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marsreds · 1 month ago

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Ough ough ough, you're cooking with this!! Because this ties it all so nicely and like. The laying out of the various ways it could've gone and who is actually good for Zaun/the Undercity.

What I mean is that if you look it as Jinx=Zaun you also get to project all these other relationships as metaphor for how all these characters (and their ideologies) interact with the idea of Zaun (in season 1):

Sevika being single-mindedly furious and uncompromising which can only lead to something breaking down the line.

Ekko who claims to reject it, but when it comes to it, he can't let it go. Stripped of all, he does in fact want a free Zaun, even when it's to his detriment. (Boy Savior indeed.)

Caitlyn is just. Terrified but can't manage to take the shot, because no matter how much Piltover tries to stomp it out it's not gonna happen.

Silco who loves her/Zaun with all of his being, identifies with her/its suffering but in spite of all of that, he's just not what she/it needs but he's also, due to circumstance, the only one she/it has at the time.

Vi is the odd one out here in this reading imo, but I also think that is intentional because Vi was always supposed to pick her sister over anything else, and that means transcending the metaphor and caring for Powder/Jinx the person, once the synthesis happens in her mind. But thinking about it, even that fits because Zaun the ideal is worth nothing if it isn't centered on people coming together in community.

Anyways, Arcane season one you will always be famous.

Arcane S2 wasn't as good because it wasn't about air

The common critique of Arcane season two was that "it didn't let the story breathe." I'm going to one-up that and state that season one set up an entire story about breathing and forgot that in season two.

Yes, yes, Arcane was a story about Piltover oppressing the undercity, but unlike a lot of other stories about social stratification, Arcane was very explicit about the methods Piltover uses to disenfranchise Zaun. Season one was clearly a story about eco-apartheid maintained through extractivist practices.

WHAT IS ECO-APARTHEID?

Ecological apartheid (also known as enviromental racism) is a form of disenfranchising and spatially separating a class of people through pollution, exploitation, and abuse of their local environment.

[E]nvironmental apartheid was largely instituted through rural marginalization, the use of rural space as an environmental means of marginalization... - Environmental apartheid: Eco-health and rural marginalization in South Africa

Topside and the undercity are basically one nation state with a blindingly stark fence between them. Piltover and Zaun are simultaneously connected and separated by the Bridge of Progress. Progress unites them and alienates them from one another. Progress is why Piltover is wealthy and clean, and it is why Zaun is impoverished and polluted. It is was on the Bridge of Progress that Silco incited the riot that led to Vi and Powder's orphaning and Vander's betrayal. It's where Ekko and Jinx have their standoff, and where the Hextech core is exchanged. In other words, progress is a border.

WHAT IS EXTRACTIVISM?

Prior to the proliferation of shimmer and the chembarons, industry in the undercity appears to be heavily centralized around one thing — fissure mining. Vi and Powder's parents used to be miners along with Vander and Silco. Jayce and Vi visit one of these mines and she explains the masks the workers use. Oh, and let's not forget the children don't have to yearn for the mines when they're dying in the mines!

The Zaunites' livelihood being dependant on the extraction of natural resources for the benefit of the Piltovans is what is known as extractivism — the exploitation of a resource-rich land and its people by a separate "global North."

In practice, extractivism has been a mechanism of colonial and neocolonial plunder and appropriation. This extractivism, which has appeared in different guises over time, was forged in the exploitation of the raw materials essential for the industrial development and prosperity of the global North. - Extractivism and neoextractivism: two sides of the same curse

The "North," in this case, clearly being Piltover. The resources being abused and exploited here aren't only the fissure mines, but also the bodies of the workers and those born around them. Viktor's illness, for example, is a product of growing up around the gaseous waste of the fissure mines. The Zaunites take the brunt of the side-effects of the pollution so that the topsiders don't have to. The "dregs" are kept below while materials, both people and things, that are deemed useful get to rise to the top. The processing of raw materials and shipping happens in Piltover, so it's the Piltovans who get a final say on the profits.

Silco and the chembarons establish their power by creating an industry that operates outside of fissure mining that doesn't rely on the patronage of the global North. Needless to say, drug dealing isn't exactly a noble trade, but extraction, processing, and distribution are mainly controlled and operated by Zaunites, which allows them a source of wealth and power that they can leverage against Piltover. To use a more recognizable phrase, they own the means of shimmer production.

I find it fascinating that shimmer is made by killing innocent underground creatures. Cannibalizing your own kind for a temporary boost of strength that eventually turns the user into a monster? It's a poignant metaphor about the infighting of not just the chembarons' gangs but of oppressed groups in general. And while shimmer offers power and brings in wealth, that's not what the undercity truly needs and only corrupts it even further.

Nah, the show has been very clear that what Zaun needs is breathable air.

SEASON 2 FORGOT ABOUT AIR

Even outside of the air pollution caused by fissure mining, the theme of breathing and air is everywhere in season one. Ekko and the Firelights' community is built around a tree — the clean air it provides is the reason they've been able to sustain themselves. It is considered an oasis in polluted Zaun. Jinx's is often heralded by brightly colored smoke, and the way she signals to Violet is through a flare that emits it. Silco's altercation with Vander involves him almost drowning — Vander literally choking the air out of him. Silco, in reponse to this traumatic event, teaches Jinx to willingly submerge herself in a place without air by baptizing her in the same filthy water he was choked in.

In other words, air is life and purpose. Zaun's aesthetics are defined by gas masks and smoke. Meanwhile, the scenes in Piltover are clean and clear. Ekko and the Firelights' tree represented hope and the possibility of clean air in Zaun. Viktor was similarly associated to flowers that grew in the underground, symbolizing how beautiful things can live even in the harshest circumstances.

