

“how can you think that you’ll be a burden to us?” there’s genuine confusion and worry on her face as the cold pads of her fingers caress your cheeks and you give in to her touch, closing your eyes for a few seconds. “do you think that my girlfriend, the only woman i love, could be a burden to me or my family?”

you can tell how much she wants to raise her voice and shake your shoulders, just to make you realize how much she loves you. how much she wants to spend this christmas with your head on her chest and her fingers softly running through your hair.

“that’s the thing, bills” your brows furrow in an almost pathetic, whiny way as you look up at her. “they’re your family. and i.. i just—”

she shakes her head, tightening her grip on your face slightly, cutting you off from the few words that were almost falling from your lips. “you’re my family” the intimacy of those words makes your heart and stomach drop somewhere down to her feet. your eyes fill with tears incredibly quickly, lips starting to tremble as you try to say anything, but instead you throw yourself into her arms, burying your face in her shoulder. the snow that has accumulated on the boucle of her coat burns your cheeks and temples, but it doesn’t matter right now.

the way she hugs you tightly. this is what matters.

“you have no idea how much they love you, baby” soft kisses on the top of your head calm your nerves, helping you catch your breath and pull away to look into her eyes filled with love. “but i love you more than all of them combined”

it took you a couple more minutes, which billie patiently gave you, before rang the doorbell. your stress almost immediately went away as soon as you saw maggie’s beaming face, greeting you first with a warm hug, ruffling your hair slightly. she treated you like her daughter, always. “hi, my girl!”

you take only a step forward, not even making it into the house, before finneas’s arms wrap around your body. his grip is strong, but it doesn’t hurt at all, only billie grunts behind you. you laugh loudly, letting him lift you slightly off the ground.

"we missed you, little girl. especially shark" his words make you smile from ear to ear and immediately go to find your favorite boy in this house. shark greeted you more joyfully than anyone, almost jumping into your arms. you kneel down to hug him and scratch behind the ear.

"be gentle with my girl!" the menacing voice of billie makes her father laugh, who just entered the room to greet you. "i'm sure she won't mind a big hug" you were a little afraid of him, but the warm look he gave you made you calm down.

you slowly get to your feet, immediately heading into billie's arms and receiving another gentle kiss from her. "feeling better, baby?"

"yes, a lot" your whisper calms billie down, and she can finally take her to the kitchen to make christmas cookies according to their family recipe, because you are part of this family too.

tags - @chrissv4mp, @hkkuugu, @sweet3nerrr, @krosep, @stonerfromlesbos, @loveyoumatthewbernard, @47lake @ohdoyoustillcry, @bilsdillldough, @n0vabug, @bxllxeb, @hopingforgoodblogs, @mybluebossanova

[cavesalamander]

(Replying on this thread bc i really like your addition and think it's important.)

Jimmy reminded me more of people that I know and love than of myself on my own playthrough. But all the stuff written above is such an eloquent and coherent way of putting into words this unease that I feel whenever people bash him utterly uncritically. When they write him off as nothing, a monster to be hated, etc. It's felt like they're missing something and I couldn't put my finger on why. And this! This is it, isn't it?

Now, I say I didn't relate as much to him not to be all self righteous but because Curly on the other hand?

While I've definitely never been in his exact position there is a lot about what he was that is relatable and is meant to be relatable in the same messed up way that Jimmy is... The desire to pacify, to take the brunt of responsibility and ire for things on behalf of those around you even if nobody asked and it's not going to be better for anyone. Being trapped between the options of bad and worse while you yourself are cushioned from the worst impacts of either. Wanting and hoping for the best for someone who keeps self destructing because maybe this time it'll stick and they can get their feet under them and have some stability...

There's more obviously but those are the ones that especially hit me personally for various reasons. His flaws are very there too and are very ones I've seen in myself and have been trying to work through, and it's super relevant that his POV is half the game too for that reason.

There's a lot of nuance to Jimmy and Curly both, in how they're meant to be relatable, that's just really unfortunate when they're written off the way they are. Curly gets it both ways, where his flaws are brushed over or he's treated like the same irredeemable monster that Jimmy is.

I think it's important that Anya is the one who says what she does. "Our worst moments don't make us monsters." And not Curly for this very reason. That it's Curly she said it to. Coming FROM Curly, it would just read like another one of his placations and excuses for Jimmy.

Thinking about how the creator of mouthwashing said that a huge part of the horror is meant to be that every player will identify in some way with Jimmy, relate to him on some level, and realize that they share some traits with such an awful person, with that being what "I hope this hurts" was meant to mean. The point is that Jimmy is someone you are going to feel a connection to and that should hurt, that should cause you to reflect. Anyway I think the mouthwashing fandom really missed that because there is a truly awful self righteousness problem that no one is doing any self reflection on. I actively avoid the fandom for this reason every post I see from the mouthwashing fandom is people talking about other fans the same way Jimmy talks about the other members of the crew (esp Curly and Anya) with 0 self awareness lol.

[clarkeybabey]

Please can you write something about clarkey loving a cuddle and the boys come home and tease him 🙈🙈

❝ cuddle up to me ❞

# playlist; watch you sleep. - girl in red, cuddle up - the beach boys, LOVE - kendrick lamar ft. zecari

# word count; 1.2k

# note; I love writing fluff but I always feel so repetitive idk ?! 😝

George had finally convinced you to start going out for drinks with his friends again. The last time you joined them on a night out, you mistakenly read them Zayn Malik fanfiction you'd written well over ten years prior and posted to Wattpad, which they have yet to let you live down and you still have no recollection of.

After two hours of chatting with them about nothing and everything all at once, you couldn't help but recoil into him, your social battery was dangerously low. Despite how fresh your relationship still is, your boyfriend was quick to notice, excusing the two of you, saying something about Max wanting to film the pod early the next morning amidst goodbyes on your way out the door.

As you distance yourself from the bustling bar, he turns towards you with a knowing grin. His arm reaches out effortlessly and finds its way around your shoulders. His cool gaze meets yours as he softly asks, "You holding up okay, love?" You nod with a hum, your smile mirroring his, leaning into him as you reach up to lace your fingers together.

The two of you walk back to his flat in comfortable silence, London's side streets are quiet and almost peaceful. When you make your way into his building he unwraps himself from you slightly only to fish his keys from the pocket of his jeans though he keeps a protective grip on your waist as he unlocks the door.

Now that he's got it open, he steps aside patting your hip in a motion to get you inside ahead of him. He watches you walk stealing shameless glances at your figure as you struggle a bit with your shoes, he tears his eyes away as you straighten quickly distracting himself by hanging his coat on the rack and dropping his keys in the bowl next to the door.

Whilst he kicks off his shoes haphazardly you shed your jacket as well, holding it out to him with a smile, "Hang mine up too, please?"

"Yes ma'am," he nods, you thank him, heading off to the kitchen for some water. You step up onto your toes your shirt lifting with your arms snagging a glass, he comes up behind you, his cold hands meeting the now-exposed skin of your stomach making you jump, goosebumps rising on your skin.

"Y'scared me and your hands are freezing," you whine wiggling out of his grasp, filling your cup from the fridge, and side-eyeing him as he steps toward you again.

"But I just wanna cuddle, you can't deprive me like this," he throws his head back dramatically making you scoff. "We walked home practically glued together, darling."

George takes a deep breath and shakes his head frantically, continuing his fit, "'s just not enough," he sniffs wiping his eyes and fanning himself, making you roll yours. He follows close behind like a puppy as you cross through the dining room into the living room, pulling the throw blanket off the back of the couch, and reach out for him, "C'mon y'big baby."

And he does, basically jumping on top of you, and you fall back into the festive throw pillows. He tucks his head into the crook of your neck, his beard tickling you a bit.

Your fingers twirl the curls at the nape of his neck, "I missed you today," he mumbles against your skin, making the column of your throat vibrate with his words. "Missed you too, so much," you pause, thinking back to what had been said earlier, "You don't actually have to do podcast stuff tomorrow right?"

He can't help but chuckle at how nervous you sound, "Don't be silly, you know my Sundays are reserved for us," he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel your heartbeat jump in speed at his reassurance, but he doesn't acknowledge it.

More comfortable silence envelopes the two of you, as your breathing slows, unintentionally synchronized, he drifts off to the sound of soft breaths escaping your agape lips.

A drunk Chris and an even more drunk Arthur fumble into the apartment, completely oblivious to their sleeping friends, that is until Arthur attempts to make his way into the sitting room in search of George, his charger has miraculously disappeared from his bedroom once again.

As you come into his field of view, he's tapping through his phone, his fingers tingling and oddly heavy, in search of his camera.

You wake to a quick flash of light, followed by the sound of a picture being taken, making you groan a bit louder than intended. "Piss off," you don't bother opening your eyes, that is until you realize you can't exactly turn away from the flash because of the dead weight of the man on top of you.

He begins to stir at the sudden, jerk of movement beneath him, your shouting, the sound of a flurry more of photos being taken, and Arthur's drunken wheezing has Chris emerging from the kitchen, clapping a hand over his mouth, to suppress his obnoxious laughter. George turns in the direction of the noise, blinking the sleep from his eyes, "Hello, sleeping beauty," His friends' phones in hand and giggles make him sigh against your chest.

Chris nearly falls over, bumping into the wall as both of you raise a hand, flipping off them and the videos you're almost positive at least one of them is taking, "You two are so cute," Arthur coos, jutting out his bottom lip.

"Stuff like this won't happen to you if you lot are this annoying in the presence of a woman," you shoot back, making Chris clutch his chest, mouth open in shock, "you know, that's really offensive, one direction fanfiction won't help you out either," he crosses his arms, looking pleased with himself.

Your eyes widen, and you laugh dryly "You leave them out of this. Do I need to remind you how you looked before that perm?" George snorts and Arthur's phone is long since in his pocket, deciding he didn't need his ego bruised like his roommate. Chris raises his hands, laughing uncontrollably, his head dropping in defeat "No, please, no."

"Now goodnight, boys," your voice is jokingly stern, but when they don't move in the slightest you nod your head in the direction of their bedrooms, "Yes, Mother," Arthur sighs, a faux frown present on his face as he shoves Chris ahead of him. "She such a bully," You hear Chris mutter, their conversation fades as they make their way across the flat. The only sound was their doors clicking shut, followed by coveted silence.

You lay there still and quiet praying they don't come back out and when they don't you speak up: "Why don't we get in bed, too?" He nods, standing from where he had you trapped beneath him, taking your hand and helping you get up as well.

George grins broadly, his smile as bright as ever, and says, "You humbling my friends is so hot." You can't help but laugh and shake your head at his words. Without another thought, you grab his wrist firmly and start pulling him in the direction of his bed, eager to give in to the exhaustion the day had caused.

[luveline]

this request may be a bit of a long shot, but would you be willing to write a drabble for mouth of september? maybe she gives the boys a scare either by going out and then not coming home at the time she said she would or maybe she faints from not having eaten enough? totally okay if you don’t want to or if you want to use this as a prompt for something else, mos has just been one of your fic series that i think about pretty consistently even two-ish years later.

anyway have a great day and hope you’re doing well jadey <3 love u

I love you! me writing this actually did feel like a longshot but not cos I didn’t love it and not cos I don’t love u, I hope you enjoy it!! been so long since I wrote this !!🩵 fem! 4k words

cw suicidal thoughts/suicidal ideation

It’s cold tonight. 

You blow on your fingers, feeling them warm, stiffness lanced for precious few seconds. You didn’t mean to walk so far from the house, not while the wind is racing like this. The corner shop just seemed to move around while you weren’t looking. You should’ve asked Sirius to go with you, he has a better sense of direction, even if he would’ve complained the whole time about the shit weather. 

Remus would’ve come and not complained, but he was sleeping at the time and waking him felt cruel. James would’ve come, racing around in Lily��s car, but then he would’ve followed you back into the house insisting on making you some supper or a cuppa or something, and what you’d wanted was to be alone. A bar of chocolate wouldn’t hurt either. 

Stupid travelling corner shop, you think to yourself. Stupid me for fucking losing it. Should’ve just stayed home. Can’t even walk to the shop. 

You take a deep breath. You give the streets a wretched, embarrassed glare and flop down onto the nearest bench. Fuck’s sake. Lost and freezing to death. 

If Sirius were here, if he heard what you were thinking, he’d frown at you with that dark pinch to his eyes and tell you to Stop it, now. 

He’s maybe half of the reason you’re out of the house tonight. Maybe all of it. It’s all complicated and horrible and everyone thinks it’s a bad idea but the thing is that Sirius himself isn’t complicated, he isn’t horrible. He’s kind to you in funny ways, and when you’re together Sirius makes you feel like you’re someone worth being kind too, which doesn’t happen often. 

Your self annoyance fades to something more familiar soon enough. Everything goes quiet, leaving you there with your heart, quick and slow beating, can’t seem to choose, and your cold feet. Your socks feel too tight. 

Your teeth start to chatter. You can’t sit here forever. 

(But wouldn’t it be better? If you stayed? Caught cold?) 

If you get poorly from the cold, you’ll feel miserable from the moment you wake up. You’ll be ill at work, which will make work worse. You’ll have to stay in your room so you don’t get one of the boys sick, and that really would ruin your week. Nothing means anything if you don’t get to see your best friends. 

You gather yourself up and turn toward the street you’d just walked down, determined to retrace your steps. 

In the distance, a familiar shape is jogging toward you. 

“Y/N?” James shouts, sounding as though all the breath in the world has been sucked from his lungs. He doesn’t stop jogging until he gets a few feet from you, where he bends to catch his breath. “Fucking hell!” His head snaps up. “Fuck, shortcake, are you alright?” 

You close the distance. “I’m fine.” 

“Are you?” He forces himself to stand, breathing hard as he grabs you by the wrist. “Are you okay? You scared me so badly.” 

You grab his arm back. “I’m really fine, I’m fine, what’s wrong?” 

“You’re what’s wrong, you aren’t home!” James swallows a lump. “You left a note, you’d be home by seven. It’s nearly ten. Remus rang me in a fit ‘cos he didn’t know where you’d gone, we thought–” James gives you an imploring look, though it’s so so sorry at the same time, you feel your stomach twist into a hard knot. “We thought you were having a bad night.” 

“James.” Embarrassment makes you soft-toned. “I’m really sorry I scared you, but I got lost, that’s all.” You don’t really like to lie, only James seems to need to hear it. “I’m glad you found me. I was worried I wouldn’t get home.” 

James gives a breathy laugh. “Oh, good.” 

You’re pulled into a hug. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“No, it’s okay.” He rubs your back with force. It feels more for him than you, though you don’t exactly mind it. You can pretend as much as you want that you don’t like it when the boys give you affection, but they know it’s not true, and they know it’s alright to give it to you most days. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine as long as you’re fine.” 

“Fine,” you say. 

He pulls away. “Oh, god. Alright, let’s go back to the house. It’s freezing, you’re not wearing a proper coat?” 

“I didn’t plan on being out long.” 

“No?” 

He takes you by the shoulder to encourage you back the way you came. “Just wanted some chocolate,” you say. 

“I’ll get you some.” 

You both know it doesn’t add up. James doesn’t make you say much else, relieved you’re alright, and you fester in the guilt of worrying him so harshly. 

“Where are your glasses?” you ask. 

“I forgot them in the car.” 

“Where is the car?” 

“Remus thought you might’ve gone to the library, you were supposed to take that Sky-Fi back.” 

“Sci-fi.” 

“Right, the space books. He took it to see if you were walking home, I said I’d come this way, and Sirius…” James grimaces. “Not sure where he went. He was already out by the time I got to the house.” 

“How are we gonna find him?” 

“He’ll come back eventually.” 

You stick close to James’ side, dodging crisped up leaves and following him down the dropped kerb and finally onto a familiar road. “Guess I’ve lived here so long, I should’ve known the way,” you say. 

“It’s alright.” 

You bite your cheek for a second. “I’m really sorry, James, I– I didn’t– is it really ten?” 

“…Aren’t you cold?” he asks softly. 

“I didn’t think about it.” 

“I wish you would.” He pokes his tongue against his cheek. “I want to know if you’re having a bad night. It’s alright if you were. If you need more time, more help, it’s okay.” 

“It’s not like that… not all of it. I was walking to the shops, I swear. Just feel so,” —your voice slips into a colour of shame you despise— “weird sometimes. I’m sorry I made you worry. I don’t know why I keep doing this.” 

“Is this a common occurrence?” 

“Not the walk, just. Just this. Making you worry. I didn’t mean to make everybody worry.” 

“Well, I am worried. When you disappear for a couple more hours than you say you will, it’s scary.” James gives you a shrug. “I love you, I’m gonna wonder where you are.” 

“But–”

“I worry about Sirius when he goes to the pub until who knows when, worry about Lils when she does too many hours at work. I worry about Remus every day, his eyes are worse than mine ‘cos all he does is read,” he says with a laugh. “It’s fine.” 

“I worry about you too,” you say. 

“About what?” he asks, stricken. 

“Remus told me you can pop your knee out from your kneecap when you weight lift. I know you think it’s fun and stuff, but that’s scary.” 

“I’m getting fit!” He rolls his eyes. “Lily likes my abs.” 

“Well I liked you when you were soft.” 

James cackles at your poor fake-flirting. “I’ve never been soft, take that back! You know being captain made me solid as a rock.” 

“James?” a voice calls. 

You look up at the same time. Sirius is sitting on the wall in front of the house smoking; he takes a harsh, quick drag and stabs it out so hard that ash sullies his fingers as he stands. 

“Oh,” he says, blowing the smoke from his mouth quickly, his breath a ragged thing as he bounds across the road to hug you. “Sorry.”

You don’t get what he’s sorry for. “It’s okay.” 

He smells so strongly of smoke it’s like he’s blowing it under your nose, but he’s not so sharp to the touch. You falter at being touched kindly, feeling tension in his back as you curl an arm around him. 

Sirius digs his face into your neck. 

“Hey?” you ask quietly. 

He steps back suddenly, an accusing fist held between your two abdomens. “Where have you been?” he asks, and there’s the sharpness to match his smell, scowl turning his grey-blue eyes to pitch, lashes in a furious tangle. “You can’t do that. You can’t just disappear for hours.” 

“I’m sorry–”

“It’s not okay.”

“She said she’s sorry,” James interjects, “maybe let’s leave it?” 

“Being sorry doesn’t erase the last two hours of us panicking, though, does it?” 

“She got lost–”

“James, it’s okay, it’s–” You shake your head. “Maybe you should go inside to warm up? You’re not wearing a coat either.” 

“I was in a rush.” James gives Sirius a warning look. “I’ll make you a cup of tea. Five minutes and I’m coming back out.” 

James trudges up the garden path to the house. You twist your hands together, staring into Sirius’ face, wanting to see every bit of his anger, keeping tabs on all of it so as not to be surprised. You should’ve known he’d run out of patience with you eventually. He’s had to deal with your awful moods more than anyone else. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Do you realise how scary it is to worry you’ve hurt yourself?” Sirius asks starkly. 

You flinch. “It doesn’t exactly feel great for me, either.” 

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Still, he softens. You feel like you’ve cheated. “I don’t understand. You got lost? How far away from the house were you?” 

“I don’t know, I was trying to go to Del’s.” 

“You’re not being honest with me, or any of us. It’s not fair. My heart is like a fucking racehorse,” he says, pressing his hand to his chest, fingertips smudgy with ash, “’cos all I’ve thought tonight is that you’d gone off and jumped off of a bridge or something. I know you wouldn’t.” He lets his hand fall. He quietens. It is almost apologetic, how he slows. “I know you wouldn’t. I knew you’d come home. But please don’t make me think about it.”

He’s gone pale in the cold, his hair in twists and tucked haphazard behind his ears. In his thick bomber jacket and his jeans, he could’ve just hopped of the bike, windswept as he is, but it’s the mark of worried hands having pushed his hair back repetitively rather than the weather, though the longer you stand there in the wind, the more tangled it becomes. “I dont get why you’re so determined to be alone,” he says. 

You don’t want to talk about it. When do you ever? More than ever, you’d like to stalk past him and slam your bedroom door, let him know you’re fine by yourself and seething, let him stay ignorant to you as you squirm in a bed you’ve come to hate. How often do you lay there wishing you could be alone forever? It’s not fair to anyone. It doesn’t make sense. They all love you and you feel sorry for them, ‘cos you tricked them, ‘cos you’re nothing worth thinking about for long. 

Sirius won’t stop frowning at you. It makes the drowning feeling worse. 

“I’m sorry,” you say again, hoping this time it’ll stick. “I don’t know what happened, I just wasn’t thinking. I don’t feel very well.” 

“I know.” He scoffs to himself. You relax at the hint of self-deprecation. “It’s not your fault. I’m fucking furious with you but I know you can’t help it.” 

“Sorry.” 

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. For saying you’d jumped off a bridge, that’s horrible, but you really fucking worry me sometimes and I’m so relieved that you’re okay that it’s making me horrible.” 

“You’re not horrible.” 

“I’m mean.” 

“You’re not.”

“No, I am. You’re the only person who doesn’t see it. Or at least doesn’t say it.” Sirius rubs his face, scraping a stray hair from his nose. “Sorry for shouting. Here,” —he holds out his arm— “let’s have a proper one.” 

He hugs you nicely, no force to it, less lingering smoke. The scratch of his cheek catches yours, his hand at the bottom of your back, your jacket and shirt rising with every sweep of his touch. You press your closed eye to his hair. 

“Why didn’t you come and sit with me or– we could’ve talked. Could’ve just led in bed, doesn’t matter, I would’ve gone to the shop with you.” He squeezes you, pressing his nose to your shoulder. “I can be morbid. We can be two miserable layabouts together.” 

“I didn’t…” You cringe. “Sirius, it’s not on purpose, I swear. I didn’t do it to make you worry.” 

“I know that, Jesus.”

“Sorry.” 

“It’s fine. I’m just glad you’re home.” 

You pull apart as a car turns onto the street. That’ll be Remus. Another for your troupe of worry. 

“What do you think, is he mad at me too?” you ask. 

“Remus?” Sirius gives you another half hug. “‘Course not.” 

And true to form, Remus climbs out of the car with a fond smile. “Hey, where have you been?” His hair ruffles in the wind, scars turned palest purple in the cold. “You need to learn how to tell time.” 

You let him hug you. “Sorry.” 

“That’s alright, let’s go inside though. Have some tea. Did you eat much today?” 

You ignore the question. “Tea,” you say. 

“Yeah.” 

Remus ushers you down the path to the house, Sirius on your other side like bodyguards. 

“Thanks for, uh, looking for me.” 

Remus takes you by the forearm. “We’ll always look for you. But next time, wake me up first.” 

You nod gratefully. “Uh, okay. Thank you.” 

“Stop saying thanks. It’s alright, Y/N. It’s fine.” 

That’s what you’ve all said, but it doesn’t make it true. 

—

James goes home, though he doesn’t want to. “I can stay,” he says over the rim of his mug, half-pleading, wanting you to ask him to. “We can have a sleepover.” 

You insist that you’re really fine, he has work tomorrow, it’s late. When he doesn’t move, you say, “I feel bad enough that you were out looking for me in the cold.” 

Your voice is pathetic and scratchy and he can tell you’re going to cry, they all can, so he doesn’t push it anymore than that. He goes home, and you go to bed, and Remus follows you up a little bit later with a glass of juice and some thick, buttered slices of teacake. 

“You okay?” he asks, climbing into bed next to you where you’re laying down. 

“Fine.” 

“Didn’t eat much today?” 

“No.” 

“Have the juice, at least.” 

You take the glass. 

Between your sorry sips, Remus picks at one of the slices of cake, steals looks at you, though he doesn’t try to hide what he’s doing. 

“Sorry about today. Didn’t mean to worry you.” 

“You can stop saying sorry.” Remus lets his head tip from one side to another. “I can hear it in your voice that you don’t want to say it. Not that I don’t believe that you’re really, actually sorry. But you keep repeating it because you’re worried I want you to do that, and I don’t.” 

“It’s what I should say.” 

“Well, you’ve said it.” Remus turns to you, all bookish and rakish at once, lovely but tired, and he must be giving you a similar appraisal. “I wanted to be your friend the second I first talked to you. It wasn’t guilt.” He shakes his head. Wasn’t ’cos they’d played that prank on you with the shoe-eating goo, spied on you crying in a school hallway, overwhelmed. “I just liked you, and that was without any sort of knowledge of what you’re like. Now that I know you, I couldn’t be rid of you. Truly. I love you, you know that?” He smiles gently. “Even when you need time and you disappear. Please… don’t really go anywhere though, will you?” 

“I won’t.” You decided a long time ago that ending your life wasn’t in the cards. There are terrifying moments, numb ones, blink-and-it’s over ones, where you feel like it’s the only option you have. But it ends eventually, or it sinks into a background to be forgotten until the next time it aches. 

“Are you eating properly?” he asks. 

“Remus–” You shake your head as he brings a hand to your forehead, like he might stroke your hair. “You don’t have to do this.” 

“You don’t like answering, that’s all.” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“I’ve made you talk much more than you would’ve liked to, tonight.”

“I like talking to you. To all of you.” You rest your head on his thigh. “You really are my favourite people in the world, Remus. I wouldn’t… wouldn't give you up.” 

“Good,” he says, stroking your forehead just a few times. “‘Cos we can’t be without you.” 

Sirius finds you collapsing in on one another a little later and rounds the bed to lay on your other side. He doesn’t bother sitting as Remus did, pulling the blankets up and slipping in beside you without worrying about what parts of you are touching parts of him, nor the slip of your back where your shirt’s riding up, nor how warm it is under the quilt. He grabs the end of your t-shirt and pulls it flat over your stomach, before his hand spreads out there, and you realise half-heartedly that he’s hugging you from behind. The room is barely seeable. Remus is nearly sleeping. Your tea cake went uneaten, left stodgy and dark on the nightstand. 

“This okay?” Sirius asks. 

“Yeah.” 

He burrows nearer, rubbing his nose against the back of your neck, then taking a long breath of you. 

“Are you mad?” you ask. 

“Not anymore.” 

You can’t believe that any of them could love you so much as to look for you. That James would want to stay the night, and that he’d let you turn him away. If you had any energy left in you tonight you would’ve done the same to Remus, and then Sirius. James won’t be happy when he finds out they’d slept in the bed with you and left him out, but he’ll forgive it eventually. None of them should care so much about you, what’s special about you? What’s even really good? What’s worth it? 

Sirius breathes behind you. He doesn’t seem scared to touch you, not worried to lay as close to you as your bodies will allow. His heat sinks into you. 

“Know any poems?” he asks, letting you shift into his back as he pushes an arm beneath you, curling, really holding you to him, a spoon of a hug. 

“What kind did you want to hear?” 

Sirius doesn’t answer. You hold still as his hand begins looping over your stomach. 

“I can’t remember anything right.” 

“Can you guess at one for me?” he asks. 

You stare at Remus’ falling chest. You’re lucky to have good friends. 

“I read one a few days ago, a couple of times, it was only a few lines.” You wait. Sirius doesn’t say anything, so you start to relay the poem slowly, stringing the words together as they come. “The world was a… nautilus shell... And the world was a grain of sand.” Your voice is odd, but the lines come to you regardless. “The world was a honeycomb… And the world was a strip of tender bark.” 

Sirius lets his lips warm your neck, asking softly, more touch than sound, “That was the whole poem?” 

You take his hand where it’s against you. “That’s it.” 

He nods. 

The world was a nautilus shell. And the world was a grain of sand. The world was a honeycomb. And the world was a strip of tender bark. You run through the poem again, three times, tripping over strip and tender and bark as Sirius’ breath warms your nape. 

“Please don’t do that again,” he says. 

“I didn’t mean to–” You force yourself to stay still. “I would never do something like that to scare you.” 

“Nobody in this room or out of it believes that you went on your walk tonight to scare them.” His nose tips down your neck. His hand spreads wider over your stomach. It feels so weird, so warm and rigid. It’s the best touch you’ve ever been given, and it doesn’t matter because you’re so ashamed of yourself —you went on your stupid little walk with at least some bad intent, and your friends noticed because they love you when they shouldn’t bother. This is a stain now, something you’ll remember. “But I can’t take it. Do you get that? I can’t take it. James found you two hours ago and I still feel like I don’t know where you are.” 

“Didn’t mean to.” 

“I know, love.” He actually does kiss your neck then, quiet smack of a real kiss. “I know. I know.” His forehead presses to your shoulder as he settles in. “You’re okay. I’m not mad.” 

“Me neither,” Remus croaks. 

You let yourself relax enough to feel tired. Warmth from either side of you threatens to bowl you over. 

“How are you feeling now?” Sirius asks. 

“Fine.” Always fine. They deserve better honesty. “I didn’t want to hurt myself. Jus’… I needed to move, like, go, and I hate this part. I don’t think it should matter that I’m not– that I don’t feel well.” 

“Don’t get upset,” Sirius says quietly. 

“I’m not.” You sound tight. “When I want to be somewhere, it doesn’t make sense that it matters. In the moment, I don’t remember that you…” 

“Love you?” Sirius asks. 

“I know why you were worried, I promise. I don’t live in a bubble. I know I’m selfish.” 

“Not selfish.” 

“It was, though.” 

“You’re thinking about it like we have a problem with what you did, and it’s my fault because I got so mad, but it’s not really that you did it.” His hand curls shy of your breastbone. “I was mad, but– darling,” —you squeeze your eyes shut— “you’re not on trial. You don’t have to prove your way out of this, all we need to know is if you’re alright now.” 

“Not really.” 

Remus gives a half-sleeping mumble. 

Sirius sits up in bed to look at both of you. “We love you. We,” —he gestures between you and Remus emphatically— “aren’t going to stop. No matter how many walks you go on, how many scares you give me.” He frowns at you sympathetically. “We’re not getting any further, are we?” 

“Sorry.” 

“I’m sorry.” He grimaces, dark around the eyes. “I’m a right prick and I’ve made a right mess of everything.” 

“It’s okay,” you whisper, chancing a touch, terrified you’ll be reprimanded for it but knowing, as you know he loves you, that you’re allowed. The tips of your fingers touch his collarbone. Sharp thing. 

