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marthawrites · 2 years ago

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Holy SHIT @its-actually-minicika !!!!!! I'm actually screaming and grabbing my face???? Omg!

First, your writing is absolutely stunning. I feel like I should be paying for this! Not even joking! Your pacing (not just this chapter but the whole series) is flawless. The pov changes, location changes, the array of characters you have. LIKE WHAT. I seriously feel like I should pay for this 🤩 You could EASILY write a book. I 100000% believe in you.

Second, this is top mfing tier! The dreams? Omg. I got actual goosebumps multiple times in this chapter.

Third, I couldn't scream this in your reply tab I had to reblog it. I'm still gonna go scream in your reply tab though don't worry!!

I saw you posted chapter 4 and I cannot wait to read it and see where you take us in this story!

Okayokayokay I'm rambling I'm sorry this is just too good I can't help it!

❤❤❤❤❤

The Harshest Winters (18+!)

Part 3;

Pairing(s): Jacaerys x Reader x bookcanon Aemond;

Warnings: all of them tbh, it's Harshest Winters we're talking about;

Word Count: 10k+

Author's Note: IT'S FINALLY HERE!! I'm honestly overwhelmed by the love this fic got in the span of so little time 😭 I hope you guys enjoy this part as well! Thank you so much for being so patient with me <3

Also, this chapter is FILTHY. I'm talking actual smut for the first time in my life, which makes me both nervous and embarrassed to be posting this lol

I know that the people who read this particular series are already used to the graphic content ahead, but consider this your fair warning :"))

As night swallows the world of Westeros, four beating hearts must get through the challenges that arise in the absence of sunlight.

Desire is the death of duty - fear pushes against the voice of reason.

Dreams really are the window to the soul sometimes.

One… Two… Three… Four.

Aemond’s breathing came and went in slow and labored pants. Whatever the man was dreaming about must have had quite the effect on him, and the lady scoffed to herself, while pushing down a disdainful huff.

Slowly, yet surely, her head rolled to the side. She could still see him in her periphery - the deep creases that adorned his forehead, a permanent reminder of his relentless character; the way his chest heaved each exhale, as if constantly pained by an unknown affliction.

Good, she thought to herself, At least his dreams should torment him, if his psyche won't allow it.

In… And out. In… Out.

Three weeks had passed since her brazen attempt to escape with Cain. Three weeks, since she left the wounded knight in the cave: to rot or to crawl back by himself.

Back.

Back to where?

Back home? That much was impossible.

Back to the Saltpans? And from there on… what?

Three weeks. Three weeks had passed to account for her life back in Harrenhal. Three weeks of sleeping in the same bed as him, three weeks in which her only waking thought was to grab a pillow and smother him with it as he slept soundly by her side.

Goosebumps crawled over her skin, leaving the lady restless and aggravated. She’d twist and turn more times than she could count - she’d curse herself and her current situation: her weakness, her inability to kill Aemond then and there.

She had to live. She had promised Jace that much, and she would honor her word.

There would be a time for Aemond to meet his end. And it would be by her hand.

Jace.

If he were here, he’d know what to do.

Her thoughts turned sporadic. For a few moments, the girl clenched her fists so hard that her knuckles turned white - squeezing harder as her anger built up. Each of her fingernails bit into the softness of her palm, and she could feel herself draw harsher breaths, in and out: all in a desperate attempt to calm herself down.

Her heart beat loudly, and her body trembled in unquenched rage.

She could still kill him now; Gods, how she wished nothing more adherently than that. And why not kill him - for his death would avenge Jacaerys, Luke… Cain.

Indeed, here she was, laying down next to the Kinslayer, one step away from wrapping her small fingers against his throat and pushing down with an unrivaled force and fury.

Before she could fully process her own actions, (Y/N) slowly rose from her resting place. The wide bed made a deep creaking sound, which echoed throughout the room for a couple of moments.

One, two, three seconds she allowed herself to wait.

The girl remained unmoving, as she took in a sharp breath, and held it in the back of her throat.

Her weary eyes skimmed over Aemond’s sleeping form, and her whole body stiffened in anticipation. When she noticed his lack of a reaction, a soft sigh parted from her rosy lips, and a deep scowl settled over her fair features.

Reason fought with ire and, eventually, the former succeeded in its quiet assertion.

Tears of frustration welled in her eyes, and the lady of Riverrun shut them tightly; it was Jacaerys’ voice that then rang in her ears.

‘You know what your only fault is?’ He let out a roaring laugh while engulfing her back with his stronger arms. She turned around to face him, abruptly so, and her hands came to rest over his broad and shaking chest. 'I remember a boy who once said I had no faults.' The lady laughed with him, whilst rubbing small circles in the cuff of his sparring vest.

He kissed the top of her head with a wistful smile, and glanced at her with a boyish glimmer in his hawk-like eyes. 'Please accept my humblest apologies, my darling love. I merely meant: do you know what the only thing that’s too good about you is?’

(Y/N) let out a soft giggle, mirroring Jace’s look of full, unadulterated love. She furrowed her brows comically, before tracing his jaw with her free hand. ‘Enlighten me, then, My Prince…’

Upon hearing his title cascade from her plump lips, the Prince of Dragonstone dived in to press his forehead onto hers. He took in a shaky breath, and gently cupped her cheek to kiss her. ‘You are far too loyal for your own good. You care too much for the people you let in. It makes you angry and brash - it makes you take too many risks.’

The threat of a sob was forming on her wobbly lip. (Y/N) bit it harshly, and sucked in another breath. Her tight hold replaced the tender meat of her inner palm, with the silky sheets of their shared bedding. A lone tear parted from her shut eye, rolling over her face, and staining her cotton nightdress.

‘It makes me quite jealous - your fearlessness and devotion.’ Jacaerys muttered against her ear, whilst pampering her with chaste, soft kisses. ‘When I make you my Queen, I might just make it so that you can only see and take care of me.’ He jested lightly, eliciting a chuckle from the laying girl.

Her hand reached for his soft, curly locks, and she twirled each strand against her slim fingers. ‘Should you make me your wife, Jace, I don’t think I’d ever part from you again.’

His eyes held a fire in them; the Velaryon prince reached for her tangled hand, and took it in his own, pressing it against his waiting mouth. ‘You will be my wife. My Princess.’ His voice was laced with naught but determination and love. ‘One day, we’ll both be crowned before the masses: and you will be the most beloved Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.’

‘When we marry, you will be mine, as I already am yours.’ He pledged with a final, delicate caress.

With each palpable reminder of him, her jaw clenched tighter and tighter. The suffering that erupted from deep within her chest both fueled and exhausted the lady and, soon enough, the girl found herself laying down again, wetting her pillow with endless rivers of tears.

The chastising fires of sleep licked at her conscious mind, and, although strained by her lover’s swift reminder, the woman fell into a deep sleep.

Oh, and how beautiful the dream was.

Although it wasn’t an exact replica of the way they first met, it more than made up for it with its stilling beauty.

***

He held his hand out to her, a polite smile plastered across his face. Her older brothers gave her a knowing look - there would be no higher honor for a Tully than to be singled out during the banquet of the Crown Prince's sixteenth name day.

Together, they danced not one, not two, not three… but seven dances during that blessed evening.

Her feet were aching and, with the redness of his cheeks and the lightness on his handsome face, the girl guessed she had at least had the same effect on the Prince, as he had on her.

They talked all throughout the night, sharing fond stares and quiet giggles that echoed and bounced off the hard stone walls.

“Why haven’t we met before, My Lady?” Jacaerys questioned with an upward quirk of his brow and a charming smile upon his lips.

“I’m afraid such questions will have to be taken up with my Grandfather, Your Grace.” As she mirrored his contagious grin, the young girl carried on, “I’ve… been at court while I was younger, and remained in the Red Keep for a couple of years, but the quiet of the Riverlands always suited me better.”

“We’re very similar, you and I, Lady Tully.” Jace let out in a long huff, straightening his back against the cold patio of the Royal Gardens. “I… I know that it is my duty, to confer with the other Lords and Ladies and make idle talk, but… I must admit that it can be quite…”

“Straining?” (Y/N) suggested with a quizzical quirk of her brow.

Jacaerys’ face broke into a beaming smile, and the Heir to the Iron Throne nodded affirmatively. “Exactly that, My Lady. I’m afraid, sometimes, that it shows on my face.” He joked half heartedly as he scrunched up his nose - though his posture remained upright and fair.

Her eyes widened in surprise, and the girl shook her head definitively. “I assure you, Your Grace, it couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“Jace.”

“... I beg your pardon?”

“Friends and family just call me Jace.”

A knowing look was shared between them, and (Y/N) allowed her eyes to trail downwards, resting on the velvet flowers that adorned the well-kept garden. Her cheeks felt as though they caught on fire, and the lady was sure that her face held a comical rouge to it, thanks to Jacaerys’ insistent staring.

She knew well what came after that - she remembered how she hurried to allow Jace the same courtesy, of calling her by her given name, and how they both laughed at the other’s awkwardness.

And yet…

The Velaryon’s laughter turned into a painful cry. As if possessed, he started shaking his head. Then his limbs. Then his body.

“But dead men do not need names, do they, (Y/N)?”

Her head shot up - blood began pumping in her ears, and her heartbeat hammered against her chest.

“W-What?”

“I am dead, I am dead, I am dead,” He wailed continuously, “Can’t you see it, my love? Can you not see?”

Strong arms came to hold her from behind - wrapped up in algae, with flesh half eaten by the haunting sea.

The air in her lungs filled with a putrid smell.

“Do you see me? Do you? Do you see me, (Y/N)? My face, my eyes, how do they look? Oh, (Y/N), I cannot see down here! It’s so dark!”

Wet and cold rivers of liquid ran down her spine, coming from his parted mouth - water or blood, she couldn’t distinguish. And she was far too scared to turn her head to look.