Environmental degradation, more specifically air pollution, is the raison d'être of topside-undercity conflict. Silco says as much when he threatens the other chembarons and reminds them of why he's in charge.

Have you forgotten where we came from? The mines they had us in? Air so thick it clogs your throat — stuck in your eyes. I pulled you all up from the depths, offered you a taste of topside and fresh air. I gave you life. Purpose. But you've grown fat and complacent, too much time in the sun. We came from a world where there was never enough to go around. That is why we fight. Do you remember? - The Boy Savior, Arcane S01E07

But by the second and third acts of season two, pollution may not as well exist in Zaun. How does Viktor's commune plant its flowers and grow its fruits? Does the Firelights' tree ever get cured of its corruption? Did everyone forget that the undercity is literally suffocating? Seriously, why is Ekko's storyline with the tree never resolved? Why give Jinx that monologue about a wispy goddess of air the fissurefolk pray to and never go anywhere with it?

JINX SHOULD HAVE BEEN ASSOCIATED TO JANNA

The Grey presented an opportunity for Jinx to be the revolutionary hero Arcane wanted her to be. The enforcers have clearly aligned themselves with pollution and poison, and Jinx could have been the herald of their wind goddess come to answer the people's prayers for relief. But the people don't rally behind Jinx because of her association to Janna, clean air, or her repelling the invading cops using bioweapons.

I firmly believe that Jinx being a symbol of the revolution because she blew up a government building is missing a few steps. She'll get radicals who already hated Piltover behind her, sure, but the everyday Zaunite would more likely blame her for causing chaos and bringing trouble to their streets. Because the average person doesn't really care who's on the council or if a politician so far from them dies. But they do care if the cops are suddenly at their door with tear gas because an extremist junkie decided to commit arson.

The first act of season two had me very optimistic that the show was picking up where it left off with its enviromental themes. The enforcers use The Grey, polluted air, to surpress dissent and hunt down Jinx. Jinx fights back under a mural of Janna, the goddess of clean air. Her plan involves her using air to push back The Grey and send the gust up to Piltover. After being actively gassed by the enforcers, Jinx and her association to colorful wind becomes a symbol of hope and revolution to the people of the undercity.

Except that's not what happens. The Grey is only shown affecting targeted criminals with no collateral damage to civilians despite it being deployed all over the trenches. The gusts of wind Jinx pushes up to Piltover don't make topsiders experience the air pollution Zaunites suffer. Instead, it just midly inconveniences them with paint splatters. In the end, The Grey is forgotten and has nothing to do with their fight in front of Janna's mural. Caitlyn gets a promotion despite gassing the entire underground with nothing to show for it, and the undercity idolizes Jinx despite her being the reason they were gassed in the first place.

ECOLOGICAL RESTORATION IS INTERPERSONAL RESTORATION

Unlike in the game, Arcane chose topside and the undercity to be originally established as one city — and I don't think that was done without reason. The nation of Zaun and its identity is established as a reaction to the suffering of those underground. A community developed centered around helping one another cope and survive through the pollution. In short, Piltover created Zaun.

Thus, the interplay between Piltover and Zaun extended to all plotlines and the relationships they explored and developed. Jinx and Vi, Vi and Caitlynn, Viktor and Jayce, Ekko and Heimerdinger — these are all relationships that reflect the tension between Zaun and Piltover. Family torn apart by civil war, bitter ex lovers, different ideological approaches to scientific advancement, intuitive inventiveness and practiced genius. Their relationships are born from a common desire and degrade because of that looming border inflicted by the pursuit of progress.

Piltover and Zaun is a single house fractured because of how it threw all its detritus in the basement as it sought to build a tower that will reach the skies. The whole building is threatening to crumble, especially now that someone threw a bomb at it like in the finale of season one. The status quo Arcane and we as a globalized eco-apartheid have is extremely precarious as is any foundation built on abuse and exploitation. A lot of people will cheer on the Jinxes who don't care so much about fixing it than they do burning it all down to express their understandable rage and grief, but that doesn't really fix the problem of having breathable air, does it?

Unfortunately, we'll never know how the show will wrap up the Zaunite plight because it was all but forgotten in season 2. The problem of Zaun was never that they needed to evolve or be perfect — it's that their environment and the people by extension were being suffocated.

In my perfect world, the finale would have addressed the lack of light and clean air in the underground. It would have mirrored how some bodies and relationships can never truly fully recover the damage that has been done. As in real life, restoration is not a substitute for not doing harm in the first place. But it could have ended with a hopeful message that burning it down and running away isn't the answer either.

When Viktor was healing Vander and decided that, despite the unprecedented effort and time, his natural, non-weaponized humanity was worth saving because of how much he means to his local community, I thought that was what they were going for. Alas, they didn't let the show breathe.