He pulls a jib, lips all up and thinned like a smirk gone wrong. “Love you.” 

You must’ve petrified him. He’s never so open with his feelings, even when it’s half-joking like this. 

“I love you, too.” 

He makes another face. Good enough, it says. 

“Make me hot chocolate?” you whisper. 

“Mm, come on.” He pulls you from the bed by your wrists. “Don’t complain when it’s gritty. I’m not skilled as Remus.” 

“Quite right,” Remus mumbles. 

You hug him quickly before you leave. 

[simpjaes]

✘ WIP DIARY ── LAST NIGHT, I READ YOUR DIARY. (p.sh) ✘

Sunghoon has been trying be everything you need since your mother passed. A father, a friend, a therapist. You never really understood what your mother saw in him in the first place, if you’re being honest. He’s awkward, quiet, and typically used to keep to himself up until now. You’re impressed with his efforts by the time you’re entering into your senior year of college, though his entire demeanor towards you seems to have changed.  or the one where your step-father grows obsessed with you minute by minute. 

── step-dad /weirdo park sunghoon x afab reader  

── minors dni

── tags: sunghoon is in his 30s, reader is in her 20s so, age gap, step-cest, heartbreak, obsession, manipulation, coercion, stockholm syndrome-ish, fluff if he manipulates you as a reader lmfao, angst, smut. don't read this if you are easily triggered. ── side characters: heeseung as reader's ex boyfriend, jay as reader's closest friend

── !WARNINGS!: this work contains non-con, dub-con, and stalking behavior. your mom isn’t alive in this fic. warnings will be updated as i write.

── a/n: this one is gonna be a wild ride, that's all i gotta say.

LAST UPDATED: 12.22.24

⨯ est wordcount: 20k+ ⨯ current wordcount: 5.4k ⨯ est release date: tbd ⨯ taglist: ask to be on my perma tag list!

playlist ⨯ recommended song: last night i read your diary - gürl She's got me down on my knees I beg, I beg, I, I beg, I beg, please! I want it more than I need And I need it like I need to breathe Like I'm losing my- Choke.

PREVIEW (3.1k):

no warnings apply to the preview, it's just the first couple of thousand words for this fic. aka, the intro and the set up for what will inevitably happen later:

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Your first heartbreak is meant to be painful, but this? This is more painful than you could have ever imagined. 

Heeseung was one of your only constants in life. From childhood to high school it’s like he was there more than your own mother was, and certainly more than your own father. Even when she passed, Heeseung was the one who held you through it, he’s the one who made you smile again, he’s the one who made you feel like it was okay to heal and keep going. 

It’s the fact that it was a mutual break up that hurts the most because deep down, you couldn’t see yourself without him. Yet, still, you willingly watched him hop on the plane with a short kiss and long goodbye. It felt so final to you. You could have handled a long distance relationship, truly. But Heeseung didn’t want that. He wanted to explore the world, he wanted to try new things, be with new people. 

Do things without you clinging to him all the time. 

In a way, you understand that. After all, you’re the only girl he had ever been with up until now. Senior year of college. You think you knew your relationship was coming to an end by the time he announced he was going to be studying abroad for his final year without ever once even telling you he was applying to do so. 

So, yeah, it was mutual solely because you want him to be happy and he’s made it clear that he believes that can only happen without you. Such is life. Painful, painful fucking life.  

Just last year when your mother passed, you nearly dropped out and Heeseung had been your rock to make it through class after class with a grade barely high enough to pass. You’re certain some of your professors took pity on you and raised your grade just enough to move forward. You’ll forever thank them for recognizing how hard you were trying. But now? Without your mother, without Heeseung, you’re at a loss.

And there’s a difference between loneliness and isolation, you think. Loneliness to you always hits hard during small spaces in your day, like when you’d get into Heeseung’s car and he would close your door for you. The silence always hurt your ears while he was still making his way around the car to the driver’s seat. A shallow loneliness that you could feel right at the top of your gut, like it was squeezing inside of you and making you lose your appetite. Solely because that silence reminded you of what you always had, a lack of loneliness because of him.

But then there’s isolation. Where it feels forced upon you by other people. Your mother fucking died, Heeseung fucking left, and now you’re just here expected to wake up like you always do, go to class, study hard, sleep well, when the reality of it is– you’re genuinely struggling just to look at yourself in the mirror. 

Then there’s Sunghoon. The only person close enough to you now that you can reach out to. The issue with that is– you’ve never actually been close. And that’s what sucks. The fact that he of all people is all you have now? May as well just assume you have nobody.

His regular calls mean close to nothing to you in the grand scheme of things. Despite him calling twice a week every week since your mother died, your step-father is just as distanced from you as you are him. You’re aware that it’s his obligation, not because he cares. And that hurts, because it’s all you have now. 

Now, you have to try and find meaning in those short calls. After all, Sunghoon fell apart when your mother passed all on his own and you had only called him out of obligation too. You were already in college and stressed, falling apart yourself with someone to love beside you helping you through it. Calling him when it all happened felt empty because you knew both of you were trying to hold it together and save face. 

It wasn’t like this before she died. In fact, he never called and you never cared for him to. You’d see each other when you were home, share awkward pleasantries, and that’s it. It’s hard to believe that now you feel like you need a father, after all those years of practically rejecting him as one. He seemed fine with that after you hit your teen years. He knew by then that he could never be the father you want, but at least he could be the husband your mother needed.

You have grief in common now though. Loneliness. Isolation.

You try not to think about how you were okay up until now though. Having Heeseung to fall back on to soften the blow of your loss, you guess Sunghoon didn’t have that. Maybe his monotone voice and empty words were his way of coping, his way of hearing a voice that wasn’t the one in his own head when he calls you. 

It’s just you and a man you never considered family past the titles and obligatory respects. Finding meaning in his short phone calls does nothing to help your growing isolation, but you cling to them now that Heeseung is gone. You wait for the calls, you ask him to check in with you every day now, to the point Sunghoon starts to notice the difference in you.

No longer rushing to get off the phone. Now, you’re dragging on meaningless conversations. Now, he hears cracks in your voice. 

“You feeling okay?” Sunghoon asks you, in a way that makes you wonder how he’s able to tell that you’re definitely not. The way his own voice has a bit of life to it when he asks it…strange too. Like he’s concerned. 

“No–” You trail off in your meek voice, staring at your ceiling and mind swirling with all of the work you need to get done for classes already. “I’ve only been in classes for a week and I already feel like I’m drowning.” 

Sunghoon sighs into the speaker, contemplating how to further the conversation with you in a way that isn’t too intrusive. After all, who is he to pry? Still, he never intended for you to feel neglected or like you couldn’t come to him. After all, you were too happy about his lack of parenting you throughout his presence in your life. 

He finds solace in the fact that you’ve been accepting him now, though he hasn’t the slightest idea as to why. He’s checked in with you since the passing, but lately it feels to him like something more is going on with you. He may be somewhat estranged, and he may have his own problems to deal with, but you’re still someone he needs to be here for.

Plus, it makes him feel needed again, which is nice considering the circumstances. After living in this bustling house with you and your mom for so long, to it just being him and your mom, to now just him…all that remains now is dread, dissociation, and unwashed dishes in the sink.

“Did something happen?” Sunghoon keeps his questions short, offering more silence if anything for you to use this call as a therapy session if you need. 

You pause for a long moment, realizing that you want to talk about your issues so badly but don’t quite feel the need to share it with him of all people. You’ve already ranted day after day to Jay. To the point you’re sure he’s about one rant away from blocking your number. 

Probably because you’re not that close to him either. Not these days, anyway.

You sigh instead. 

“No…” You trail off. “I think I just miss being home. My dorm mate is never here, class work is already piling up, and I can’t even find the energy to look at the assignments.” 

Sunghoon can tell you’re feeling much like he does and he can’t imagine the weight on your shoulders dealing with these feelings while also in college. But, you have Heeseung, do you not? You’ve been fine for the most part until now, and you haven’t even brought him up. Not once in the past few weeks has his name been uttered by you. Which is strange, after all, the two of you were practically attached at the hip growing up, to the point of choosing the same college, working the same jobs, and even keeping that middle-school puppy love in full swing throughout highschool and college. 

If anything, after your mother passed, Sunghoon felt okay knowing you had Heeseung there with you to help you through it. It meant he could focus on himself and getting through the day-to-day. He could barely handle his own mournful thoughts, let alone the daughter’s feelings of the woman he loved so dearly. He was forever grateful for Heeseung during this time. 

He has his suspicions now though, and his heart aches for the voice he hears from you these days. 

“Why don’t you come home for a while?” He lends a pause to see if you’ll jump for the opportunity before selling the idea to you. “I have the bills here covered and your campus is only a forty minute drive. I’m sure that’s inconvenient but you won’t have bills to worry about on top of everything else.” He doesn’t want to sound too desperate, of course. 

After all, the loneliness he’s feeling is also becoming unbearable. Even if the two of you never were able to see eye to eye, or to form a bond together, you’re all he has left of your mother. He, arguably, is nothing to you, but there’s no one else in this world he’d rather heal the loneliness with outside of you. Only because you knew your mother on a level deeper than he did, and to have someone to share those memories with, or even laugh with, would help him tremendously too.

“I think being at home may do you some good.” 

You think it over in your head, wondering if being home will help you at all. In reality, you know it may make you feel more trapped than you do now. All those memories with your mother, with Heeseung, with all of your friends that have since moved to different colleges. 

But…you wouldn’t be alone. You’d be with someone who knows how to give you space because he’s never even tried to shrink your existence to that of your bedroom and your bedroom alone. You wouldn’t have to worry about rent, food, or anything aside from studies, gas money, and trying to heal from your heartbreak. 

Your dorm is small, you note as you look around the room and wonder how long it would take you to pack your things up. Two hours, give or take. The longest part would be taking all of the little decorations off the wall, if you’re being honest. 

You find yourself nodding before answering, solidifying in your mind that– maybe you’re not the only one who needs company in your space. Not too close, but close enough to not be totally isolated. 

“Okay.” You mutter into the phone, for some reason feeling the tears well up behind your eyes. 

You’re just a bit overwhelmed, that’s all. Knowing you’re going home feels like a relief you didn’t know you needed. 

“Yeah?” Sunghoon confirms. “Just let me know when and I’ll drive up there to help get your stuff back home.” 

You agree, sighing into the phone with a shaking voice. Sunghoon takes note of it, always remembering and quite frankly missing how loud and obnoxious you used to be. Hearing you like this pains him. He wants to help. Now more than ever is his chance to be someone you need, and he hates knowing he feels happy about it. 

Getting to be your father now? It feels awkward, but at least it’s a feeling other than loss. 

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Sunghoon sighs at you through the speaker. “I know I’m not someone you like coming to but–well, I’d like for you to rely on me more, okay?” 

You find a lot of comfort in those words, despite hearing him say them time and time again. This is the first time he’s ever shown that he means it through the offer of bringing you home, rather than just saying it and accepting whatever you say back to him at face value. 

“I know…” You trail off. “I’m okay though, really.” 

Sunghoon hates himself for never forcing you to accept him. Sure, there may have been some teenage defiance towards him, but eventually the two of you could have seen eye to eye. He could have been someone you needed. You could have relied on him too, rather than just Heeseung. That’s all he can really think right now. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing else going on?” The man nearly pleads in his tone, desperate to have someone rely on him again. “I’ve never heard you sound so exhausted before, I can’t help but worry.”

You’d tell him, but honestly, what grown ass man wants to hear about a first heartbreak? It would just get awkward again, he’d just feel obligated to do something about it, and worse, he might end up feeling like he’s supposed to dislike Heeseung now. 

You choose to remain silent in the final straw that broke your back this semester. 

“Really, I’m just tired.” You nod to yourself as you hold your phone loosely against your ear. “I might not go to class tomorrow and just pack instead. I’ll just call you when I’m ready, is that okay?”

Sunghoon smiles to himself, wanting to mean something to you in a way that can hopefully help you out of this slump. Your mother would be throwing a fit if she heard how you’ve been sounding, he can’t help but take over that role and try to make damn sure you are okay. 

“That’s fine,” Sunghoon confirms. “I’ll call and let them know what’s going on so don’t worry about any of that. Just get yourself ready to come back home.” 

You find yourself smiling, relieved that you don’t have to be the one to contact your school and tell them that…well, you’re breaking your student-lease, dropping your food plan, and need to be reimbursed for partial tuition costs since Sunghoon insists every semester that you purchase tuition insurance. You should no longer be charged to live on campus, or for the facilities within the dorm. 

Knowing you’ll at least get back a couple thousand dollars is a nice change of pace, and already you’re feeling weirdly excited to go back to a space that will likely make you miss your mother more. It’ll hurt, but at least you won’t be alone anymore. 

The forty minute drive to campus feels less horrifying now, and maybe your friends will still come and hang out with you in your actual home rather than a tiny dorm. 

“Sounds good.” You say, as if to end the call before you mutter out again. “Thank you, by the way. Sunghoon, really.” 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Sunghoon knew he was spiraling further and further into his loneliness. He knew it wasn’t healthy either, but now. Oh, now he realizes just how bad it’s gotten as he demonizes himself upon picking you up. 

You haven’t come home since your mother’s funeral, and even on that day he barely remembers what you looked like. Eye contact was never a thing for him, but looking at you now, he sees how much you’ve matured since you went off to college. 

Your once bright, excited eyes have turned dull and empty. The bags under them are heavy from lack of sleep. Your lips appear to be in a permanent state of pouting, though he isn’t sure if you’ve noticed. You appear to have lost weight, which is concerning for him of course, but…there’s something else about you.

Something that sits in the pit of his stomach and rots.

“Uh–” You cough, noting the way Sunghoon looks at you as you try to hand him a large box. “Thank you for helping me move my stuff back…” 

Sunghoon snaps out of his thoughts, grabbing a heavy box and then waiting for you to stack another on top. 

“No big deal,” He mutters, feeling the weight in his hands double as he prepares to carefully carry your things out to his car. “You haven’t come home in over a year, but I’ve fixed up your room for you and went ahead and connected my gaming system in there.”

You nod quietly, feeling awkward for how fatherly he seems.

“Thanks…” You trail off, flopping a pile of your things into his trunk before stopping to look at him. “You look like shit.”

Sunghoon furrows his brows, noticing for a split second how that facial expression you made is very similar to one his wife used to throw at him when he’d have hair out of place, or a wardrobe malfunction. And then he smiles. 

“You’re not looking too good yourself.” He jokes back.

You smile back at him, feeling a bit of the awkward air fizzle away. 

“Well, I’m not doing well, so.” 

You were continuing the joke, but his face falls before yours does. 

“You can talk to me–” He starts.

“I know, I know.” You wave him off. “I’ll feel a lot better once we get back and I can settle in.

There’s a nod from him now, and then silence as the two of you continue to put the rest of your belongings into both his car and your own. 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you in a bit?” You say now, awkwardly.

Sunghoon nods, looking you over once again.

“See you in a bit.” 

   ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Shame.

Pure fucking shame. 

Sunghoon knew he needed another presence in this house but upon seeing you again, he knew it may have been a mistake. 

He likes to think of himself as level headed. He’s never gotten into any trouble, never had a stray thought, never cheated, lied, or stole anything. He can’t think of a single thing that he’s done in life to be considered taboo.  But looking at you feels…incorrect?

Indecent? 

You’re his step-daughter for fuck sake but it’s the fact that you don’t feel like you are. When he looks at you, he just sees another person. He did this to help you, he did this to feel needed, to be your fucking father. 

He did not do this to look at you this way or to feel his eye stray even without his intention.

Why do you look so much like her? Why do you do that thing with your pinky when you carry things like she did? You even have a similar smell, probably having picked up on your mother’s habits throughout childhood. 

You being here…It’s like she’s still here. Except it’s you, and he can’t be thinking this way. 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

This fic will be dark, very taboo, morally bad. Not a grey area, it is blatantly bad. sunghoon will do bad things. Please be aware of your own triggers once it's completed and posted. remember that I write within my own triggers, not yours. That being said! Please do show lots of love if this is a fic you're interested in reading! If you want to be tagged, I have a permanent tag list, there are not any separate tag lists for individual fics so keep that in mind.  ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

[sinofwriting]

Karma - Charles Leclerc

Words: 1,396 Summary: Charles and her had plans. 2025 would start with her fully moving in with him and then at the Monaco Grand Prix, they’d become public. A certain rapper ruins that in Vegas. Note(s): Lamar!Reader, Reader has the nickname ‘Butterfly’, slight smau, changed results of Abu Dhabi, also yes the title is referring to the Taylor Swift song, lol. Thank you @burningcupcakefire for encouraging me to write this when I mentioned the idea!!!

Masterlist | Support Me!

Charles could privately admit that when all the diss tracks started to come out, he more than paid attention to them. He had always appreciated Kendrick’s music but in the past year had gained a new perspective of him as both an artist and a person. All because he had started seeing the artist’s younger sister.

They hadn’t gone public yet, were still unsure of when they wanted to. He had reservations about putting more eyes on her and considering how his fans, how motorsport fans were, he could only imagine the baseless claims they’d made, the attacks they’d lay at her feet and Y/N, or Butterfly as she had been nicknamed by her brother’s fans, a nickname that had quickly caught to everyone in her life, had her own reasons.

She didn’t care about what fans would say, they were behind a keyboard, she could be perfect, and to Charles she was, and they would still find something to pick at, there was no winning. It was the attention he brought. She was already sometimes followed around by paparazzi just because of her brother, she knew that as soon as the news broke, she really would never be able to get her groceries in peace without some divorced thirty-year-old shouting questions as he took photos of her.

So they both had agreed that after the new year, when she was finally fully living with him in Monaco, and then at the Monaco Grand Prix, they would reveal their relationship, that of course didn’t go to plan because of one Instagram story.

—

—

Butterfly is fuming when he gets back to his hotel room, the curtains drawn back and letting the lights of Vegas spill into it, onto her. She’s nearly as stunning here as she is on his balcony in Monaco that faces the coast. A gorgeous backdrop that can’t even come close to her beauty no matter how much it tries.

Her fury makes arousal simmer in the pit of his stomach and his lips twitch upwards when she leans into the kiss he presses to the corner of her lips.

“You're nearly as mad as when he mentioned Whitney.”

She scowls at the verbal reminder of that shit. “He’s lucky I’m a civil adult.”

“Very civil.” Charles agrees.

“I mean, honestly what the fuck does he think he’s doing. Acting like he got an interest in F1.”

Charles listens as she starts to rant, having clearly waited for him, and he listens as undresses. Gathering his clothes up as her voice increases in volume and he gently tugs her with him into the bathroom, turning on the shower before easily lifting her onto the bathroom counter, her hands pausing their gesturing to run over his arms in thanks before she continues.

She rants through his brief shower, nearly slipping when she begins to read out texts between her and her brother.

“He is pissed?” His voice is nearly high, head poking out of the shower to look at her with wide eyes.

Butterfly looks at him in confusion, head cocked to the side. “Baby, of course. Your family. We don’t stand for shit like this against family.”

Charles can’t even point out that said shit is just an insta story of Drake saying he’s betting on him to win the grand prix, because he knows it feels deeper than that, especially with Drake’s history of betting. His mind is far too focused on the word family.

“I’m family?”

She lets out a laugh, tongue running over her teeth. “Baby, you got with me right before one of the worst times for our family and stuck through it. You never had to prove yourself, but that did it. You're stuck with all of us now.”

He feels warm all over at the words and he ducks his back into the shower, quickly rinsing off before climbing out, barely remembering to put a towel around his waist before capturing her lips in a kiss.

Her hands eagerly run over his back, legs opening to pull him closer and he tries to keep his upper body away from her, not wanting to get her shirt wet, but she pulls him closer and he can’t resist her, has never been able to.

“You’ve made me all wet.” She teases when they break apart.

He tries to apologize, but then she’s taking his hand and pressing it between them, against her leggings, and the feeling of wetness pulls a moan from the back of his throat.

“You are very lucky that I don’t listen to Andrea.”

“Very lucky.” She agrees.

—

“K said you had an idea.”

Charles lets out a hum, fingers trailing over her ribs.

“He wouldn’t tell me what.”

His fingers pause. “I was thinking instead of staying in Vegas tomorrow we go and see him.”

“We leave for Qatar on Monday.”

“We can make it back to Vegas in time for our flight. It’s barely a two-hour flight from there to here.”

This time she hums.

“Can we go public?”

He nearly chokes. “What?”

“Public, I want to go public. We had kind of talked about doing it before Monaco next season, but things have changed a bit.”

“Because I’m family.”

She laughs, “Yeah, baby, because your family.”

“What if we do a uh soft launch?”

“A soft launch?”

“Yeah, I’ll take a picture with your brother for my insta stories, start following you, you follow me back.” Excitement starts to build as he speaks.

“I post a little something about being in Qatar.”

“We do a little date night in Abu Dhabi.”

She hums, “You kiss me after you win Abu Dhabi.”

“You think I’m going to win?”

“Fuck yeah, baby. First Ferrari driver to win there and you’ll overtake Norris in the standings and maybe Ferrari will finish P2 in the constructors.”

“I like this plan.”

She smiles. “I like it too.”

—

—

—

—

“Yes Charles!”

“Yes!” He screams over the radio. “Where did Carlos finish? Where did Norris, Oscar?” He wants to celebrate the win, but the constructors and drivers are far more important.

“Carlos P6, Norris P3, Oscar P10. You are second in the drivers. And we are second in constructors, 2 points between you and Norris, four points between us and McLaren.”

“Fuck.” The excitement in him is simmered with resentment. Four points was all it came down to and of course it wasn’t in their favor.

“Charles, Charles,” Fred’s voice is thick over the radio. “You did fantastic, another win for you and an amazing drive!”

He smiles, taking his hands off to wave at fans as he slowly moves around the track. Italian easily spilling from his lips as he thanks Fred, Bryan, the mechanics, engineers and the whole team.

It’s satisfying to pull his car to the number one spot as Lando takes off his helmet, jaw twitching. Charles wants to shake him because how can he be this focused on second in the drivers when him and his team won the constructors. He stares at him for a second before getting out of the car and throwing himself into his teams arms.

They easily catch him, hands patting all over, his name spilling off lips over and over again. They grip him tighter before letting him go to take off his helmet and balaclava.

The air is refreshing against his face and normally he's taking a drink of water, starting to put back on jewelry, but today he’s searching through the crowd of red, heart thumping when he finally notices her.

She’s to the side, beaming at him as Bryan stands on her left while his mom and brothers stand to her right. And he goes to her.

His hands easily going to her face, holding it gently before kissing her.

She’s mumbling something against his lips and he wants to know what, but he can’t stop kissing her. Not when she’s clutching at his arms, pressing closer to him. But a nudge to the ribs makes him pull away, breathless, and his tongue runs over his swollen lips.

“So proud of you, baby! So fucking proud!” She yells at him as he’s pulled away for a post race interview and he can’t help but blow her a kiss, happy to have won in front of her for the first time and in front of his family again.

[seraphinitegames]

The Wayhaven Chronicles—Update 20/Dec/2024

This week was a realisation of just how close Christmas break is, lol!

So then it was making sure to get everything checked off!

That was a bit more of a squeeze this year as the Winter scenario specials have all ended up waaaaay longer than I meant them to by thousands of words… :D

So that’s been nearly 20,000 words extra this month on top of making sure to hit my chapter 6 goals!

Though writing the scenarios and chapter six meant I got to write multiple Adam/Ava kisses this week: for the scenario and the main game. So it’s been a busy week for A ;D

I will be working this weekend and likely next week, but I will be starting my break from social media, etc, from tomorrow. In the same vein, we will be back on January 6th but won’t be back on social media, etc until 13th January.

That first week back will be used for planning out the year ahead and getting a head start on a lot of very fun stuff to come!

Hope you all have the most amazing and magical holiday season if you celebrate! If not, then I hope you have a fantastic December and New Year!

Talk to you all then! <3

[moonstruckme]

Hey Mae!!! I saw that the requests were open so I thought I would request something but if I misread it or something then please ignore this!

I was wondering if you could write something with reader not used to being taken care of? Like they have always taken care of others and have never had the opportunity to be taken care of so when someone else does they feel the need to do something for them in return? I was thinking of maybe Remus for this one? Or maybe a poly! Ship but you can write whoever you want!!

I understand if this is not a topic you would like to write about but I just love your writing and thought I would give it a try. Thank you for reading this anyway and I hope you have a wonderful day/night!

(Sorry it’s such a long request)

No you were right lovely! Thanks for your request :)

roommate!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 625 words

You pad into the kitchen, blanket around your shoulders and half-dissolved lozenge tucked into your cheek, to find the sink clear of dishes yet again. Guilt grows like winding vines around your ribcage. 

You put on the kettle. Stand over it as the steam starts to rise, breathing in the thick air and imagining you can feel the pressure in your sinuses lessening slightly. You make a cup of turmeric tea with honey for yourself, and English breakfast for Remus, stirring in a tiny bit of sugar the way he likes. You’re careful to keep it well away from you and your potential contagious-ness while you carry it upstairs. 

You knock softly in case, but Remus is awake, as you knew he’d be. 

“Morning,” he says, looking up from his book with a smile. The sight of him, sleep-rumpled and happy to see you, is almost too much. His eyes flicker down to the mugs you’re carrying, eyebrows lifting. “For me?” 

“Mhm.” You pass it to him, ignoring his soft tutting when you turn it in your grip so the handle is facing out towards him. 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says warmly. He blows steam off the top, honeyed eyes on yours. “I should be the one getting up to make you tea, really. How are you?” 

“I’m okay.” You shrug, taking a sip of your tea. The heat dissolves your lozenge faster, double soothing for your throat. “And you’ve done more than enough already. Sorry about the dishes.” 

Remus’ expression clouds with confusion for a moment before he realizes what you’re talking about. “Oh, I don’t mind. I wouldn’t be doing dishes if I was unwell, either.” 

“Thanks for doing them for me,” you say softly. Or you try to, but it ends in a rasp, your throat contracting against a cough that doesn’t form. You clear it embarrassedly. 

Your roommate’s brows bend with sympathy. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells you. “It’s really no problem. You don’t need to bring me tea just because I did a few of your dishes.” 

“I want to make it up to you.” 

His expression softens. “There’s nothing to make up, love. It’s not a debt that needs to be repaid.” 

You frown, chewing your lozenge. “At least let me make you breakfast. Is there anything you’re craving?” 

“No.” Remus smiles at you. Not quite confused, almost disbelieving. “You don’t need to make me anything. You should be resting.” 

“I’ve been resting.” You sniff, wincing at the pain it sends through your head. You’ve been either in bed or on the couch for days, and meanwhile Remus has been cleaning up your messes, keeping quiet so you can sleep, and bringing you soup from that place you like down the street. 

“It’s my turn to help now,” you say. 

“It’ll be your turn when I’m poorly and miserable.” Remus sets a hand to your forehead, humming disapprovingly. You use every scrap of willpower you have left not to melt into his bed. “Listen to me, alright? I don’t mind looking after you. It’s not transactional. I washed your dishes because they were there and I had the time, and—” He gives you a playful look. “—because I know that if I were up all night coughing, I wouldn’t want to worry about dishes. Okay?” 

His eyes hold yours. You feel perhaps the most out of it you have since this illness came on. Drunk, almost. “Okay,” you capitulate. 

Remus smiles. “Thank you. So you can stop trying to think up ways to get even.” He picks up his tea. “I can see that head of yours working. Leave it alone, it’s going through enough.” 

You smile back, caught. “Thanks for all your help.” 

“Don’t worry about it, love.”

[writingstreetspirit]

All I Want For Solstice, (Is You)

Summary: What could possibly be better than celebrating Winter Solstice with your family?

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Shit ton of fluff, sappy feelings, pregnancy

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: I hope this pieces was alright, I’d thought it be finished a lot earlier this December since I started writing it in November. But my cat unexpectedly became sick and had to be put down so I’ve been taking time to mourn his passing as well as getting back the energy to write again. Anyways, I hope you all will have a wonderful Winter Holiday however you’re celebrating!

—

“We’re going to be late!” You hurried down the stairs as fast as you could in your, although low but still, heels. Scanning eyes searched for your handbag while simultaneously putting on the earrings that Azriel gifted you for your last birthday.

Azriel came out from the kitchen, a gift bag with the presents for your friends in hand. “Maybe a little. The others can survive our absence for a few minutes. Remember last Winter Solstice? Cassian and Nesta didn’t arrive until more than half an hour after everyone else.”

You huffed a breathless chuckle, grabbing for one of the warmer formal coats on the clothing rack in the hallway. “Yeah, and they’ll never hear the end of it. I’d rather not have a repeat of last year.”

Azriel, who was already dressed and ready to go outside, took a gentle hold of your upper arms. You halted to a stop at the sudden touch. “[Name], slow down, take a deep breath. You know that stress isn’t good for you.”

Breathing in deep through your nose and slowly releasing it through your mouth, you could feel the tightness in your shoulders loosen. Azriel smiled, gently squeezing his hands around your flesh. “Good, that’s better.”

Nodding, you slumped your head forward, resting your temple against your bondmate’s firm shoulder. “Sorry.”

Warm hands cupped your cheeks softly, tilting your head up so that he could look at you. Azriel’s hazel eyes held that warm and tender look that he only reserved for you, for the love of his life.

“Sweetheart, you never have to apologize for that. I just want you to be healthy and happy, the both of you.”

His hands instinctively left your cheeks to wander down your dress, settling over your swollen stomach, one lone shadow joining their master’s hands. You were well into the third and last trimester, and with just a few more weeks worth of time, the growing baby within you was to be born.

With it being your and Azriel’s first child, every single aspect of the pregnancy was completely new, both beautiful beyond words, and downright scary at times. While the both of you were ready and eager to welcome a little boy or girl, it is frightening thinking that someone so small and precious was to be brought into the world.

You sighed, leaning into the familiar and comforting touch. Azriel was always touching your belly ever since the news of a little life growing inside you were revealed, you're almost surprised they hadn’t left marks on your skin yet. His shadows were not much better, if Azriel couldn’t be near you for any reason, several of them would remain beside you to watch over and protect.