“I cannot breathe - help me! Why did you let me die?”

A violent shriek escaped her lips. The girl tried to spin and turn - escape his hold, and take him in her arms all the same.

Jacaerys was faster in his attempts; he took her face with his pruney fingers, and twisted her head around.

But instead of brown eyes, she was met with greying hues.

“Why did you let me die?” Cain’s voice echoed Jace’s sentence. “Why did you let me die, My Lady? How could you let me die?”

Blood was raining down on them: it filled her lungs, and painted her blue dress in a sickly purple. It stuck on her eyes and closed shut. It made her limbs impossible to move.

"No… no, no… this is not how it's supposed to go…!"

“(Y/N)! It's all your fault, all your fault…!”

***

A blood-curdling scream regurgitated from her dry throat.

Neither her drenched nightgown, nor the clogged air of the wide chambers managed to calm her down. While still in the limbo between dream and reality, (Y/N) brought a hand to her souring throat, and clawed at her collar for more stability.

Almost immediately after her first shaky sob, Aemond’s body bolted upright, and the One-Eyed Prince brushed off any remaining fragments of his torturous sleep.

With his right arm, he reached for her in an outstretched caress, eyes wide with wonder over her violent reaction - whilst his left instantly grabbed the dagger on the drawer closest to him.

One look about the room confirmed his pending suspicion: she had gone through a nightmare, and a very unpleasant one at that.

Not all our dreams get to turn into nightmares - The dead of night can provide solace for some, as well as great agony for others.

Scattered desires, idle wants, and needs: all met under the velvety silence and gratifying darkness that eats one whole, and mends his subconscious to the most profane of fantasies.

In his dream, Aemond was engaging in a much kinder resolve than the lady next to him.

***

The echo of swift, hurried footsteps allowed a comforting sigh to wash over his parted lips.

The tedious company of his brother and father was long forgotten, the moment her familiar silhouette caught his eye, urging him to turn his head around.

There she stood, ever the vile temptress, wearing an emerald green dress that draped lowly over her shoulders, trailing over her tender bosom, and barely covering the perky mounds of flesh.

She was smiling at him, despite being attached to Jace's arm, and a soft bite over her lower lip was all it took for the young Prince to feel that familiar tightness form in his leather braies.

He couldn't tell who strutted towards who, or how they got to that point. But a tentative hand rose to his face, taking off his eye patch.

A hitch of pleasure escaped from her crimson lips. She took both his hands in hers and, before the masses, placed them right above her clothed, throbbing clit.

His hesitation and lack of movement caused a loud whimper to contort from deep within her throat. She gave him a sly smirk, and brought her own hands under her skirts, to lift them and show him her glistening cunt.

"Please…" She pleaded with him, writhing into his reluctant touch, "Kostilus. Kostilus, Aemond."

He let out a low groan, and pushed her hand away to cup her dripping sex. His calloused thumb flicked over her reddened pearl, and a long, slim finger went inside her tight hole.

Aemond clenched his jaw - almost painfully so - and his hips rutted into the air so desperately, that the man was sure her wanton gasps held some amused glimmer in them.

His lilac orb watched her face contort in pleasure. They were all alone now, hidden in the shadows of the Great Hall, belonging to the Red Keep.

… And there he was, seated on the Iron Throne, moving his hips lazily as his intended was bouncing up and down his clothed shaft, rubbing their bodies together with a renowned fever.

His name fell from her lips in a sickeningly sweet way - Aemond could feel his hardness twitch into the hot material, and the Targaryen Prince bit back a guttural moan.

"Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck, that's it. Bona iksos issa sȳz riñītsos." He hissed through gritted teeth.

She was finally his.

His to love, his to cherish, his to fuck and to make love to.

The thought of possessing her fully, unapologetically, wildly, sent a deep shiver down to his unyielding loins.

Aemond was close. Oh so close to reaching his high. But he wanted to make her feel good.

Wordlessly, the One-Eyed Prince stopped her desperate bucking with one hand over her hip and the other, holding down onto the nape of her neck.

The girl was sobbing and shaking. Her voice came out as a meek whisper, and her glassy eyes met with his dilated pupil.

"No, no… please… kostilus, Aemond, don't stop…" She writhed inside his arms, bringing her hand out to caress his scarred cheek.

A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his bemused lips. Aemond hummed at her admission, and tenderly licked her lips.

"Shh," He soothed her gently, "Be still, byka hontes. Issa dōna, byka jorrāelagon."

While speaking, the Targaryen Prince pushed her dress to the side, sliding off her small clothes with an able hand and placing her flush onto the Iron Throne.

He bit the inside of her thigh, and rubbed small circles on the back of her hands.

Like the perfect lover, he entwined her palms with his, entangling their fingers together as he hushed her sweetly.

"Spread your legs for me, issa jorrāelagon. Let me see how wet you are."

The echo of a "Please" got caught in his throat. It was taking everything inside of him not to kneel before his lady and beg her to let him touch her.

Her wild blush and plush, swollen lips made Aemond let out a low curse. He gripped her fingers tighter, and took them in his mouth, to coat them with adorning kisses, one by one.

"You can do it for me, my sweet, pretty girl." He encouraged her through a shallow pant. "Don't you want me to make you feel good?"

A shy 'yes' bounced off the cold walls of the secluded Keep. Aemond hummed in approval, and lowered his head over her sensitive mound, sucking lightly.

With each new whimper, his strokes became more and more sporadic. The Prince aligned his nose over her throbbing clit, and eased his tongue into her sacred depths.

His eye shut tightly at the feeling of her sweet nectar - one of his hands came free from her tight grasp, and he parted her thighs even further apart.

"Good girl, good girl, good girl…" He chanted while latched onto her scorching heat, and, with one final push of his tongue inside her, he took the girl over the edge.

Her cries of bliss shook the very building to the core. Her wild pants brought Aemond close to orgasm, and the male had to bring down a hand to his aching bulge, and clench it tightly, in order to stop himself from spilling in his pants.

It wouldn't take long for his love to wiggle her hips again.

His mouth and chin gleamed with the evidence of her spilled arousal. Aemond let out a rumbled laugh and licked himself clean with the help of two nimble fingers.

"I won't waste a single drop. Not one, single drop of you."

His words made her eyes roll back, and her throat inch with a loud moan. His Lady kneeled before him, and rubbed her cheek over his clothed cock, kissing at its outlines faintly.

Insatiable little mynx.

His eye fluttered shut, groaning in agony at her sensual touch. Aemond swallowed thickly, and he let out a hurting whimper, as the kneeling woman dipped her hand in the tightness of his pants.

Slowly, teasingly, she tested the waters.

The woman brought her hand up to her lover, and parted his swollen lips with the slow stroke of her thumb. Silently, she urged him to coat her skin with the wet of his saliva. Aemond smirked, and licked one long stripe over her spreading palm.

Humming in approval, and never once breaking eye contact, she eased her way down his leather trousers, and freed his cock from the tightness of its cage.

Several beads of sweat streamed down his pleasured face. Droplets of precum rolled down his reddened tip, and Aemond hissed at the contact they made with the base of his shaft.

His lady looked at him with soft, doe-like eyes;

"Syz taoba." She praised him with a mischievous smile. Before he could register the whole of her movements, the woman's tongue darted out, and she licked a slow strip over his twitching manhood.

She laughed at his dazed expression, and began touching him with her silky palm.

"Yes…" He moaned into her hold, bucking his hips to meet her hand halfway. "Tighter. Grip it tighter…" He instructed her through labored breaths, and a harsh groan etched its way from his bitten lips. "Ah, ābrazyrys!"

With each palpable thrust, Aemond moaned louder and louder, until the licks of relief washed over him in a sudden wave of pleasure.

At once, his hips stilled their violent bucking, and he felt the first streaks of cum shoot over his heaving abdomen.

Aemond gasped at her unwavering touch, and a single tear of pure delight rolled down his pale cheek.

She smiled at him. A pure, innocent smile, as if what she'd just done did naught to shake her untouched innocence.

(Y/N) moaned at the sight of him, so ravished and spent by her hand - she licked her lips tentatively, and trailed her fingers over his lower stomach, coating each digit with his warm release.

The cum pooled on the base of her tongue, and she showed him the fullness in her mouth, before swallowing him whole.

Thinking him fully drained, the girl made haste to get up on her feet and press her forehead against his. She giggled excitedly, and kissed over his jaw and neck.

A primal glint swirled deep within him, and Aemond's eye darkened.

He wasn't done with her just yet.

His arms flipped her over, and the pair found themselves in the peace and quiet of his old Quarters. Her body was pushed against the silk bedding, laid in below Aemond's insistent licks and kisses.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard, until the only thing you can think of is me."

His voice was shaking with lust and need, and the curve of her waist and breasts did nothing to help his aggravated heart.

His love let out a stimulated groan. Her lips churned into a small pout, and she brought his hand out to her scorching heat, pressing down on it insistently.

His mouth lulled open - he could feel the heat emanating from her maidenhood, and the very scent that made his head swirl with need.

He gritted his teeth and lowered his body to press against hers. He could feel himself grow harder and harder by the second, twitching against her exposed thigh.

The girl let out a burst of snorting laughter, and her legs came to grip him over the bulk of his waist.

Effortlessly, she pushed him into the wide goose pillows, towering over him as she snapped her hips into his.

"I always wanted to mount a dragon. Tonight, I'm going to ride you as you ride Vhagar."

***

The intensity of her scream made the man bolt up in an instant. His thoughts surged with a singular instinct: to protect her.

A hand reached for his dagger. The other, for her shaking form.

"What happened?" His throaty groan echoed through the silent room.

At the sound of his smothering voice, the girl let out a startled scream. She would have fallen from the unmade bed, were it not for Aemond's hands, which caught her beforehand. … His face contorted in pain at her recoiling, at her lack of trust in him. His very presence was unnerving her.