#arcane #arcane meta #this is also another reason for me to be sad about Jinx and Viktor never *really* interacting #but he's in a different faucet of the self-extractivism story #mainly the self-destruction in the pursuit of “usefulness”#my personal read on Viktor is that he's obviously an immigrant #and i feel like he fills this interesting spot as someone who very explicitly embodies the consequences of Piltover's oppression #but at the same time belongs to neither #and i think it fits into this metaphor because i think he proves his brilliance with very careful and calculated application of chaos #the running yourself ragged #unless you've won the charisma lottery the way jayce had #it's what that stupid “cindy you're beautiful even with your glasses” speech should've been about #it's not about flaws #it's about inherent worth as a person divorced of your “contributions to society”#and it needed to come from Mr. Modernism himself #but that's a tangent #the point is that they (jinx and viktor) have parallel roads of self-annihilation ahead of them #bc capitalism chews up all #physical laborers #intellectual laborers #children #the disabled #ideas and innovation and anyone who isn't making money in the name of more money #woof #this is like 7 different trains of thought but whatever #season 1 you will always be famous

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literaryvein-reblogs · 6 months ago

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Any fancy temperature words? Like replacements for hot, cold and whatever in between

Algid - cold

Arctic - bitter cold

Ardent - fiery, hot

Balmy - mild, temperate

Blazing - of outstanding power, speed, heat, or intensity

Calenture - a fever formerly supposed to affect sailors in the tropics

Cryogenic - being or relating to very low temperatures

Decalescence - the decrease in temperature when the rate of heat absorption during transformation exceeds the rate of heat input while heating metal through a transformation range

Febrile - marked or caused by fever; feverish

Febrility - feverishness

Fervent - very hot; glowing

Fervid - very hot; burning

Frigid - intensely cold

Frore - frosty, frozen

Frosty - briskly cold; chilly

Gelid - extremely cold; icy

Glacial - extremely cold

Hibernal - of, relating to, or occurring in winter

Hyperthermic - exceptionally high fever especially when induced artificially for therapeutic purposes

Hypothermic - subnormal temperature of the body

Igneous - of, relating to, or resembling fire; fiery

Lukewarm - moderately warm; tepid

Molten - having warmth or brilliance

Pyrexia - abnormal elevation of body temperature; fever

Recalescence - the increase in temperature when the rate of heat liberation during transformation exceeds the rate of heat dissipation while cooling metal through a transformation range

Rigorous - marked by extremes of temperature or climate

Rime - frost

Scalding - hot enough to scald

Searing - very hot

Steamy - hot and humid

Tepid - moderately warm; lukewarm

Thermogenic - relating to, caused by, or inducing the production of heat

Torrid - giving off intense heat; scorching

Wintry - of, relating to, or characteristic of winter; chilly

Xerothermic - characterized by heat and dryness

Hope this helps with your writing. Do tag me, or send me a link. I'd love to read your work!

More: Word Lists ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

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boobav · 3 months ago

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Viktor this season has rlly inspired me. I hope you all enjoy the various drabbles :) I'll try write more here.

The first time you met Viktor, you recall, the sun was shining.

The meeting was perfectly ordinary. Not even a meeting, really, seeing as you learnt his name a week later.

With a cool breeze, you ate your lunch in silence, head held to the sun as though a flower in bloom. You closed your eyes, breathed deep. Meditative perfection.

And when you reopened them, he was there.

Half-frozen in the doorway, he gazed at you with what seemed like surprise, at the time. Later you'd learn that he was, from his own words, mesmerised.

"Professor." He'd said in polite greeting, looking away. You smiled, but he left the way he came before any conversation could commence.

The next meeting, he was the one sat outside, silently pondering something. You'd found his expression of concentration endearing beyond words. The furrow of his brows, the occasional, unconscious movement of his lips. The way his eyes lit up when they landed on you.

The weather that afternoon, when you'd strolled over to properly introduce yourself to the man, was similarly bright. A perfect blue running across the sky. A songbird somewhere unseen, and the breeze defined by its almost supernatural ability to alleviate.

You weren't superstitious, nor did you believe in signs, an elusive, irrational concept. But with his presence offering as much warmth as the sun, with the way his eyes ran nervously from yours only to return, bound by some societal principal of politeness, with the way he tested your name on his tongue that cloudless day, you thought maybe there really was something to the concept. Some sign leading you to him.

"How about we get lunch sometime?" You hadn't exactly thought the offer out. But his smile alone was quick to convince you of the idea.

"Of course," Viktor said, "are you... free now?"

"I think I had something planned, but I seem to have forgotten all about it..."

For a few months, then, you re-learnt what it meant to be alive.

To meet someone so perfectly in tune with your every move seemed fantastical, seemed like a sign. You spent free weekends not hunched over a desk, stressed beyond articulation, but with Viktor. You learnt of his work, learnt of the pure brilliance that bloomed at the mere touch of his hands.

And you learnt every contour of those hands. Pressed your lips into the palms, into every scar and cut. A fleeting remedy, but one he grew unable to live without. For he, too, had to re-learn what it meant to be alive.

He felt astoundingly undeserving of what you seemed so willing to provide. More than love, but adoration. Something almost approaching worship. He felt the weakness of his own body so acutely with yours pressed against it, so terribly perfect. Whatever scar or mark you seemed to mention in distaste, he loved. He thought, maybe, that you were some kind of sign. That things would get better. That the traitor he called a body would recover or, at least, stop wilting away.

But nothing changed. Not really.

Learning of his illness wasn't a shock, because it wasn't a secret. Jayce mentioned it to you often. The real shock came on slow. Like a spider taking it's time to crawl up your spine. As the months passed, the extent of its deteriorating effect showed itself. Viktor's heart, weak against your own. The bags under his eyes darkening further, his pale skin sinking pallid.

Happiness, by some twisted measure or other, seems to run from its owner more often than not.

You think you're living in a state of euphoria, a state of perfection for so long, the way we were supposed to exist. You feel as though nothing could break this film of joy over your life, that you're somehow exempt from reality.

But you're not.

Overtime, Viktor shut himself off. He spent more and more time in the lab. He had very little to say. When you broke down, the only consolation he could offer was a quiet apology, mumbled from across the room.