”We’re both okay, how could we not be when we have such a doting male taking care of us?” As if in agreement with your words, a foot kicked your stomach, right under one of Azriel’s palm. A smile grew on your lips, and Azriel downright beamed at the feel. You cooed, gazing lovingly at your round stomach, ”Yeah, isn’t that right, little one?”

Another kick, this time firmer and the small laugh that escaped from Azriel sounded a little choked. He leaned down, pressing a long kiss against where his hands had been seconds before. With his lips still pressed against you, Azriel whispered words that you had a hard time hearing. But the way he spoke them, the affection dripping from his voice, you knew they were made of love.

After a few more moments, Azriel seemed to be able to tear himself away from your belly, the shadow retreating to their master. Once back up on his feet, he leaned down to press a slow kiss on your lips. You couldn’t help but melt against your bandmate, arms wrapping themself around his neck to keep him close. The need after breath was what finally made you have to pull back from those alluring lips.

”Are you ready to leave?” Azriel mumbled, aiding your limbs in to your coat and buttoned it up. He pressed a kiss against your temple, a strong forearm sneaking behind and round your waist. At your smile and nod, the two of you opened the door and stepped out into the snow.

The Townhouse was bustling with activity when Azriel and you arrived. Loud talking, laughter and the clinking of silverware in the kitchen greeted your ears immediately after the door closed behind the two of you. Shrugging off the small amount of snow that had collected on your coat and in your hair, Azriel helped you out of the coat as well as his own.

With his arm wrapped around your waist, Azriel and you stepped further into the warm house and into the kitchen. Feyre, who was leaning against the counter beside Rhysand, noticed your arrival first. She threw herself over to you, giving you a hug. “Azriel, [Name]! Welcome, the food’s almost ready!”

“We’re not late, are we?” You asked upon being released, immediately being enveloped in a hug by Rhys, then Cassian, followed by Nesta, Mor, and lastly Elain. Amren had unfortunately been busy elsewhere and unable to join your family for celebration.

“No, no, you’re fine. Cassian and Nesta just arrived minutes earlier.” Rhysand reassured you, pulling away from hugging his fellow Illyrian brother. Azriel gave you a pointed, but tender look, as if saying ‘told you so’. You rolled your eyes at him, a somewhat sheepish smile tugging on your lips.

Azriel huffed, pressing his lips against your temple. His arm creeped back around your side, his hand resting against your stomach as he so usually did the last couple months. You leaned back against his steady form with a content smile.

Cassian, having seen the whole scene, let out a snort and smirked at Azriel. “You’re so wiped, Az.”

Your mate’s eyes that had been locked on you hardened a bit in warning, directing his gaze at Cassian. Feyre and Azriel stifled a giggle when Nesta’s hand made contact with the back of her mate's head, a tsked ‘idiot’ escaping her mouth.

The smirk remained, but his eyes gave away to gentleness. ”On a serious note, we’re so happy for you two. How are you and the baby doing [Name]? Not long left till your little one is here.”

You smiled, your own hand settling on top of your husband’s on your stomach. “We’re doing great Cass. Just a couple more weeks before you get to meet your niece or nephew.”

“From what I’ve gathered, Azriel seems certain that it’s a girl.” Rhysand said, sharing a look with you. That was indeed true, whenever Azriel would speak with you about your unborn child, he would always call them a girl. Whether it was about the nursery or baby clothes or what color their eyes would have, the Shadowsinger thought you two would have a daughter.

You knew your mate would be ecstatic no matter if the baby would turn out to be a boy or girl, but it did secretly warm your heart imagining Azriel with a daughter. But you would have to wait for the birth to find out if your mate was right or not.

“I guess we’ll just have to wait to find out.” You said wistfully. Azriel hummed, a loving smile on his face. He leaned down, pressing a brief kiss on your lips, whispering low for only you to hear. “I can’t wait to meet her, or him.”

Feyre smiled at your comment, gazing at her own mate before looking at the stove. “Yes, indeed we will. Anyways, the food should be ready. Let’s eat!”

The following hour was spent at the dining table, surrounded by your closest friends and family eating a delicious meal and delightful drinks. Cheeks almost sore from smiling and belly full and content, everybody eventually migrated to the living room to land on the couches and armchairs.

After the gifts were given, received and opened, Azriel sat on an armchair that was appropriately sized for Illyrian wings with you sitting with your back pressed against his chest. The sun had already gone down and the snow fell heavy outside, the energy from the day had been all but spent. In your wonderful mate’s arms, you couldn’t help but to be dowsing.

“Did you have fun today, sweetheart?” Azriel asked low, just for you to hear. You nodded, tipping your head back to look at him, a slow and sleepy smile spreading across your face. “This was the best Solstice I’ve ever celebrated.”

A warm and tender hand caressed your flushed cheek. His other hand rested on your belly, thumb swiping back and forth against the stretched skin. A couple of his shadows flowed across the skin that was not covered by his hand, curious and delighted by their soon to be new friend.

The baby within was peacefully sleeping after having kicked the whole time that the gifts had been opened. “I’m glad that you feel the same. I take it that we should be heading home soon?”

You hummed, leaning back further in Azriel’s warm embrace, face nuzzling deeper into his shoulder blade. “Not just yet. Stay like this for a little while longer, your comfortable.”

Azriel chuckled but tightened his arms around you, leaning his cheek against the top of your head. “Whatever my mate wants, she gets.”

[starrysturnz]

baby, it’s cold outside!

pairing. matthew sturniolo x reader

summary. when a harsh blizzard hits boston, matt and y/n get snowed in. with the power out, they brainstorm an alternative way to keep each other warm— and where better to do that than by the fireplace?

warnings. smut; softdom!matt, fingering (fem!receiving), unprotected sex, implied creampie, overstimulation (fem!receiving) if you squint. so much fluff. they love each other so much it’s gross.

word count. 1k

author’s note. sorry i’m posting so late… BUT it’s 10:30pm EST so technically it’s on time. this was supposed to be longer but i was traveling today and i didn’t have the energy to keep writing. kisses!

masterlist | taglist | starrysturnz’s christmas countdown

© starrysturnz. all rights reserved. dividers by @cafekitsune.

“i think that’s enough candles, matt,” y/n laughed, the flickering of the flames reflected in her already shining eyes. “you’re going to wear out the lighter.”

matt glanced up just long enough for her to catch the mischievous grin on his illuminated face, setting the pine-labeled jar down. “it’ll last, baby. i can always go get us another one if it dies.”

“not in this weather, you won’t,” the girl scolded, gazing out the window at the white void and snagging a blanket out of the nearby storage closet. “i don’t care how close the corner store is, you’re not going out in that.” she shivered at the thought, coming up behind her boyfriend and draping the fluffy material across his shoulders. her fingers tickled their way around his waist, clasping tightly and hugging him close so she could relax against his back. 

matt’s shoulders jostled her as he chuckled. “c’mon, you know i’m not that stupid. i’d just go next door and ask mr. martínez to lend me one.”

“please. mr martínez hates us. he’d probably let you in just to push you off his balcony.” 

turning around in her grasp, matt opened his arms and ushered y/n into his embrace, securing the blanket to cover her frame. “then it’s a good thing there’s four feet of snow on the ground waiting to catch me, huh?” he swiped the tip of her nose with his knuckle, pulling her in to lay a kiss against her forehead. 

“whatever. i’m not going down there with a hairdryer to thaw you out. you’re on your own.” 

“a space heater would work better, no?” he mused with a smile. “speaking of… we gotta get some heat going in here, it’s freezing. how ’bout a fire, hm? keep us warm ’til they get the power lines back up?”

he felt her nod against his chest. “you do that. i’m gonna go grab the duvet.”

⁺⁎˚

“m-matt…,” y/n whined from beneath him, “please, don’t stop. please.” 

“i’ve barely gotten started, baby,” matt spoke lowly, nosing at her flushed cheek, “why would i stop now?”

a breathy sigh filled the space between them, “because you’re evil, and you’re a tease.”

“if i was evil, would i do this?” she gasped sharply as she felt his fingers curl inside her, hitting that special, spongy spot that always left her weak in the knees. his thumb worked hard on her clit, and a shiver shot down her spine; this time, not from the cold. 

actually, they were quite warm. matt was the one to suggest they build a makeshift bed by the fireplace, and in hindsight, y/n should’ve known he was scheming for more. but she couldn’t lie and say it was uncomfortable or impractical— the many pillows and blankets beneath her made for a really soft mattress, and she was nothing if not cozy. 

but the girl was bordering on impatient. it’s not her fault! it’s just that they’d been doing this for a while now, and the poor girl wanted more. matt’s a giver at heart, and she knew this could go on all night if she didn’t say something. 

“matt…,” she whimpered desperately, hands finding purchase in his hair. a dull ache bloomed at the base of his skull as she tugged. “m-matty—”

“matty?” he laughed. “someone’s desperate… poor thing.” his fingers never relented, and it wasn’t long before her first orgasm finally took over. 

“oh… oh, my god, matt!” y/n’s voice sounded through the small living room, her hips lifting off of the sheets and grinding into matt’s hand as she started coming down from her high. 

“’s right, baby,” he pulled his fingers out, and a whine of discomfort tumbled from her lips. “that’s it, you’re all right. i got you.” 

matt took the opportunity to take his girlfriend in. the sight of her beneath him, half aglow in the firelight, laying like an angel in their improvised bed surrounded by candles. he felt like the luckiest guy in the universe. 

“baby,” his hand came up to her face, stroking her cheek softly with his knuckles, “you’re shaking.”

y/n’s brow furrowed just so, eyes opening to meet his. “oh… sorry….”

“’s nothing to be sorry about. are you cold? i can grab another log to throw in there, or maybe we have another blanket—”

“i have a better idea.” reaching between them, she palmed him through his calvin kleins. 

matt, sucking in a breath through his front teeth, hung his head low as he gathered himself— if he came from one touch alone, he’d never live it down. y/n would make sure he never heard the end of it. 

“you sure you don’t want some water first? maybe just a minute to relax a little? i can wait, promise.” 

the girl leaned up, pressing the tip of her nose to his. “matt,” she whispered, “please fuck me.”

matt smiled and wasted no time ridding himself of his boxers, almost losing his balance and toppling onto her in the process (she laughed at him and offered no help, naturally). he groaned as he sunk in, swallowing her moans with his mouth, fingers finding her clit once again. a shudder ran through her spine at the stimulation. 

“you’re perfect,” he breathed against her neck. wet kisses littered the area, a roadmap of his favorite freckles and blemishes. “what did i do to deserve you?”

y/n wanted to tell him he was born deserving of everything good, but her lips were stuck in a permanent ‘o’ shape. she was putty in his arms, his thrusts jostling her back and forth against the pillows. 

“love you… so much, baby,” those the last words she heard before her second high, matt following soon behind her. a few moments came and went before she nudged his shoulder, and matt took that as his cue to ease up. 

“i love you, too,” y/n broke the silence. “but i think mr. martínez probably wants us evicted now.”

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Tipping Point

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.4k

Warnings: sexual tension, implied smut

Summary: Your aunt signs you up for shooting lessons with Spencer Reid. You get more than you bargained for when you go.

Square Filled: alex blake (2022) for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

Not having a job is really kicking your ass. All you do is stay at home and flip through magazines and shows you’ve already watched. Since your parents died, your aunt has taken you under her wing. The housing and renting market is a joke right now, so you’re living with her until you can go to school. You want to go into her field since you look up to her so much, but the school year doesn’t start for another three months.

So, you’re just trying to pass the time by reading magazines and watching shit reality shows.

Aunt Alex walks downstairs after getting ready for work, and she goes to the kitchen where the full pot of coffee you brewed is waiting for her.

“So, what do you have planned for today?” she asks.

“Well, at ten, I want to cure diseases, and at two, I plan on writing a thesis on String Theory. Why? Do you have something planned? I can see if I can fit you in,” you say sarcastically.

“You’re so funny,” she rolls her eyes playfully. “There’s actually something I want you to do for me.”

“What’s up?”

“I signed you up for shooting lessons. One of my coworkers is teaching the class, and he knows you’re coming. Your appointment is at two.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. She’s been nagging you to take shooting lessons ever since you moved in with her.

“Aunt Alex…”

“Y/N, listen, your mother wasn’t prepared and look where it got her. I’m not letting the same thing happen to you.”

She’s right. Your father died shortly after you were born so your mom was the protector. There was an invasion one night and she wasn’t able to protect herself against the intruder. She died fighting to save you. Alex sees evil every single day, and it would break her heart if you weren't prepared for the worst.

“Fine, I’ll go,” you sigh.

“Good. It’s at two. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t.”

The morning is filled with reality TV, and the early afternoon is when you prepare to go to this lesson. What should you wear? A dress might be too much so you pick out a nice pair of jeans and a loose shirt. Once ready, you leave the house and head over to the shooting range. You’re not sure who from her team is going to be teaching you. You’ve never met them but you do know them by name. David Rossi, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner, and Spencer Reid. You don’t think Rossi or Hotch will teach you so it has to be either Derek or Spencer.

The shooting range is empty, probably due to Alex’s influence. She wanted whoever is teaching it to focus on you the whole time.

“Hello? Anyone here?”

“In the back!”

You walk to the back and see a tall and slender man putting away supplies. From Penelope’s use of the phrase “Chocolate Thunder” (thanks to Aunt Alex repeating it several times), you know this is Spencer Reid. Spencer turns and you’re immediately floored by how attractive he is. You’ve met your fair share of men and have hooked up with more than one of them, but Spencer is on a whole other level.

This is a man right here. You’re into older men, too. You’re not sure how old he is but he can’t be more than thirty-five.

He walks over to you with a smile. “Hi, I’m Spencer Reid. Alex said you were coming over.” No words are coming out so you just nod instead. “Have you ever shot a gun before?” Again, you can only shake your head. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you.”

He takes you over to the area where you shoot and shows an array of guns on the table next to it. He picks up the smaller one and hands it over to you.

“Wow, this is heavier than I thought it was going to be,” you chuckle when you grab it.

“Yeah, don’t let that scare you. This is a very easy gun to use. First, safety.”

Spencer takes the gun from you and puts it on the table before grabbing a pair of earmuffs and safety glasses. You look up at him as he slides the earmuffs over your ears, and he looks into your eyes. He briefly looks down at your lips but it was so quick that you could have been imagining it.

“Does that fit well?”

Even through the earmuffs, his voice is like honey. You nod and he moves onto the glasses. He slides them on despite you having full capabilities of doing this yourself. You look down and the glasses slide off your face entirely, and you chuckle shyly. Both you and Spencer lean down to pick it up, and your hand bumps against his.

It was just a bump but that sends shockwaves through your body. Based on how Spencer is looking at you, you know he felt the same. This is different than any fling you had. You’ve never felt this type of attraction toward another man.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

“It’s okay.” He grabs the glasses. “Let me get another pair.” Spencer leaves and returns with a smaller pair. “Are those okay?”

“Better,” you smile.

“Okay, take the gun and turn the safety off.” You pick up the gun and flip the little switch. Spencer steps closer to you, so close that you can feel his body heat behind you. Butterflies flutter in your stomach but you try to ignore them. “Here, hold it like this.”

He reaches around you and fixes the way you hold the gun. He has to press himself closer to your back, and you silently thank Aunt Alex for setting this up for you.

“Am I holding it right?” you ask.

“Yes.”

His breath is hot against your neck, and you swear you can feel your panties dampening a little bit.

“Now what?”

“Shoot.” You aim at the target in front of you and shoot three times, all of the bullets not hitting the target but on the paper outside of it. “Okay, next time, don’t close one eye. That actually doesn’t help.”

“Okay,” you chuckle. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Try again. This time, try to aim for the heart.”

You aim at the target but freeze when you feel Spencer’s hand sliding up your arms and down to your waist. How can you think about this when all you can think about is his hands on your body? You shoot the target twice, both of the bullets hitting the target. However, one hit his leg and the other hit his hand.

“Better?”

“Yeah, a bit. Are you sure you’ve never shot a gun before?”

“Never.”

“For a first-timer, you’re doing a lot better than other newbies.”

“Thanks,” you smile. “I just have a really great teacher.”

Spencer spends the next thirty minutes teaching you how to shoot multiple different guns. By the time you’re done, the sexual tension is high. Spencer steps back from you and you regret not failing more just so you can feel his body against yours.

“Okay, I think that’s enough for today. I do think you might benefit from one more lesson. Are you free next week?”

“Yes,” you say too quickly. “I mean, I can make that work. Just let me know.”

“Great.”

Spencer removes your glasses and then your earmuffs while staring into your eyes the whole time. The tension between you two is like a boiling pot of water. It’s going to overflow any second now, and you can’t wait to see what will happen when he snaps. He looks down at your lips and you lick them slowly, and that seems to be the tipping point.

He grabs your waist and pulls you into him before slamming his lips on yours. You immediately wrap your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss. He hooks his hands under your thighs and lifts you up with ease, setting you on the small table so you’re up to his height. Spencer slides his tongue along your bottom lip, but he kisses his way down your jaw to your neck instead of licking inside your mouth.

“Alex is going to kill me,” he mutters between kisses.

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” you moan.

Spencer pulls back and kisses you once again. If you knew this was waiting for you, you would have taken lessons a lot sooner.

x

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[anyarose011]

Agape

Pairing: Lucius x Reader

Summary: After the Roman Empire had fallen, birthing the Republic, you and Lucius had finally found a moment to breathe in each other's presence. Over a few years' journey of healing, you find that is both exhausting, yet all the more fulfilling at the same time.

Part 2 of 2 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Past SA, Depictions of Grief, Violence, Angst, Miscommunication, Historical Inaccuracies [I tried my best to make it kind of accurate], Nudity (sexual and non-sexual), Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex (f receiving), P in V Sex

Paul Mescal's facial hair in All of Us Strangers, if you can hear us, please save us. Nobody ask me how I went from "’Oh, I’m just gonna write some scenes about healing from trauma, and the rest is smut! Easy!" to then making it just a little longer than the first part. I'm a yapper, but holy shit XD. Anyway, this is just shameless pRopAgAnDa at what I personally view a husband to act like (even in modern times). So, without further ado, thousands of words of hurt/comfort and smut.

Word Count: 16.4k

You were a lucky child. When you were twelve and your friend was married off to a man who was forty-two, you asked your father when you would be married.

He tucked you in that night, saying that he wasn’t certain, and that you had nothing to fear; for he wouldn’t promise you to a man who was in a war the same year you were born. He would have to know him personally as well, saying.

“It’s easier to like a man than have to plan his assassination if he dared lay a hand on you.”

You like to think he would have approved of Lucius; he was the once heir to the Roman Empire.

You don’t think he would have approved of your…informal marriage.

“A year.” Lucius stated as the two of you sat together in one of the piazzas. “As long as we are not separated from each other for more than three days, Rome will view us as married if we live in the same household for a year.”

You hummed. “And why should we care what Rome views?”

“Men won’t stop their advances on you if they saw you as my sister.” he explained. “Even as a wife, that doesn’t stir them.”

“It’s a very Christian belief of you to have.”

“But it makes them think thoroughly on if they want to risk tainting you.” Lucius finally looked at you. “Knowing that I would break every finger they touched you with.”

Even with his proclamation, you merely shrugged. “Being the emperor’s favorite whore, I doubt they would care.”

He sighed. “Do you want to know what my mother wrote? Her final words that will forever be with me because they are in ink? ‘Take her as your wife.’”

It had only been one day since Lucilla’s death, since Rome had become a Republic, and no one knew exactly what to do.

Yet…even at the mention of her presence, you felt tears spring to your eyes.

How you hated crying; and crying and crying.

“It is wise.” You finally settled on. “The people here too must see me as a traitor.”

“You would be dead if they did.”

“It’s still early.” You smiled sadly. “I desired to be free of the emperors, but all they must have saw was lust for power.”

Lucius sighed. “If it is a concern, then I believe it is best to leave Rome.”

Suddenly, you were no longer afraid for your life. You scowled. “Leave the city you risked your life to liberate?”

“It is not just my own life I need to think of now, is it?”

“Then think of mine.” you began. “I don’t wish to leave. Where would we even go? I know nothing outside of Rome.”

This would have been solved if you somehow still had the house you grew up in. The moment Geta claimed you, it was gone. Even with the fall of the Empire, and the birth of the Republic, you could not take it back.

Among many other things, you could not take it back.

“We’ll live just outside the walls.” Lucius suggested. “A farm perhaps a few miles from here-.”

“-A farm?” You questioned. “You know how to farm? Because I sure don’t.”

“I’ve lived longer on a farm than I have in a palace.”

It shouldn’t have surprised you, but it did. You also weren’t in the position to bargain. Even though it wasn’t going to be what most would deem an ‘official’ marriage, he still owned you. That was how it always was, whether living outside of the Roman walls or not. Still, you had to try.

“I will learn as much as I need to,” You shook your head. “but I will find a job in the city. You cannot believe I will be shut out-.”

“-Do you want to share a room, or would you like your own?”

You furrowed your brow. “What?”

Lucius restated. “We don’t have any money to buy a farm, so I’ll build us one. Do you want your own room?”

You had only known him for a grand total of a day and a half (if you were to add up all the previous times you had spoken to him before Macrinus’ death), so needless to say, his offer shocked you; more so, it impressed you.

“Isn’t it odd for a man and wife to not share a bed?” You asked.

“So, you want to share a room?”

“No.” was your immediate response. “I just…”

Am not used to compromising with men without them threatening my life.

“Won’t it cost money to build a house?” You asked instead. “None the less, more for another room?”

“I only want you to be happy, if we’re to be married.”

There you were, asking every question and not being satisfied with his answers, yet he was remaining patient.

“Thank you.” You bowed your head in thanks for just a second before questioning. “I am still allowed to have a job in the city? It will help with the cost, of course.”

 “Where exactly do you intend to work?”

He said your name; not ‘Julia’, the name you had whispered to him in his cell. Lucius was the only one who had said it to you, for you did not even tell Lucilla or Marcus. It still felt strange hearing it on your lips, nonetheless, his.

Still, shaking your discomfort away, you hummed humorlessly. “I know two women who run their own businesses; hairdressing and tailoring. I’m better at hair than clothes, but not so much. And you?”

He sighed. “I’ll see if there’s any other farmers needing a hand.”

“You’re going to work for a farmer to build a farm?”

“It sounded more bizarre in your head than when you said it aloud, did it not?”

That was the first thing you found out about Lucius after all the bloodshed and heartbreak of the last week:

He spoke with such a straight tone, you did not know he was joking until he would smile just a hint; you couldn’t really call it a true smile.

You managed to grin. “I suppose it makes sense. You should find one that will let us sleep there.”

And he did. A farm just a few miles outside of Rome took both you and Lucius in. It was substantial, housing five chickens, two cows, three pigs, four horses, and seven human children. Albeit the children helped with the chores, but the eldest was only ten and could not manage any of the heavy lifting whatsoever, which was where Lucius came in.

From sun up to sun down, he’d work on the farm. The farmers, Atticus and Diana, let you sleep in the barn of all places. The hayloft was nice for the both of you; enough space to spread out but not be right next to each other. There was also somewhat of a wall between the two of you, giving the illusion of separate rooms.

It was certainly an adjustment for you; had been sleeping on the softest of beds for months, but even so, you just missed the bed from your old house.

Lucius fell asleep the second he laid on the hay.

Dreams and nightmares were always a peculiar thing. Some days, you would dream of your mother and father, some days, they would be of Lucilla and Marcus.

You had nightmares of what befell you before coming to the farm; Macrinus and his manipulation, Caracalla’s temper, Geta…

Yet, the worst that would happen would be you waking up more tired than the night prior. You knew Lucius was having nightmares too, but every time you approached him, he would lie and say he was fine, or simply not want to speak of it.

You stopped asking.

For the first few days on the farm, you were put to work by watching over the younger children when their mother was busy. Somehow, it was the older ones you didn’t mind, it was the youngest baby who was a handful.

It’s morbid to say, but you always wondered how any of them survived infancy.

Luckily, you managed to get back to Rome after perhaps a week of being stranded on the farm. It was almost an hour walk, and you had gotten up even before Lucius had, but it was worth it.

It wasn’t that you felt dead as you were on the farm per say, but walking through the streets brought a certain kind of life back into your steps.

You spent a good portion of the day trying to find the hairdressers you talk to Lucius about. Just as you were about to give up and try again tomorrow, something caught your ear.

Hebrew.

You turned over your shoulder and saw a man speaking in Latin to another man and a pregnant woman. The father had spoken in broken Latin before turning to his wife, speaking quickly in Hebrew as if to ask her what to say.

One of the men began to yell, and you rushed over, speaking to the patriarch of the family.

“What’s going on?” You asked quickly.

His eyes grew as if you were the first person in Rome to understand him (you probably were). “I paid for a bag of peaches fairly; two bronze, yet they’re saying it wasn’t enough.”

You turned to the men behind you. “He says he gave you two bronze for the peaches.”

“It was three.” The Roman man gritted his teeth.

Tilting your head, you tried. “Show me your stand so we may see.”

It was perhaps stupid of you to challenge him; yet, he controlled his tempter and led you to his fruit stand. The sign by the peaches indeed said ‘2’, but there was also a good amount of peaches blocking the bottom half of the sign.

When you moved a few, it read ‘3’.

You smiled, looking at the man who spoke Hebrew. “It is three, but it’s not your fault this brute didn’t notice either.”

He nodded, returning your grin before handing the men another copper. With an few mumbled exchanges, the man and his wife were on their way.

“You have Judeans in your family?” The man crudely asked.

Still, you decided to reciprocate his crassness with kindness. “I actually speak five languages.”

He rose his brows. “Is that a fact?”

“Yes, yes it is.”

He hummed, holding his hand out. “Isidorus.”

“Julia.” Was your immediate response as he took your hand and kissed your knuckles. It wasn’t even your own choice to say that name; it was what you lived by. Retracting your hand, you shake your head and said your own name. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-.”

“-All of Rome knows who you are.” He interrupted. “Do not be afraid of your own people. Most of them were there simply a week ago when you tried to slay Macrinus but was there to comfort lady Lucilla in her final moments.”

You only nodded, not wanting to be praised. “I thank you for your kindness.”

“With certain.” He nodded. “You are with child; only a monster would harm a woman carrying.”

The events of the past weeks had made you forgotten about the false babe. Luckily, the fear upon your face could be used to your advantage.

“Are you not well?” Isidorus questioned.

You dropped your gaze, stammering your tone. “The…I lost the child.”

He looked down as well. “Oh…I’m so sorry.”

“No,” you shook your head. “it’s…it feels odd. His father was terrible but…”

“Why are you perusing Rome unchaperoned?” He changed the subject.

 “My betrothed is being put to work,” you immediately answered. “and I am scouring the streets to find my own.”

“What has your luck been?”

“Nothing.”

Isidorus hummed. “I could change that.”

Even at the thought of what he was alluding to, you smiled. “Good sir, I am not in the position to sell my body-.”

“-None of that.” he waved his hand. “My brother works down at the entrance of the city gates. They’re always in need of translators.”

You nodded, considering. “When may I meet with him?”

“Tomorrow?” He asked. “Midday at the gates with many people watching so you do not feel threatened?”

The two of you laughed, and you agreed. “I shall be there. Thank you.”

“Anything to help a woman of the people.”

You walked all the way back to the farm with a skip in your step. Even at dinner, you were more talkative with the rest of the family. Lucius certainly took notice as the two of you were settling down for the night.

“You seemed better today.” He complimented, laying onto his bed of hay.

“So, I’ve been absolutely horrible the rest?” You teased, peeking around the wall of the hayloft.

 “No, just what I think you were like before everything; more yourself.” He explained. “Did the hairdressers go well?”

Leaning against the wall, you crossed your arms. “I’m actually working as a translator down by the city entrance.”

He gave you a look. “How’d this come about?”

“Well,” you began. “I overheard two men arguing, one was speaking Hebrew, and I asked him what was wrong. There was a misunderstanding over peaches of all things, I helped them talk it out, and it was solved with no bloodshed. The vendor said his brother works at the gates and is always in need of translators and offered to meet with him tomorrow. It will be midday and so many people around; do not worry.”

Lucius nodded. “I’ll accompany you.”

“Did you not hear what I just said? I shall be fine.”

“I have no doubt you would.” You knew that was a lie. “One of the scythes broke today, I’ll need to buy another one in the city.”

You didn’t know if that was a lie or not, but it wouldn’t surprise you if Lucius would sneak out in the night and break equipment simply to go with you.

Sighing, you went behind the wall to your side of the hayloft. “Fine.”

To no one but Lucius’ surprise, Isidorus had not lied about his brother, nor the job offer. Of course, the brother had been off put at a woman being the translator (because everyone knows that they are the lesser sex). Still, after some convincing (you talked to a Greek family, a man from Anatolia, and two brothers from Persia), he said you could be put to work.

Lucius stood there the whole hour you had proved yourself.

“You couldn’t have gotten the scythe while I worked?” You questioned him while walking home.

He kept his gaze on the road before him, carrying the farm equipment. “It was engaging to watch.”

You hummed. “I could see how engaged you were while you stood like this.” You crossed your arms and scowled.

“I did not look like that.” He scoffed.

“You did so!” You refuted, lowering your voice. “My name is Lucius Verus Aurelius, the Last Gladiator, son of Lucilla and Maximus, grandson of Marcus Aurelius.”

He looked down, mouth upturning a little. “I do not sound like that.”

“Is that a smile?!” you gasped. “Gods above, I never thought you could unless you were attempting humor!

“Away with you, woman.”

You only laughed as the sun was starting to set.

There was something called a “Fullmoon” period in a marriage. Most now would say it’s “Honeymoon”, but the period in time where a man and woman were in a complete state of euphoria together was called “Fullmoon” because it only lasted for a month.

You and Lucius (even with your strange circumstance) were not immune to this.

A month later, when you had fully settled into a mundane life of working in different areas for hours upon hours, the only times you saw Lucius was when you ate dinner with the farmer’s family, and before going to bed.

It didn’t’ effect you that much for the first three months, as you both were still on good terms and were fine simply cohabitating without affection. This marriage was purely for protection and to honor Lucilla’s wishes.