Her numerous shrieks alerted the new guards, who, warned in advance of their master's disposition to anger, hastily opened the door to his chambers - swords unsheathed and shoulders tense.

But, upon glancing at the erratic woman, and the way her hands were pushing Aemond's chest away from her flush form, they assumed this was just another way of coupling, and the oldest of the two bowed his head in embarrassment, before grabbing his brethren by the cape and exiting the room.

Fucking assholes…! The Lady thought to herself. Upkeeping the realm and instigating order only when they see fit.

The pang of embarrassment took a hold of her jaded face. It didn't matter what they thought. But all the same, Cain's words echoed into her ears, slithering into her heart.

' - the walls talk in Harrenhal, my Lady. And they... well, forgive me for being so blunt - speak stories about how the Kinslayer loses sleep by visiting you in your chambers at night.'

Disgust painted its way over her distressed expression. A deep frown creased her forehead, and she clicked her tongue in irritation at Aemond's attempt to soothe her.

"N-Nothing happened." She strained herself to answer. "It doesn't matter. Now let me go."

But his hold didn't falter. His iron grip reigned over her, and (Y/N) could feel how her wrist started to ache from numbness.

Her eyes shot up in pure horror.

"Please, Prince Aemond." She tried once more, though this time sweeter. Her eyes trailed from his face to his clenched fists, and she tried to relax in his hold - at least slightly. Dread settled into the pits of her stomach, as she awaited his answer.

The One-Eyed Prince felt his heart hammer against his chest. A stinging pain ruled over any other voice of reason, and he felt lethal, succumbed to the endless lust and frenzy that he felt for the shaking girl.

And, although he didn’t let go of her bruising arm, he sat down the dagger in his left hand, in favor of touching her lax cheek with his rough fingertips.

Gods, he was still so painfully hard.

She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, as his grip over her body relaxed with each passing minute. The taste of abhorance was getting harder and harder to ignore - as did his raging hard-on, so adamantly pressed against her covered leg.

The woman darted her tongue out to wet her chapped lips; an action that wasn’t easily ignored by Aemond. His brows furrowed in lust and anger, and the coil in his lower stomach grew tighter by the second.

His hand ghosted over her twisted features, and he held his hand against her, with a fear akin to getting burnt. She scrunched her nose up as he scooted closer: her eye trailed downwards to his huge erection. Fear mixed with the knowledge of her situation, and her free hand came to grip the edge of the mirkwood bed.

“Hey,” She began to say, but took a pause to clench and unclench her jaw. “I think we should go back to sleep.”

Her eyes closed, if only for a second. Aemond’s deep breaths echoed through the quiet room, over her face, and the girl chastised herself for being so idiotic.

Some reply she gave him.

… But there is still a way to get a hold of that damned dagger.

Thoughts laced with uncertainty whirled inside her head. This wasn’t the first time Aemond had stared with hunger at her, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. It was simply the way their 'relationship' worked. Simply the way he did.

Before she could muster up to add anything else, the Kinslayer broke the silence. His voice was soft and hitched; His broad arms snaked around her again, and his single eye loomed over her, adorning an emotion that menged perfectly with caution and lust.

“Why do you have this effect on me?” He questioned no one but himself. “You have ruined me.” He uttered, as if her presence and innocence were the strongest of poisons.

“Nyke istan nykeā vala hen gaomilaksir se rigo gō nyke mazilībagon laesi va ao. Se ao… ao… ao mazverdagon issa aylik hae lo nyke daor…”

The last of his words came out strained and angry, the desire to possess her coming out in the roughness of his sentence in High Valyrian.

(Y/N) squinted at him, unsure of what to do and say, except to stay awfully quiet. His cock twitched in his pants at her confused expression, and the woman sat her eyes on the dagger before her.

May his Gods so help him if he tries to do anything to me, she dryly thought to herself.

“I never tried to hurt you in any way.” She spoke decidedly, trying her best to keep a level of strength in her hoarse voice. Her body tensed under his aggravating touch, and the Lady quietly cursed herself for her inability to move further away from him.

Aemond’s face broke into a tight smile, and the Targaryen Prince huffed out in a low breath.

“Quit playing your game with me. You know exactly what you did. Women like you have quite the breeding for it.”

At that moment, anger blinded her. Swift as an arrow, she rose her head up high, and attempted to slap him - hard. But the older man caught her hand within his skilled fingers, and lowered it to his aching heart, keeping it there.

“Ao taenor issa. Aōha elēni, aōha laesi, aōha relgos, aōha maelki - aōha olvie perhas iksos surokvis issa. Issi ao biare? Hmm? Issi ao biare rūsīr skoros ao gōntan naejot issa?”

He could see the tears in her eyes. He could feel the flesh of her skin burn with the roughness of his touch. He could feel her anger and building disdain, and all of it pushed him over the edge all the same.

Aemond grabbed her face with his free hand, and clasped her jaw tightly. He breathed in her warmth, and he cursed himself for it - for the weakness that she caused him, for how easy it was for her to calm him down. “Ao issi nykeā quptenka ābra qilōni insalvak nykeā dārys hen ānogar.” He hissed desperately, lowering himself closer and closer to her face. “I treat you with kindness, and this is how you think to repay me? Vile, spoiled cunt. Gevie līve, ny dōna byka rene.”

To his mind, he was but an animal, caught helplessly in a siren’s grasp - she had lured him in with her beauty, her heart, and he was drowning in her, in her essence, in her being.

All of the things he felt towards her welled up inside of him: the love, the longing, the obsession, the lust, the need, the want. It was all too much.

He breathed heavily into her ear, while stroking at her bottom lip, “Gaomagon ao ūndegon sepār skorkydoso kraj ao issi, issa jorrāelagon? Aemond Mēre-Laes, se kipagīros hen Vhagar sen se Dārys mīsio hen Westeros… aōhon. Isse prūmia, haevisis, se maelki."

His raining assault in High Valyrian aggravated her to no end. Although Jacaerys' knowledge on the language wasn't perfect, either, he had taught the girl enough to get by.

And enough it was, at the very least, to make out the hissed out "beautiful"s, "love"s, and "heart"s that Aemond spewed at her.

The Tully girl spat in his face, biting on the index finger, that was trying to pry open her mouth. “You promised me,” She asserted as she pried herself free of his sickly embrace, “You promised me you wouldn’t touch me until I expressively asked you to.”

Her (y/e/c) eyes clashed with his lone, lilac orb. The woman swallowed thickly, and a droplet of sweat fell over her pounding temple. “So back. Off.”

Half a second goes by - half a heartbeat and half a breath -, until Aemond finally lets go of her, and settles back down onto the cold side of his bed.

For a while, (Y/N) is stuck. She sees how the man she loathes turns his back around, how his shoulders fall back as he’s trying to relax. She focuses on his breathing, and how his erratic breaths quiet down.

“Go to sleep.” He commands her bitterly, “Before I give you a reason to be tired out.”

The ferocity of a thousand curses almost falls from her tightened lips. The woman takes in a deep breath, and lowers herself back onto the drenched sheets.

He had donned the dagger to his fucking waist.

For almost two weeks, Cain had been falling in and out of consciousness.

His clash with Aemond left him weak and crippled - most of all, it left him ashamed.

Ashamed of his lack of diligence. Ashamed for having been unable to protect his Lady.

Finally, ashamed of his weakness and lack of thought, of reason.

If he were awake right now, he'd curse the Old Gods and the New for making him so - for giving him the wound that would incapacitate him forever. He'd have to fight the shivers that came with the rotting of his flesh, he'd have to clench his remaining fist in agony at the notion of the pools of blood he lost: the notion of his wound still going through the process healing, and all that came with it.

His once handsome face was still stained with his blood - dirt and sweat clung to it, like flies on dead meat.

His golden locks looked almost black, covered by the mold and mud that he'd crawled through once he reached outside the cave.

***

"You need to be swifter on your foot, lass!" Ser Allyn Swann instructed him, hitting the boy over the legs once, in taciturn aggression. "You're to be our Lady's sworn protector, are you not? You'll need to do better than that."

"I already am her sworn protector!" Cain yelled after the knight, rubbing a hand over his sweaty forehead. He took in a sharp breath, exhaustion seeping in his bones. Without waiting for an answer, he retook his wide stance and bowed down to his professor. "Again." He urged Ser Swann with a determined look.

The rains of spring had softened the ground, and both the knight and aspiring shield had to be mindful of their footsteps, so as to not land on their tired backs.

Allyn smiled, and shook his head. "Are you now, boy?" He obliged with a reply, "I think you're a seventeen-year-old blighter, who's bitten off more than he can chew."

His able taunting seemed to have worked.

No longer was Cain swinging his sword in circles, measuring his adversary with an aware look. Exactly like a dire wolf would after getting a whiff of fresh prey, the Waters bastard jumped into the leveling field, slashing his wooden blade directly at his opponent's head.

Allyn hummed in disapproval, and back-tracked to the right, faking a swing to his left side, before wiping Cain's feet off the ground with a wonky, but effective swipe.

"Again, Waters?" The knight asked with a click of his tongue. "This is the fifth time you fell for this exact same move. You may be as simple-minded as the Gods allow - but even a fool would learn from his mistakes once he swallowed mud once or twice."

As the boy lowered his gaze in undoubted guilt, his teacher offered him his hand, hoisting him off the field with a low grunt.

"Your mind is elsewhere, Cain. What is it that's bothering you?"

Eyes of the colour of steel clashed with Allyn's brilliant blues. A hoarse sigh left his parted lips, and Cain looked to the sky above them.

"I… I'm not ready." He admitted through gritted teeth. "Lady (Y/N) believes in me, but I'm not ready."

His simple sentence, his raw honesty, moved the greying knight.