You dreamt of consolation. Every night, from then on. Endless fields of restorative ideas. Endless ways to make him feel better, to be there for him even if he found the idea ludicrous.

Because why would you waste your time with him? He knows you're better off somewhere else, stretched out in the warm weather without a burden as heavy as him on your back. The pillar you were in his life, crumbled by his own hand. He deemed it necessary. Convinced himself so.

But what could you do?

You could barely comprehend his struggle. How could you even begin to ease it?

This thought process kept you from physically seeking this dream of yours. A warning sign from your mind, a psychological guard rail which, in reality, only protected you from yourself. All these flowery ideas of reconciliation, bouquets of roses and trays of baked goods in your mind, and yet, you did nothing.

The attack on the council made sure that you'd never have the chance.

Jayce had been the one to tell you. Tell you that among the victims was the dream gifted to you every night, the man you viewed as an inseparable extension of yourself. And when you visited, stared up at whatever the hexcore was doing to Viktor, you felt an unparalleled hatred.

For yourself, for your failings and shortcomings. Every time a word came out wrong. Every time a day ended in silence.

Rising tensions, blood on the city streets. Soon, you had nothing left in Piltover besides a few shattered friends.

So you left.

Of course, you felt that you'd never see Viktor again.

Even if somehow he survived the critical condition he lay struggling in, you convinced yourself that he wouldn't want to speak to you. Perhaps out of self preservation. Perhaps out of genuine belief.

A knock at the door was already uncommon. And, certainly, a knock that specific. Gentle, apprehensive. You stumbled out of bed with an undeniable sense of neuroticism, convincing yourself of the knocks familiarity whilst simultaneously convincing yourself of your own delusion.

But, there he was.

Wrapped in a robe, which to you appeared regal, the blue sky beyond framing his pale face, was Viktor. A songbird carried the news, then another, but your words seemed inadequate compared to theirs.

He raises a hand to cup your face, the flesh replaced with something firm, something running with a strength he himself barely comprehends.

You place a kiss on his palm.

#arcane x reader #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #arcane

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i2sunric · 2 months ago

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𝗬𝗢𝗨’𝗥𝗘 𝗟𝗢𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗠𝗘 (s.jy)

unrequited love (but is it really?)

MASTERLIST

PAIRING: bestfriend!jake x reader (f)

SUMMARY: you’d loved him quietly for so long, it felt like a part of who you were. but love, when unspoken, had a way of festering. it filled the silences, lingered in the spaces between you, and left you questioning everything.

WARNINGS: heartbreak, too little communication (barely one at all), reader watches from afar, jake is kinda a f boy (but make it romantically, lol), if only they confessed they’d be happy, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 1st December 2024

WC: 2k

TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @jakeflvrz @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @laurradoesloveu @beomluvrr @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @cloud-lyy (project) @whateverhoon @theothernads

NOW PLAYING: You’re losing me (From The Vault) by Taylor Swift

a/n: very low effort, i’m sorry

Middle school had been a maze of awkward hellos and the formation of friendships, but finding Jake had felt like finding your person.

He'd been the boy who shared his snacks with you when you forgot your lunch, sat beside you in class, whispering jokes that got you both in trouble, and the first person you called when something — anything — happened.

“You're stuck with me now," Jake had said that first day, his grin as bright as the summer sun.

His cheeks were round and he was wearing glasses while his brown hair fell onto his forehead, a beautiful mess.

"Lucky me," you teased, rolling your eyes. But deep inside, you had never felt luckier.

You weren't one to make friendships fast, all your attempts at small talks always ended up being awkward and uneasy, usually with you making a fool out of yourself.

You were glad Jake had been extroverted enough to adopt you.

You still remember the middle school science fair, which was supposed to be a showcase of brilliance and innovation—or so your teacher had declared with far too much enthusiasm. To you and Jake, it was more like a recipe for chaos.

The two of you had decided on making a volcano that would erupt using baking soda and vinegar. It seemed simple enough, but it was proving to be anything but.

"Alright, now we try," he gawked excitedly, holding high the plastic bottle that served for your volcano.

The construction-paper casing you had made in arts and crafts sat beside it, drying after unfortunate an incident involving too much paint.

"Wait," I said, looking at his hands where the measuring cup full was held. "How much vinegar did you put?"

"Uh…" He paused, looking suspiciously guilty. "I don't know. A lot?"

"Jake!" you groaned, trying not to laugh. "It's supposed to be precise! What if it explodes everywhere?"

"That's the point, isn't it?" he shot back, grinning mischievously.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't hide your smile as Jake dramatically tipped the baking soda into the bottle.

For a moment, nothing happened, and the two of you leaned in closer, peering into the bottle like a pair of amateur scientists.

Then it happened.

With a loud whoosh, the vinegar and baking soda reacted with more enthusiasm than either of you had anticipated. The foam burst out of the bottle, spilling onto the desk and splattering onto your hands and clothes.

"Jake!" you shrieked, jumping back as the foam continued to pour out, dripping onto the floor.

Jake was laughing so hard he could barely stand. "It works!" he managed to choke out gasps for air.

“You're impossible," you said, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably as laughter bubbled out of you.

"Admit it," Jake said, wiping his hands on his already-ruined shirt. "This is way cooler than whatever the other kids are doing."

You shook your head, still smiling. "We're definitely getting detention for this."

"Totally worth it," he said, grinning at you.

Through the years, Jake had been your constant— your rock, your safe haven.

Along the way, your feelings changed. It wasn't his laugh that warmed your heart; it was how his hair fell in his eyes when he was focused on something, the way he would hold the door for you without a second thought, and the way he knew how you were feeling without your ever having to say anything.