Then…Lucius came to you one day, saying that together, you both had enough money to build a farm. He already had a patch of land picked out from the help of the famer who employed him. It was five miles away from the farm you stayed at. Five miles more of a journey to the city.

You would move in once the walls were built, which he said would only take a week or two.

It was too fast for you.

Still, you had to go along with it, because you were to be his wife; nothing more. Even so, nothing out of the ordinary besides your hidden, simmering annoyance happened between you two.

The first day construction was to be done was when light was shed upon it.

“Lucius!” You called his name as you approached him and a few other men hauling the wood and stone that would be used. It was mid-twilight when you ran to them.

He furrowed his brow, walking towards you. “Aren’t you meant to be in the city?”

Grinning from ear to ear, you shook your head. “I asked for the day off because of the house. He said I-.”

“-You need to go back and tell him you’ll work.”

Your smile fell from his usual, monotone demeanor. “He doesn’t expect me to come in today-.”

“-Then he’ll be happy to see you.”

“May I just talk for a moment?!” You yelled.

His said nothing.

Sighing, you began. “I will be useful in any capacity. If you need me to help dig for water, measure supports, lift anything-.”

“-Your shoulder cannot carry-.”

You retorted. “-It might be the shoulder you shot, but it’s the shoulder I have to live with, and I will tell you if something is too heavy to carry.”

It hadn’t been the first time you brought up your shoulder after Rome was free. Yet, in the past, it was always out of good fun; something to say to him when you didn’t want to carry as little as an egg from the chicken coop. You told the children the story too why you had to set one of them down after carrying her for so long.

You expected them to cower away from Lucius when he returned for supper, but instead, they all tackled him to the ground to defend your honor.

They didn’t hurt him of course, and you laughed until you couldn’t breathe.

Yet, at that moment, you said it with nothing but disdain; and he heard it in every word. You thought it would have been enough to guilt him into letting you help, you made sure of it.

Lucius titled his head back toward the main road. “Go on, now. The sun will be up soon, it’ll be better to walk without daylight beating down on you.”

The audacity he had. Usually, on the times you’d have disagreements of sorts, you’d try to leave with dignity; perhaps a word of sarcasm or two.

No, you simply turned on your heel and marched away in a huff.

You were harsher that day when translating, and you were still angry by the time the day ended. You ate dinner outside by yourself (until three of the seven children came outside to eat with you), and did not utter a ‘goodnight’ to Lucius before laying down to sleep.

Neither of you spoke to the other for days after that.

It was one morning, not even when the sun was out, as you tried to tiptoe around him, did he ask from his makeshift bed.

“Do you remember where the house is?”

You nearly fell off the ledge of the hayloft. “What is wrong with you?!”

“Do you remember?”

“Yes!” you whispered, afraid to wake the whole farm. “Why?”

“We made the water pump, and the walls and floors are finished. We’ll be able to sleep there now.”

“I don’t see the appeal in sleeping in a house with no roof.”

“I’ll put half of it on today. Tell your foreman too that you won’t be able to work for the next week.”

You furrowed your brow. “Why?”

“I’m teaching you how to tend to a farm.” He wrapped his blankets tighter around him and turned his back to you.

And you continued on your way; making the long trek to the city, which would only be longer when you moved to the house.

When your work was over, you walked and walked. You took a short break at the farmer’s house, making your final goodbyes to the children, and gathering what little belongings you owned.

As you tried to leave, Diana stopped you. She was leading one of the horses, a berber, behind her.

“Take her,” she handed you the reins. “you shouldn’t have to walk so far.”

You shook your head. “I simply cannot-.”

“-I insist.” She smiled. “She’s yours now. Think of it as payment for helping me with the little beasts that are my children.”

Smiling politely, it soon faded. She took notice. “What is it?”

“…I’ve only ever ridden once, and I was a child.”

She sighed yet was still kind. “Come on, my husband’s horse is at your farm. I’ll ride back with him.”

Despite your inexperience, it was actually nice riding a horse. It was perhaps the closest you could ever come to flying in your lifetime; maybe that’s why you enjoyed it. As you were nearing your soon-to-be home, you saw a familiar silhouette along with some others.

Atop the house, against the setting sun, you watched as Lucius continued to add tiles to the unfinished roof. His shirt was off, and even with night beginning to set in with the cold air, he was still breaking a sweat from the rigorous work. You would be a liar if you say that you didn’t catch yourself staring, and it was Diana who had to take the reins.

“What a fine home!” She broke you out of your trance, and when Lucius looked in your direction, you snapped your gaze away.

Lucius nodded. “All that needs to be done is the roof.” He jumped onto the ground just as you were sliding off the horse. He gave you his hand as you were, and you took it.

“Thank you.”

Atticus and the other workers went to a lone tree where their horses were tied. Atticus then approached both you and Lucius.

“Well,” he smiled. “it was lovely hosting the both of you. Please come back as often as you can; I’m sure the children will miss you.”

You all exchanged your final goodbyes, and it when everyone rode off away from you, did you realize something. This was the first time in a while you were alone with Lucius that wasn’t when going to sleep or waking up.

“Do you have a name for the horse?” Lucius asked.

Turning over your shoulder, you led the steed to the tree, petting her as you began to tie her up. “Not at the moment. She’s yours too, do you have any?”

“You’ll be with her more; you should name her.”

Humming you looked at him when you finished securing the horse. “You asked them to give her to me, didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “They asked how they could repay you for taking care of their children, I mentioned how it would be a longer journey to the city once we moved here. That’s all I did.”

…He was better at asking for forgiveness than for permission; that was another thing you learned about him. Still, you nodded your appreciation, inspecting the area around you. It was quite beautiful even with its plainness. The fields stretched on for miles, and there were no tall buildings to cover the night sky. Even the unfinished house brought a sense of happiness to you.

Something that was, at least partially, your own.

“Where will the barn and chicken coop go?” You questioned.

A hint of a smile played on his mouth, but in Lucius fashion, did his best to hide it. “You were complaining about not having a roof, and now you wonder about things for the animals?”

“Perhaps I’m more interested in farming that you are.”

“I’ll teach you.” he led you into the house. “Come on.”

 The front living space was large, and in the corner of it had an oven, so that was where the kitchen would be. Lucius showed you the two rooms as well; each having a single pillow and a blanket.

“We’ll begin planting tomorrow.” he announced. “I don’t think I’ll have to wake you up.”

“You won’t.” You nodded. “Goodnight, Lucius.”

“Goodnight.” He said your name.

You didn’t think you’d ever get over the sound of your own name from his lips.

You named the horse after your mother. Well…not the exact same name, but a similar one. It was quite a scene too when confessing to Lucius you could exactly remember how to ride a horse by yourself.

He didn’t laugh at you, that was what greatly surprised you. He spent an hour teaching you, and you were able to ride her on your own.

Farming was more difficult than you thought it would be, but not so horrible either. Yes, where Lucius was patient with you for the first few days, he made a few snide comments as time passed. Nothing outright mean, but still enough to get under your skin.

Still, you managed to pick it up within the few weeks after that.

He had even let you help him finish the roof of the house; something you didn’t expect him to do. After living in the house for a month, both of you managed to buy actual beds for your rooms, among other luxuries like a few tables and chairs for the main living area, and utensils both for cooking and for eating.

The bathroom was completely bare. Having spent all the money on everything else, it would take time for the both of you to buy a bathtub. Bathing wasn’t a problem back on Atticus and Diana’s farm, but now being away from them, you would be forced to rely on the public baths in the city…

Even with some bathhouses having baths only for women, that did not stop men from forcing their way into them.

You didn’t mind being dirty for weeks on end.

The two of you fell into another pattern of life; you going into the city and spending hours translating foreign dialogue, and Lucius working on the farm for most days, sometimes accompanying you.

There was…something else strange as well.

It was always a coin toss on what weeks Lucius would speak to you or not.

Yes, he was always a man of few words, but this was different. There were some days when you asked him about his day, he would tell you what boring tasks he did. Than, on others, it was just one word: “Good.”

Never “Bad”, never “Just okay”; only “Good”. Even when you knew it wasn’t, that’s all he would say.

And you could endure it.

It had already been a little over half a year since the two of you started living together. In the eyes of Rome (as mere Plebians), you would be married once a year passed.

This was perhaps the best marriage you could as for as a Roman woman. Still…every day that Lucius would not speak to you only brought more dread upon your shoulders.

When he stopped even looking at you, that was when you went to Diana one day.

“It’s so lovely to see you.” She smiled, setting down two cups of wine and sitting. “It’s felt like ages!”

With her youngest baby on your lap, you chuckled, taking a sip of your drink. “You honestly didn’t need to get the wine out.”

“Nonsense!” She waved her hand. “It’s a celebration just to be in your presence. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you as well.”

“How’s the farm? Lucius?”

“Well,” you took another sip, setting your cup down. “the farm has been alright. I know at least how to properly water crops and know when they’re ready to harvest or not. I help Lucius sometimes, but…he likes things his own way. He was a farmer too, I understand.”

She hummed. “And as a betrothed? I hope having your own home would help; to me, you two treated each other more like acquaintances than anything else.”

All you could do was avoid eye contact and bounce the giggling baby on your knee.

“Ah.” She sighed. “So not much has changed?”

“We both talk more than we had at your far, but somehow, less at the same time.” You explained.

Diana reached over and held your hand, asking softly. “When was the last time you were intimate?”

As if she were a man, you tore your hand from hers. “What?”

“I do not wish anything to be forced upon you,” she stated first. “especially with what has happened to you. But…it is still important, especially to your future marriage.”

“We…we haven’t done anything in…months.” You were not going to tell her you hadn’t even seen him naked. You were not going to tell her you hadn’t done you “duty” as a woman.

She nodded. “There must be something plaguing his mind terribly.”

“I know that!” You cried. “He just won’t tell me.”

“Men do not like talking,” Diana sighed. “I have been married to Atticus for fifteen years, and even after ten children, there are parts of his past I still do not know of. What Lucius frets over is important though. You must dig your heels into the ground and let him know you are not doing anything until he tells you what he has issue with.”

The baby on your lap cooed as you held her, reaching for parts of your clothing. Diana took her from you once the baby started fussing, and you offered her a grateful smile.

“I’ll try my best with him.”

She squeezed your shoulder. “He will come to his senses. If not, then he truly hit his head too hard in the Colosseum.”

Except, you couldn’t confront him when you got home. Even though the sun was only beginning to set, when you arrived, the house was silent. You peeked into his bedroom and saw that he was already fast asleep.

With a sigh, you finished your nightly activities, and when the sun went down, you were in your own bed.

The nightmare was unlike any you had before.

Hands from all around you reached out to you. Some grabbed clumps of your hair, stuck their fingers into your mouth, caressed the most intimate parts of your body, or even tear your skin off.

You blinked and then you were in the palace, surrounded by cloaked figures. Someone forced you onto your back, and you looked up and saw Geta, raising a knife high above his head before diving it into your stomach. He carved it out before digging his hands into the opening he made and pulled out your womb.

After sitting up in bed, you had thought you awoken. When you opened your bedroom door, you were welcomed to a field of reeds, seeing nothing for miles. All but a silhouette in the distance. You could not make out it to be a man or a woman; all you knew was that you needed to run to them.

Yet, even as you dashed through the fields, calling out a name you do not even remember, your feet sank into the ground with each step.

The earth swallowed you whole before you could even reach them.

You didn’t awake with a scream; you didn’t even awake with a cry. You did awake in a sweat. Sitting up, you slowly pulled the blanket away from your body. Your stomach was unwounded, and nothing had happened.

Without knowing why, you rose from your bed and slipped on your sandals. Not even putting on a robe, you walked out of the house into the cold, night air. Numbly, you treaded through the tall grass away from the house and stopped.

The stars above you watched as you fell to your knees, and the past finally had the last laugh.

You wept for your mother (whose touch you never felt).

You wept for your father (who you had to take care of the same way he took care of you).

You wept for Marcus (the first man outside of your father to ever see you as a person).

You wept for Lucilla (the woman who saved you in more ways than one).

You wept for the innocence you lost to the twin emperors (and how you mercilessly killed them).

You wept and wept, until you felt bile claw its way up your throat and out of your mouth.

The tears did not stop even after you were finished.

Two hands grabbed your shoulders from behind, and you tried to tear yourself away with a sharp cry. You were turned around, and even though your tears blinded you, you could see that it was Lucius.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his eyes grown.

You couldn’t speak clearly, only shaking your head and saying ‘No’ over and over. Lucius led you to the water pump and sat you down by it. Cranking the handle until the water flowed freely, he cupped his hand to catch some of it before gently washing your face.

The cool water grounded you, and your sobs began to slow. Once you were only left with shallow breathing and a stuffed nose, Lucius finally sat beside you.

“What happened?” He asked again, although, returning to his normal, straight-toned self.

“Bad dream.” Was all you said.

He said nothing at first. Then, looking down at the grass beneath him, he said. “Would talking about it help you?”

It was meant to be a helpful question, but it only angered you. “You ask that now? After I run out into the night screaming?”

Lucius squinted his eyes. “Why does that bother you?”

“I know you have nightmares too.” You scoffed. “I have asked you dozens of times if you wish to talk to me about them, and you have always said no. You’ve never once asked me about mine, so how dare you expect me to tell you about it now when you cannot even share yours with me!”

“That’s not fair.” He shook his head.

You stood up, walking back to the house. “You’re right, it isn’t fair.”

He jumped to his feet. “You can’t walk away without telling me why this is troubling you.”

“You first.”

“What?”

You turned to face him. “We are to be married in less than a year, at least ‘In the eyes of Rome’ as you say, yet you do not even look at me anymore!”

His shoulders fell, and he shook his head. “I am looking at you-.”

“-I ask you how you are these days, and you lie to me every time.” You interrupted. “The few instances you allow me to work beside you, you criticize every little thing I do. I understand that I am the farthest thing you wanted for as a wife-.”

 It was that word that struck a chord. Despite saying it every so often those past few months…it was only then it occurred to you that where Lucius was your first husband…you were not his first wife.

He tore his gaze away from yours, as if he knew you had figured it out. You sighed. “Gods above…I’m sorry for what has happened to her, and I will never know the loss of a love like that…but I cannot be viewed as her replacement-.”

“-Who told you that you were?” He sharpened his tone.

You swallowed, knowing that this would all end in tears no matter what you said. “You do not tell me anything. I will never ask you to care for me the way you cared for her, but she is gone-.”

“-I couldn’t do anything after she died but weep and watch her body float into the ocean.” He hissed. “I vowed to kill the man that slaughtered her, and I didn’t. It had been perhaps just a month since her death, did I promise myself to another woman. I have dishonored her memory three times.”

“I do not know how long you need me to apologize for something I could not control, but I will if that means you will stop hating me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“You hate that I will be your wife!” Your voice was growing hoarse. “I don’t understand it at all. I will be whatever it is you wish me to be in few months’ time, because you will own me. Even if you wish me to be dead, it shall be done because what I want will not matter-.”

“-Must you make everything about yourself?!” He finally yelled. “Would it soothe you if I said I despised every part of you? That if Jupiter himself came down and offered me my old life in exchange for you, I would give you up to him?! Would it give you any peace of mind if I told you I would have rather died in the arena than live a thousand years with you?”

You had expected him to at least pause after he made his confession. To at least have the courage to look you in the eye and watch as the words sunk into your being. Yet, as soon as he finished, he stomped back to the house; and you were alone outside again.

The tears upon your face glimmered from the light in the sky above you, for all you could do was stare at the little farmhouse Lucius had built for you.

How strange that something you once saw as a sign of devotion, was now revealed to be one of complicity.

He had admitted his disdain for your future marriage. You knew that it would be loveless (you would never escape that), but you wished at least for respect. Seeing as how you were not even going to have that, you dragged your feet over to the tree where your horse was tied up.  Mounting her with nothing but the clothes on your back, you raced down the pathway.

For the first day, you had stayed at Diana and Atticus’ farm. You said nothing about Lucius, and tried to spend the most time with the children to avoid any questions.

On the second day, you finally went back to the city. Even though the man in charge of you yelled louder than Lucius had at you, it did not phase you. You merely nodded and returned to work. With what money they paid you for the day, you spent it on a room at the safest inn you could find. You had another nightmare that night. Not as horrible as the one two days prior, but awful enough for you to lay awake until the sun rose.

The third day seemed to be ordinary, until you finished your job, and you were promenading along the market. As you eyed the fruit at Isidorus’ stand, a man came to stand beside you.

“Good sir,” you heard Lucius’ voice. “do you have a wife?”

Isidorus nodded. “I do.”

“What from your stand would you give her if she was angry at you?”

He eyed you before smiling at Lucius. “My ears to listen.”

You turned, promptly walking away. Of course, Lucius followed.

“I didn’t know you confided into strangers about our qualms.”

“He’s not a stranger.” you kept trying to lose him. “And gifts will not suffice for an apology this time.”

He got in front of you, uttering your name. You stopped, sighing. “What else have you come to say to me?”

“That I am a fool.”

Although you weren’t necessarily expecting him to admit it, you only nodded. “You very much are.”

He began. “For my entire life, I was not allowed to be entirely truthful with others. Whether it was how I felt in the moment, or even my own name. I’m not used to the freedom of being candid with one another. And I have been mistreating you; I have provided a home, but I haven’t provided your wellbeing. Ari-.” Lucius paused, breathing through his nose. “Arishat and I lived on a farm, that was all I knew while being a husband. I will love her until the end of my days, but that does not give me the right to neglect you. I will…I will try with all my being to share my thoughts with you.”

You stared at him, feeling as if you would blink, and you would awaken from another dream. Yet once you did and saw that he was still in front of you, you said.

“I didn’t mean to insult your memory of her.”

He shook his head. “I believe she would hit me if she were here and saw how I treated you.”

“Thank you.” You nodded. “Truly, for everything. I…it’s not only you, I don’t know if I will ever feel like myself after…everything.”

Lucius already knew. Still, looking around himself, he then said. “Where is your horse?”

“The inn I’ve been staying at has a stable. You walked the whole way here?”

“It’s what I deserved.”

“You smell horrible.” You mustered a shy grin.

He mirrored you, looking away. “I have for a while.”

“I do as well. I was…I was going to brave the baths; would you like to join me?”

Your offer took him by surprise. Usually, a question like that would be an invitation to more salacious activities to take place. Still, what took him aback more was how you were initially so afraid of the public baths, yet there you were.

“I shall.” He agreed.

Thus, the two of you walked beside one another. There were many baths in Rome, yet it would be challenging to find one that had a separate bath for women and one for men. By the time you reached the third bathhouse, you sighed.

“This will do.”

Lucius shook his head. “I’ll ask the workers at this one if they know-.”

“-No.” You stopped him. “It’s fine. I wish to speak more with you.”

He was still hesitant, but gave in. The two of you entered and drifted off to the separate changing rooms. It was strange that the bathhouse had rooms for the different sex to disrobe, but not baths itself.

After locking your clothes away, you ventured out into the main pool. You were welcomed to an array of naked bodies. You weren’t entirely innocent of course, even before everything. You were never to see any of these people again; it was Lucius you would live with.

Quickly, you disappeared half of your body under the surface of the water and clung to the wall of the large bath. Other people around you laughed and socialized, only putting you more in the eyes of men who only came to the baths for one thing.

Yet, before you could take a moment to worry, your eyes fell to Lucius who entered. You soon averted them and felt the water shift beside you as he entered. You turned to look at him, leveling yourself with the side of the pool, essentially shoulder to shoulder with him. The hear radiating off of his body onto yours reminded you too much of that night months ago; the one where you whispered your name into his ear.

“What were you like as a boy?” You questioned in an attempt to hide how flustered you were.

He hummed. “Why do you ask?”

“If you wish to be more honest with me, than I think it should be best to stary with something minor.”

“I understand. I was spoiled growing up in the palace. Still, I wished nothing more than for adventure. All my life, the mere thought of war and battles were taught as a way to bring glory to the empire; pride for one’s family. I had gotten my foolish wish when Maximus died, and my mother sent me away from Rome.” He paused momentarily, before continuing. “I ran all across the land until I was thirteen, where I finally settled in Numidia. I had changed my named too many times to count and settled upon Hanno.”

Your attention did not waver for a moment. When he was finished you asked. “How old were you when you left?”

“Eight…” There was a sad silence between the two of you. A silence held in almost reverence for all the troubles he had been through. “What about you?”

Even with your uneasiness to answer your starkly different childhood, you did so; also have been promising to be honest with him. You spoke of your father, your past friends, the house you grew up in. He never once looked upon you with envy or hatred.

“Your father sounded like a good man.” He said.

“He was.” You nodded, feeling a weight settle in your chest. "I think he would have liked you.”

“I can only hope.”

The conversation halted after that, unknown if you should wait for him to ask a question, or for you to ask another. Both of your eyes drifted around the bath house as people filtered in and out. When your gaze fell back onto Lucius’ you watched his eyes flicker to something behind you. Before you could utter a word, he placed his hand upon your bare back, bringing his lips to the space between your ear and your jaw.

It all happened so fast you had no time to react, and your body shivered upon the feel of him being so close to you.

“There’s a man eyeing you from behind.” He whispered into your skin. “Don’t look at him, just keep looking at me. I’m sorry.”

You pulled away slightly, doing as he told. He traced circles on your back with his thumb, staring intently at you. Even as you shrunk under his eyes, they did not frighten you.

Deciding to play along, you trailed your hand up his bare arm until resting on his shoulder. You felt his skin erupt into goosebumps and he took a sharp intake of breath.

“Okay?” You asked.

He nodded. “Yes, it’s just…it’s been a while.”

Anyone with any sense knew that meant more than one thing. It had been a while since he felt anyone’s touch; nonetheless, a naked woman’s.

From behind him, you saw a small group of girls all looking at you. They all looked a little younger than you, and acted like so, giggling loudly and talking without a care in the world. It was only then that you noticed they were looking at Lucius.

“Is there someone eyeing me now?” He attempted to tease you when he noticed your gaze.

You nodded, no hint of humor behind your voice. “A good few of them.”

“Is that so?”

You removed your hand. “I wouldn’t mind, you know.”

“Wouldn’t mind what?” He pinched his eyebrows together.

“…Getting your release from a woman that isn’t me.” You were puzzled by his seeming ignorance. “You’re a man, I understand-.”

He said your name with somewhat of gasp. You didn’t listen one bit.

“No, I mean it. I will not be more selfish than I already have been, expecting you to remain celibate because I don’t think I will-.”

Lucius said your name again and you stopped. Even when you did, he said it a third time as if to know he had your attention. He continued to run his fingers up and down your back.

“I will not dishonor you-.”

“-I have been dishonored several times before, it does not matter-.”

“-Listen to me.” He said softly yet firmly. “Even if I desired someone carnally, it is not selfish of you to want my loyalty. I’m not a boy who wishes to bed anything that breathes. I don’t think I can do so with someone I do not have any deep feelings for. You are my wife, and I will not treat you less.”

He didn’t call you his ‘betrothed’. As if, the moment you accepted his apology, you were already his other half. To hear him speak with so much certainty after neither of you knowing what any day would bring…it brought an astonishing comfort you never knew you needed.

“Thank you.” You felt like your heart could beat again.

“You don’t-.”

“-No but I do. I don’t…I don’t think I could give you anything of myself if you wanted it. It’s still…I remember a lot of what Geta did to me, and I forgot it at the same time. It doesn’t happen a lot in my nightmares, but it still does. That one night you found me he…he cut out my womb and held it in his hands. I thought I woke up, but I didn’t, and I think I was in Elysian Fields, but I only saw a shadow. I don’t know what any of that means.”

Lucius let you finish all of the anxiety you had thrown onto him. Still, releasing a shallow breath, he said.

“You die in most of my dreams.” He clarified. “The bad ones, I mean. A lot of people do, but you’ve been in them the most. There are times I see both you and Arishat, or my mother, or all three of you and…those are the worst. The night I found you outside, I couldn’t…I had a horrible dream that I couldn’t even see your face, but I knew it was you when I found you hanging in the Colosseum.”

If the both of you weren’t naked and, in the bathhouse, you would have embraced him. Yet, with the most understanding look in your eyes, you brought your hand to the base of his neck, his loose curls between your fingers. You swore you felt him relax into your touch for just a moment.

“I’ve known everyone to have their own beliefs of dreams.” You whispered. “They’re meant to predict the future, they reflect the past, they are punishments, they are blessings, and they mean nothing. I wonder if it’s possible they are all of them.”

He nodded. “I don’t know what I believe in anymore.”

“I do.” Lucius unknowingly leaned into you just ever so slightly. You grinned from ear to ear, pulling your hand away from him. “I believe you need to cut your hair.”

He chortled. “I’m not spending anything on cutting it. It’s fine.”

“I’ll cut it then.”

“I would rather be stabbed.”

“Oh, quit being dramatic.” you playfully swatted him. “There’s a reason I would’ve been a better hairdresser than tailor.”

The two of you teased one another for a minute longer after that. Than, even though the conversation died, it was not in vain. There was a quiet gentleness and protectiveness as you both shared a short distance between each other while bathing. Lucius kept his eye on you more than you did him, knowing that it was always possible a man could try to take advantage of you.

When all was said and done, you got your horse from the stable at the inn, and the two of you rode back to the farm with a newfound understanding of each other.

More than a year and a half have passed since the fall of the Roman Empire and its subsequent birth of the Republic. Your strange marriage with Lucius grew into a friendship of respect and understanding. You both talked more than you had when you were first betrothed, even if your busy schedules remained the same.

The farm had improved after its first harvest, even raising enough money to build a chicken coop and house a few chickens. The house itself was more furnished, and the two of you managed to purchase a bathtub, no longer needing to use the public ones in the city.

Both of you had changed as well. Even with what minimal farm work you did, it built both your strength and stamina. Lucius had begun to grow out his facial hair; not much for it to be an actual beard, but more so just under his nose. You’d joke about it looking like a caterpillar, to which he would lightly shove you away.

After the intimate discussion the two of you shared, it was only then you both realized you still didn’t know much about each other. Most importantly, the little things that made each of you a person.

So, you’d take time to get to know one another.

You were helping Lucius pull weeds around the crops when you found out he had ripped a monkey’s throat out with his teeth during his very first gladiator fight.

You were reading a collection of poetry one night when Lucius told you that you mouth the words of whatever you’re reading if you find it most interesting.

During supper one night, Lucius ate the entirety of the plate only to then eat whatever else you hadn’t. That was when your theory was proven right; he does forget to eat sometimes.

Both of you had tried to keep the housework to an equal amount; if he cooked one night, you’d clean the kitchen and vice versa. Yet, some remained stagnant; you always cut his hair, yet he always changed the horses’ shoes.

Cutting his hair was perhaps your favorite way to speak with him.

“Remember to clean your sandals before coming in next time.” He reminded you as he sat on a tree trunk outside. “You tracked in mud.”

Standing behind him while trimming small hairs, you shook your head. “My apologies, master of the house; it was downpouring and I was freezing.”

“Serves you right, I’d say.”

You placed the tip of the shears against his neck. “What else do you have to say?”

He snickered. “That you’re an astonishing woman who I am blessed to have.”

“Wrong answer, all lies.” You pretended to stab him, only to bring the shears back to his hair.

“I’m not lying!” Lucius laughed.

You only gave him a ‘tsk’ before continuing. “Are you sleeping any better?”

He said nothing at first. Your eyes drifted down to his hands and saw him pull on his tunic; another telltale sign of his nervousness.

“I keep seeing my mother’s face.” He admitted. “Only her face, nothing else.”

“It was the third night last night, right?”

“Yes.”

You sighed. “Would you want to hear a dream I had a few days ago to make you feel better?”

“Better because it was happy, or because you think I’ll feel happy I wasn’t you?”

“The latter.”

“Tell me.”

You turned his head to the side gently, continuing your work. “I stood in front of the entire senate of Rome, and they were all laughing at me. I don’t even know what I said, they only laughed and laughed.”

“Is that not what happened to you in the waking day?”

“No, they listened…I think.” You shook our head. “It more so angers me that, in the waking life, I presented logic to them, and they still chose Macrinus who showed nothing of the sort.”

“Some men like to speak of only desiring logic yet run away with their emotions once it is presented.” Lucius stated. “What had you told them?”

“That all of Rome would continue to riot if they killed Lucilla.” You said grimly. “I still don’t understand; they had their proof of the rage Rome’s children could feel when their general was killed, the only reason the city did not fall was because Macrinus was slain. I’m done.”

You set your shears down and Lucius stood, shaking the fallen hair off his clothes. He turned to you.

“If it matters at all, I think the only reason this house hasn’t fallen is because of you.”

Grinning from ear to ear, you shoved him playfully. “Away with you, you’re just as much of the reason as I am.”

“I do all that I can.”

There were moments like this where you would not speak of childhood memories or events of your day. These moments were reserved for the days where it felt like time slowed down just to give you two the grace to speak about them in more detail.

With only a single candle between the two of you one quiet night, you told him how you have to walk a different path in the city sometimes simply to avoid brothels; hating the sounds you would hear from inside, the stench of cheap perfume and sweating bodies burning your nose, the men who would brag to their friends about the women they had.

At breakfast one day, before the sun had even rose, Lucius told you about a time when he was ten, still on the run. He had gone into a man’s house with the promise of food, only to then be hit the head with something so heavy, he was knocked out. He had awoken in a dark room, but managed to find a curtained window, and escaped. He never knew what would have happened to him if he had woken up just a minute later.

There was tenderness you shared with him that you had never shared with anyone in your life.You sht

That was only more apparent on one fateful day.

The first bad omen for the day that morning was when you had run out of sugar for breakfast that morning. The second was when your horse was extra stubborn as you rode her into the city; it was so out of the ordinary, you wondered if you did something to make her hate you.

Still, everything was fine once you went to work. At least it was for the first half of the day.

There were aggressive people from across the land coming into the city you certainly had to deal with, but the worst was when a man twice your size bluffed you with a slap. Even so, the other men you worked with had yelled and sent her away.

That day though…there was a woman with a look in her eyes.

You thought you had seen pure rage when you had been with Geta. Yet, that day was a lesson to you; wrath had many faces.