He smiled tightly at the boy, resting a hand atop his heaving shoulder, and squeezed strongly.

"You are ready. You haven't the slightest idea of what you can do, should the situation call for it."

"Aye, I can fall straight on my ass. Maybe that'll distract my real opponents!"

"Cain." His professor interrupted him, "Long has it been since I last faced that eight-year-old boy who wanted nothing more than to prove himself."

Ser Swann's words brought a twisted smile to his lips, and (Y/N)'s protector mirrored his tired expression, as he huffed out a breath in disdain.

"I'm afraid I'll fail her." He muttered under his breath, looking in the general direction of his Lady's Quarters. "She believes in me, yes. But what if she's wrong?" A deep frown splits his forehead in three, wide creases. "Sometimes it feels like she must be."

"Only a real knight would ever admit to his weaknesses and less than stellar moments." Allyn encouraged him shortly. His eyes never once left Cain's, and the old Lord nodded his head briskly. "Lady Tully is not the only one who believes in you. Before her, Lord Hunter Redwyne believed in you."

A small chuckle broke Cain's reserved silence.

"If I remember correctly, he made you his steward exactly because he believed in you. After him, of course, went his sons and daughters. When the siege over Arbourtown took place, who was it that fought 100 men all by himself?"

"Hardly 100. It was 66 at best."

"Honesty. Another rare quality to find in a knight."

Cain's frustration welled in his eyes. "It's not honesty - it's a well-known truth!"

"Let me tell you something, Cain. It could have been a hundred men. Or it could have been thirty, or it could have been just one. The unrivaled truth remains: when everyone abandoned their post, you were the only one left standing in the West Wing of that castle."

A hefty silence settled off between the two.

"Plenty of people believed in you: plenty still do. And all of them were right to do so."

Cain's aching fists turned lax once Ser Allyn put an end to his trail of thought. "I…" He bit his cheek in an attempt to talk.

'Thank you.'

"I still have a lot to learn."

"That you do, boy. That you do." Allyn confirmed with a convinced jerk of his head. His eyes glimmered with pride, however, and, as he picked his sword back up, the man smiled at his driven apprentice.

"But I believe in you, and in the fact that you will make her proud."

"... It's nice to talk again like this."

Allyn's expression saddened for a moment, before it regained its familiar vigor.

"As I told you, lass. No matter how far you are, I'll always be somewhere with you. I'll be right here, at the tip of your sword, in your armor."

Ser Cain felt a tear run down his cheek, and the knight rose a hand to wipe it away from his face.

"I don't think I'll ever hold a sword again." He hummed painfully, but the older knight only shook his head.

"You haven't the slightest idea of what you can do, should the situation call for it." He repeated his words again. "Trust me, son. You will hold Faithkeeper again. … But now it's time for you to wake up."

Wake up.

***

"-- Are you waking up?!" The worried voice of a woman rang through the open field.

Cain felt his head jolting with pain - his limbs of a calming numbness, and his lips dried up.

He swallowed thickly, before opening his mouth to say, "Water… I need… water."

"Right on it, soldier." She amusedly said, bringing down her own flask to his waiting mouth.

He drank to his heart’s content, and only when the last droplets of the blessed liquid touched his throat, did Cain Waters stop to breathe.

“I’m sorry.” Was the first thing he said, as the unknown woman checked her poach for any remains of the water. “I didn’t think about the practicality of leaving some for later. … Or about you needing a sip.”

The last of his words greatly perplexed the brown-haired woman - she let out a mirthled laugh, and gently shook her head to the side. “At ease, Commander. We have more where that came from. Drink as much as you need to.”

Her amber eyes trailed over his bandaged hand, and, as he followed her stare with his own, Cain sighed in wallowing dread. His gaze turned curious, however, as he glanced at his shoulder, and wasn’t immediately greeted with the ghastly sight of a chopped-off arm.

A shocked look adorned his features, and the knight brought his left hand to feel the borders of his forming scar.

A painful sting stopped him in his tracks.

“I’d be careful with touching that arm so soon,” She tutted over his brash enthusiasm, “Your stitches are far from being healed. … And it’s not all that good and grand.”

Her sharp eyes softened slightly, and she let out a hardened breath.

“I’m very sorry. But we still had to cut off some of the infected fingers. With time, though, I’m sure you’ll hold your sword again.”

‘You will hold Faithkeeper again.’

Cain hummed in a lowly tone, as his eyes traveled back to the strange woman before him. His mouth opened and closed repeatedly, until he finally settled on the least invasive sentence.

“I’m very grateful for your help,” He began carefully, while nibbling at his lower lip. “But who are you? And why would you save me?”

The girl’s eyebrows raised in beguilement, and she jokingly brought her hand to her chest, bowing deeply.

“My name is Mira Florent, of Brightwater Keep. I was a ward not long ago, under the esteemed tutelage of Lady Caswell. For eleven years, I served in Bitterbridge.” Taking in his every reaction with a curious look, Mira quirked her head to the side, and offered the knight a half-earnest smile. “And who might you be?”

“You didn’t answer my other question.” Cain tensed visibly, and the woman raised her hands out in false surrender.

“Indeed, I have not. I’d like to know who it is I’m talking to, as well, before I should waste all my breath away.”

The knight’s deep gaze settled on her downturned nose and inviting smile. He took in a deep breath, and propped his body on his healthy elbow. “I asked my questions first, my Lady.”

“And I demanded for answers, second.” Her voice rang out with a beaming laugh, and the older woman showed him her portrait-perfect grin. “No one here is in any position to make demands. … But please. I am not a Lady. There’s no need for you to address me as such”

Her easy-going attitude and fun behavior were almost enough reason for Cain to return her gracious smiles - still, the royal knight remained impassive, while nodding his head in quiet agreement.

“My name is Cain Waters, m’lady.” A short pause ensued, during which both healer and patient exchanged a diverted look, “Until recently, I served in Riverrun; I answer to the Tullies, the lords of the Riverlands.”

“I knew it!” Mira’s gleeful exclamation set Ser Cain back on his back. ��It was fairly obvious by the crest in your armor. The trout lost its head, but the house colors are still as clear as day.”

“Is that why you decided to save me?” The man asked her tentatively.

“Well, that’s why we kept carrying you with us after patching you up, I suppose. But we would have tried to heal you either way.”

“We?” The Waters bastard questioned once again. “There’s more than just you around?”

“You don’t think I carried you all the way here by myself, right?” Her sarcastic question jabbed at his intellect, but her placid smile told the knight to relax, and put an end to his sporadic trail of thought. “It’s just me and my travel partner - he’s the one that wanted us to leave you at a crossroads end, by the way.”

A bemused smirk tugged at the corners of Cain’s chapped lips. “Then you have my full gratitude, m’lady - I have to say, I appreciate you not letting me die. Pray tell, does your companion have a name?”

An arch of her bushy eyebrows was the only telltale sign of Mira’s pending curiosity over Cain's meddlesome nature. She jerked her head to point at a silhouette near the fireplace, and she leaned over on a tree’s bark end.

“He does.” The woman said simply, and her expression turned somber for just a moment. “You take your profiling seriously, Cain Waters - his name is Albar. Albar of nothing, who serves under no one. Albar Stone.”

Cain’s face brightened slowly, as if he’d just been reminded of an old joke.

‘Us bastards always find a way to help one another.’

A rumbling laughter shook him in his laying spot, and the man gingerly shook his head after a passing while. “Another brother. I’ve a feeling we’ll get along just fine.”

Mira’s only reply was to shrug her shoulders, keeping quiet for the first time since they’d met. Her auburn eyes went over Cain’s shoulder, and she took in a deep breath. “You fought the Kinslayer, haven’t you?” She asked whilst playing with a silver pendant.

“You’re wearing the Tully crest - a house that openly pledged for the Blacks. Despite your heavy armor, your wound was of a clean cut. Too clean for a normal blade.” The Florent Lady awaited no confirmation from the laying man, as she went on, “I’ve been well acquainted with the deadly swords forged from Valyrian Steel. And there are only two people who wield such feats of war. Of course, only one of them who terrorizes our home.”

“Aye, that is true.” Cain let out after a low curse. “I regret not being swifter on my foot that day. It would’ve saved us a lot of trouble to slay him then and there.”

“Opportunities arise. And I’ve a feeling there will be another time for you to face him again.”

Cain’s forehead puckered at the last of her words, and his able hand pointed at the empty flask that now rested on her lower hip. “Oh, I would drink to that.” He bitterly laughed in earnest.

Mira’s posture ambled away, and she edged closer to the man’s plodded body. Silently, she got a hold of the bridles of the nearest horse, and offered Cain a lackluster smile. “I’ll hoist you up this saddle and we’ll keep walking towards the Vale.”

The muscles in Cain’s face tightened. His immediate thought went to (Y/N), his Lady, no doubt still stuck with Aemond in Harrenhal - that Gods' forsaken place.

His fist brandished in a tight hold, his head aligned to Mira’s working hands, and the knight tried to stop her musings with a firm palm over her waist.

“Wait -” He tried to reason, “I cannot go there. My Lady is still waiting for me, I cannot just abandon her.”

"Abandon your Lady?" Mira's eyes widened once more. She jumped up from the ground, and straightened her back in disbelief. "You're Lady Tully's personal knight? Is that why you fought the Kinslayer? You're telling me she's still alive?!"

Through an exhale, the male nodded. He cleared his throat with a loud cough, and scrunched his nose up in frustration.

"Indeed, m'lady. So you must understand me - I cannot forsake her. Not when she's still in the jaws of that one-eyed fucker."

Mira wiped the dust off her cotton pants, and grunted in agreement. She let out a tired breath, and clicked her tongue at his persistence.