But you kept those feelings locked away, terrified of what might happen if you said them out loud.

You thought that maybe, with all the high school matters and puberty hitting, Jake would grow distant from you.

You weren't as popular as him; you liked being on your own or with your small circle of friends, especially due to your awkward nature.

But, much to your surprise, your connection only got stronger.

The hallways were never empty, always alive with laughter, chatter, and the occasional sound of lockers slamming shut. You could usually maneuver them with ease, but today was different.

You could feel it— the weight of whispers, eyes darting toward you, and the kind of sharp-edged giggles that made your stomach churn.

You knew they were talking about you. They usually did.

“She's got Jake wrapped around her finger, and I saw her laughing and sweet talking to Sunghoon too. She wants everybody, uh?”

"I know, right? She's so clingy. It's so embarrassing."

The voices were muffled but not small enough, and their words pierced into you like small, jagged pebbles. You continued walking, trying to keep your head high, but it was hard to avoid the way their laughter trailed after you.

As you turned the corner, almost colliding with him, Jake leaned casually against your locker, waiting for you, just like he always did before class.

His smile vanished the instant he saw your face. "Hey," he said quietly, straightening up. "What's wrong?"

“Nothing," you mumbled, fumbling with your combination lock.

Jake's eyebrows furrowed, and he looked down the hall, where the girls were still whispering, their eyes darting between you and Jake. It didn't take him long to put the pieces together.

"Are they bothering you?" he asked, this time sharper.

"No," you said, lying, avoiding his eyes. "It's fine, let's just go to class.

Jake wasn't convinced. He stood there a moment, his jaw clenched, before turning on his heel and walking straight toward the group of girls.

"Jake!" you hissed, grabbing at his arm, but he was already out of reach.

"Hey," he said, his voice even but with a firmness to it as he came to a stop in front of them.

The girls froze; smug expressions faltered under his gaze. "Got something to say about my best friend?"

The hallway grew eerily quiet.

One of the girls, the ringleader of the group, stammered, "W-We weren't talking about her—"

"Right," Jake interrupted her, his tone heavy with sarcasm. "Because I definitely didn't just hear you." he sneered bitterly "Listen, if you've got a problem with her, you've got a problem with me. And trust me, you don't want that."

The girls looked at each other uneasily and then murmured something about needing to get to class, scurrying away.

Jake turned back to you, his expression softening when he saw the mix of embarrassment and gratitude on your face.

"You didn't have to do that," you said quietly as he walked back to you.

"Of course I did," he replied, slinging an arm over your shoulder as if to shield you from the rest of the world. "No one messes with you. Not on my watch."

It was the protectiveness in his voice that warmed your heart, and as the two of you walked to class together, you couldn't help but think that Jake had always been more than just your best friend— he was your safe place, your unwavering ally.

Starting university together had been exciting, a new beginning for the both of you.

New faces, new experiences, and yet the comfort of Jake remained the same. You still would study late into the night together, eat cheap takeout, and walk across campus under the streetlights.

Then Jake started dating.

It wasn't sudden. It began with a girl from his biology class, someone perky and charming.

Then there was a girl in his intramural soccer team, followed by a string of casual dates that never seemed to last long but still stung like tiny pinpricks against your heart.

You told yourself it was fine, that you had no right to feel this way. Jake was your best friend, and he was happy. That was what mattered.

But it's another thing watching him laugh with someone else, watching him give away the pieces of himself you selfishly wanted for yourself— it just hurt in a way no words could describe.

It's one Friday night; Jake convinces you to join him at a party. That wasn't your scene, really, but he had begged, promising it just would not be the same without you.

The music was loud, the laughter even louder, but none of it could drown out the sound of your own thoughts.

You stood by the corner of the room, nursing your drink and pretending not to notice the way Jake's smile lit up the space.

He was in his element: talking, laughing, charming people around him with ease. His dyed blond hair caught the light as he leaned in to hear someone over the noise. And though you tried not to stare, you couldn't help it. He had that effect on you; always had.

You’d loved him quietly for so long, it felt like a part of who you were. But love, when unspoken, had a way of festering.

It filled the silences, lingered in the spaces between you, and left you questioning everything.

“Hey,” Jake’s voice cut through your thoughts, startling you.

You looked up to find him standing in front of you, his signature grin in place. "You've been awfully quiet tonight," he said, tilting his head. "Everything okay?"

You forced a smile, hoping it was convincing. "Yeah, just tired."

Jake studied you for a moment, his gaze softening. "You sure? You've been kind of… distant lately.”

The concern in his voice made your chest tighten. He cared. Of course, he cared. But not in the way you wanted him to.

"I'm fine," you lied, taking a sip of your drink to avoid his piercing gaze.

Jake frowned slightly but didn't push. He never did. It was one of the things you loved about him, his ability to read the room, to know when to give you space.

“Well," he said finally, his voice lightening. "If you need anyone to talk to, you know where to find me."

You nodded, gave him a small smile. "Thanks, Jake."

Yet even as he walked away, your heart was aching, knowing that he'd be there for you but just never in the way you actually needed him to be.

Later that night, after most of the party had cleared out, you found yourself sitting on the back porch, staring up at the stars.

Almost everyone was gone, just a small afterparty happening inside, though you didn't want to be part of any. The chill in the air was a welcome distraction from the turmoil in your chest.

"You okay?" Jake's voice came again, softer this time.

You turned to find him standing in the doorway, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket.

He stepped outside and sat down beside you, the warmth of his presence seeping into your skin.

"Done cleaning?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shook his head, leaning back against the railing. "I was worried about you," he admitted.