She mumbled in Greek, but you did not know what she said at first. Then, she attempted to speak Latin. You politely told her you could speak Greek, and so with exhaustion, she told you that she was going to visit her mother.

When asked for her mother’s name, she didn’t say it. After asking again, she became enraged, yelling at you that she should just be able to be let in. When you resisted, she grabbed your bad arm, yanking it to pull you closer to her.

The pain shot through your shoulder like a bolt of lightning, and you cried out. She tugged on your hair as the men beside you tried to pry her away from you. Luckily, she didn’t manage to yank any of it out once the men forced her away from you. Tears fell freely over your face as you cradled yourself, unable to stop the sobs from leaving your lips.

They let you leave early yet paid you as if you were there the whole day.

The ride back to the farm wasn’t any better, but at least your steed took notice of your heartache and was more merciful to you. When you made it home, you slowed her down when you saw Lucius limping towards the house.

You both stopped where you were, staring at one another as if you weren’t supposed to be seeing the other.

“Why are you back so early?” He asked first.

“Why are you dragging your foot?” You asked second.

Lucius took a deep breath, and you saw tears in his eyes. “I fell.”

The only time you had seen him cry was when burying Lucilla; it wouldn’t be from simply falling. You slowly pulled yourself off your horse but did so quick enough before he could rush to help you. You wished nothing more than to pull him into the warmth of the house, to sit him down and tend to his wound to distract you from your own.

Yet, the moment you took his hand, he began to weep.

“Oh Lucius.” You whispered, bringing your hand up to cradle his face. He wrapped both of his arms around you, bringing you onto the ground with him. You yelped a little when he squeezed your bad shoulder too tight, and he pulled away.

“What happened?” He asked.

You shook your head. “You need-.”

“-What happened?!”

Knowing he wouldn’t stop asking, you told him. “Someone at the gate attacked me. Pulled on my bad arm, my hair…it wasn’t as bad as you’d think-.”

“-Where is he?” He lowered his tone and his demeanor.

Your jaw dropped into a surprised huff. “She is long gone by now, and even if she wasn’t then as my husband, you should stay with me instead of wandering the streets of Rome hoping to find someone to be your anger’s victim!”

Though he still wore that rage upon his face, it soon fell once he saw your own tears fall from your eyes like dewdrops on flowers. Lucius laid himself flat on the dirt, and you sat above him.

“I have been married to you longer than I had been to Arishat.” He confessed. “I knew her for longer, but-but not as deeply; no, I-I knew her more than…I don’t…It’s been long since her death, yet there are moments I think of her, and I cannot stop crying.”

You never knew this was in his heart. You knew to never speak of Arishat, only listen whenever he would bring her up (even so, it was once in a blue moon).

“I’m sorry.” He sniffled, trying to pull himself together. “I know she is gone, and I shouldn’t be-.”

“-You shouldn’t what?” You interrupted. “Remember her? You think I wish for you to forget the woman you so loved?”

He shook his head. “No, but it’s selfish of me to-.”

You were the one to make him lose his words this time. With both hesitation certainty, you placed his head into your lap. It was too late for you to stop once you did, and you felt your own body tense. Then, upon taking a look at his body battered from rigorous work, and another at his face, which relaxed with his eyes fully shut, you ran your fingers through his hair.

“Lucius,” you sighed. “never will I think you are a horrible man for mourning her. You missing her shows just how much you adored her, and how she was a treasure to you. In another life, above all, I wish I could have met her. You are not in the wrong for wanting to see her again. I know you do not love me-.”

“-I do love you.” He opened his eyes upon saying it.

Your heart felt as if it was going to beat itself out of your chest and run away when he said those four words. To preserve your sanity, you took it a different way and smiled sadly.

“Not in the way you loved her.” You said softly. “But what else more can I ask for in a husband than one who treats me with a gentleness I did not know was possible? One who has been there to protect me even before we were married?”

Lucius took a deep breath, rubbing his face to clear away his tears. “You’re too good to me.”

“Gods above,” you groaned tiredly. “we can go back and forth on who deserves each other. Let us just go back into the house, have supper, and sleep.”

“I would like that.” He hissed as he went to stand.

Helping him, once he was on his best foot, you said. “You never told me what you did to your leg.”

He looked behind him at the field. “There was a snake and a rock.”

You gave him a look. “And what happened with them?”

“I don’t wish to speak of it.” He said grimly.

In any other instance, you would have laughed. Yet, as his eyes were still heavy from crying, you just nodded. The both of you helped each other into the house, and you sat him down on one of the several cushions in the living area.

“Your arm,” he asked. “how bad is it?”

You shook your head. “Just really sore. I think she might have left a nasty bruise or two somewhere, but I won’t know yet.”

“Put one of the cloths in the pot with water and put it over the fire.” He told. “Take it out after a few minutes, let it rest for another, then put it on your shoulder. It should help.”

“Thank you.” You stood, doing so, saying. “I swore we had bandages somewhere. I’ll make something for you to drink too; I bought some herbs just last week.”

He nodded, not taking his eyes off of you as you worked. If it were any other man, you would have felt unsafe; yet, it was only Lucius.

Little by little that night, both of you helped heal one another.

Half a year passed since that night, and you and Lucius had only grown closer. Perhaps as close as you could be with a man who was not your husband by choice.

Not much on the farm had changed; you two were living comfortably, and happily, almost making all the turmoil from the first year worth it. The both of you decided to make more visits to Atticus and Diana’s home, realizing just how much you both missed having someone to talk to outside of each other; but that did not mean you had to keep things hidden of course.

If anything, you shared everything with each other.

So much so, that when Lucius asked you why you held onto him longer when he embraced you on your birthday, you told him the truth.

“I don’t want every time we touch to be when it is in turmoil.” You explained, growing meeker. “And I…I’ve missed the feeling of it when it has not been forced upon me.”

Lucius stared at you with a look you had never seen from him. He had been gentle with you many a times, but they way his eyes fell into yours…

He took a step closer to you, and when you showed no sign of discomfort, he took your face into his hands. Your eyes shut at the feeling of him, and he pressed his head against yours. Never in your life had someone’s breath upon your skin feel so immaculate.

From there on out, it always seemed like you had to have a hand on each other one way or another.

It started with holding hands whenever walking through the city together. He used to ‘lead’ you through the crowds in the past, but more so with a hand hovering over your back. No, him holding your hand meant he would have to go where you would go if anything were to happen.

Alongside this, he’d reach over and hold it at Atticus and Diana’s house; whether it was during dinner, or simply just talking. The eldest child had said what the rest of the household had been thinking.

“They’re finally acting like they’re married!”

Because even when there were no other eyes besides yours, he would still hold your hand. You wonder if it ever became a way for Lucius to ground himself; because it certainly did for you.

You hugged him more often as well. Those used to be for ‘substantial’ occasions; those being celebrations or heartbreaks. Now, they were incorporated into greetings and goodbyes. Of course, it only took a few weeks before they were than made into simple desires.

He would be cooking dinner, and you would come beside him to embrace him. You would be gathering eggs from the chickens, and he would wait for you to set the basket down before tossing his arms around you.

At night, it was normal for you both to trade spots as one of you would read a story, and the other would have their head in the other’s lap.

This happened on so many occasions, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise for what Lucius proposed next, but it did.

“If you don’t favor the question I’m about to ask you, then you are allowed to never speak to me again.” He said, his feet hanging off the arm of the lecti couch you both bought that year.

“Well,” you scoffed, sitting on the end of it. “I will have to speak to you again because we live together.”

“Would you want to sleep in my room tonight?” Never in your life had you thought that would have been his question. When you didn’t speak right away, he backtracked. “I don’t expect you to. I understand if-.”

“-The nights are growing colder.” You stated, no visible uneasiness. “I’ve noticed it, and I don’t think any number of blankets could warm me.”

He swallowed thickly, and this was perhaps one of the first times you’d ever seen him like this. “Yes…it’s cold.”

You nodded, and another beat of silence fell between you two. Standing up, you tugged at the seams of your dress. “I-I’ll go change.”

“Yes,” he sat up. “I shall as well.”

Disappearing into your room, you tossed your day clothes off then slipped on a nightdress. After pacing around the floor for a few moments, you gathered the courage to go out into the hall and knock on Lucius’ door.

It was opened as if he was standing right behind it.

He wore just a plain, tattered tunic, and said nothing; yet, you caught his eyes run down you before immediately bringing them back to your face. You were not even in his room yet, and already your body grew warmer.

“May I come in?” You asked.

“Yes, of course.” He stepped aside and you entered.

Somehow, you were no longer man and wife; you were two people who had just discovered a strange, yet burning, feeling that you both held for one another. A feeling that you were both afraid to say aloud…because then it would be real.

The only light in his room was from the moon just peeking through the curtain of his one window. Looking around, you saw that it was still just the bare minimum; a bed, a small table beside it with a lamp, and a dresser. The only others things of note were his sword leaning against the wall, and just a few dirty clothes on the floor.

“I-I tried to clean before you came.” He mentioned.

“Is the rest under the bed?” You asked.

He chuckled. “Yes.”

Before you could change your mind, you pulled the covers off one side of the bed and slid under them. Glancing behind at Lucius, you saw him wear a look where you knew he wanted to say something.

“What is it?” You asked.

“That’s usually the side I sleep on but-.”

You rolled over to the other side. “Are you content now?”

He wheezed, moving to his designated side, slipping under the covers. “Very.”

“Good.” You smiled up at him.

His own mouth lowered as you could see him thinking. He then said. “I don’t expect us to do anything.”

You watched as his eyes dropped from you, as if it was too invasive just to merely look. Thinking from only your heart, you scooted closer, resting your hand on his arm. You ran your fingers up and down his muscles, but then guided his arm to wrap around your waist.

“Okay?”

He hummed, pulling you just a little closer. “Yes.”

“And we’ll just lay together?” You whispered. “Nothing else?”

“Nothing else.”

And that’s what you did. The compete truth was that you would caress him only to remind yourself that it was Lucius and not Geta. His arms, his back, his face…he was nothing like him.

After a few more nights, you told him that as you both lay awake, unable to sleep. He had pulled you on top of him that night, saying that you could see his face better in the moonlight. You only giggled, hiding your face in his chest; even that was too much for you.

It was easier to tell each other things in the darkness. You always knew that, but with being in the same bed (you had not gone back to your room for a week), the words flowed out of both your mouths.

“After my father died,” you said one night as you laid on your side facing him. “I would stroke my own hair or even my arms and pretend they were someone else’s. Even when I was with Geta.”

Lucius stared at you, then immediately began to caress your cheek. You shut your eyes, sighing at the feeling.

“I never thought I’d be able to sleep next to another woman again.” He whispered.

“And now?” You looked into his eyes.

He stopped his movements, but did not remove his hand. You watched every part of him. How his chest heaved shallowly, his arms tensing ever so slightly, but his eyes…gods his eyes. They were heavy as they looked at you; a look that made your heart flutter and not shutter.

Swallowing your fear, you sat up and inched closer to him. Your face hovered above his, and your breath heated his skin. His hand continued to trace shapes about your cheek, and shutting your eyes, you placed your lips upon his.

It was the gentlest kiss you ever shared with a man.

You had pulled away, dreading to see how he felt. When your eyes befell his gentle smile, and his other hand came up to cup your face, you kissed him again.

And again, and again, and again.

You climbed upon his lap without pulling your lips away from him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He sat up, his own arm encircling your waist and drawing you impossibly closer.

Lucius parted from you, and as you whined at the loss of his lips, they soon settled upon your cheek, and then your jaw, and then your chin. Your heavy pants turned to soft grunts as he kissed down your neck, his mustache scratching your skin in just the right way.

Your hands settled into his hair the lower he traveled, moving your night gown off your shoulder to kiss your collarbone. You felt yourself becoming intoxicated from him, and only then noticed you had been for a while.

Oh, how you wished you could bottle up his laugh, his strength, his stubbornness, and get drunk every night. His kisses only added fuel to the fire that was your desire for him.

He sunk his teeth into your skin, and your body, once enflamed, ran cold.

“No!” You tore yourself from his lap, nearly falling off the bed.

Lucius said your name, leaning forward on instinct but soon stopped once he saw you crawl away. “I’m sorry.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. All you knew was that you needed to go, so you did. Cradling yourself in your arms, you got up from his bed, rushing out of his room and into yours.

You half expected him to knock on the door, then, when you wouldn’t answer, him yell and curse you before breaking it down. Yet nothing of the sort happened. You heard his own door open, and you saw his shadow on the other side, but he did not touch your door. He left after a moment of waiting.

When his own door shut, did you finally cry.

You told yourself that night, you would wake up far earlier than Lucius would so you simply wouldn’t have to see him.

When you awoke, you did the exact opposite. You laid in your bed, trying to return to sleep, only to be forced to lie in the dark. The sun rose into your room, and you heard Lucius’ door open. Still, you did not get up.

It was quite comedic, actually. With your door still shut, he knew you were still home. How he tried his best to keep quiet for you, yet his footsteps had always been heavy, the front door had always creaked, and you could always hear him cursing under his breath every time.

When you knew he had left the house, that was when you stood from your bed, slipping on your sandals. You didn’t bother changing out of your nightdress, leaving your room, and then the house.

Lucius was amongst the chickens when he saw you. He didn’t bother hiding the surprise upon his face at the sight of you. You walked to him until there was little space between you.

“Last night-.”

You took his hand from his side, placing it upon your face. He rubbed your cheek with his thumb as if it was natural. Kissing the palm of his hand, you trailed it down to your clothed breast. He breathed your name with hesitance, but you shushed him. You held his hand there, not taking your eyes off him.

“I will show you, one day.” You told him. “I will show you the mark Geta had made. The one where I myself can scarcely see it, yet I know that it haunts me. But now…” You brought your other hand up to his face, tracing your thumb over his lip. “I just want you to understand.”

He kissed the pad of your thumb, nodding. You embraced him, and he held you with both gentleness and ferocity. The rest of the day carried on as normal, yet you aided him with the chores on the farm.

You went to bed with him that night, but it was the first time he did not entrap you in his arms. You knew he was still afraid of hurting you, but you would be a liar if you said you weren’t thankful for the space.

Still, he would feel your touch every day; whether it was something as small as brushing his hand, or as substantial as kissing his cheek.

As the both of you lay awake one night, you played with the sleeve of his tunic.

“Could I lie on top of you?” You asked.

Lucius looked over at you, nodding. “You never need to ask.”

“I want to.” You climbed on top of him, straddling his lap. “I never want to force you to do anything.”

His eyes fell to your hips before returning them to your face. “I’ll tell you if I wish to not do something. I hope you know you can as well.”

“I do. Would you like to touch me?”

“Where do you want me to touch you?”

You moved his hands to your hips, which he held firmly, yet not enough to hurt you. You leaned down so your lips touched his.

“No teeth.” You said.

“No teeth.” He repeated.

Lucius sighed into your mouth as you kissed. Despite how you were on top of him, the kiss was sweet, shy even. When you pulled away, you trailed your lips from his cheek to his ear.

“Do you dream about me?” You rasped.

He said nothing, and you continued to kiss every part of his face besides his lips.

“It’s okay.” You kissed his Adam’s Apple. “I want you too.”

“Yes.” His breath hitched.

“What was I doing in your favorite one?” You kissed his pulse point.

“You,” he breathed sharply through his nose. “you’re touching yourself.”

“Would that please you?” You sat up in somewhat surprise, resting your hands on his chest. “To watch me do so?”

He shook his head. “I want to do what pleases you.”

It felt foreign to hear someone say they want you to feel good. Instead of cowering from it, you faced it head on. You kneeled for a moment, hiking your gown up to your hips before sitting back on your ankles,  exposing yourself to him. Lucius’ jaw clenched at the sight of your naked center, and he drew his hands away from your hips, falling them into fists upon the mattress.

“I wish to watch you as you watch me.”

Without looking away from you, he drew his hand down to his cock, pulling it out from under his tunic. Your eyes grew just a hint. There was no doubt upon him being more well-endowed than others, but it was still different from how you imagined.

Shutting your eyes, you trailed your fingers over your cunt, your thumb playing with your clit. The sounds of Lucius’ smothered grunts, and the skin of his cock on his fingers only added to your pleasure. Digging deeper and moving faster, you felt a coil within your stomach tighten when you opened your eyes and saw as Lucius’ gaze bore into yours.

Light moans escaped your lips as your hips moved with a mind of their own, watching the man beneath you take pleasure from his own hand. It was him chanting your name like a prayer that sent you over the edge. With your eyes shut, the coil within you snapped, and pleasure filled your veins.

Not long after, you felt a warmth coat your nightdress. Opening your eyes, you looked down and saw the white-hot residue of Lucius’ release. Your gaze drew to his cock, still clutched in his hand, yet red with droplets of white running over his knuckles.

You don’t know what possessed you to, but you lowered your mouth down to clean him with your tongue.

“Gods be good!” He huffed, laughing your name.

“What?” You wiped your mouth.

 “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Grinning like the devil, you slid off the bed, walking towards the door. “I hope it’s a pleasant one then.”

He sat up. “Where are you going?”

“To change. You dirtied me as well.” You teased.

“Take one of my tunics from the dresser.”

It almost made you laugh that he didn’t want you to leave for even a second. You opened the top drawer, grabbing the longest tunic you could find before facing him. “Close your eyes.”

He laid on his side, putting a pillow over his head. Many would find it strange how the both of you would see the most intimate parts of yourself while doing one of the most intimate acts together, yet you didn’t want him to see you naked.

But Lucius never thought of it as strange. He knew what you had been through, and never once judged you.

When you were clothed, you slid into bed, wrapping your arms around his body and pressing a quick kiss to the back of his neck.

“You’re a good man, Lucius Verus Aurelius.” You whispered. “I will tell you that until the day you die, or when you finally believe me.”

He squeezed your hand, relaxing into your touch. You never slept so peacefully until that night.

You always had to see him whenever he would touch you so intimately. There would be nights where there was only a single candle in the room as he trailed his hand up your thigh whilst you sat on his lap.

His fingers were too much for you at first, but he never ridiculed you. When you whimpered at the feeling, he retracted them, kissing your eyes. You asked him again to try, and he whispered praises into your hair as the pain from a dry spell soon turned into pleasure.

It was usually at night did these moments of exploration occurred. In the day, the most you would ever do was kiss. That is, until the first time you cut his hair since the discovery of feelings.

“I don’t want to get hair on your floor.” Lucius said as he sat on the floor, leaning his back against the foot of your bed. It was hotter than sin that day. He wore nothing but a loincloth, but that barely did anything to help him from the heat. You wore essentially a thin shift that would usually be under your dress; yet again, because of the heat, that was all you wore.

You sat on the bed, legs draped over his shoulders as you cut his hair. “It’s your floor too. You built the house.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I haven’t slept here for a while now. Besides, I will clean up.”

“I had no idea you favored doing domestic work now.” He turned and pressed a kiss to your knee.

You slapped the back of his head. “Don’t move! I’ll give you a bald spot if you do so again.”

“Yes, my mistress of the house.” He joked.

“You’re horrible.”

“You just told me I was a good man not so long ago.”

“And I can just as easily revoke that title.”

He stayed silent the rest of the time, but not from any underlining anger. Simply from his at ease posture, you knew he was smiling.

He smiled more those days.

When you were finished, you tossed your scissors aside, but Lucius’ hands settled upon your thighs, not allowing you to get up. You scoffed.

“What is it?”

He turned to face you, kneeling up to meet you. “I wish to try something, but only if you wish it as well.”

You rose your brow, but smiled, kissing his nose. “It will be difficult if I do not know what it is.”

Without drawing his eyes away from yours, he slid his hands up your thighs, bringing the bottom of your shift with it. It seemed normal at first, but once he lowered his mouth, your chest tightened.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“I want to kiss you there.” His breath caressed your cunt and you mewled at the feeling. “I think you’ll enjoy it, but we don’t have to.”

Your heart changed from beating in fear, to then in anticipation. You loved how he kissed your lips, and every inch of your skin that was not covered, what would it feel like to have his lips there?

Kissing the top of his head, you laid on your elbows, nodding.

“Let me hear you say it.” He nosed the inside of your thigh.

“Yes.” You sighed. “Please.”

He lowered his mouth back down, pressing the lightest of kissed onto your center. You groaned through shut lips, only for them to part open as the hairs of his mustache tickled you whilst he began to lap at your wetness.

Tossing your head back, you sat up, running your hands through his hair, unconsciously rolling your hips to meet his mouth. His groan reverberated through your body, only adding to the pleasure you were feeling.

“Lucius, Lucius,” you babbled his name until it didn’t sound like a word.

His nose bumped against your aching clit the same time his tongue penetrated your cunt. You yelped as that familiar, tightening feeling swept over you. His half-lidded eyes would stare up at you every once in a while, as he would continue to drink from you as if he had been stranded in the desert. Just as you were on the brink of release, you drew him away from you.

“What-what is it?” He huffed. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, pressing your lips to his before scooting further up the bed. With one last breath, you pulled your shift over your head, revealing your bare body to him. His gaze ran over your figure unashamedly.

“Come here.” You beckoned.

He crawled onto the bed and over your body, yet still looked at your face. You took his hand and laid it over your breast. His body ran cold at what was on the side of it. A bite mark.

“He branded me all those years ago.” You confessed. “And it has not left since.”

Geta…

You ran your hand up his chest. “I love you, and I trust you with every part of my body. I need you to know that.”

“I love you.” He echoed, pressing the tenderest of kisses to the mark and you gasped lightly. “I have for so long now; I…I need you.”

“Then have me.”

He sat back on his knees, unwrapping his loin cloth and tossing it to the floor. Precum leaked from his sweltering cock as it stood upright like a pillar. You crawled over, kissing every inch of his face and climbing into his lap. He drew his arms around your waist, his finger tracing circles into the small of your back.

“I don’t know how long I will last.” He puffed heavily. “It’s been so long.”

“I just want you inside of me.” You kissed his jaw, taking his cock into your hand and sinking down onto it. It had been a while for you too, and while you were soaked, it was not enough to completely subside the tightness. “Just…wait.”

“I could die happy if all you wanted was for me to remain still as you’re above me.” He said into your ear.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, sinking your nails into his skin because that was the only way to remind you that he was still there. The further you sunk down on him, the easier and more pleasureful you felt.

“I’m going to move now.” You said into his shoulder, and you did.

Slowly, at first you relished in the quiet slapping of skin and the breath moans leaving both you and Lucius’ lips. He trailed a syrupy line of kisses down your throat until he bowed his head to place them upon your chest.

“Your name,” Lucius said into your skin. “tell me your name.”

You gave him a look as you rolled your hips into his, yet sighed your name.

“Again.” He breathed, latching his lips around the tip of your breast.

You did.

“Again.” He kissed the hollow of your throat.

You leaned into his touch, saying your name a third time.

He repeated your given name, than following it with ‘Aurelias’. Your movements stilled, yet he did not care.

“You are the most cunning woman I have met, and you are my wife.” He stated, never looking away from you. Tears sprang to your eyes when you saw the same for him, and you gave him a messy kiss before resuming faster this time.

After months of being called a name that did not belong to you, especially whenever in the bedroom, Lucius was doing everything to remind you that you were yourself again as you felt pleasure.

It felt as if, after two years, ‘Julia’ was finally gone.

You chanted his name as if it was your favorite prayer, burying your hands in his hair and kissing his lips.

“Lucius, Lucius, Lucius…”

Because, just like you, how long had it been since his true name was uttered whilst in the throes of pleasure?

He moaned into your mouth, holding onto you tighter. You squealed when he rose up onto his knees, latching your legs around his waist and only crying out sharply when your throbbing clit ran across his pubic hair.

“Come on, come on,” he urged into your ear. “I know you can give it to me.”

“Lu-Lu-!” You moaned, running your nails over the thick field of muscles that was his back.

He said your name over and over again, until it was one word that was the end of you.

“Please.”

You came with your vision blinded from the state of euphoria you had reached. Lucius still held you above him even as his legs began to quake, bouncing you on his cock. You felt as though you were suspended in air when his groans stammered, and you felt strings of his cum paint the walls of your cunt.

Slowly, he lowered the two of you onto the mattress, laying you on your back like you were the most precious treasure in the world. You kept your legs around his waist, breathing with him with your chests glued together from your sweat.

“Lucius-.” You began, trying to shift under him.

“-Just,” he grunted. “just another moment. Please.”

How could you deny him? Every kiss he gave was loving as he laid upon you. His cock had grown soft, and even you were aware that you could’ve fallen asleep if you weren’t careful.

When he pulled away from you, you let out an involuntary whine.

“I thought you wanted me to get off you?” He kissed your stomach when he stood up.

You shoved him playfully. “Just clean me up and come back.”

“So controlling.”

Still, he did what you asked, bringing a soaked washcloth from the bathroom and cleaning you. You groaned out of both the cold water hitting your hot skin, and the heat from the air itself.

“We should’ve waited until night.” You whined.

“Why?”

“I’m suffocating from the air outside!”

Lucius hummed, tossing the washcloth aside and looming over you. “Then that forces us to wear nothing today, so that we might cool down.”

You nodded. “Perhaps you aren’t as feeble minded as I thought.”

He settled behind you, tossing an arm over your waist and pulling your back to his chest. Even though his cock pressed against you, the two of you were completely exhausted from the heat of the day’s work, and the heat of what took place only moments before.

The only sound was that of the cicadas singing in the summertime. Sometimes, a breeze or two of wind would bounce the curtain off the window, but for the most part, just the even breathing you shared with Lucius was all you could hear.

Lucius’ mustache rubbed your skin when he placed a kiss to your neck. “What’s going on inside of your mind right now?”

You grinned. “A proper wife would say that I was thinking of you.”

“But that’s not what it is.”

“It’s something that has nothing to do with anything of note.”

He squeezed you. “Spit it out, woman.”

Sighing, you felt a sense of dread in your heart; both for your thoughts, and also how your husband would react. So, you tried your best to explain it.

“Do you even wonder how you will be remembered?” You began. “Spoken from mouths? Written in books? Painted on walls? They’ll remember Lucius, the Lost Son, the Last Gladiator…What will they remember of me, if anything? Rome’s Cleopatra? Her Delight? A whore to the twin emperors? I like to fantasize that they will name me the first woman who sat upon the emperor’s throne, even if it was as the last of its consul. Yet, even if they name me…I will be Julia. The name of a slave, the name I only accepted when he would press me into the bed so roughly. I only survived because I would need to tell myself that he was doing all of it to Julia, not to me.”

It felt quieter in that room, even though the sounds outside did not cease. Lucius gently turned your body towards him, and he stroked your face with the back of his hand.

“You’re crying,” he uttered your name, frowning.

You wiped your eyes, wanting to hide from him. Yet, he did not allow it, pulling your hands away from you and wrapping them around his shoulders.

“Would you wish I remain silent, or share with you what is in my head?” He asked.

“Talk to me.” You answered.

“I never cared of what history would see of me.” He stated. “Even as a boy. I know that we are different in most aspects of life, but I believe it serves no one to wonder away how we will be viewed long after we are dead. I do not care if or what a stranger thinks of me in a lifetime later. I care how Atticus and Diana see me. I care what their children think. Above all, I care of what you see me to be.”

You pressed your head against his. “You’re pigheaded and quite foolish sometimes.”

“And it matters you say that.” He pulled you closer. “Because that is what you will tell others when I pass on.”

“You know I don’t think that is all you are.” You remined him.

“I do.” He nodded. “I will know you for your wit, and your protective nature, and your kindness.”

“I never truly thought of myself as kind.” You gave a pained smile.

“That is how I see you.” He kissed your brow. “And what I will say with my last dying breath.”

You wondered how such a man as himself could exist at the same time you did. A man who hated you prior to everything yet laid with you in bed. A man who treated you with a tenderness you never thought possible.

A man who could be the last person on earth with you, and you would only feel at peace.

You did not need to say anything to him. Simply by the innocent smile that spread across your lips, did he know. You fell into the most comfortable of silences together as you laid naked in the summer heat.

The both of you were lost to time as we all shall be one day.

Perhaps you lived on that farm for the rest of your days, or perhaps you moved to a different land.

Perhaps you had ten children, perhaps you had only one, or perhaps you had none and were content with each other’s company.

Perhaps you died before him, perhaps he died before you, or perhaps you both passed onto the Elysian fields together.

All that truly matters, at the end of all things, is the life the two of you led together, and what you and loved ones remembered the most of it.

[romans-empire]

Last song: Not by Big Thief.

Favorite color: Any dark/deep shade of blue. Not a big fan of bright colors such as neons or just really bright colors due to them giving me headaches when looking at them (my eyes and brain are weird..).

Last book: Persuasion by Jane Austen. Recently got gifted a really pretty copy of it and I'm currently on chapter 7 after reading for 2 hours (slow I know, the deep English words causing my bilingual brain to go overdrive in translating it).

Last movie: I think it's Anastasia? I don't remember, I'm not a big movie fan since I can't hold still for more than an hour without doing something else then getting distracted that I forget I'm watching a movie.

Last TV show: Inside Job. I just finished watching season one and I love Reagan and find her incredibly relatable.

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: Sweet! It's the lesser evil among all of these, I don't like eating a lot or else my throat will kill me and I tend to get overstimulated by overly sweet flavors but I prefer that over having my taste buds be hurt by spicy. I hate savory flavors so no.

Relationship status: Single, AroAce and has a QPP.

Last thing I googled: Undertale Newsletter. I don't check my email often so I prefer using the archive to check for new newsletters.

Current obsession: UTDR+Y kids... Frisk, Asriel, Chara, and Clover soulmateness...

Looking forward to: Finally playing the games in my to be played and catching up on some fic writing.