"Well… you could have returned to Harrenhall, limping on your feet and all, if only you awoken a week ago. But we're less than an hour away from the Eyrie, Ser Cain." His crushed expression and gritted teeth softened the lady's resolve. "I warmly recommend you stick with us. Our road leads to the Arryns: we can drop you off to your Lord and you can take a while to recover."

"You slept for a very long time, Ser Cain. Everything you knew has changed in these last couple of weeks. Getting acquainted to your new situation will do you well."

Alys never dreamt. At least, she never once recalled what her dreams were about.

Such was the way of things for her, and she didn’t mind it - that was, until tonight.

Stilling images of her in his arms, of his soft lips upon the Tully's face made her shake with anger and betrayal well into the first callings of dawn.

Morning came and went, and the afternoon spent itself with her clasping her hands together, in the comfort of her room, thinking on what to do.

Her rattling worry wasn’t as much about her love for him, as it was for the frightening thought that if the Crown Prince didn’t want her anymore, she'd find her death by the sharp end of his sword.

The Rivers witch gulped thickly, and brought her hands over her neck and bump.

Aemond was capable of many things. But he wouldn't risk killing his child. Right?

The Tully girl had to go. The conclusion was a natural reach, and an expected one, at that: it was the only solution to her ticking problem.

A slight arch of her brow sent her thoughts adrift. How would she take care of it all? She gave the haughty Lady the chance to escape, and she failed - miserably. Now, she had no more allies left in Harrenhal, and no access to any amount of privacy.

The memory of Aemond's rage sent a cold shiver down her spine. Not once during her long life, did she witness a sight more fearful to behold, than the one of the One-Eyed Prince when angered. Hundreds died the day of her escape, and thousands more would keep on suffering, if ever she should break free again.

The Tully girl had to go. And then Aemond would be hers again.

Her prayers were answered when, sometime along the laid-in dusk, his footsteps echoed through the long hallway of her keep.

She waited for him in her small framed bed, eagerly aligning her hips to the side, to strike a more seductive pose.

… But when Aemond reached her doorstep, his eye carried a solemn, and resigned expression.

"The maids tell me she won't eat." He told her worriedly, opting for that instead of his usual greeting. He reached her bedside with two wide steps, and wordlessly took a seat while rubbing his temples. "She's punishing me."

Alys staggered a frustrated breath, and tried to calm herself back down. Her left leg moved to tease Aemond's crotch, and she chuckled appealingly.

"Must we worry about her all the time…? She'll eat when she gets really hungry." Alys dismissed his inquiry with a small caress, "In the meantime, I'm sure I could take your mind off things…"

Within a second, Aemond's hand was wrapped softly on her neck. "Stop that." He chastised her cruelly, "I'm not in the mood."

"You never are, as of late." She muttered dryly, but regretted her words instantly, when she felt his long fingers squeeze over her larynx tentatively. "I-I only meant to say that I missed you." She quickly intervened, while entangling her hand with his in a forlorn attempt to redeem herself.

Aemond hummed tiredly, and, as if he finally registered what he was doing, the man let go of her dainty neck.

Quietness washed over them, and Alys' eyes welled with the threat of tears, until Aemond spoke up.

"I want you to keep an eye on her. Become her friend, if you must."

The detachment with which he spoke wounded Alys' pride, but, as she massaged her neck, the woman only sighed. "Befriend her, Aemond?"

"Do whatever you think is right." He uttered once again. "Starting tomorrow, you'll be her maid - you'll make sure she eats when I'm not here; you'll make sure she doesn't think of a way to escape."

Her ears reddened from the deep wound laid upon her enlarged ego. Alys huffed in disbelief, and promptly shook her head. "What…?" She asked her lover. "So you want me to feed her and empty her chamber pot?"

"Don't act as if this work would be beneath you, love." Aemond tutted as he raised up from his taken seat. "I've already made up my mind: you will take care of her while I'm not around. And you will make her like it here."

The urgency in his words muffled out any other attempted protest. Alys' fists were clenched at her sides, and the older woman was biting down on her lower lip. "As you wish, Your Grace." She hissed past her tightened lips, while looking at him desperately.

As she noticed him turn around to leave, the Rivers witch shot up straight. "You won't stay?" She asked Aemond in a strangled tone.

"I have some business to attend to."

Aemond prayed before his dinners. As if that would make them any better.

As if that would help him swallow his guilt, or scatter it over the ghosts that he himself created.

As if that would deter the Gods to forgive him for his sins.

The pair stood quietly at the polished oak table, surrounded by naught but fermented wine and copious amounts of meat. For a while, all seemed well.

The cutlery broke a sound every once in a while, and Aemond's deep breaths turned the room's atmosphere heavy.

Eventually, it all built up to be too much.

"Is the food not to your liking?" His velvety smooth voice asked the girl before his eye.

With her hands still in her lap, now gripping her fingers painfully, Lady Tully replied, "... It's nothing of the sort. I'm just not hungry right now."

Aemond stared blankly into her eyes, until his scorching orb settled on her lips instead. Lustful thoughts of what he dreamt the night before plagued his mind, but the Prince merely shook his head, whilst taking a sip of the wine.

"You haven't eaten anything today." He muttered through a raised eyebrow, and a ghost of a forced smile. "Surely you must be famished."

The muscles on (Y/N)'s face twitched in annoyance. She jerked her foot from under the table, and turned her eyes back to her untouched plate.

"... As I said, I'm not feeling very hungry." She leaned further away, and the firelight of the wide, lit room, danced across her face with glorious shades of red and amber.

"Very well." Aemond asserted quietly, after letting out a hoarse curse in High Valyrian. Soon, the Prince turned his attention back to the illuminated room, without sparing the girl another glance.

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, and coughed in the back of his hand a couple of times.

Each time she heard his attempts to clear his throat, the girl clenched her jaw tighter and tighter.

Neither spoke anymore, until Aemond sighed deeply.

"Does…" He began, but closed his mouth once again. His face turned into a sour scowl, his pale cheeks reddened, and the man forced himself to keep going, despite the hardness with which such a question came to him. "Does your wrist hurt you at all?"

A quick reminder to the other night.

The lady's eyes snapped forward, unsure of whether or not she'd heard him correctly. Were she not in this unpleasant situation herself, the woman would have laughed at the Prince's awkwardness; no less his stupid question.

Instead of laughing, she took in a shaky breath, which she exhaled almost immediately, before replying curtly. "It doesn't hurt." Her eyes closed and her brows furrowed in concentration.

Distaste for him, for what she was about to say, filled her weary heart and mouth.

"... Thank you for the inquiry, My Prince, that was very kind of you."

She wanted to scream and shout the moment his daft fingers gripped her own, and the Kinslayer tried to caress her, despite his hand's deep callouses. Still, she remained poised.

She was all alone now, and she had to play it smart.

(Y/N)'s breath caught in her throat, and her shoulders tensed visibly from under her green dress. Slowly, yet surely, she wiggled her hand free from under his palm, and placed it above her thigh once more.

If her movement displeased Aemond, then the Prince didn’t show it. His hand twitched atop the table, and he clenched it momentarily. But just as soon as his action was executed, it was covered by the Targaryen's mellow voice.

"Try to eat something tonight. And whatever it is that you'd like on the morrow, you can tell your maid to bring you."

Maid…?

Confusion made its way across her face. And, not even waiting for her to ask that eager question, Aemond dipped his head lowly and replied.

"The days are hard and long - prisoner or not, My Lady. While in Harrenhal, you are still a royal, and will be treated as such."

(Y/N) felt as if she could do nothing else but laugh. She envisioned her life in Harrenhal drift in a lot of different ways - though no thought of hers deterred her to believe she'd be taken care of by Aemond's older lover.

Of course, she jested lightly to herself. In the end, I am but a prisoner. And Aemond only has one eye.

Her hands were tied. And so were Alys Rivers', who looked none the happier to be rooted at her bedside table, judging by her tight expression.

"We don't have to play his game, you know." The girl hushed in her direction, as she kneeled down to help her change the ruined bed sheets.

Green eyes washed over her smaller form, holding an icy glimmer in them. But, despite her obvious discontent at her words, Alys remained quiet.

"You've known Aemond for longer than I," She kept going in the afternoon. "But we can both agree he has a dangerous character." Her lack of cooperation irked the lady to no end.

She dreaded the silence she was greeted with.

Hopelessly, she watched Alys wipe the last corner of the room - the girl observed how she turned on her heel, bowing at her without sparing her a second glance, and made her way toward the doors of her chambers.

"What do you think will happen once I tell Aemond that you helped Cain plan my escape?" She asked in a neutral tone.

For the first time that day, the Rivers bastard whipped her head around, and kneeled to the floor to gather up the dropped cloth. Despite her neutral smile, her voice was shaking. "You're trying to blackmail me?"

"I'm trying to help myself. ... And help you."

The woman let out a roaring laugh. "I am carrying the child of the dragon, girl. He wouldn't dare hurt me."

"Are you that sure?" The hardened look on (Y/N)'s face let no emotion stand out. Still, her eyes remained honest, truthful in her questions, and the wood witch let out an ample sigh.

"I know you don't want me here." The Lady raised her head in bold admission, "Believe me, I am the last person to be happy with this arrangement. This is your home. This is supposed to be your room and your rightful bed. On that, you'll hear no argument from me."

As her speech came to an abrupt end, Alys furrowed her brows in unexpected shock. She was quick to collect herself, and shield her shaking body by crossing her arms.

"We're more similar than we'd allow ourselves to think, Alys. We both want me gone and far, far away from here."

With a tentative look in her eyes, the Lady of Riverrun approached Alys' heaving body. She took her hands in hers and squeezed them reassuringly.

A strained chuckle parted from the elder's lips. She jerked her hands away and shot her an unfeeling look. "What would you have me do?" She interfered with a cutting voice. "You forget yourself - and I. I'm just a woman in this Keep, the same as you. If you think I hold any power over anyone here, you'd be sorely mistaken."