Your heart clenched. "I told you, I'm fine."

Jake let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You're an awful liar, you know that?" he eyed you up and down "Seriously, you're quiet. more than usual."

The corner of your mouth twitched, but the smile didn't quite reach your eyes. "Maybe I just don't have anything worth saying.

Jake turned to him, his face soft but serious. "You always have something worth saying," he said. "You just don't let people hear it."

It was a comment that hit closer to home than he probably realized, and for a moment, you considered telling him the truth-about how you felt, about how much it hurt to love him from a distance. But fear kept the words locked in your throat.

Instead, you laughed quietly, shaking your head. "You're too good at this, you know?"

"At what?"

"At making people feel seen," you said, glancing over at him. "It's kind of unfair."

Jake chuckled, his gaze softening. "I just care about the people I love," he said simply.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, even though you knew they weren't meant the way you wanted them to be.

"Jake," you started, voice shaking very slightly. "What if—"

But before you could finish, the door behind you creaked open, and someone called his name.

One of his last situationships, asking for him to come inside. To join her.

"Hold that thought," he said, standing up.

You nodded and saw him disappear into the house; his figure grew tiny before tucking into it. It sounded in the air-the speech you wanted to say after he was already out the back door.

And with all that, beneath the vast expanse of star, something struck you - maybe love towards Jake would mostly be experienced in silence: the remembering of moments and convincing you enough even when those weren't.

Because you wanted him, his presence, half of his heart. You knew you would be content, even with a quarter of that.

But nothing would occur if one kept silent, afraid of spoiling all those years of friendship for some fleeting thing.

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hanniebaeee · 1 month ago

Text

Code Love

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: nothing!!

Genre: colleagues to lovers, flufffff

Summary: Hyunjin is a brilliant post doc at the lab where you're perusing your PhD. He is such a sweet and sexy genius, and you are completely in love.

a/n : For all my science/research girlies 🤭

It was another late night at the lab. You were squinting at the test tubes in front of you trying to make sense of the results. But you were struggling to concentrate with the way your heart was pounding.

He was just sitting there, at his workstation, effortlessly spinning a pipette between his long, elegant fingers. Nothing for your dramatic heart to pound like that.

“Did you hear me, Y/N?” Hyunjin’s soft voice cut through your thoughts.

“Huh?” you blinked, attempting to act like you hadn’t just been imagining how those fingers would feel on your - never mind.

“I said,” Hyunjin grinned, “you’re incubating that reaction too long.”

“Oh, um, I knew that” you fumbled with the timer, cheeks heating up. “Totally knew that. Thanks, Hyunjin.”

“Sure, no problem,” he said, eyes sparkling like he enjoyed watching you unravel.

God, why was he like this?

That face? Those lips? And that brain? This was unfair. He had to have some flaw - how can a man be this perfect?

“Are you staying late tonight?” he asked casually, leaning back in his chair.

“I have to,” you mumbled. “This experiment is dragging on, and I have to submit the report by the end of the week.”

Hyunjin hummed, and said, “Oh good, I'll have some company then.”

You could literally see him doodling flowers into his book - he had nothing to do here. But yet every time you had to stay in late, he'd be hanging around too. Just the two of you.

Your brain immediately betrayed you, fueling your wild fantasy where he wasn’t staying late for work but because he secretly wanted to spend time alone with you. You were fighting so hard to maintain a shred of professionalism, but it was so hard when he was looking at you like that.

Hyunjin hummed softly under his breath as he continued to doodle, the sound sending tingles down your spine. Of course he was a good singer too. You just didn't understand what the universe even wanted from you anymore.

---

“I swear to God, Ji, if he twirls that pipette one more time, I’m going to launch myself across the lab bench, and just -” You were sprawled on the sofa in Jisung's apartment, sighing dramatically.

Jisung was your work bestie, working in the lab next door to yours. And he was the only one in the world who knew about your extreme devotion to Hyunjin.

Jisung burst out laughing, as he said, “This is bad, babe,”

“Bad? Jisung, I seriously can't even think when he's around.” you said. “Oh my God!!”

“Have you considered just telling him you like him?” Jisung smirked.

“Right, and ruin the perfectly good thing we have going where I pine silently while he ruins me with his brilliance? No, thank you.”

“You’re hopeless.”

---

The next late-night session happened way too soon, where Hyunjin wandered over to your bench, peering at your data from over your shoulder. He leaned in close, the scent of cologne (or whatever pheromones that he's sending your way) invading your senses - it's simply intoxicating.

“Want me to take a look at that?” he asked, “You've been spending way too much time on it.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, trying not to stutter. “It’s just...a lot of noise in the data.”

“Let me see,” he said, pulling a stool next to you. He reached for the keyboard, and your heart fluttered as his fingers brushed yours.

You wanted to cry. Please don't be so sweet and sexy at the same time, you begged internally. You cursed your body for betraying you with every glance while he explained what he was doing. You could feel the tension in your shoulders as you tried to focus on what he was saying.

Get a grip, Y/N, you reminded yourself. This is professional. Stop fantasizing about this ridiculously hot man who’s inexplicably obsessed with helping you.

When he finally looked up, you realized you’d been staring at him the whole time.

“What?” he asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Nothing... thanks. You’re really good at this,” you stammered.

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment.

“You’re good at this too, Y/N. We all have our bad days. Don’t sell yourself short.” he said, patting your shoulder gently before standing up.

You felt your heart squeeze at the sincerity in his tone, and you watched as he went back to his own seat.

Stop it. He’s being nice. Don’t read into it. Just focus on the work.