@darlie-charlie

(No need to feel pressured to do this.)

people i'd like to know better tag game!

tagged by @endof-vanity thank uuu ^-^

last song: ... everybody wants to rule the world by tears for fears

favourite colour: green!!!! :DD

last book: last book i properly finished was the name of the rose by umberto eco :'] i have my fingers in too many others

last movie: megalopolis! it was shit <3

last tv show: nbc's hannibal in 2021 LMAO but i am watching amc's the terror. or trying to

sweet/spicy/savoury: savoury!! i would say spice if i was better at it </3

relationship status: single >.<

last thing i googled: 50bc attalus. lol. and a directory for a mall at the same time

current obsession: m...my catie,,,, self explanatory i don't have to justify myself. also monks. reading a monklove book,,,

looking forward to: going out with my friends this sunday! maybe going overseas next june! yippee :3

tagging: @quia-nominor--leo @enlitment @monksexualizer @xxmarvelouslifexx @courtjester69420 if you'd like to doooo itttt <3

[spicy30]

Modernness of 1400s 007

Pairing: HOTD x Fem!Modern!Reader

Extra: The reader is noted to be bilingual (Spanish speaking) and is familiar with the majority of Latin-based languages, No use of Y/N

Rating: 18+

CW: Child trafficking

Not proofread

Tags: @fan-goddess @meowmeowmothermeower @bunxia @your-favorite-god @coolalienstatesmansports @georgiatesulitsyeykite @qwerrtsworld @wegottastayfocus @dakota-rain666 @talilosha @the-deep-dark-abyss @101crows @agustdeeyaa @ggglich-exe @illjhhlisa @deepeststarlightmoon @cluelessteam @a-fruity-snack @i-zenin @justablondeeee @feyresqueen @yduimobsessed @pinkluv29

Side note: I think my writing style from my latest work accidentally leaked in, but oh well.

WC: 14.3k

As you and Helaena flew back to King’s Landing with the goods secured, your gaze drifted downward. The world below stretched out in an endless patchwork of greens and browns, but it wasn’t until you spotted that same spring again—hidden like a secret among the hills—that inspiration struck like a lightning bolt.

“The Romans,” you murmured, tightening your grip on Helaena’s waist. The idea was perfect. You’d introduce the Roman water system to Westeros and claim it as your own invention. Clean water would not only make you beloved among the commons but also mark a monumental step toward the progress you envisioned. A woman who brought both clean water and a functioning sewer system to all of Westeros? Invaluable.

The only issue? You didn’t know the exact formulas.

You began to mentally map it out, your thoughts racing as you soared over the land. A close water source would be ideal. The river running through King’s Landing was an option, but not a good one. Its waters emptied into the sea, and rivers like it were rarely suitable for clean drinking water—especially in a place like King’s Landing, where waste and pollution had long since claimed the current.

A spring, however, was pure. Untouched. Exactly what you needed. And now, you’d found one.

The next challenge was funding.

Your jaw tightened at the thought. Right now, you were broke—your entire fortune consisted of a single gold dragon. One. A pitiful sum that wouldn’t buy the loyalty of a stray cat, much less the resources for an ambitious engineering project.

This was of course thanks to your ‘business’ on the Street of Silk. 

But ambition wasn’t something you lacked, and you were nothing if not resourceful. 

The woman at the door stood firm, her thin robe clinging to her frame, revealing more than modesty allowed. Her voice dripped with disdain as she let a man pass.

“We do not serve women,” she said flatly, the faint smell of stale sweat and sex heavy in the air.

You squared your shoulders, ignoring the assault on your senses. “I’m here to speak with the madam.”

“It does not matter who you ask. We do not serve women.” Her tone remained cold, practiced.

Your eyes flicked over her, noting the hard set of her jaw, the hollowness in her gaze. She wasn’t much older than you. That thought disturbed you, but you pushed it aside. “I’m not here for service,” you said firmly. “I have a proposal for your madam.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, but after a moment’s hesitation, she rolled her eyes and stepped aside.

Inside, the stench of sweat and perfume hit you like a slap. The air was humid, cloying, heavy with the sounds of grunts and moans from every corner. You blinked, taking it in—the writhing bodies, the shadowed alcoves where no act was too obscene, no boundary respected.

But it wasn’t the orgies that churned your stomach. It was the private rooms.

Your steps faltered as you caught glimpses through half-open doors: a boy’s small frame crushed beneath a man’s weight, the blank stare of a child too broken to cry. Your throat tightened, bile rising as you forced yourself to keep walking.

Savages.

The word seared through your mind like a brand.

Savages, all of them.

You lifted your chin, forcing your face into a mask of composure as you entered the madam’s chamber. The older woman sat behind a low table, her painted lips curling into a calculating smile as you approached.

“You have the product you promised? Or are you here to reconsider my offer?” Her voice was smooth, almost mocking.

“I have the product.” You placed the jar on the table with a steady hand. “But the conditions have changed.”

The madam’s brow arched. “Conditions?” She reached for the jar, turning it in her hands. “My price remains the same.”

“You don’t even know how to use it,” you countered, your voice cool. “I can teach some of your workers how to apply it properly, but you’ll abide by my terms.”

The madam leaned back, signaling for one of her girls—a nervous-looking young woman who couldn’t have been more than sixteen. “She’ll learn, and she’ll teach the others.”

You shook your head, your resolve hardening. “No. You will stop selling children. Anyone under fifteen comes to me. I will teach them.” You leaned forward, locking eyes with her. “If you refuse, our business is done.”

The madam’s smile faltered, just for a moment. “I’d lose considerable profit,” she said, her voice low, almost amused. “Women can still shave.”

Your nose twitched in disgust. “You’ll find other uses for this product. And if you don’t, the next whorehouse will. What happens when this becomes a trade, and you have to buy it back at a premium?” You sat back, folding your arms. “Stop selling the children.”

The room was silent save for the muffled noises from beyond the walls. Finally, the madam exhaled through her nose. “One gold dragon, then. Instead of two.”

Gold was gold. And if it saved even a handful of children, it was enough. “Done.”

She handed you the coin, and you pocketed it without looking. “Gather all your workers under fifteen. I don’t care if they’re in service—bring them to me now.”

The madam hesitated but eventually obeyed. A handful of children were brought into the room, their eyes hollow and frightened. But not all.

You scanned the faces, your stomach twisting. He wasn’t there.

Without a word, you stormed out, ignoring the madam’s shouts. Room by room, you searched until you found him.

The boy.

A man loomed over him, his hand gripping the boy’s hair as he forced him down. Rage boiled in your chest as you shoved the man off, pulling the boy to your side.

“Sinner,” you spat, your voice trembling with fury.

Behind you, the madam appeared, stammering apologies, but you didn’t care. You turned, the boy clutching your arm, and stormed out of the house, your jar tucked beneath your other arm.

It wasn’t enough. It never would be. But it was a start.

The turn of events was brutal—messy and unsightly—but it carved an opportunity. Now, you had eyes scattered throughout the city, keen and unblinking. If wielded correctly, they’d be more than informants; they’d become your personal choir, singing your truths to the masses. A better life than the squalor they came from, surely. It had to be. You wouldn’t allow yourself to doubt it.

As the dragon-carved gates of King’s Landing loomed farther, your thoughts spiraled to the tasks at hand. Your newly assembled web of spies awaited their first test. The Miswak shipment needed delivering, and the children would have hopefully grounded enough charcoal by now. Was that child labor? Perhaps. But you’d gifted them the tools to climb higher—the basics of English, etched into the same rudimentary book you had created for Dyana.

Reading. Writing. Seeds planted for the future, and one day, they would bloom.

…

“Any new developments?” Alicent’s voice pierced the quiet like a needle slipping through silk. Her watchful eyes held you in place, and you swallowed back the biting words that nearly leapt from your tongue. It had been a month, and you couldn’t hold off Alicent—or Otto—much longer. They were shadows at your back, waiting for the right moment to strike.

“Nearly finished,” you lied smoothly, then allowed hesitation to creep in, as though you were carefully choosing your words. “However, there is… something else I’d like to discuss.”

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. This had to work. Ever since your reckless encounter with her son, Alicent had grown colder, more measured. You prayed to whatever gods might listen that Aemond was clever enough to keep his mouth shut. Still, the whispers of the maids lingered in the halls, their eyes darting toward you whenever you passed. Your carefully applied makeup covered the marks, but not the rumors. Not entirely.

Alicent raised a single brow, her sharp gaze unnervingly still. Your own eyes flicked to her necklace—a symbol of faith, of purpose. Religion had always been a distant, abstract thing for you. You’d been born into one but never truly embraced it. Still, what was one more belief to add to the list of masks you wore?

“As you know, I am not of this land,” you began, weaving threads of sincerity into your tone. “Yet, I find myself yearning for something greater. A connection… to the gods.” You paused, watching Alicent’s expression shift—a subtle softening. You pressed forward. “I do not know much about the Seven, but I want to learn.”

A flicker of approval lit her face. Strike.

“Do you think I could accompany you the next time you visit the…Sept, is it?”

Alicent’s brow smoothed, her lips curving into a faint, almost maternal smile. “You wish to turn to the Seven?”

“Yes,” you answered with measured conviction. “I want to cultivate a relationship with the gods. I know the Citadel… may not look favorably upon me. But I hold no malice for them.” A small lie. “I seek guidance. I fear I may become lost.”

A threadbare trope, perhaps, but one that never failed to tug at the hearts of saviors. Alicent’s posture shifted; her gaze softened.

“Sweet girl,” she said, smoothing a hand over your hair. “I am glad you have turned to the Seven. I go to the Sept once a week. On the morrow, you shall join me. I will guide you.”

Perfect. You smiled demurely, lowering your head in feigned gratitude. If you couldn’t infiltrate the seediest corners of the city to keep them under your thumb, you’d dismantle them entirely. The parallels between this world and your own were sharp as blades. The Sept—like the medieval Church of your history—wielded untold power, with its followers hanging on every whispered word.

If the Citadel wouldn’t accept you, the Seven would. You would start here, under the Queen’s banner. Her blessing would open doors, and soon, the citadel and the Septons would know your name—not as an outsider, but as a force of change, anointed by faith.

And when the time came, you’d see to it that your web of influence didn’t just spread—it consumed.

With the matter settled, you bowed gracefully and took your leave from the Queen’s chambers. As the heavy doors closed behind you, Otto strode in with his usual air of self-importance. You offered him a polite smile, masking the unease his presence always stirred, and quickly made yourself scarce.

It had been two days since your return to King’s Landing, and time already felt like a double-edged sword. Waiting for your plant to dry had been maddening, leaving you stuck in limbo. Meanwhile, King Viserys, to your surprise, had resumed his seat in the council room, much to Otto’s visible displeasure.

You’d been avoiding the Targaryens as much as possible. Rhaenyra had taken Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Rhaena back to Dragonstone during your absence—a disappointing turn. You had hoped to visit Dragonstone again, at least once more. And as for Jacaerys? So much for his promises. 

Well, it couldn’t be helped. It was time to make new alliances.

Friends in high places, you thought. Yet the options were limited.

Helaena? Too peculiar, her words often tangled in riddles you had no patience for. Aegon? Transparent in his intentions and utterly repugnant. Daemon? He hated you, and the feeling was mutual. Rhaenyra? Impossible, not with her husband hawk-like vigilance. Viserys? A King’s favor could be a double-edged sword, and you had no desire to invite further burdens.

Alicent and Otto? Neither seemed genuinely invested in you. Alicent only saw someone she could shape into her ideal, and Otto viewed you as a piece on the board—disposable when no longer useful.

That left…Aemond.

The very thought made you shudder. Aemond Targaryen, the one-eyed prince. A bitter regret clung to the memory of that night, a reckless mistake you’d been running from ever since. It was half the reason you had leapt at the chance to join Helaena in the Riverlands. Facing Aemond again was a prospect you were still too cowardly to confront, though you suspected it would be unavoidable. If handled carefully, though, he might not be the worst option.

Later. That could wait.

Right now, your mind was preoccupied with the daunting task ahead: the water system. You needed to figure out the formula, but where to begin? All you knew was it needed a steady decline for gravity to carry the flow. Underground would be ideal, but if forced above ground, arches would save on materials. The bricks needed to be durable, made with marble cement. And getting it into the city? That would require tearing apart King’s Landing itself.

Reconstructing an entire city—it could take years.

Years.

The word hit you like a falling stone. Years you would spend here, in this medieval nightmare. You froze mid-step, the weight of realization crashing over you. This was the first time you truly thought about it and let it set in. You would never see your family or friends again. Never watch another movie or binge your favorite show. No degree. No cars, planes, or air conditioning. The life you once knew—the future—was gone, slipping further away with each passing day.

Could you even build a life here? Marry? Have children? The thought was sobering. You could survive, but what would survival cost? Medicine here was archaic at best. Pain relief during childbirth would be nonexistent. Vaccines, nonexistent. Plagues, inevitable. You had always fought to survive back home, but this… this was a different beast altogether.

A pang of homesickness rippled through you. How you longed for a lazy afternoon in bed, reading with music playing softly in the background. Scrolling through social media, catching up on sports, watching the Olympics or the news—or even just indulging in Animal Planet for a moment of calm.

You sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of your nose as you stopped outside a pair of large doors. The library. Maybe you’d find something useful here—anything to distract you from these spiraling thoughts.

Focus, you reminded yourself. Stay focused. Keep your head above water. Make yourself invaluable. You could mourn the loss of modern life later. For now, you had work to do.

The library was a sprawling maze, the shelves seemingly organized by no discernible system. Scanning the spines, you felt the weight of frustration settling in. No math books. Certainly no physics. You scoffed, shaking your head.

“Why would they have math formulas written down?” you muttered. “Wishful thinking.”

As you prepared to give up, a title caught your eye: “Book of Coin - Crispian Celtigar (First Master of Coin) Aegon I ‘The Conqueror’ Targaryen. 1-37AC.”

Your lips twitched into a smile. Of course. The economy here was primitive at best—a loose network of trade and agrarian reliance. Taxes funneled from the smallfolk to lords, and from lords to the crown. Laughably inefficient.

An open market, ripe for the taking.

If you could establish a proper economy, it would mean wealth beyond imagination—and perhaps a system that bore your name. A fully realized, capitalistic economy. It would take years for anyone else to grasp the concept fully. But you’d need to tread carefully; monarchies and capitalism rarely coexisted peacefully. Then again, when had monarchies ever worked well?

Your grin widened. The pieces of a plan were starting to form. The library hadn’t given you what you’d sought, but it had handed you something far more valuable: an idea.

The idea of modern monarchies intrigued you. Weak relics of bygone eras, their grip on power was tenuous at best. Take Spain, for instance—a nation with a king who held no real authority while a president governed the people. Monarchies, by their very nature, stood in direct opposition to the principles of democratic equality, the very ideal you found yourself gravitating toward. Yet here you were, sitting in a castle steeped in the bloodlines of a dynasty that would scoff at such ideals.

You flipped through the book in your hands, letting your mind wander.

The thought of devoting your entire life to dismantling the monarchy felt exhausting. And really, was it even worth it? Life expectancy here couldn’t be much past the thirties—what a chilling reality. Building an egalitarian society would be an uphill battle, and some changes, you reasoned, had to come organically, from the collective understanding of society itself. A leader could nudge the masses in the right direction, pipeline ideas, and light the way, but the responsibility would ultimately fall on those who came after you.

Then there was the media—a double-edged sword you understood all too well. In capable, ethical hands, it could inform and inspire. But unchecked? It could mislead, manipulate, and turn progress into chaos. The thought was sobering.

Still, you couldn’t ignore the monarchy’s unique allure. For all its flaws, it offered something a democracy couldn’t match: continuity, a living link to the past. Monarchs embodied history, culture, and heritage, grounding a nation in its origins while carrying it forward. The public’s attachment to royalty wasn’t logical—it was emotional. They cried for a royal death, cheered for a wedding, and celebrated the birth of heirs they’d never meet. The late Princess Diana was proof of this—her influence enduring even decades after her tragic death.

You grinned, the beginnings of an idea forming. Perhaps the media wasn’t such a bad tool after all, not if wielded correctly.

Otto and Alicent were closing in, you could feel it. You needed something to turn the tide in Rhaenyra’s favor. Numbers alone might confirm the legitimacy of Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey, but public opinion was another entity entirely. People doubted what they saw with their own eyes; they’d cling to rumors if given the chance. But with the right narrative, a loyal following could be built around Jacaerys, the future heir. A fan base so devoted, so unwavering, that whispers of bastardy would fall on deaf ears.

Even if the worst happened and the truth came out, a beloved figure could weather the storm. A king who won the hearts of his people would render lineage irrelevant. It wasn’t just about legitimacy—it was about loyalty, influence, and the ability to inspire unwavering devotion.

You leaned back, smiling to yourself. Maybe, just maybe, you’d found your strategy.

You pursed your lips. Yeah…get Rhaenyra on the throne and make her children beloved. Those at the bottom are what keep those at the top standing. A country is not made of just numbers. That’s how should be.

First, you’d have to create a source of constant and neutral information. A reliable source. A true neutral source.

Something simple. 

 A newspaper! 

You snapped the coin book shut, grabbing a piece of paper and a quill, heart pounding with excitement. You sketched the first rough outline of something new, something revolutionary. Journalists. Editors. Writers. You’d need them all, but first, you’d start small. One piece at a time. It didn’t matter that Westeros wasn’t ready for it. They’d need it. You’d make them need it.

People, no matter the time, love gossip. You’d have to recruit someone for that. Actually, let's start thinking of the jobs that need to be filled. 

‘Journalists, senior editors, assistant editors, editorial assistants, staff writers, printers, Painters?’ Then of course you’d have to do one for every subject you choose, politics, gossip, health, fashion (you needed to start pants or something. These skirts were too much.), travel maybe (You really needed to get out more), business, science, lifestyle, sports. Hell, maybe you’d even start the Olympics here. Make your own city and it will be the capital of progress. Call it Olympus, home of the Olympians, and have major athletes living there and universities there so you’d have the brightest minds. Wouldn’t that be something? Actually maybe… “Ugh! This is so much work already!” You threw your head back and your jaw slackened. Above you was standing the last Prince you wanted to see. 

Aemond stood there, his presence suffocating, cutting through your thoughts like a blade.

You shot to your feet, heart thudding. Not now. Not when your mind was on fire. You gave him a tight smile, forced but polite. “Perfect timing,” you muttered. Time to go.

“Journalists?” Aemond spoke and you gave a smile. Definitely time to go! Once this newspaper was started it couldn’t be linked back to you. It wouldn’t give it the fair and neutral reputation you wanted, especially once you started making headlines and you would. The whole of Westeros would know your name once you were done. 

You smiled, but it was a wolfish thing. “Just playing with words…” Your heart raced. It was a lie. A flimsy one. But it wasn’t like he’d ever heard of the word before.

He raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. His gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, unreadable, as always. "What does it mean?"

You looked around, feigning thought. The heat of his stare burned into you. "I don’t know yet. Would you like to help me give it meaning?" You let your words hang, soft but charged with a promise. You ignored the way his eye darkened as they lingered on your collarbones.

“Help you how?” His voice had an edge now, dangerous and tantalizing. It sent a shiver down your spine.

You turned away quickly, trying to steady yourself. No. Not again. You couldn’t fall into that trap again, especially not after making peace with Alicent. You forced a smile, playing dumb. “Figuring out what the word means. I just said that.” Your voice was light, almost too light.

Aemond stood still, his gaze on you sharp and unrelenting. The air between you thickened.

He stepped closer, his presence a magnet pulling at every nerve in your body. You instinctively took a step back, but the intensity in his eyes held you in place. “I thought you were a man with no taste for depravity.” You threw his own words back at him, the challenge in your voice unmistakable.

Aemond said nothing as he leaned in. A sudden and sharp pain hit the left side of your brain making your eye sting. You hissed and covered your eye. Aemond lifted a brow and your jaw slacked for the second time that day. Damn. This second time you’ve probably offended him about his eye. To your credit, you really did get hit with a sharp pain which was now forming into a headache. The worst thing that could happen and it’s happening. Rather break a bone than another migraine. However, your migraines usually come with a side of vomit, but that wouldn’t be till much later. You knew you shouldn’t have eaten anything here. It was a miracle nearly two months and with no sickness, hopefully, it was a simple upset stomach.

“Excuse me.” You barely managed to breathe the words, your senses assaulted by a pungent smell that seemed to grow stronger with every heartbeat. Your head throbbed, a sharp pulse blooming at your temple, and you instinctively pushed past Aemond, ignoring the startled lift of his brow.

The moment you stepped into the corridor, the pain in your head flared again, forcing you to slow your steps. Each movement sent another spike of agony through your skull, and you clenched your teeth to keep from groaning aloud. Behind you, Aemond followed in silence, his measured steps too close, his gaze too heavy. You could feel it trailing you, scrutinizing your every falter. Thankfully, he seemed wise enough not to speak.

You finally reached your chambers, but the moment you opened the door, a sickly sweet smell hit you like a punch to the gut. Your stomach churned violently.

“Shit,” you hissed, slamming the door shut and turning away as a fresh wave of nausea rose to your throat.

“What are you doing?” Aemond’s voice broke the tense silence, his tone edged with curiosity and the faintest trace of irritation.

“Headache,” you gritted out, squeezing your eyes shut as you pressed your fingers to your temples. The small circles you rubbed brought only the barest relief. “Strong smells make it worse. Please—I’m terrible with pain.” The words tumbled out unbidden, desperation seeping into your voice. The sharp, stabbing sensation on the left side of your head had morphed into a vise, squeezing tighter and tighter. It was unbearable. At least with a broken bone, the pain had a clear source. This—this all-encompassing torment—was driving you mad.

“Should I call a Maester?” Aemond asked, his voice steady, though you thought you detected the faintest flicker of concern.

You shook your head sharply, regret washing over you as the motion worsened the throbbing. Another wave of nausea rolled through you, and you turned away, swallowing hard to keep your stomach’s rebellion at bay.

“Unless they have fucking painkillers,” you snapped, the words slipping out before you could stop them, “then they can’t do shit for me.” You barely registered the silence that followed, too consumed by the relentless pressure in your skull. But a part of you imagined Aemond’s reaction—his sharp features drawn in surprise, maybe even offense. You’d never spoken like that to anyone here, least of all a prince.

“I need air,” you muttered through clenched teeth, hoping he wouldn’t press the issue further.

“Breathe,” he said simply, placing a hand on your back. The gesture, though likely meant to comfort, did little to ease the suffocating pressure in your chest.

“No,” you groaned, shaking your head weakly. “Clean air. Fresh air. Not the sweet rot in my room or the filth of King’s Landing.” You turned to him then, desperation flashing in your eyes. Another sharp wave of vertigo hit, and you reached out instinctively, gripping his arm for balance. “Please.” The word escaped as a plea, raw and unfiltered.

“Where?” Aemond’s expression was unreadable, his voice calm despite the urgency in yours. Perhaps, if you weren’t so consumed by the pain, you might have noticed the faint crease of his brow, or the subtle glance toward the nearby shadows where watchful eyes lingered.

 “Dragonstone,” you whispered, the word barely audible over the pounding in your skull. It was the first place you could think of—cool, constant, and untouched by the suffocating air of this place.

Aemond’s brows furrowed, his expression sharpening with intrigue. “Dragonstone?” he echoed, as though the name itself warranted suspicion. He hadn’t known you were even aware of the place, let alone familiar with it. Has Aegon taken you? His brother had often bragged about his soon to be conquest of you. Fucking you atop Sunfyre’s back whilst you both flew above King’s Landing. Though it did little to bother Aemond. He had already beaten his brother to it in any case. Aemond had dismissed it as a typical Aegon bluster, but now…

“You’ve been to Dragonstone? On dragonback?” he pressed, his eye narrowing as he studied your face.

You nodded weakly, your eyes still closed, every movement threatening to unleash another jolt of pain. The invisible belt tightened further around your head, and you winced.

“How?” he asked, his voice remaining flat, though the edge of curiosity softened his tone. Perhaps it was your vulnerability that tempered his usual sharpness—or perhaps it was something else entirely.

“Does it matter?” you managed to mutter, each word a struggle. “If you’re worried about Aegon, I promise you it wasn’t him.” Your voice cracked with desperation, your patience shredded by the unrelenting pain. “Please, Aemond—my head is killing me.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as if debating whether to press further. His gaze lingered on you, an unreadable storm behind his eye, but your words seemed to settle something in him.

Aemond’s lips pressed into a thin line as he stepped closer, his towering presence both grounding and overwhelming in your current state. “Very well,” he said at last, though the question lingered in his gaze. “But if not Aegon, then who?”

“Not now,” you hissed, cradling your head as a fresh wave of pain pulsed through your skull. “I’ll tell you later. Just… please, Aemond.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. You could feel the tension in the air, his curiosity warring with some other unspoken instinct. Then, without another word, he extended his arm toward you, his fingers brushing your elbow with a touch so surprisingly gentle it made you open your eyes.

“Come,” he said simply. “We’ll take Vhagar.”

You blinked, your breath catching. “Vhagar?” What the hell was a Vhagar? You didn’t have time for riddles—what you needed was fresh air so you could follow your usual migraine routine: a restless nap where you’d feel every pulse in your head, waking up nauseous and dizzy, throwing up, and finally, one last nap to reset. But that wasn’t happening in King’s Landing, not with the air reeking like it did. Yeah, you really needed to figure out those formulas for the sewer system.

“My dragon,” Aemond clarified.

Oh. He had a dragon. Right.

Wait—Vhagar. The name tugged at a corner of your memory, but the pounding in your skull made it impossible to chase the thought down. Whatever. You’d piece it together later.

You gave a stiff nod and started walking, each step down the stairs making your head throb like your brain was ricocheting off your skull. Damn migraines.

You took each step carefully, gripping the railing as though it might steady the pulsing in your skull. Aemond followed silently behind you, his presence a heavy shadow against your increasingly unsteady footing. The scent of the city—a sickly mix of sweat, rot, and filth—clung to the air like a physical weight, and it was all you could do not to gag.

As you reached the courtyard, a sharp wave of vertigo hit. You paused, eyes squeezing shut, willing the world to stop spinning. Behind you, Aemond’s voice cut through the haze. “Are you sure you can manage this? You look—”

“Like hell,” you finished for him, waving off his concern. “I’ll manage if it gets me to fresh air.”

Vhagar was there, looming like a mountain brought to life, her sheer size making your breath catch for reasons entirely unrelated to your headache. Her massive head turned toward you, eyes gleaming with an intelligence that made your stomach twist with both awe and unease. The migraine and nausea suddenly felt like the least of your problems. Nearly made them go away actually.

“That’s Vhagar?” you managed, your voice cracking slightly. Great. Just great. Show no fear, right?

Aemond stepped beside you, his posture as effortlessly poised as ever. “She won’t harm you. Not unless I command it.” His tone was calm, almost casual, but you caught the faintest flicker of amusement in his gaze. Of course he was enjoying this.

“That’s…reassuring,” you muttered, not feeling reassured in the slightest.

Aemond extended a hand toward you. “Come. If it's the fresh air you need, Vhagar will take you there.”

You stared at his hand, then at Vhagar, then back at him. The last time you’d been on dragonback was with Helaena, and even then, it had been an ordeal. Now, with your head pounding like a war drum and your balance barely holding steady, climbing onto the back of the largest dragon in Westeros felt like a death wish.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” you said, but even as the words left your mouth, you felt the heat of Vhagar’s breath as she leaned in closer. The air was hot, yes, but surprisingly clean—free of the acrid stench that seemed to saturate King’s Landing. You inhaled deeply, and for a fleeting moment, the tension in your head eased.

“You said you needed air,” Aemond reminded you, his hand still outstretched. “Trust me.”

The words lingered between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. You looked at him, his face unreadable but unwavering. Normally this would be a no-brainer to get on but right now you weren’t feeling the best, but nonetheless, against your better judgment, you placed your hand in his.

“Fine,” you relented. “But if I fall off, I’m dragging you with me.”

Aemond smirked, but said nothing, keeping his grip firm as he helped you up toward the saddle. 

As Vhagar shifted beneath you, her scales scraping like thunder against stone, you squeezed your eyes shut and muttered a silent prayer to whichever god was listening. Fresh air. That was all you needed. You could survive this. Probably.

And if not…well, there was always the chance that you’d get home somehow. 

Vhagar’s sheer size made her every movement feel monumental. As she shifted beneath you, you clung tightly to the saddle, your fingers white-knuckling the leather straps. This wasn’t like flying on Vermax or even Dreamfyre—those dragons, while mighty, felt agile, almost playful in the air. Vhagar, by contrast, was an ancient power given form, each step and breath a reminder of her dominance. She felt…unrelenting, as if the sky itself bent to her will.

Your head still pounded, but as Vhagar began to rise, the ground slipping farther and farther away, the faint breeze turned into a steady rush of air. It was cool, fresh, untainted by the filth of the city below, and for the first time in hours, you felt a thread of relief unwind through your body.

Your stomach, however, had other plans.

“Ginger ale,” you murmured under your breath, your voice barely audible over the growing wind.

“What?” Aemond called back, glancing over his shoulder as Vhagar’s ascent steadied into a glide.

“I need ginger ale,” you repeated, louder this time, though the absurdity of the request hit you even as you said it. “Helps with nausea.” You groaned softly, pressing your forehead against the saddle, hoping the coolness of the leather would soothe your migraine.

Aemond gave you a look—half incredulous, half bemused. “What is ‘ginger ale?’”

“Doesn’t matter,” you muttered, clutching the straps tighter as Vhagar tilted into a sharp turn. The motion made your stomach lurch, and you pressed your teeth together, determined not to vomit. “I’d settle for anything that doesn’t taste like wine or rot.”

The Prince said nothing, though you thought you caught a flicker of something akin to concern in his eye. If he had a remark, he wisely kept it to himself, focusing instead on guiding Vhagar.

As the dragon soared higher, the wind whipped against your face, stinging your skin but bringing with it that precious, unpolluted air you’d been craving. You tilted your head back, letting it wash over you, even as your grip on the saddle remained ironclad.

Every movement of Vhagar felt heavier, more deliberate than Vermax or Dreamfyre. Where their flights had been smooth and almost playful, Vhagar’s was a commanding march through the skies. You could feel the weight of her wings as they sliced through the air, each beat a reminder of her power. The vibrations resonated through your body, making your migraine pulse in tandem.

“Hold tighter,” Aemond called, his voice steady but edged with a warning as Vhagar banked again. You didn’t need to be told twice. Your arms ache from holding on, but letting go wasn’t an option. Not here, not on this dragon.