(Y/N) shook her head, and allowed a crooked smile to grace her tired features. She quirked her eyebrow at the woman's words, and only hummed disprovingly.

"I may not know you, Alys Rivers. But I know you are a smart and conniving woman. You lived all your life in Harrenhal, or so I heard."

Her harsh tone cut through the deadly silence of the room.

"I'm sure you kept at least a secret passage to yourself, and away from Aemond. It's not like us to keep all our eggs in the same basket... So, I want you to teach me all you know about this castle.”

A jocund expression seeped into Alys' pores. She clicked her tongue at (Y/N)'s words, and huffed out a wired breath. “Foolish girl. If anything should go wrong, Aemond will kill us both.”

A small pause, followed by a muttered curse ensued after Alys’ warning. Once her eyes locked on the Lady again, she frowned as she nodded her head.

"You have yourself a deal."

Taglist:

@bellameshipper @ohitsthemaster @kravitzwhore @virginslut08 @hiatuswhore @somemydayy

Translations:

"Bona iksos issa sȳz riñītsos" = That's my good little girl;

"Byka hontes" = Little dove;

"Issa jorrāelagon" = My love;

“Issa dōna, byka jorrāelagon” = My sweet, little love;

"Ābrazyrys" = Wife;

“Nyke istan nykeā vala hen gaomilaksir se rigo gō nyke mazilībagon laesi va ao. Se ao… ao… ao mazverdagon issa aylik hae lo nyke daor…” = I was a man of duty and honor before I set eyes on you. And you… You… You make me feel as if I am no longer…;

“Ao issi nykeā quptenka ābra qilōni insalvak nykeā dārys hen ānogar.” = You are a common woman who enslaved a prince of the blood;

“Ao taenor issa. Aōha elēni, aōha laesi, aōha relgos, aōha maelki - aōha olvie perhas iksos surokvis issa. Issi ao biare? Issi ao biare rūsīr skoros ao gōntan naejot issa?” = You tempted me. Your voice, your eyes, your lips, your soul - your very presence is seducing me. Are you happy? Are you happy with what you did to me?

"Gaomagon ao ūndegon sepār skorkydoso kraj ao issi, issa jorrāelagon? Aemond Mēre-Laes, se kipagīros hen Vhagar sen se Dārys mīsio hen Westeros… aōhon. Isse prūmia, haevisis, se maelki." = Do you see just how powerful you are, my love? Aemond One-Eye, the Rider of Vhagar and the Prince Protector of the Realm… yours. In heart, body, and soul.

"Gevie līve, ny dōna byka rene" = Beautiful witchling, my sweet little slut;

#other peoples writing #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #this story is crazy good #please read it!#mind the tags though!

588 notes · View notes

ichigopanhpff · 3 years ago

Text

Mitsuya x Fem!Reader Begin Again: Ch. 12

[Previous Chapter] -- [Masterlist] -- [Next Chapter]

Mitsuya's actually a god for having pulled off those outfits in such a short time frame last chapter. I must've stayed on that spread for a good few minutes taking it all in while tears hung on my eyes.

But Wakui really hit us with the "the real award was the friends we along the way." This mfing troll... You gotta respect it.

Also, I wanna go to the TokyoRev Exhibition so bad! That giant golden Mikey statue posed as a Sleeping Buddha is some next level stuff ROFL.

And thanks for all the new follows and likes <3

---

Hushed murmurs and chattered roused all of Toman after Mikey announced the firing of the third division captain, Kisaki Tetta.

“What’re you saying, Mikey?” the tanned boy inquired in confusion. “Is this a joke?”

“I’m not joking,” he tersely replied and repeated himself. Not knowing what to say, Kisaki stood there stunned; he didn’t consider to factor in the possibility of being kicked out of the gang with his foiled plan. It was then the sixth division captain, Hanma Shuji, stepped up and said he’d be leaving too if the third division captain was fired, leveraging Toman would shrink down to 100 without the additional 350 made up of former Moebius and Valhalla members. The numbers game on the commander seemed to have been no use, stating they’ve gotten too big lately anyway. This was his way in trimming the unnecessary fat.

“Gotten too big?” Kisaki finally found his voice again. “Isn’t that Toman’s goal, Mikey?!”

“Then, was your instigation of the Christmas Conflict done to make us bigger?” the blond commander rebutted. The sudden chatter among members gave way again, some not believing he was the person behind the whole fiasco. Mikey then revealed what Mitsuya and Chifuyu reported to him regarding the events that transpired.

“I’ve ignored your underhanded methods in expanding Toman up until now… It ends here,” he firmly stated.

Feeling vile sense of panic rising from his stomach, the tanned blond made his way to the stairs to try to reason with the commander.

“You’d grown weak! Taiju was a threat to Toman!” he desperately lashed out. “I acted for your sake!”

His attempt to ascend the stairs was blocked by Draken, reminding him of his place. In the blink of an eye, he blocked an incoming punch by Hanma with his left arm. (Y/N) was confident in her reflexes, but seeing how the sixth division captain moved scared her; it was as if his instincts were to purely fight. Personally, she knew she could take him on, but if it’s on speed alone, it would’ve been an easy victory for him.

Tossing his pride aside, Kisaki once again pleaded with Mikey rethink his decision, spinning the fact he alone can help make Toman powerful. He vowed to take on the darkness that bred with its size so only the commander alone could shine.

“You can’t achieve your dream on lip service alone, Mikey!” Kisaki beseeched. “So, reconsider this.”

Toman’s commander gave the former third division captain a look of disappointment and turned his back on him. “We’re through, Kisaki,” he finalized. “Your unpredictable choices will screw up my dream.”

The gaudy, tanned blond fell to his knees, reeling in the defeat in his inability to convince Toman’s top to keep him. With Draken calling an end to the meeting, the group disbanded for the night. (Y/N) took one last look at the tanned blond's devastated form with his partner in crime hovering over him before making her way to the back of the shrine with the rest of the captains. She didn't like either of them one bit; they both have the same aura. Putting her thoughts aside, she advanced up to the vice commander.

“What the hell was that shit you pulled, Draken?!” she huffed angrily looking up at him, finally dropping the honorific. “Tokyo Kitsune?! Don’t put me on the spot like that!”

“Listen, it was Mikey’s idea,” the lanky boy shot back. “Take it up with him. I’m just the messenger.”

“Mikey!” she yelled and chased after him. “Get your ass back here! I see you trying to duck away, you jerk!”

“It all worked out, didn’t it?” he casually replied with a happy grin as (Y/N) snaked her arm around his neck with ominous intent. “Kitsune’s officially under Toman now.”

“’Officially’ my ass!” She tightened her grip and put the commander in a headlock. “You jerry rigged this whole fuckin’ thing to coerce me into announcin’ it like I was the main entree on a silver platter, dick bag! Die!”

None of the Toman captains and vice captains knew what to do, seeing Mitsuya’s childhood friend choke the life out of their precious commander. And if they were being honest with themselves at this very moment, they were vicariously enjoying it through her because they knew for a fact Mikey would one-shot them all with his high kick.

Ah, the perks of being female, they all collectively thought.

“(Y/N)-chan, I think you’ve gone far enough,” Mucho finally stepped in. “Please let Mikey go.”

Clicking her tongue, she roughly released her vice grip around his neck and crossed her arms, huffing a breath. Mikey thanked the fifth division captain and wrapped his arm around (Y/N)’s shoulder like they've been buddies forever.

“If that headlock was the price of gaining a new friend into Toman, so be it,” he stated light-heartedly with a chuckle while rubbing his neck. “And your strength’s no joke, (Y/N). That really hurt! It might leave a bruise.”

“You take karate, don’t you? I’m sure all the capillaries in your body’s used to the beating,” she pointed out, unfazed by his comment.

The two continued bantering on with the rest of the captains joining in. Mitsuya watched from afar and smiled to himself, feeling a little relieved. He thought confessing to her would make things awkward and it didn’t seem to be the case right now. All he can do right now is wait and see what may come from it.

“Phew, that was a helluva meeting though,” Smiley sighed. “To think that asshole Kisaki spurred this whole thing…”

“This may be a random question…” (Y/N) called for everyone’s attention. “What were your impressions of him when he joined?”

“I had my reservations ‘bout him and Hanma. But we needed someone to helm the third division since Pah-chin went to jail,” Mitsuya answered first. “Takemitchy was so against it, he slugged him right in the face during his appointment ceremony.”

“Oh, that’s right… That happened,” the blond pompadour boy sheepishly replied, suddenly remembering the pain in his gut and face. “After I woke up from being punched by him, I told Mikey he was bad news and was trying to convince him to kick him out.”

“I was wondering what the hell Mikey was thinkin’,” Draken answered with honesty.

“So I’m not the only one then…” she muttered and hugged herself, still remembering her brief encounter with him not too long ago. “He had a really bad vibe.”

“What kinda vibe was that?” Mucho asked stoically.

“Being near him felt like… he was suffocating my soul with his dark intents. But he was clever and cautious enough to not rouse suspicion from any of you, particularly from Mucho-kun.”

"In retrospect, I should've kept a closer eye on him," the muscular captain replied with a neutral tone.

Hugging herself tighter, her core shook with uncertainty something big was going to happen. Not wanting to manifest this to reality, she kept it in her mouth.

“Just… Be careful, okay? All of you,” she heeded with concern in her voice.

“What for?” asked Draken.

“Call it women’s intuition. I don’t wanna say anymore.”

Why was Kisaki so obsessed with growing Toman’s numbers? To what end was he willing to use underhanded methods to achieve whatever his goal is? How many more lives was he going to play with? All these questions swam in her head with no answer in sight; the most important thing was he was kicked.

Observing her tense body language, the vice commander decided not to push the issue any further. Everyone went their separate ways after calling it for the night. As if by habit, Mitsuya threw the spare helmet at (Y/N) to catch. Hesitantly getting on Impulse, she tightened the helmet on top of her head before loosely wrapping her arms around his torso.