But it was so hard not to read into it. The way he leaned closer when he spoke, the way his fingersa brushed against yours when he passed you something, and the way he was always so soft with you.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

“Y/N, I’m begging you. BEGGING. Tell him. I'm sure he's dying to hear it.” Jisung said, smiling at the girl who handed over our coffees at the cafe.

“You don’t get it! I can't risk it, if he's just being nice, then -”

“Babe,” Jisung drawled, “what world do you live in?!”

“Don’t give me hope, Ji.” you sighed as you walked towards your lab, the early morning breeze cool against your skin.

“Hope? The man stays late every time you do, flirts with you nonstop, and compliments you after he does your work for you. At this point, I’m falling for him,” Jisung said, throwing his hands up. “Seriously, babe, if you don’t jump him soon, I might.”

---

The cold room was your least favorite part of the lab. You hated everything about it - the freezing temperature, its claustrophobic size and the damn protein extraction procedure that drained the life out of you.

But here you were, miserably clutching your samples and praying for the nightmare to end soon.

“Y/N?” Hyunjin’s voice echoed through the door as it opened, and you turned to see him stepping in.

Great. Now you were cold and flustered.

“How's the extraction going?” he asked, his tone light as he slipped on his gloves.

“Going wonderfully,” you muttered, shivering despite your layers.

He grinned, coming closer and watching you work.

“Do you want me to take over?” He asked, making you sigh.

“And miss out on the joy of freezing to death? Never,” you joked weakly, and Hyunjin laughed. “You're too nice, Hyunjin. But I've got this.”

“Nice?” he repeated, leaning back slightly but still watching you intently. “You sure about that?”

You froze, suddenly way too aware of how close he was standing. Was he teasing you? Was this flirting?

“I- I mean, yeah,” you stammered, breaking eye contact. “You’re always helping me...”

“Maybe I have my reasons.” Hyunjin tilted his head, his smile softening.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you asked, “Reasons?”

Before he could answer, the door swung open.

“How's your favorite experiment going?” Jisung's loud voice floated in. “Oh, hi Hyunjin!”

You didn't know if you wanted to strangle Jisung for ruining the moment or hug him for saving you from it.

Hyunjin, ever the sweetheart, just laughed and said, “Hi Jisung, I think she's doing just fine,”

“Of course she is,” Jisung said, moving aside for Hyunjin to step out.

“What was that?” He asked as soon as Hyunjin left.

“What are you doing here?!” you hissed. “We were getting somewhere, but also, if you hadn't come I would've fainted. Like I feel so dizzy, my gloves are all wet from sweating-”

“Y/N,” Jisung said, gripping your shoulders and shaking you lightly. “You like him. He obviously likes you. The universe is literally freezing you together in this cold room to force you to act. Next time, please -”

It was barely 5 am, and you groaned as you shuffled into the lab, your hair in a messy bun and sleep still stinging your eyes. But the bacterial cultures didn’t care about your sleep schedule - or lack thereof.

Throwing on your lab coat and gloves with the grace of a zombie, you started checking the growth plates with bleary eyes.

You’d barely managed to finish when Jisung strolled in, carrying two steaming cups of coffee.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he teased, setting a cup in front of you.

“I love you, Ji,” you muttered, taking the first sip and feeling a spark of life return to your body. “I don't know why I wanted to be a scientist.”

Jisung plopped down next to you, snickering, and started scrolling through his phone while you leaned your head against his shoulder. And he rested his head against yours, before placing a quick peck on your temple.

You were starting to fall asleep, when the lab door creaked open.

You both glanced up to see Hyunjin walk in. His cheeks were pink from the cold and he stopped at the door for a second, his eyes fixed on you.

“Morning,” he greeted, and you gave him a small wave, still too sleepy to form words. Jisung returned the greeting, and then left quickly.

You noticed Hyunjin’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. That's new. He moved to his workstation, setting down his bag and pulling out his laptop.

You sat up straighter, something about Hyunjin’s silence gnawing at you. He didn’t even glance your way, which was unusual.

Hyunjin, meanwhile, was battling a whirlwind of emotions. He knew you and Jisung were close friends - you’d mentioned it so many times. But seeing the way your head rested against his shoulder and Jisung had kissed your temple - it just looked way too intimate. Too cosy.

He hated feeling this way, especially when you weren’t his to begin with. Still, the disappointment twisted in his chest and he didn't know what to do about it. So he focused on his work.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting back to you.

---

You let it go on till about noon. But it was killing you - you weren't used to this kind of behavior from Hyunjin and it was starting to stress you out. So summoning your courage, you walked over to Hyunjin and said, “Hey,”

He glanced up, his expression neutral as he said, “Hey.”

“You okay?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light. “You're so...quiet.”

“I’m fine. Just a lot on my mind.” Hyunjin said, giving you a small smile.

“You sure?” you pressed, feeling a strange pang of hurt.

He nodded, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. Don’t worry about me.”

You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say. He was being so distant, and it left a strange, hollow ache in your chest. Finally, you gave him a small nod and walked back to your seat, feeling totally crushed by his uncharacteristic coolness.

Hyunjin’s silence stretched into the next day. And the day after that. In fact he hadn't spoken more than a couple of words to you in the past two days. And it hurt so much, considering the fact that you don't even know why he was doing this all of a sudden.

You tried to brush it off at first. Maybe he was just busy, or stressed. But the space he was putting between you felt deliberate, like he was doing this on purpose.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, was crumbling inside. He adored you. And that too for long enough that the thought of losing you was nearly unbearable.