“Does she always feel like she’s trying to knock you off?” you yelled back, a mix of fear and awe slipping into your tone.

“Only if she doesn’t like you,” Aemond replied, and you swore you caught the faintest trace of a smirk.

Great. Just great.

“Tell her I’m very likable,” you shot back, though the trembling in your voice probably undermined your point.

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” he countered, turning his gaze forward as Vhagar leveled out.

Alive, yes. Comfortable, no. But as the air cleared and the scent of saltwater reached your nose, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It wasn’t King’s Landing. It wasn’t the suffocating sweetness of your chambers. It was fresh, untainted, and as the horizon opened up before you, you allowed yourself a moment to simply breathe.

“Oh god.” You gripped the saddle though through the sound of the harsh wind your ears sounded a high-pitched, almost "cackling" roar, with a mix of screeching and whistling sounds. “What was that?” You squint your eyes looking forward, almost forgetting you had a migraine in the first place. Your eyes try to adjust to the blinding white of the clouds. A small figure flies through a cloud. “Is that?” 

Was it Vermax? No. Vermax’s deep green coloring would strongly contrast the clouds. No this one blended in with the brightness of the clouds. Was it white, maybe gold? Do they come in those colors? Clearly they came in green (Vhagar and Vermax) and blue (Dreamfyre). 

For a couple of seconds you were able to clearly see a smaller yellow dragon with a familiar face riding on top. 

Rhaenyra Targaryen.

“Goodness, do all Targeryens have dragons then?” You asked, watching and turning back as you watched Rhaenrya go to land her dragon at a bay. Was that the bay where you arrived? 

“Majority.” Aemond answered and you nodded. 

“What about the King?” If all Targeryens and dragons you would like to see all of them. Study them if possible or to simply interact with them. Jacaerys had spoken of bonds, you like to understand these bonds and how they work. 

“My father rode Balerion the Black Dread once before it passed away from old age.” As Aemond spoke, you furrowed your brows. “It was the last creature who had seen Old Valyria in all its glory.”

“Old Valyria?” You asked. What was that? Or more so where was it? Was this like ancient Rome or something?

“Are you not from the East?” Aemond asked and you simply looked back at him over your shoulder with a brown lifted. 

“No.” 

“Not the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai?” Aemond looked down at you while keeping a steady hand on Vhagar’s reins.

“No. I’ve never even heard of it. Now what is Old Valyria?” The more you spoke you saw suspicion in Aemond’s eyes. Maybe you should’ve just said yes. You weren’t in the best spot right now for you to provoke such things. Yes, you might go home but y’know, you’d rather not fall more than what seemed 200 ft like last time. What if you didn’t fall into water? Regardless you weren’t in a good place to warrant any kind of reaction from Aemond that was not positive.

“Where are you from then?” Aemond asked and you noticed Vhagar’s speed notably decreased and you bit the inside of your lip.

You hesitated, your fingers tightening instinctively on the saddle as Vhagar’s wings beat slower, her flight becoming almost lazy. Was it intentional? Aemond's way of stalling until you answered? Or maybe Vhagar simply felt the change in his mood.

“Far away,” you finally said, deflecting as best as you could.

“Clearly,” Aemond murmured, his tone skeptical. “But ‘far away’ is not an answer.”

You sighed, your mind scrambling for a plausible explanation. Something that could at least buy you time, but your thoughts felt jumbled, your headache dulling your ability to think quickly.

“It’s… not a place you’d know,” you muttered, hoping the vague answer would suffice.

You purse your lips, keeping your gaze forward, trying to keep the dizziness from making you look weaker than you already felt. “Well, the first time I told all of you, you looked at me like I was crazy, so clearly you don’t.” The words slipped out sharper than you intended, but it was too late to reel them in now.

Aemond’s expression didn’t change, but you could feel the slight shift in the air, a sharpness that hadn’t been there before. Something between you was changing, but you couldn’t decide if it was good or bad. Whatever it was, it was pulling you deeper into something you weren’t sure you could control.

“Old Valyria is the place of origin for the Targaryen bloodline.” Aemond spoke moving past his attempt to figure out where you were from. You gave a small sigh of relief. 

Targaryen men. Always so unstable. Maybe it was just the white haired ones.

“Daenys Targaryen or otherwise known as Daenys the Dreamer, predicted the doom of Old Valyria twelve years before it happened. Her father, Lord Aenar Targaryen, heeded her dream and sold his holdings in the Valyrian Freehold and moved his family and all of their belongings to Dragonstone.” You stayed silent as Aemond spoke, trying to focus on his words instead of an uncomfortable feeling in the back of your throat. “With them, they took five dragons, including Balerion. When the Doom of Valyria came, House Targaryen was the only family of dragonriders which survived. Daenys was married to her brother Gaemon, who followed their father as Lord of Dragonstone. Their children were Aegon and Elaena Targaryen. Elaena married her brother, Aegon, and together they had two sons: Maegon and Aerys Targaryen and from them continues the line until the line reached Aegon and his sister wives.” 

At this point the Targeyen family tree is a circle. Why is there so much incest!? Whats with the sibling marriages!?

You couldn’t help but blink, the confusion clouding your thoughts for a moment. "So, the whole bloodline... it's just... incest?" The words slipped out before you could stop them. You bit your lip immediately, regretting it.

Aemond, ever composed, didn’t seem taken aback. His gaze, however, darkened slightly. "In our family, the bonds of blood are sacred," he said, his voice still smooth but edged with something harder. "It keeps the power of the dragons pure."

"Pure?" You repeated, the word feeling strange in your mouth. "What’s pure about it? That’s not... how it really works or at least from what I know." You barely managed to keep your voice steady, the migraine pressing heavier behind your eyes, like a constant hum beneath your skull.

"You speak of customs I do not understand," Aemond remarked coolly, his eyes narrowing as if searching for something in your expression. "But I will not apologize for the Targaryen way."

You met his gaze for a moment, feeling the tension thick in the air. "No one’s asking you to apologize," you muttered, turning your attention back to the sky. The rush of wind felt cold, too cold against the feverish heat inside you. "But it’s hard to understand... that."

“Not all Valryians were dragon lords. We are the last of our kind. Only those with our blood may command a dragon. Marriages within bloodlines are necessary.” Aemond spoke firmly and you nodded trying not to let your biases control even though, from what you know incest is wrong both morally and ethically. 

You hummed and turned back to him. “So say I want to claim a dragon, I can’t because I don’t have Valyrian blood?”

“You would be burned alive the second you stood in front of a dragon attempting to claim it, not just because you don’t have Valyrian blood but because you do not have Targaryen blood.” he spoke with an air of self-importance. You suppose it does warrant that kind of feeling. If only your bloodline can control dragons, you’d be pretty self-absorbed too. “There are those who still have Valryian blood but are not dragon lords. Those in the free cities for example. Many came from Valyrian colonies thus many have some Valryian blood though diluted. Lys has the purest, one can tell by the silver-gold hair and violet-purple eyes, characteristics not found amongst any other people of the world. This can vary from white to silver-gold to blond hair, and from lilac, to deep purple, and pale blue eyes.”

“Okay so your blood is magic and because of that you can control dragons. I understand, I suppose that would warrant…incest,” It was a hard pill to sallow. Admiting to yourself that incest was okay. That was something you never thought you’d say. “So do the people of Lys also have incestual…traditions?”

Aemond was quite seemingly thinking while you tried to keep your ‘little’ headache at bay. “I do not know. They say even the small folk have Valyrian features. I do not think they would. Many call Targaryen customs..queer.” There was a small hit of exasperation in his voice. 

Understandable. 

(Again you’d never thought you’d be justifying it.)

“I thought you had a headache.” Aemond chastised and you simply looked forward. 

“I do. It’s not as bad anymore. The fresh air is always nice.”

It wasn’t long before Dragon Stone came into view. A small smile came to your face. Cold winds. Finally. 

Vhagar's landing is definitely a lot smoother and if you’re being honest preferable to any other dragons you’ve been on, despite the fact that she’s as tall as the bridge you fell from. 

“I’d like to stay near the beach if it’s not too much trouble.” That was probably the nicest way you had spoken to him today.  

Aemond said nothing but Vhagar’s body shifted and you held on tight. Finally when she landed you sat still. 

“How does one get off?”

You watched Aemond slide off his dragon. 

You took thirty minutes trying to climb down. 

Finally on the ground you took off your coat and laid it out before you. Finally to take the first step into getting better. A nap. 

“What are you doing?” Aemond asked you as you bent down to lay down. 

“Take a nap. My head still hurts. I need to sleep.” You looked up at him as if it was obvious before you laid on your side with your arms to prop up your head as a makeshift pillow. 

“You begged me to bring you here to nap?” Aemond spoke unamused and you looked up at him half offended. 

You never begged. “I never beg.” 

“You begged.” Aemond said and normally you’d go back and forth but right now getting rid of this headache took precedence. You went to close your eyes trying to focus on numbing the ache in your head.

Some ginger ale. It was all you wanted.

As you focused on the sound of the waves an Vhagar’s loud breaths you felt as if Aemond was watching you. Listen you knew that both you both knew each other in ways that were not appropriate for the relationship you’re supposed to have but you’d rather not have him watch you while you sleep.

Speaking of you’re glad he has the decency to bring it up. You’d rather not deal with it now. 

“You don’t have to stay y’know. I’m fine, you can even go back to King’s Landing.” You spoke without opening your eyes. 

“How would you get back?” He asked and you shrugged. 

“I’d figure it out. Besides, I probably won’t be better till tomorrow morning, and her grace, Princess Rhaenrya, will have questions as to why you’re here.” Wow, look at you, using titles when it’s not necessary. 

“My half sister has no jurisdiction over me.”

“Is this not her land? Prince Jacaerys told me he has been living here for the past couple of years.” Before Aemond could answer you Vhagar laid her head on the ground not too far from you. The thud of her head landing on the floor made you jump a bit. She was enormous. It was amazing to see just how big a dragon can get. 

“If I were to leave you’d stay here all night all by yourself on the beach?” Aemond questioned and you paused. 

You…actually hadn’t thought about that. You had been so focused on the pain. You’ve been camping before. Besides these dresses were compact. “I’ll be fine. While I could do with a blanket, I can manage.” 

Aemond didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel the weight of his stare, heavy and considering. You kept your eyes closed, refusing to let him see even a flicker of hesitation. If he wanted to hover, fine. That was his prerogative, but you weren’t about to entertain his protectiveness.

“I should leave you here then,” he finally said, though his voice betrayed no intention of actually doing so.

“Please do,” you muttered, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. The cold sand beneath your coat was a relief, soothing compared to the relentless pounding in your head.

Aemond huffed lightly, the sound almost amused. “And if wild animals find you?”

You cracked one eye open, staring at him with as much conviction as you could muster in your current state. “I’m sure Vhagar would scare off anything stupid enough to wander close.”

His lips twitched, though whether it was amusement or annoyance, you couldn’t tell. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re still here,” you retorted, closing your eyes again.

For a moment, there was only the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, the distant caw of seabirds, and Vhagar’s deep, steady breathing. It was peaceful, almost enough to lull you into sleep despite Aemond’s looming presence.

“I’ll stay,” Aemond said after a while, his tone softer now, though no less resolute. “In case you try to do something foolish.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, half a laugh, half frustration. “Suit yourself.”

Silence fell again, but it wasn’t entirely comfortable. You could still feel his eyes on you, sharp and unyielding. You shifted slightly, pulling your coat tighter around you.

“I’m not going to disappear into the waves or get eaten by some mythical beach monster,” you said, not bothering to open your eyes this time.

“No, but you do have a habit of finding trouble,” Aemond replied smoothly.

You grunted in response, too tired to argue. He wasn’t wrong.

The sound of shifting sand caught your attention, and you cracked your eyes open just in time to see him settle down a few paces away, leaning back against a smooth boulder. His sword was propped up beside him, his posture as regal and composed as ever, even in the wild.

“Are you really going to sit there and watch me sleep?” you asked, incredulous.

Aemond smirked faintly, his one good eye gleaming in the dimming light. “You begged me to bring you here. Consider this my penance for indulging you.”

You groaned, throwing an arm over your face to block him out. “I didn’t beg,” you mumbled again, your voice muffled.

His quiet chuckle was the last thing you heard before the sound of the waves carried you into uneasy sleep.

Your routine continued in a haze: ‘sleep,’ though it felt as if you were awake the entire time, struggling to control the relentless headache. Then you’d wake to throw up.

Now, it was dark, and the biting chill of the night cut through the air. Your eyes adjusted slowly to the shadows, a groan threatening to escape as every movement sent sharp, echoing pain through your skull.

Finally standing, you glanced around. Aemond was nowhere to be found, though Vhagar’s hulking form still loomed in the near distance, her steady breaths the only sound apart from the waves. That was fine. You didn’t want anyone to see you like this anyway.

With slow, deliberate movements, you stripped off your dress, leaving yourself in the thin white gown customary beneath it. Normally, you’d mutter endless complaints about these heavy, cumbersome period costumes. But tonight, the layers, even the flimsiest ones, offered some semblance of protection from the icy winds.

You shuffled toward the waves, whimpering occasionally as the pain throbbed with each step. The cold water lapped at your feet, a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth that always radiated from your skin. You pressed on until the waves reached your waist, your body trembling as the chill seeped into your bones.

Lowering your head, you gagged, and your stomach heaved violently. Your meals from earlier surfaced, leaving you choking and gasping as tears streamed down your face. It was disgusting, humiliating even, but slowly—mercifully—the iron grip of the headache began to loosen.

“I hate medieval food,” you murmured, rinsing your face with the salty water. The thought of submerging yourself entirely lingered for a moment before you gave in, diving headfirst into the cold waves.

The shock of the water stole your breath, but you stayed under, letting your body adjust to the temperature. When you surfaced, the fresh air of Dragonstone filled your lungs, sharp and briny. You wiped your eyes, ignoring the sting of the salt. This was the first time you’d been to the beach since arriving here, and despite everything, it felt... nice.

You let yourself drift, floating on your back, the waves cradling you like an old friend. The nagging thought that something might be lurking beneath the surface tugged at the back of your mind, but you shoved it aside. The dull ache in your skull was finally easing, and for once, that was enough.

The water around you grew warmer—too warm to be natural—but your exhaustion dulled your caution. A small voice in the back of your mind screamed at you to get out, to flee the dark, unknown waters of a world filled with magic and monsters. But you stayed, the pain in your head too fresh a memory to relinquish the relief now washing over you.

You don’t know how long you floated in the water shivering in the waves. The water seemed to grow warmer around you, almost unnaturally so, but the relief in your skull dulled your caution. A part of you screamed that this was a terrible idea—floating in magical waters under a night sky that might hide anything, especially in a world like this.

Had you been in a better state of mind, you’d have bolted from the waves the moment you stepped in. Unknown waters, magical creatures, the dark—none of it boded well. But the pain had been unbearable, and now that it was subsiding, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You rinsed your mouth with seawater, grimacing at the salty sting as you tried to erase the acidic taste clinging to the back of your throat. It was crude and far from what you were used to—damn, how you missed a toothbrush—but it would have to do.

The waves carried you lazily back toward the beach. With your ears submerged, the world grew muffled, as though the ocean had swallowed all sound. And yet, it felt as if you could hear every secret the water held—a low hum beneath the surface, ancient and endless.

Above you, the night sky stretched impossibly vast, the stars scattered like shards of broken glass across a dark tapestry. No matter how long you’d been here, the skies of this world never failed to leave you breathless.

It was beautiful in a way that almost hurt.

You stared up at infinity, caught in its embrace, swaying in the currents of another. Forever trapped between two infinities.

Forever was a long time.

The thought pressed heavy on your chest. You were a long way from home, farther than distance could measure. Your family, your friends, your world—they were all an infinity away, unreachable, untouchable.

And for the first time tonight, the ache in your chest felt sharper than the one in your head.

Still, a nagging thought crept into the back of your mind, one you tried to suppress as you stared at the horizon. The warmth of the water wasn’t normal. The fact that you felt better wasn’t normal. And standing alone in the dark with Vhagar’s massive presence behind you wasn’t particularly smart and Aemond wasn’t here if she decided she wanted a midnight snack.

But the pounding in your skull was gone, that alone, at least to you, was more than enough for you to stay.

You stayed in the water a while longer, letting the gentle rhythm of the waves soothe what was left of your frayed nerves. The cold wind nipped at your cheeks, sharp and biting, but it was a welcome change from the suffocating heat that often clung to your skin.

Finally, with a deep breath you dove under the water swimming with the rhythm of the waves until you rose from the waves. The thin fabric hung tightly to you leaving nothing to the imagination. As you walked the weight of the waves wore you down  making the trek more arduous than it should’ve been. By the time you reached the beach, your toes were numb, and a deep shiver rattled through your body.  

As the wind blew you felt your hardened buds against the wet fabric. It was cold. 

Vhagar shifted slightly, her massive head lifting just enough to acknowledge your presence. Her glowing eyes tracked your movements, unblinking, as you wrung water from your gown and sat on the cold, hard sand near the waves lapping at your feet. It was strange how something so immense could feel so alive, so keenly aware.

“You’re not very subtle,” you murmured, glancing her way. “I know you’re watching me.”

The dragon let out a low rumble, the vibrations coursing through the ground beneath you. It almost sounded like understanding.

You sighed, running a hand through your damp hair, pushing it back from your face. Above, the stars blazed brighter than you’d ever seen. You’d heard stories of a time when Earth’s skies had looked like this—before light pollution, when you could see Saturn and its rings with the naked eye. But that world was gone, and this one was an infinity apart.

Your thoughts wandered as they often did. There was so much to accomplish, but would there ever be enough time? Could you even manage it on your own? Lately, it felt like you were spinning in circles, chasing impossible dreams. Maybe it would be easier to give up, to settle into whatever semblance of a normal life this world allowed.

You imagined it for a moment: marrying some minor lord, living quietly far from King’s Landing. 

Dragon Stone really was perfect for you.It was remote, beautiful, and peaceful in its own austere way.

Too bad Jacaerys was already betrothed. Not that you wanted to be queen—what a nightmare that would be. Still, the idea of staying here, on this island, far from the chaos of the realm, was tempting.

Your musings drifted to Aemond. Where had he gone? Had he truly left you here alone for the night? Or was he somewhere nearby, watching? Perhaps he was inside the castle, receiving the hospitality due a prince, while you were left out here with the dragon. You could only hope he’d given Vhagar strict orders not to burn or eat you.

Your eyes flicked toward the dunes, half-expecting to see the pale glint of his hair in the moonlight. But there was nothing—only the quiet rhythm of the waves and Vhagar’s occasional huff.

The headache that had plagued you earlier was gone now, leaving behind an odd hollowness. It wasn't a relief, not exactly. It felt more like the eerie stillness that follows a storm.

Hugging your knees to your chest, you rested your chin atop them and whispered to no one, “This place is beautiful. But it’s not home.”

Vhagar rumbled again, softer this time, and for some inexplicable reason, it felt like a response.

You sat in silence for a while, soaking in the world around you. The air carried the sharp tang of salt and seaweed, the waves shimmering silver beneath the starlight. It was peaceful in a way that almost made you forget the strange, perilous world you’d fallen into.

Almost.

The cold eventually drove you to move. You stood, wrapping your arms around yourself, and eyed the faint outline of a cave further down the beach. It looked shallow, but it would block the wind well enough. Glancing at Vhagar, you asked, “Don’t suppose you’d let me sleep under your wing, huh?”

The dragon huffed, almost dismissively, and shifted her massive body to face the sea.

“Didn’t think so,” you muttered. You waded back into the waves to rinse off the sand clinging to your skin, then retrieved your clothes and trudged toward the cave.

The cave wasn’t much warmer, but it was shelter. You spread your coat on the ground and folded your dress into a makeshift pillow. The chill seeped into your bones as you lay down, shivering, but exhaustion overtook you anyway.

Sleep came fitfully, filled with dreams of fire and shadow. Unfamiliar voices whispered in the darkness, speaking words you couldn’t understand but felt in your very core.

When you woke, the sky was a faint, pale blue, dawn creeping over the horizon. You sat up, shivering, your body stiff and cold, and froze when you saw him.

Aemond stood at the cave’s entrance, silent and imposing. His sharp gaze pinned you in place, unreadable as ever.

“You’re back,” you rasped, your voice rough with sleep.

“I never left,” he replied evenly, stepping closer. His eye glinted in the dim light. “You’re more impulsive than I gave you credit for.”

You shivered slightly as you stretched, your limbs still stiff from the cold. Your hair, now dry from the saltwater, felt rough and brittle beneath your fingers—its natural state enhanced but worsened by the seawater. “How much did you see?” you asked, running a hand through the unruly strands.

“I saw you dive into the water, swim in it, and parade yourself nearly nude.” Aemond’s lone eye never left you as you reclined back on the sand, stretching lazily.

“Is that all?” you asked lightly, masking your relief. If he had been far enough away, he wouldn’t have seen the more private parts of your ordeal—the headache and the mess you had to "resolve."

“You are reckless,” Aemond said, his voice sharp with disapproval.

“Reckless?” you echoed, the word sitting oddly on your tongue as you rolled your shoulders, joints popping with every motion. “That’s rich coming from you. And, may I add, I wasn’t ‘parading myself.’ I was walking.”

Aemond’s expression didn’t waver, though there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips—amusement, maybe, or something close to it. “I am reckless with purpose,” he said evenly. “You, however, seem intent on tempting fate for no reason. What if someone had seen you in such a state, leaving little to the imagination?”

You scoffed, pulling your coat tighter around yourself against the chill. “Then they’d have seen,” you said with a shrug, as if the idea was hardly worth considering. “It’s not like I have anything to hide, but besides ‘parading myself’ what else exactly did I do to offend your sense of self-preservation this time?”

His eye narrowed slightly, the movement subtle but telling. “Swimming alone in the dark when you’ve no idea what lurks beneath the surface. Lying exposed on the beach with nothing but Vhagar to protect you. Shall I continue?”

“You already mentioned the second one,” you said, tilting your head as though to soften the bite in your voice. “As for the first… Well, life without a little danger is a little boring, don’t you think?”

Aemond’s silence stretched for a moment before he tilted his head, his tone suddenly laced with something more cutting. “Do you always allow others to see what you hide beneath your clothing?”

As you stood up there was a faint pop that punctuated the tense air that your legs gave. “No,” you replied, meeting his gaze evenly ignoring the slight dull paint that was beginning to seep into the bones of your legs. “But if someone happens to come across me… what am I supposed to do about it? It’s not the end of the world.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, his eye flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “Then our… encounter,” he began, his voice quiet but firm, “I assume it was not an uncommon occurrence?”

You flinched at his words, quickly looking away. So much for never speaking about it again.

“No,” you admitted after a long pause, your voice quieter now. “That was… out of character for me.”

The air between you grew heavier, the distant crash of the waves filling the silence. You shivered, tugging your coat tighter and debating whether to pull on your dress for more coverage. Aemond, as always, was impossible to read, his gaze steady and unwavering even as you avoided it.

A heavy, pregnant silence filled the space, thick with unspoken tension. You felt the ends of your hair being tugged by the breeze before the warmth of hands settled on your shoulders.

“You smell of the sea,” Aemond murmured, his voice low.

You instinctively stepped away, narrowing your eyes. “In a good way or a bad way?”

Aemond’s expression remained inscrutable. “In the way you always smell.”

His gaze lingered, and you suddenly found yourself thinking of that night—a memory that had lingered too close to the surface.

“Well,” you pressed, shifting uncomfortably and picking up your belongings, clutching them against your chest to guard against the wind’s sharp bite. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Aemond didn’t answer. Instead, his eye bore into you with a look that felt far too knowing, though unfamiliar in its intensity. You rolled your eyes and strode out of the cave, the wind whipping against you like a sharp rebuke.

“Me duelen los huesos,” you muttered, the ache in your legs creeping higher with each step.

“Where are you going?” Aemond’s voice carried over the sound of the wind, and you turned back to see him still standing in the cave’s shadows.

“To Vhagar,” you replied, your tone curt. Where else would you go? There was work to be done, and indulging in any more moments of weakness was a luxury you couldn’t afford. You had responsibilities—stressful ones that, if neglected, could mean far worse than wrinkles or gray hair.

“She’ll burn you,” Aemond said flatly, turning his back to you as if dismissing the conversation entirely.

“Excuse me?” you called, incredulous, but he disappeared further into the cave. Huffing, you marched back after him. “Hello! I’m better now. I need to get back to King’s Landing—some of us actually have things to do. Things that, I might add, very much determine—”

You cut yourself off, biting your tongue before you said too much.

Aemond turned, his smirk sharp enough to cut through stone. “Like what? What could you possibly have to work on? My father has resumed his place on the Small Council. Isn’t that the extent of your duties?”

His mocking tone, paired with that damned smirk, lit a fire in your chest. He had backed you into a corner, and he knew it. You glanced toward the beach, considering the slim possibility of escape. Jacaerys might be able to help if you found him, but would Aemond even let you leave?

Frustrated, you slipped off your shoes and stomped out of the cave. Vhagar loomed ahead, her massive form outlined against the horizon, her ancient eyes gleaming with something that felt unsettlingly knowing.

“Let me through?” you muttered, stepping cautiously toward her.

Vhagar didn’t budge. Instead, steam hissed from her nostrils in warning, stopping you in your tracks. The heat singed your exposed skin, and you hissed in pain, though the cool wind quickly soothed it.

Meeting her gaze, you felt a shiver run down your spine. There was no getting past her. With a sigh of defeat, you turned back toward the cave, glancing briefly at Aemond, who now watched with a smug, satisfied look that only worsened your irritation.

Once inside, you sat down heavily on the sand, wrapping your cloak tightly around your legs and hugging your dress close for warmth.

“When can we go back?” you asked, your voice heavy with displeasure.

Aemond leaned against the cave wall, arms crossed, his sharp eye glittering with amusement. “When you answer my questions.”

You furrowed your brows. “What questions?”

He paused, tilting his head slightly, almost predatorily, before pivoting back toward you. “What exactly is it that you do, besides tend to my father?”

“Nothing.” The response left your mouth too quickly, too defensively.

Aemond’s lips curled into the barest hint of a smirk. “You’re lying. I’ve heard rumors of your... misdoings.”

You crossed your arms, lifting a brow in unamused defiance. “That’s hardly a reliable source. If you’re going to accuse me of something, at least have the decency to find the evidence yourself.”

He leaned back slightly, gaze sharp and unrelenting. “I’ve seen you use the secret passages. How is it that you discovered them?”

The memory made you smile despite the tension. “Funny story, actually. I leaned back against a wall one day, and it just... opened. Coolest moment of my life. Felt like a super-spy. Like Carmen Sandiego.” No actually you were listening to music and you were being dramatic while acting out whatever imaginary scenario you had that day and just so happened to open the wall.

The name, foreign and bizarre in this time, had no effect on him.

He said nothing, his expression an unyielding mask.

“You’ve gone to a whorehouse.” It wasn’t a question; it was a declaration.

God, the spies here really were everywhere. You winced, trying to recover. “Well, I’m avidly against human trafficking—”

“What is a journalist?” he interrupted, cutting you off with no patience for your deflections.

You blinked. “Rude. But as I said, I was messing with words.”

“You invent words, then?”

“Yup. That’s me. An innovator. Ahead of my time,” you quipped. Quite literally, but he didn’t need to know that.

“A journalist.”

“Why are you so caught up on that? Look, it’s just two words smashed together—actually, no, scratch that. I thought of someone who makes journals. Hence, journalist. Boom. Genius at work.”

He didn’t look impressed.

“That night,” he pressed again.

You groaned loudly, leaning back and throwing your arms up. “Ugh! What more do you want from me? My soul? I’m tired of your interrogation.”

“You’ll answer until I am satisfied,” he said flatly, his tone brooking no argument. “What was on the table?”

The seriousness in his voice made your stomach tighten. You hesitated, weighing your options before sighing. “Do you really want to know? It’s the reason I need to get back. My life quite literally depends on that sheet of paper.”

He pushed off the wall, stepping closer to you and sitting down. Instinctively, you scooted back, putting a safer distance between you.

“What is it?”

“It’s... not as interesting as you think,” you deflected.

“What is it?” His voice was sharper this time, cutting through your weak attempt to delay.

You sighed, knowing there was no escape. “It’s an equation.”

“For what?” he demanded, his impatience evident.

“You said earlier—what purpose do I serve other than tending to the king? Truth is, I don’t have one. The second your father dies, I lose the little protection I have. Your uncle isn’t particularly fond of me, and the feeling is mutual. I have to build my value to stay alive.” It was a half-truth, but it would keep him at bay.

His expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of interest in his eye. You swallowed hard and continued. “I’m no one here. No family name to lean on. The Citadel despises me because I’ve accomplished in a month what their ‘maesters’ haven’t managed in decades. And, of course, that leads to accusations—witchcraft, blasphemy, what have you. So I’ve earned the ire of the Faith as well. No wealth. No rights. And worst of all, I’m a woman. What value do I have that guarantees my survival?”

“None,” Aemond said without hesitation.

You nodded grimly. “Exactly. So I’m creating one. That project you saw on the table? It’s my ticket to longevity.”

“What project?”

You hesitated again, knowing how dangerous this could be. Otto and Alicent had been clear. No one was to know of their request, and you couldn’t agree more.

“To find the pH balance of the spring near King’s Landing,” you lied smoothly.

Aemond furrowed his brows, confused. “What?”

“I’m creating a water system to deliver clean water to the people of King’s Landing,” you explained, hoping the truth buried within the lie would be convincing. “And to establish a sewer system to reduce illness. It’s basic sanitation, really.”

He was silent for a moment, watching you closely, his expression unreadable. “You mean to do what the maesters have failed to achieve for centuries.”

“Precisely,” you said with a small smile, leaning into the absurdity of it. “Like I said—innovator. Ahead of my time.”

You shivered again, warmth creeping unbidden up your face as you and Aemond locked eyes. The silence between you stretched, heavy and unspoken, until you broke it with an awkward cough, quickly averting your gaze.

“Anyways,” you began, your voice a touch too loud in the stillness. “I need to go back. I haven’t figured out the equation yet, and there are people breathing down my neck.”