“You can hug a little tighter, y’know,” he encouraged with a lopsided smirk. “You’re not gonna choke me.”

The ride back home was quiet but not tense. Confession aside, the two were simply enjoying each other’s company. Feeling exhaustion creep up with his bike's calm revving in the mix like a lullaby, (Y/N) rested her head on his back with half-lidded eyes before drifting off. There was always something comforting she found about Mitsuya’s back; it was like a security blanket. The lilac haired boy decided to ride a little slower to prevent her from falling over and to stretch their time together. Pulling up around the corner of her building complex, he turned the engine off before gently nudging his friend with his left shoulder.

“(Y/N)…” he softly called. “We’re here.”

Letting out a breathy moan, she let out a quick sigh and sat up straight to stretch her arms out, hearing her shoulder joints crack. Thanking him for the lift, she hopped off of the bike and returned the helmet.

“How’s your finals prep going?” he asked to make conversation.

“It’s going. I’m just aiming for the public schools with some kinda design program.”

“We may end up at the same school then,” Mitsuya said with a light chuckle.

“Mi-tan, listen…” She fidgeted with her fingertips, not making eye contact. “About what you said on New Years--”

“Let me take you out on a date,” he jumped in with his proposal, making her look up with surprise. “I feel like I pushed my feelings onto you without considering yours.” Hopping off of Impulse, he walked to her and tenderly grasped her hands, staring at her with those calm, lavender eyes.

“Besides, I owe you a meal for Christmas,” he finished with a cheerful grin.

“I… actually forgot about that,” she blinked in realization.

“You? Forget free food?” he teased. “That’s a shocker.”

“Rude.”

Mitsuya and (Y/N) broke out in a light fit of laughter to break the tension.

“And if I say no?” she challenged with a cocked eyebrow, her gaze holding onto his.

“Would you say no?” he responded with a low, deep voice almost to the point of whispering. She stayed silent and continued looking at her friend without any reaction.

“Would you?” he asked a little louder this time with mild concern and knitted eyebrows.

“I’m thinking,” she coolly replied and playfully batted her eyelashes.

“Need another moment?” he quipped with a small tone of annoyance.

“I like seeing you sweat,” (Y/N) finally answered with a coltish roll of her eyes. “But I guess I’ll say yes. You’re really twisting my arm here.”

Since the end of the Christmas Conflict, the streets of Tokyo were seemingly much more peaceful as of late. (Y/N) found herself spacing out from studying chemistry. English was a breeze since she had first-hand conversational and writing experience with foreign exchange students at her old middle school. They were the only people who weren’t afraid to talk to her.

This wasn’t the problem right now.

It was her date with Mitsuya. All she had to wear were over sized tops and jeans. Nothing to make her look feminine at all. With her tight budget, it’s not like she could go on a shopping spree to buy a whole new wardrobe either.

She rested her head on her table with a muffled thud and groaned out loud.

“Why do I do this to myself?” she said to herself aloud and lightly slammed her forehead on the hard surface with soft thuds, suddenly wondering about her masochistic tendencies.

Her mobile phone started ringing and drew her attention away from inside her head to pick up the call.

“Emma-chan? What’s up?”

“Ah, (Y/N)? Are you free right now?”

“Technically, no, but my brain can’t study anymore,” she lamented and rubbed her temple. “If I see another science formula in my eyelids, I’m gonna scream.”

“Oh good! Let’s make some sweets together then!” the younger Sano suggested.

“So… you’re stress baking?”

“No, for Valentine’s Day!” Emma exclaimed.

“Isn’t it kinda early?” she asked.

“Well, I wanna do a test run,” she elaborated. “I bought a recipe book, but I can’t decide what to make for Draken…”

“Sure, why not?” (Y/N) agreed with a light shrug of her shoulders. “I need to air out my brain. Oh, I have pictures to give you.”

“Great! I’ll call Hina over too and we can make it a girl’s day,” she cheerfully replied.

The two said their good-byes and hung up. Slowly standing on her feet, (Y/N) let out a big stretch and yawned before getting ready. She reached the Sano residence in 30 minutes on foot with Emma greeting her at the door. Coming here by herself felt weird without the Toman captains for some reason.

“Hina’ll be here soon,” Emma announced as she took (Y/N) upstairs to her room; it was exactly how she imagined it: cute, girly, warm and soft. Her bed had a magenta pink bear resting by her pillow and the walls had scattered photos of family and Toman members, particularly with Draken, Mikey, a boy with long, flowing raven black hair and the other captains. On the table in the middle of her room had scattered recipe books of sweets with taped bookmarks on the edges along with a small bowl of snacks prepared ahead of time.

The doorbell rang downstairs not long after; Emma ran down to let Hina in while (Y/N) snacked on some chips. The girls greeted one another and got to talking. She then gave each of them a copy of their photos.

Emma flipped through the pictures happily. “These came out so good, (Y/N)!”

“The touch-ups took a lot longer than expected. Mikey picked a lot of the Christmas ones when he came over.”

Hina stopped at a specific photo and started blushing; she was staring at a photo of her and Takemichi looking at each other starry eyed during dinner. The next photo was of Emma and Draken mid-conversation with Mikey to the side eating happily, followed with more candid group shots leading up to New Year’s. Hina then revealed one where it was Draken, (Y/N) with a dumb grin on her face and Mitsuya talking. She and Emma couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“Ah…” she suddenly remembered and inwardly winced from embarrassment. “I think Yuzu-chan took this when I was drunk… I’ve never felt so betrayed, even though it’s a good one.” Having gone through all the photos, they then turned their attention to the scattered recipe books.

“I was thinking of making Draken a cake…” Emma started off.

“That’s gonna be hard for him to carry, no?” (Y/N) asked. “Since he’ll most likely be on Zephyr.”

“I swear, that bike…” the blonde grumbled.

“Emma sees Zephyr as her rival,” Hina clarified with an uneasy smile.

“I mean, if I had a bike I built from scratch, I’d probably feel the same way…” she trailed off nervously.

“Are you siding with Zephyr now?!” Emma huffed defensively and slammed her hands on the low table.

“No! Of course not!” (Y/N) exclaimed, holding her hands out in a neutral manner. “I mean, it’s not like a bike can cook so…”

Having seemed to have calmed down, Emma went back to flipping through the pages in one of the recipe books as she sighed with relief. Eventually settling on cookies and truffles, the three shuffled their way down to the kitchen to start testing recipes.

“Who will you be making these for?” Hina asked (Y/N).

“Eh? Ah…” She thought for a short beat and scratched the side of her face. “I just thought of giving them to the Toman captains as obligatory chocolates.”

“Boo~” Emma jeered. “I won’t let you make any if it’s gonna be something boring like that.”

“Why don’t you make some for Mitsuya-kun?” the rose brown haired girl suggested with a smile, making (Y/N) immediately look away with blotches of pink dotting the apples of her cheeks and coughed from choking on her own spit.

“Ohhh ho ho ho?” Emma tittered and got up close to her with a sly look. “Did something happen?”

“N-Not in particular…” she mumbled out while continuing to avoid eye contact and inwardly screamed at her body for betraying her feelings.

“That blush says otherwise.”

“Emma-chan, take it easy on her,” Hina playfully tutted.

“I’m…” she came forward with hesitation. “I’m not good with this… girl talk stuff. So… Give me some time, yeah?”

“Of course. Sorry if I was being pushy,” Emma apologized.

The three finalized the ingredients and recipes they were going to test. (Y/N) got to setting up a double boiler on the stove top to melt some chocolates for truffles while Hina and Emma respectively worked on the dough for checkered cookies. Feeling the kitchen was too quiet, Emma ran upstairs and brought her small boombox from her room down to play some music from her favourite radio station. Everything was either chilling or baking after another hour. As if by magic, the sweetness of the cookies filled the Sano household with a sense of home and warmth.

“Something smells really good,” Mikey suddenly entered the kitchen and was surprised to see the two guests sitting with his sister. He greeted them warmly.

“We’re testing some stuff,” (Y/N) told him. “It’s for—mmph!”

The female Sano immediately covered her mouth from spilling any more information. For someone as petite as her, she surprisingly had a lot of strength. She knew Mikey would definitely hang this over her head, especially if it’s anything to do with Draken.

“I just thought of playing around with some recipes for fun,” Emma nervously explained with a light blush and awkward laugh.

“Hmm…” Mikey gave his sister a nonchalant look. Before he can prod any more, the doorbell rung at the main entrance, followed with the opening of the sliding door.

“It’s nice and warm in here,” a familiar voice noted and rubbed his hands together. “And smells sweet.”

“Ah, good timing, Ken-chin,” Mikey greeted his best friend. “The girls are makin’—”

“Gaah! Out! Out! Out!” Emma exclaimed and pushed her brother from the kitchen and into the hallway, out of fear of ruining the surprise. He collided with the tall boy's torso.

“What the—?! Emma?!”

She slammed the sliding door right in Mikey’s face.

“No boys allowed in here!” she shouted from the other side.

(Y/N) used a bathroom break as an excuse to take a breather. Letting out an audible breath, she vacated the washing closet and decided to sneak outside for some fresh air. Sliding open one of the wooden partitions in the living room, she tucked herself into her thick sweater and looked at her white breath floating up to the air in the wintry afternoon sky.

“(Y/N)?” Mikey’s voice called from the left end of the residence. “That you?”

She made her way over and saw him and Draken doing maintenance on Babu.

“I need a small break from the girl talk.” She tilted her neck slightly to the left and let out a small crack; she sighed in relief. “Never thought it’d be that intense. Ah…” She reached into her back pocket and handed each of them a white envelope of photos. The two thanked her and placed them aside so it wouldn’t get dirty.