Aemond tilted his head, his expression unreadable, though his single eye seemed to pierce straight through you. “And how do you intend to fund it? Do you expect the crown to pay for such an undertaking?”

His words carried a subtle edge, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “The crown?” you scoffed lightly. “Please. If I even hinted at asking for funding, the Hand would have me thrown out on principle.”

Aemond’s lips twitched, though whether it was amusement or disdain, you couldn’t tell. “Then how will you manage it? A project of that scale requires significant resources.”

You avoided his gaze, staring instead at the fire crackling nearby. “I’ll find a way,” you murmured, your voice softer now. Heat flushed your cheeks, and despite the chill in the cave, a fine sheen of sweat began to gather at your temples. “Where there’s a will there’s a way.”

Aemond studied you in silence, his sharp gaze catching the faint tremor in your hands as you brushed them over your arms. “You’re unwell,” he stated flatly, his tone more matter-of-fact than concerned.

“No, I’m not,” you shot back, your voice cracking slightly as you tried to sound composed. Clearing your throat, you added, “It’s just cold in here.”

“Is it?” he asked, arching a brow. “You seem flushed for someone who claims to be cold. You were foolish to go into the water.”

You rolled your eyes, waving him off. “I’ll be fine. I’m not sick.” You couldn’t be sick. Not here, of all places. Your immune system couldn’t fail you now. Still, the growing ache in your bones hinted otherwise.

No, you decided. You were just dehydrated. At least, you hoped so.

You stood up, but your legs wavered beneath you, and the chill seemed to cut deeper. A disbelieving laugh escaped your lips. No, this couldn’t be happening. You only got sick once a year, and you’d already had your turn. Right?

Aemond’s eye flicked to you, unamused. “You need more clothes,” he remarked, his voice cool and matter-of-fact.

You sank back down, pulling your cloak tighter around you. “I’ll be fine.”

“You need to be inside. Somewhere warm,” he insisted, his gaze shifting toward the castle.

You shook your head stubbornly. “No, I’ll be fine right here. Just a little more rest.”

Aemond stepped closer, deliberate and measured, his presence imposing. You stiffened, refusing to meet his gaze as his shadow fell over you. “Rest won’t help if you’re running a fever,” he said.

“I don’t have a fever,” you muttered, though the unsteady wobble in your voice betrayed you.

His eye narrowed as if testing your words. Before you could pull away, he reached out, his fingers brushing your forehead. The coolness of his touch against your overheated skin was both a relief and an unwelcome confirmation.

“You’re burning,” he observed, his tone devoid of sympathy.

You said nothing, pulling your cloak tighter as you curled up on the sand. Closing your eyes, you hoped he would leave, though the faint ache in your bones refused to relent.

Then came the rumble.

Your eyes shot open, heart leaping as the ground seemed to quake beneath you. You turned just in time to see Vhagar looming over the cave entrance, her massive jaws parting as an ominous red glow flickered in the depths of her throat.

Panic overtook you as you scrambled to your feet, legs shaking beneath you. “Okay! Okay! I’ll go! Please!” you shrieked, stumbling forward in a half-run, half-crawl. Your limbs felt like lead, each step a monumental effort.

You collapsed onto the sand, gasping as heat surged behind you. Bracing yourself for the worst, you closed your eyes and waited for the fire to consume you.

But it didn’t.

The warmth grew, yes, but it was strangely gentle. Tentatively, you turned back, expecting an inferno but finding Aemond standing before Vhagar, his figure shadowed against the glow of her fire.

He looked at you with a near-mocking smirk, one brow arched in that way that made you want to slap him. “What are you doing?” you demanded, your voice hoarse.

Aemond’s smirk deepened. “You thought she’d burn you?”

You hesitated, feeling the heat of embarrassment join your fever. “Well, yeah! She had her mouth open and everything!”

The deadpan look he gave you only made you feel more foolish. Slowly, you stepped closer to the dragon, your legs still trembling. Vhagar’s warmth washed over you, and despite yourself, you leaned into it, feeling the tension in your body start to melt away.

“You could have said something,” you muttered, refusing to meet Aemond’s amused gaze.

“And miss the show?” he replied, his smirk never wavering.

You pressed your cloak closer to your body, trying to stave off the shaking that you hoped he didn’t notice. “You’re so funny I forgot to laugh.”

Aemond raised a brow but said nothing, his gaze lingering on you as you slumped against a nearby rock, the heat from Vhagar providing some relief. The silence between you stretched for a moment before your vision swam slightly, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

The ache in your bones had worsened, and the clammy sweat that clung to your skin was impossible to ignore. Your head throbbed with a dull, persistent pulse, and the warmth you’d sought now felt suffocating, as if it was seeping into your very core.

“You’re getting worse,” Aemond said, his tone cool but edged with something unreadable.

“No, I’m fine,” you replied weakly, though even you could hear how unconvincing you sounded. You shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position that didn’t make the ache in your muscles more unbearable.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he remarked, stepping closer. “Your stubbornness will only make this worse.”

“Thank you, Maester Aemond,” you muttered sarcastically, your words slurring slightly.

He crouched beside you, his sharp eye scanning your face. “Your fever is worsening. You need proper care.”

You shook your head, immediately regretting the movement as dizziness overtook you. “I can’t. I told you, King’s Landing is crawling with sickness. If I go, I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Die there?” Aemond interrupted, his voice colder now. He tilted his head, regarding you with what could only be described as irritation. “Your logic is as flawed as your health.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, a wave of exhaustion hit you like a crashing tide, and you found yourself leaning against the rock behind you, your body too heavy to fight gravity.

Aemond’s expression shifted, his usual stoicism faltering for a moment. He reached for you again, this time his hand resting against your cheek. The coolness of his touch was a stark contrast to the fire coursing through your veins, and you found yourself leaning into it despite your better judgment.

“You’re burning up,” he muttered, his voice lower now, as if speaking to himself.

You shook your head, even though you didn’t believe it anymore.

“You’re not staying here to prove a point,” Aemond countered sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You pushed his hand away, forcing your eyes open to meet his. He was closer than you liked, his presence crowding you against the unyielding rock behind you. Your instinct was to retreat, but there was nowhere to go, so instead, you averted your gaze, focusing on the flickering shadows cast by the fire.

“King’s Landing or Dragonstone,” he pressed, his tone firm. “Either way, you’ll be treated by a maester.”

The ultimatum hung heavy between you, and you glared at him, lips pressing into a stubborn line. After a moment, you relented, lifting a shaky hand to gesture toward the mouth of the cave.

“Speak, woman,” Aemond snapped, his frustration palpable as he leaned in closer. You stiffened at the proximity, your discomfort now twofold—his nearness and your mounting fever. Last night’s tension still lingered between you, and you couldn’t forget the distance you’d carefully maintained.

And, of course, your toothbrush was miles away. Oral hygiene was non-negotiable for you, even now.

You shook your head, stubbornly pointing outside again.

“You were speaking fine a moment ago,” Aemond said, his voice low with irritation. “Speak!”

But you ignored him, leaning back against the rock and closing your eyes. The fever had sapped whatever energy you had left, and the only thing you could do now was focus on conserving warmth.

“King’s Landing it is, then,” Aemond muttered, the words barely audible but enough to make your eyes snap open.

Your hand shot out, grabbing his wrist before he could make a move. You didn’t have the strength to argue, so you simply shook your head and pointed toward the cave’s entrance again.

“Dragonstone?” he questioned, his voice softer now.

You nodded, releasing his wrist and pushing weakly against him to create some space. His steady gaze lingered on you, but you avoided it, focusing on the task of standing.

Aemond extended a hand to you, his sharp features unreadable. You glanced at it briefly before shaking your head, lifting your trembling hand in polite refusal.

You pushed yourself to your feet, your legs wobbling dangerously beneath you. Each step felt like dragging lead, and soft groans of discomfort escaped your lips despite your efforts to suppress them.

You’d get over this. It was just a cold—nothing more. Right?

Aemond’s gaze followed you closely as you staggered forward, his expression unreadable. He didn’t offer another word, but the intensity of his scrutiny made it clear he wasn’t about to let you falter.

For now, you trudged on, stubbornness and fever battling for dominance, with only the distant promise of Dragonstone to keep you moving.

You walked outside, swayed by the harsh wind that bit through your coat like it wasn’t even there. The salt in the air stung your nose, and every gust seemed to leech more warmth from your fevered body.

Tilting your head back, you took in the towering heights of Dragonstone looming above you. Its jagged cliffs and forbidding spires seemed endless, cutting sharply into the gray sky. You let out a dejected sigh, your breath visible in the cold. There was no way you were making it up there in your condition.

You turned your gaze to Aemond, who stood just behind you, the firelight from the cave catching on the sharp planes of his face. His lips curved into a smug smirk as he regarded your shivering figure, his eye glinting with something close to amusement.

“Do you admit defeat so soon?” he drawled, taking a deliberate step closer.

You turned, keeping close to Vhagar's massive frame, using her bulk to shield yourself from the relentless wind. Each step was a trial, the cold gnawing at you, and every ache in your body screamed in protest. Your arms felt as heavy as your legs, your fever-fueled fatigue dragging you down with each passing moment.

By the time you reached the stone stairs leading up to the castle, your breaths came in shallow gasps, your chest burning with the effort. The journey that should have been manageable felt insurmountable, and yet you pushed forward, dragging your feet up the uneven steps.

You managed only a handful more steps before your legs finally gave out beneath you, crumpling like they’d forgotten their purpose. The cold stone bit into your hands and knees as you fell, but you barely registered the pain. The icy wind whipped past, tearing through your coat and into your fevered skin like knives, making you tremble violently.

Leaning back against the cold, unyielding stone wall, you closed your eyes for a moment, trying to gather what strength you had left. Your body felt like it was on fire, each pulse of your heart sending fresh waves of heat through your veins, only to clash with the icy air around you.

This fever—so sudden and all-consuming—had never taken you like this before. You’d been sick before, of course, but never under these conditions. Then again, you’d never tried to climb a mountain of stairs in freezing winds while your body waged war against itself.

Your breathing slowed, each exhale a visible puff in the chill. Despite the danger of the cold and the impossibility of your situation, your exhaustion was overwhelming. Just a small nap, you told yourself, just enough to regain your strength.

The stone at your back felt harder and colder with every passing second, but you couldn’t summon the energy to care. Your eyelids fluttered, heavy and unwilling to stay open. You let your head tilt back, your shivering starting to subside—not from warmth, but from sheer weariness.

Somewhere distant, a voice—sharp and commanding—called your name. But you were too tired to respond, too drained to move. Surely, just a moment of rest wouldn’t hurt.

Would it?

Note: This is in honor of me getting sick for like the first time in a year. Anyways lemme know what y'all think! Also So sorry for the delay. Finals are ass.

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To be added to Tag list: !(•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

[itsthecline]

WONDERING WHY

0.1 BOYFRIEND

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ summary omit ( verb. ) to leave out or exclude someone / something , either intentionally or forgetfully

word count 4k

warnings our girl is lowkey a brat but i think that’s it other than christian!reader , kook!reader , classism , and allusions to a bad previous relationship

previous chapter

a/n i ended up writing a bunch for this series already , and so here’s the first actual chapter relatively quick after the prologue post:)

THURSDAY MORNINGS usually meant you could sleep in a little later— closer to nine than eight. today , however , you were up at six to get ready for your packed day. you texted jj , reminding him to be here at ten o’clock sharp. no later.

you filled your morning with a jog around the neighborhood , helping your mother make breakfast , and dropping your younger sister off at her friend’s house for a girls day they were having. after that , you had to— for your own sake , go over the checklist of meetings and dinners that you needed to attend before midsummers one more time.

by the time 9:30 rolled around , you were dressed and ready to go down to the tailor for your first fitting. you checked your phone again , seeing if jj had even read your text yet. delivered. maybe he didn’t have his read receipts on.

he’d be here. he’d show up.

that was all you could really tell yourself.

on the other side of the island , jj was just waking up. he jolted awake , face indented from the way he fell asleep on the pillows the night before. he reached over for his phone , looking to see what time it was.

the screen didn’t light up. he quickly shuffled , hand fumbling down the charger cord to see it had been unplugged from the wall. “fuck!” he cursed , shoving himself up from the bed and rushing down the stairs.

“yo , what time is it?” he shouted , hoping one of his many friends would answer him. they all looked over their shoulders from the living room , seeing the blonde stumble around , yanking his clothes and boots on.

“its like quarter to ten,” pope called back out , looking down at his watch.

“fuckkkk!” jj groaned , grabbing the keys to the van, “i’m late! takin’ the twinkie!” he announced , shoving through the front door and bounding down the porch steps. he didn’t even bother to close the door on the way out , instead just hopping behind the van’s wheel and peeling off to figure eight.

kie came around the corner , a couple of water bottles for her friends. “what was that about?” she hummed , looking out the open door.

“he has that thing with the pastor’s kid,” john b answered with a smug smile , grabbing the bottle being held out to him, “he told us ‘bout it yesterday , remember?”

“ohhh , yeah!” kie mused , mind replaying yesterday’s events at the wreck, “she’s cute.”

“she’s also way too polite for jj,” sarah laughed , stealing the water from her husband, “i mean , i remember her from school , and she was just so shy. kept to herself and all that.”

pope shook his head , swallowing down more of his cereal, “nah , they used to be friends way back when though.”

“what?” the girls all gasped.

“rude boy was friends with that shy thing from kie’s parents’ place?” cleo asked , only just ‘meeting’ you yesterday but still as invested.

pope and john b nodded together , recalling a time before high school when jj would skip out on their hangouts to do something with you. ‘family friend , guys. i feel bad,’ he’d lie to them , getting out of whatever they had planned to spend time with you instead.

the group continued theorizing what jj was helping you with , not getting the complete story from him the day before. all the while he was speeding across the island to get to your door before it was ten o’clock. his blue eyes kept darting to the dashboard’s clock , seeing his time run out faster and faster. 9:57 , and he was just now getting to figure eight.

“mom , if jj shows up , will you tell him i’m sick?” you asked quietly , walking into the kitchen where she was working on her laptop.

she peered up at you over her glasses. “jj maybank , your boyfriend?” she smiled , patting for you to sit next to her in the breakfast nook as she was still over the moon from your news earlier in the week, “what’s he coming over to do?”

“he’s not invited anymore,” you corrected her , resting your chin on her shoulder as you looked at her computer screen. it was a spreadsheet , an itinerary for the next weeks approaching midsummers. “he’s late , so i’m upset.”

“well , you can’t blame him , hon,” your mother cooed at you, “he’s probably on the way. give him more than two minutes.” you held back from rolling your eyes at her soft spot for the boy after all of these years. after all of the tears she wiped away from your cheeks when you were fourteen.

“will you tell him i’m sick?” you pleaded again , pulling at the sleeves of her robe like a little kid.

she pressed a kiss to your forehead and tutted at you. “no , baby. we don’t lie in this house,” she answered , going back to typing and organizing on her laptop.

you huffed and pushed yourself out of the booth , straighten out your skirt. “fine , but i’m not happy about this,” you whined , beginning to walk out of the kitchen.

her voice called out your name again as she leaned forward to catch a glimpse of you. you stopped , turning to face her expectantly. “i think it’s a good thing you chose to give him a second chance.”

“yeah,” you sighed , guilt boiling in your gut , ignoring her knowing smile before walking to the front door. you’d just have to go to the fitting by yourself.

as you stepped outside , you could hear the rattle of a car nearing you from the street. it was loud enough to get your attention , telling you whoever was driving was going far too fast for the residential area. next thing you know , the beat up van you knew as john b’s twinkie was pulling into your driveway.

your hand raised above your sight line , blocking the sun so you could glare at jj. “didn’t get my twelve texts?” you asked him , watching as he practically fell out of the van upon his arrival which caused your embarrassment from the amount of times you tried contacting him to simmer.

“i’m sorry! my phone never got plugged in , s’my alarm didn’t go off. the damn twinkie gave out a couple blocks away , and i had to start ‘er back up—“ jj huffed out before you decided to just get in your car. he watched you , already feeling your disappointment.

you rolled down the passenger window , leaning over. “get in , please? we’re late,” you spoke , like you had already forgiven him , which you had. you saw how he was out of breath and the fresh grease stains on his fingers. it wasn’t his fault he was late.

jj ripped the door open , flopping into the passenger seat before buckling up. “where we headed , angel?” he asked you , already poking around in the car’s abundance of compartments.

“the tailor. we have to get you measured for your tux,” you simply answered , backing out of your driveway, “and i have to get re-measured too.”

jj nodded , chewing at his lip , and he couldn’t help but feel like you were giving him the cold shoulder. he was only eight minutes late. but maybe he just didn’t know you anymore. you spoke so much differently than you did from when you were kids , your voice clearer , more affirming. it sounded more like this was a business deal than an old friend doing an old friend a favor.

“it’s kinda like you’re my sugar momma for the next couple’a weeks,” jj chuckled to lighten to mood as you drive through the town’s center , eyeing all of the nice shops he never went to. it’s not like he wanted , but it was another reminder how differently you two grew up from each other.

you scoffed over your small laugh. “i guess so. in a weird way , yeah,” you agreed lightly , finding a parking spot right in front of the business you were going to, “just make sure to use your manners , please. katherine is friends with my dad and a huge gossip.”

“oh , yes , ma’am,” jj saluted you, “i will be prim and proper just for you , m’lady.” he got out of the car as you let out a shaky breath. you followed shortly after , seeing he was already holding the door open. “c’mon , you said we’re in a rush!”

you nudged him with your elbow when you stepped inside the small store. “i only said that so you’d hurry up. we don’t even have an appointment,” you admitted with a chuckle , picking up a pen at the front desk to sign in.

jj’s jaw dropped , letting out a gasp. “miss goodie-two-shoes lied?” he whisper yelled , hand coming to his heart, “is the world ending?”

“hush up,” you bit back , moving about the store as he followed you around like a lost puppy. he wasn’t about to go snooping around figure eight. he didn’t want to deal with it any more than he’d already agreed to.

“y/n! ah , so wonderful to see you , honey!” katherine’s shrill voice echoed through the building as she rushed to the front with her hands high and wide. you barely had time to smile back at her before she yanked you in for a hug. “you know , i’ve been waiting for your behind to get in here for your measurements for weeks!” she cried , guiding you to the back , not even sparing your blonde companion a second glance. you did though , catching jj standing there awkwardly in the front of the store.

“katherine , this is jj,” you interrupted her chatter , stopping to reach back and grab the boy’s hand, “i called about getting him set up with a tux for midsummers?”

katherine’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets when she took in who you were holding onto. “jj maybank…” she hummed , knowing exactly the reputation he and his father carried around, “i didn’t realize he was your plus one this year.”

you could hear the condescension in her voice , and by the tightening grip on your delicate hand , you knew jj could too. “well , he’s my boyfriend so…” you trailed off , waiting for katherine to just do her job and stop being like every other kook on the island. you never understood why your father considered her such a close friend. she was snippy and fake , and it was clear to you since the day you met.

“oh!” she smiled, “well come on back.” she turned to lead you both to the fitting areas , calling out her husband’s name to help out with jj’s measurements.

“boyfriend?” jj whispered to you , still holding your hand.

“didn’t i mention that?” you played dumb , knowing very well you left that little piece of information out yesterday when you got him to accept the deal.

“no , angel,” he shook his head , pulling you to a stop, “that’s like five hangouts worth! i only agreed because it was supposed to be one night of helpin’ ya out! and now you’re tellin’ me i gotta pretend to be your boyfriend too?” your hand reached up to cover jj’s mouth , looking around to make sure no one heard you.

“can we talk later?” you asked him , pleading eyes that begged him to leave it be for now.

but jj just scoffed , dropping your hand and flipping the curtain out of the way to follow after katherine.

YOU HADN’T heard a peep from the men’s parlor. katherine had been chatting in your ear the entire time she measured you , talking about everyone and everything. she mentioned having your family over to her house for dinner soon , which you made a mental note to bring up to your father when you got home later.

but you couldn’t help but think about jj behind the thick , velvet curtain. you heard katherine’s husband muttering every once in awhile , but never jj’s voice. was he actually mad at you? it was all pretend , and it would end right after midsummers. what was the big deal? he had done far worse things to you than omit some facts.

after long enough , katherine decided you didn’t even need to come in at all. “measurements are the same as last year , darling. you wasted your time here today,” she declared , sending the bill to your father’s account all while sending you an underlying message.

you shouldn’t have brought that maybank kid here.

“well , jj needed to get fitted too,” you smiled sweetly, “no harm done by comin’ in.” you were always deemed a nice girl. you were a nice girl , but there was only so much hidden snottiness you could deal with from certain people before becoming just as passive aggressive as them. “i’m actually going to go check on him,” you spoke , already turning to head back his way.

“she tells me we’re dating out of the blue , man! i don’t know what she was thinking , but she’s outta her mind!” you could finally hear jj’s cadence followed by marcus’ belly laugh.

“women,” he chuckled, “i’ll tell you right now , it doesn’t get any better. happy wife , happy life. get used to it , kid,” he advised the younger man , patting his shoulders before letting him know they were all done.

you stepped through the curtain , ignoring the tinge of hurt jj’s words caused in your heart while the metal loops glided across the curtain rod to announce your presence. “let’s go , jj.” you held your hand out to him , not giving him an option of taking his time. he could tell from the way your neck was stiff that something had upset you , so he wasted no time yanking his jeans back on. he didn’t want to be the reason for your cold attitude again. at least not for the rest of the day.

you dragged him out of the store , not sparing katherine a goodbye. you got in the car , buckling up as jj did the same before driving off in silence. it wasn’t long before you were driving through the streets of figure eight , being the only car on the road.

jj was poking around your glove compartment again , flipping through the owner’s manual to fill the car ride. he jumped and dropped the book to the floorboards when you let out a scream. he jolted and look over at you , watching the way your face nearly turned red from the air you were expelling from your body.

“yo , yo!” he shouted at you.

you took a deep breath , closing your eyes when you came to a stop sign. “sorry,” you mumbled , catching your breath still, “i just really , really dislike katherine! she’s so mean and snotty and two-faced! like , she was makin’ comments the entire time just poking at me!” you ranted , not caring that jj just saw you let out a scream you’d been holding in for about a week, “and don’t get me started on all of her implications about you.”

jj was still taken aback , not too sure what to say. he’d never seen you unravel like that before. he’d never thought you could. “um— well , at least we got it outta the way…” he tried to help the situation.

“yeah,” you nodded breathlessly , beginning to drive again like nothing had happened.

after a few more minutes of awkward silence , jj decided to speak up again , not forgetting what you tabled earlier. “boyfriend , huh?”

you sighed. you had forgotten about the conversation you still needed to have with him , so blinded by your frustrations. “yeah , so maybe my parents assumed that when i told them i had a date for midsummers last week , it was a boyfriend? and maybe i happened to leave that out when asking you to come with me?”

“oh , really?” jj feigned surprised, “i didn’t notice!”

“i’m sorry!” you cried, “but my dad wouldn’t stop bothering me about a date and then it all snowballed.” the pitch in your voice and pout in your lips made jj frown for a moment before focusing.

“i didn’t agree to playing house , princess,” jj reminded you , and your stomach dropped.

you pulled into the driveway , parking the car before shifting to look at him. “are you mad at me? you’re still gonna come to midsummers , right?” you needed him to say yes.

jj thought about it , not giving you any idea if he was backing out now or not. “five— no , six hangouts , and you have to come to a kegger,” he decided , nodding to himself. he felt like it was fair enough. if he would have to prance around figure eight as your arm candy for the next two weeks , you would have to start experiencing some of the cut. it was only right. a true balance he thought.

“but i don’t—“

“ah , ah ah!” he interrupted you , pressing a finger to your lips, “you’re not really in a position to negotiate , princess. i’m callin’ the shots now. if you want me to be your fake boyfriend for two weeks , i want you to start tagging along with the pogues. if not , you can just forget this whole thing.”

you stared at jj still surprised he touched your mouth. “i—“ you sighed , sitting back against your seat, “fine , but i’m not drinking or smoking or nothing.” you crossed your arms over your chest , making it clear you weren’t about to be pushed around on this anymore.

and he didn’t know why , but jj grinned. he knew this would all probably fall apart and cause a few problems— it was just what usually happened when he was involved in schemes , but he was excited. it would give him something to do for the next few weeks.

“pleasure doin’ business with ya , angel,” he smirked , climbing out of your car. he bent over , leaning down to the window. “now don’t just go around tellin’ everyone i’m taking your virginity or nothin’ either. i’ll play boyfriend , but i won’t have everyone thinking i’m corrupting father y/l/n’s precious daughter.”

your face crinkled up at jj’s words before you rolled up the window he was in. “excuse me?” you gasped , getting out of the car and rushing around to his side before smacking at him.

he laughed , blocking himself from the rapid but weak hits from your little purse. “i’m kidding!” he cackled , knowing it was a risky joke , but he had taken far greater risks with less rewards than pushing your buttons.

“you are so dirty , jj!” you huffed , getting one last thwack in at him, “maybe i’ll find a different date.”

“good luck with that,” jj breathed out , taking a step back in case you swung the bag at him again, “no one will put up with that little attitude of yours.”

“i do not have an attitude!” you argued back , flicking a few hairs out of your face, “you just make nasty comments.”

“jj , come on. we’re leaving!” he mimicked you , using his girl voice and waving his hands around, “that don’t sound familiar?” he questioned , hands on his hips after his performance.

you rolled your eyes , seeing that it probably wasn’t too far off. you weren’t blind to the fact that you were a little stuck up. it was never nasty or hateful , but you demanded a certain level of perfection from nearly everything in your life. “whatever , i don’t sound like that,” you finally spoke up , avoiding jj’s gaze, “thank you for showing up today.”

“you’re welcome , princess,” he smiled back , glad you were finally taking a joke, “i’ll text you whenever we’re gonna hangout,” he added with a thumbs up sent your way before hopping back into the twinkie. you watched him drive off before slipping back into your house.

jj couldn’t help but beat his thumb on the steering wheel to the radio’s tune , chuckling a little as he drove through the stop sign you were just screaming at. he’d missed so much of your life , that he hadn’t really gotten a good idea of who you were now. you were still girly and spoiled , but you were funnier than before— a natural humor that took control of your words and behaviors every now and then.

but then jj remembered why you were no longer friends , and his demeanor shifted , pissed off at himself for even saying yes yesterday to begin with. he knew this wouldn’t end well. john b said that last night after jj went to him about the situation too.

it was a disaster just waiting to happen.

hell , you were probably only doing this whole act to piss off your dad while still giving him what he wanted. the idea alone keyed jj up , feeling used now when he hadn’t thought to be before.

“yo , john!” he shouted , stomping into the house.

the brunette popped out from the living room , hardly moving from his position earlier when jj had left. “yes?” john b replied carefully , watching as jj kicked his boots off , clearly frustrated by something. he assumed it had to do with you , but had no idea what you could’ve done in two hours.

jj moved through the house , heading up to his room , hearing his friend follow him up. “you really think i’m gonna fall for that shit like i did last time?” he finally asked after shutting the door. he didn’t need any extra ears hearing his conversation.

john b furrowed his brows. what had you done to him? in two hours? “i don’t know , man. what happened today?” he joined his blonde friend on the bed , getting comfortable.

“so not only do i have to go to this fucking kook festival , right?” jj began , hearing john b’s quiet ‘you agreed to that’ but continuing to rant, “now i have to pretend to be her boyfriend! because she fuckin’ told her parents ‘bout dating me!”

“she what?” john b cracked up , not able to hold back his laughter just to spare jj some dignity, “why the hell would she do that? doesn’t her dad hate you or something?”

“yeah!” jj scoffed , silently thanking his friend for understanding.

“okay , but her mom loves you,” john b added , deciding he’d play devil’s advocate.

“yeah,” jj nodded , seeing the point, “but we haven’t spoken in years , and now she’s all like ‘be my fake boyfriend’ and ‘go to the prom with me’ and shit!” parroting your voice like he had done in your driveway.

it wasn’t the time , but john b kept chuckling at his friend. “man , i think you’re reading too deep into it. she needed a favor. you’re helping her out. that’s all,” he reasoned , sitting up in the bed now, “i know i told you to be wary , but i didn’t mean get paranoid. don’t get your panties in a twist because you have problems and she doesn’t.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” jj questioned , not expecting john b to turn on him. sarah or kie maybe. cleo and pope definitely , but not him.

john b sighed , rolling his eyes at how oblivious his friend was. “you’ve got residual shit coming up right now pretending to be some kook’s boyfriend , dude. you’re gonna have to handle that shit before you take it out on y/n. she seems nice enough to not fuck you over like camille,” he calmly explained , standing to leave, “besides it’s all fake anyway.” the boy simply patted jj’s shoulder before exiting the room , leaving jj to process his words alone with the name he tried his best to forget swirling in his mind on a loop.

meanwhile , back at your house , your sister had brought her friend over upon hearing certain details about your life she wanted to ask you about. you didn’t even make it up the stairs to your room before bella and her friend , olivia , were harassing you.

“why didn’t you tell me your boyfriend is jj? why didn’t you tell me you have a boyfriend?” bella shrieked in your ear , barging into your room after you. you sighed , tossing your purse onto your vanity before turning to face her.

“i didn’t tell you because it’s not your business,” you explained softly, “it’s not a big deal. i didn’t even want to tell mom and dad,” you admitted.

“wait— why not?” olivia wondered , sitting down on your bed with you and your sister.

“well , jj isn’t exactly dad’s favorite person,” you began , getting comfortable. you didn’t mind the intrusion from the younger girls. you actually enjoyed their company , so you had no problem telling them all about your errand with jj.

“but he’s sooo cute!” olivia whined , annoyed that you were so adamant about not actually liking him like that after you told them about the whole ruse.

“and he was always really nice to me,” bella added to their case. they were currently trying to convince you to really date him , even after telling them he never liked you like that.

you laughed at their interest but shook your head. “no , i don’t think i’ll ever actually date jj maybank,” you whispered , letting the words sink in. this was all fake. it was a favor. nothing more. you had to keep remembering that , or everything would fall apart , and you’d be stuck in high school , craving his attention all over again.

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