“This is the first time she’s kicked me outta the kitchen when she’s making something,” Mikey pouted while waiting for the oil on his bike to drain out onto the pan below.

“Well…” She scratched the back of her head awkwardly. “It’s sort of a surprise and she didn’t wanna ruin—”

“She’s making stuff for Valentine’s Day, right?” he interrupted. “She does it every year! So why’s this time any different?”

“Ask her, not me,” she flatly replied, not wanting to get in the middle of their sibling squabble.

“So what’ll you be making, (Y/N)-chan?” Draken asked as he opened a new can of oil for Mikey to put into his bike.

“Truffles,” she briskly answered. “Though it’s just obligatory chocolates…”

“Huh? You’re not makin’ ‘em for Mitsuya?” the vice commander questioned with slight confusion.

“Okay,” she sighed and placed her hands on her hips. “What’s with all the Mi-tan talk today?”

“I mean, he does like you,” Mikey pointed out.

(Y/N) wordlessly stuttered as her face blushed two shades of red and turned her back to the boys to regain composure.

“Oh you didn’t know?” Draken casually asked. “He was staring at you all night when we were at the temple on New Years.”

“I’m not… having this conversation right now.” She knitted her eyes shut, not wanting to think about their upcoming date. “Especially with you two.”

“If anything, we two are the best for you to talk to,” Draken pointed out with a mischievous smirk. “He’s pretty popular with the girls, y’know. We can tell you all 'bout his type, who's confessed, his pe—”

“DON’T. NEED. TO KNOW!” she shouted out of embarrassment and annoyance in Sendai dialect, her face a nice shade of tomato red now. (Y/N) stomped back into the house with a slam of the partition door. The dragon tattooed boy guffawed loudly.

“Ken-chin… Rare of you to say stuff like that.”

“I was in a teasin’ mood,” he answered back with a toothy grin and chuckled, feeling satisfied for the payback she dealt him about Emma.

Recomposing herself at the door, she entered the kitchen to see the cookies were done. Partaking in the freshly baked good, she took a bite of the cookie; it was mildly sweet and buttery. She chased the treat down with a sip of the rose milk tea Emma brewed. It was like a piece of heaven touching her tongue. (Y/N)’s face showed a sudden expression of inner peace and tranquility, as if a halo radiated behind her.

This was what she needed after that weird exchange.

After sampling the cookies, they got to making a simplified version of truffles. Emma wanted to buy cute molds to pour the chocolates in, but were too pricey. (Y/N) demonstrated how to do it by spooning the chilled ganache into her hand. Rolling the cool treat in her palms to form into a ball, she then placed it into the bowl of cocoa powder to coat it and dropped it in clean bowl so it can be chilled after.

In the end, they made more than expected due to (Y/N) accidentally melting too much chocolate. After the last one was rolled, they put the bowl into the fridge and cleaned up while waiting for them to set; another hour later, they were ready to eat. Mikey and Draken then barged into the kitchen to get something to drink.

“Mikey!” Emma tutted. “Didn’t I say you weren’t allowed—”

“Whoa! Chocolates!” her brother stared at the bowl all starry eyed. “They look so good!”

“Emma-chan, I’m sure we can let them eat some,” (Y/N) advocated with a sympathetic tone. “It’s a lot for the three of us.”

“Besides,” Hina chimed in with a smile. “We need them to taste test, right?”

The two boys took one truffle each and ate it, carefully tasting it.

“How is it?” Emma asked nervously.

“It’s not as sweet as I thought it’d be,” Mikey commented and licked the cocoa powder off of his thumb. “But still good.”

“It's good but...” Draken thought for a beat. “Maybe something crunchy to go with it?”

After the sweets were polished off, Hina left since she promised to meet up with Takemichi for a little bit before heading home.

“What’ll you do, (Y/N)-chan?” Emma asked and sipped her tea.

“I don’t wanna go back yet,” she groaned out with slumped shoulders. “I think I’ve maxed out my mental bandwidth with studying.”

“Stay for dinner then?” the younger Sano suggested. “I’m making katsu tonight.”

“Oh my God. Yes,” she quickly affirmed with glitter shining in her orbs. “Have I told you I love you?”

“I thought you loved Yuzuha,” Mikey teased and ate a cookie, remembering her drunken statement from New Year’s.

“I can love more than one person,” she coolly replied.

While Emma got busy to preparing dinner and kicked (Y/N) out because her policy was guests don’t need to help. She followed Draken and Mikey back to his room to hang for a bit. En route, she saw a dojo with the wooden doors shut not too far from where they were.

“You wanna see the dojo?” Mikey piped up.

“I’m… curious,” she coyly responded.

Making their way in, the male Sano slid a door open to let his friends in. The only light source coming in was from the setting sun at the entrance way and the windows at the top of the room. It was still and peaceful with a scent of outside mixed with the people who were here before.

“When was the last time you were in here, Mikey?” Draken asked.

“It’s… been a while.” He looked at (Y/N)’s back analyzing the place with a sense of tranquility and wonder. “Grandpa’s been wanting me to stop by to demonstrate to his students.”

“Oh you have a wooden dummy!” she excitedly noted and briskly walked up to it, the light tapping of her approaching feet echoing in the space. Placing a palm on the main base, a flood of memories came back to her from when Jun was teaching her jeet kune do. “Rare for a karate dojo to have something like this.”

“Guess grandpa’s trying something new?” the male Sano shrugged.

Taking a light breath, (Y/N) struck the dummy at its center with her palm, the hit echoing in the room. She rolled up her sleeves and proceeded to interact with the rest of the pegs in forms of blocking and attacking. Every strike she hit reverberated as a form of expelled energy. The two spectated as she got into a rhythm with the dummy, as if showing them how to use it. Her arms were like interweaving river streams with every movement, each purposeful strike was like a small wave crashing into a rock.

With a final hit, she audibly exhaled and wiped a light sheen of sweat from her forehead.

“Sorry. I got too into it,” she let out an airy chuckle and placed her palm on the dummy again with a dull thud. “I always found fighting to be a physical form of communication.”

“How so?” asked Draken.

“It’s… intimate.” She drew her right hand back and looked at her palm before lightly clasping it into a fist. “You’re fully able to express yourself where words can’t.”

“I don’t get it,” the tall tattooed boy scratched the back of his neck. (Y/N) gestured him to come closer to her.

“Hit me.”

“What?”

“Not for real. Like sparring,” she clarified. “Come on. Humor me.”

Draken audibly sighed and slumped his shoulders. Slowly approaching her, he released a combo with his right and left straights at barely half strength, to which she easily blocked by pushing his arms away.

“’I don’t wanna hurt you. This is dumb.’” she said with a smirk. “That’s what your fists were telling me.”

“Well obviously!” he stated with annoyance. “Anyone with eyes could see that!”

“Let me try,” Mikey chimed in.

“What? No way! You’re too strong,” Draken frowned. “You’ll knock her out.”

“You know I’d never hit a girl, Ken-chin,” he firmly declared with a small smile. The vice commander already knew what Mikey was going to do: he gave him that look of curiosity and wanted to test how strong she was. He knew anything he’d say after this would fall on deaf ears.

“Just… be careful, (Y/N)-chan,” the tall boy warned. “Don’t get carried away.”

The two faced each other as the room got darker from the dying light outside. Waiting for their eyes to adjust to the dark, Mikey made the first move with his signature roundhouse. Foreseeing this, (Y/N) went on the defensive and successfully blocked it with her right arm.

“Oh? It’s like that huh?” she remarked and shook her limb out from the sting. Even at half strength, his kicks packed a punch.

“If I went all out, you’d be out cold,” Mikey pointed out with a smirk and attacked again. (Y/N) managed to block a few of the punches and kicks he threw and ended up being struck on her left shoulder and let out a small grunt. She stepped back and rotated her shoulders, letting out a breath to reset.

“Not bad,” she praised with an amused grin. “My turn.”

Stepping into Mikey’s space, she unleashed a few fast jabs, hooks and kicks at him as he bobbed and weaved through them by a breath’s hair. Her hits didn’t look like it from an audience’s point of view, but they were fast and had weight behind it. The blond knew she was holding back her strength too, mentally admitting to himself he’d be in trouble should he ever get hit by them.

He noticed there was no wasted movement or momentum with her and each attack had intent. (Y/N)’s last right hook lightly grazed his cheek from the amount of power she let out, leaving a red mark. The sting was as sharp as a knife cutting his skin.

“Oh dang. Sorry!” She immediately stopped. “You okay?”

“I’m good,” he replied with a smile and rubbed the area she touched. “But we should stop here.”

“We were getting a little too intense for Draken,” she agreed and chuckled. “He was holding his breath the whole time.”

“I don’t wanna hear you two cry ‘bout it if either of you got hurt!” he angrily grunted.

Wrapping up their brief sparring session, Emma came out on time to let everyone know dinner was ready. They all contently ate while talking about nonsensical things and laughing. Draken had to head back to the salon not long after, remembering he had to cover for the manager at the front desk tonight for the night shift. Realizing how late it was getting, (Y/N) decided to head out as well.

“Thanks for dinner, Emma-chan. It was so good!” she complimented while putting her shoes on.

“Come by anytime! In exchange…” She leaned into the side of her right ear. “You have to tell me what’s going on with you and Mitsuya.”

“On second thought, I think I can manage on my own,” she deadpanned and made final adjustments on her left shoe before standing.

“Meanie!” she pouted and crossed her arms.

“If there’s anything going on…” (Y/N) continued with her back facing her and turned her head with a gentle smile. “… I’ll do my best to let you know.”

Saying their good nights, she exited the house and saw Mikey wearing his white Toman bomber jacket on top of his casual clothes on Babu.

“I’ll take you back.”

Taglist: @netzukochannn @toobsessedsstuff @owiee12 @wakasasucker

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