You and Jisung were so close. And you looked so comfortable. He couldn't take it. He wasn't going to let his heart shatter like that.

So, he’d made a decision: if he couldn’t have you, he’d rather step back than risk the heartbreak of watching you fall for someone else. Even if it meant burying his feelings.

---

The next morning, you were back in the cold room. You’d been trying to salvage your protein extraction for hours, but nothing was going right. Your hands were trembling as you loaded yet another sample, and your vision blurred with tears of frustration.

“This is so stupid,” you whispered to yourself, your voice cracking. “Why can’t anything just go right for once?”

You sniffled, wiping your cheek with your sleeve, as you continued your monologue.

“I just want my Jinnie back. Why does he hate me now? What did I do wrong?” your voice wavered as you spoke through your tears.

What you didn't see was that the cold room door had opened quietly, and Hyunjin had stepped inside. He froze at the sound of your voice, his chest tightening at the sadness in your words.

Your Jinnie?

Your name slipped from his lips, soft and hesitant, “Y/N?”

You stiffened, your body freezing and your heart racing as you heard his voice.

“What?” you croaked, refusing to turn around, too mortified to meet his eyes.

“Why are you crying?” Hyunjin asked, taking a step closer.

You shook your head, refusing to face him.

“Why do you care?” You asked, and it broke his heart to see you wipe your tears.

“Please don't say that, of course I care-”

“It’s nothing. Just this stupid experiment. And... everything else.”

“Y/N,” he said again, his voice firmer now. “Please. Talk to me.”

You gripped the edge of the table, your knuckles turning white.

“I can’t do this anymore, Hyunjin,” you whispered. “I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. You won't even talk to me, and it’s killing me. I just... I just want my Hyunjinnie back. Just stop hurting me like this.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You felt the tears spill over again, your shoulders trembling as you waited for him to say something. Anything.

And then you felt it.

Warmth. His strong arms wrapping around you from behind, his chest pressing against your back as he pulled you into a tight embrace.

You gasped softly, frozen for a moment before leaning into him, your tears falling freely now.

“I’m sorry,” Hyunjin whispered, his voice trembling as he buried his face in your shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of his face.

“Why are you mad at me?” you asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” he said quickly, his hold on you tightening. “It wasn’t you. It was me. I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Of losing you,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “I thought... I thought you and Jisung -”

“Jisung?” you repeated, blinking in confusion. “You know he’s my best friend, Hyunjin. He's like a brother to me.”

“I thought I was protecting myself,” he admitted, his lips close to your ear. “I thought I’d lose you to Jisung, and I couldn’t handle it. But I didn’t realize... I didn’t realize I was hurting you in the process.”

“I can't believe you never saw me thirsting over you, Hyunjin” you said, your voice incredulous. “What are you even saying?!”

Hyunjin let out a shaky laugh, burying his face into your neck. “God, I’m an idiot.”

“You are,” you sniffled, though your tone was softer now.

He pulled back just enough to turn you around, his hands gently cupping your cheeks.

“I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you for so long. And I was so scared- ” he stopped short as he saw the look on your face.

“You... you love me?”

“I adore you,” he said, giving you a shy smile.

You let out a breathless laugh, the weight on your chest lifting for the first time in days.

“I love you too, Hyunjin. So damn much.”

His smile widened, and before you could say another word, he asked, “Can I... can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” you whispered, and when his lips met yours, it was the most beautiful thing in the world. He kissed you so softly (even though you just wanted to eat him up.)

You both stepped out of the cold room together, the door clicking shut behind you. Your cheeks were flushed, your lips swollen from the kiss, and as you glanced at Hyunjin, you saw he was in no better shape.

You didn't get to take another step forward as the door to your lab opened and Jisung's head popped in.

His eyes flicked between you and Hyunjin and you could hear the gears turning in his head as he tried to piece together what he was seeing. And then he smirked.

You glared at him, because you know that look on his face, and Hyunjin just stood there, his arms crossed and a smile that said “I got what I wanted".

“Congratulations,” Jisung said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m so happy for you both. But oh my god, you two idiots…”

The grin on his face was priceless. He was enjoying this way too much.

“I swear, if you don’t shut up -” You swatted him on the arm.

Jisung winced dramatically but couldn’t hide his laughter.

“What? You guys make an adorable couple... but honestly, you both are just so dumb.”

Well, you couldn't agree more.

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght

#stray kids #skz #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin x you #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin angst #skz x reader #skz fluff #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin

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hisfavegirl · 2 months ago

Text

Choices - Aemond Targaryen x SisterWife!Reader x Aegon Targaryen.

Summary : you were tired of being just a shadow, after that night something inside you changed. the choice you made that night changed your entire life.

After that night — the night you found yourself once again in Aegon’s arms, wrapped in his warmth until the break of dawn — you made a decision. No longer would you allow yourself to be consumed by the ache Aemond had caused. The pain had festered for too long, and you were done being a prisoner to it.

As you stepped out of Aegon’s chambers that morning, the castle corridors seemed quieter than usual, though you knew it was only an illusion. Eyes followed you. Servants, guards, and courtiers glanced your way, some pretending to be preoccupied while others stared openly, their gazes sharp with judgment or curiosity. Their whispers echoed softly behind you, low murmurs carrying words you didn’t care to hear.

But you didn’t falter. You kept your head high, spine straight, and your steps measured with purpose. The faint smirk on your lips was barely noticeable, but it was there — a silent defiance. Let them talk. Let them wonder. Let them think whatever they pleased. For the first time in a long while, you felt in control. You had spent too long chasing affection from a man who refused to see you. Now, they would all see you.

The light fabric of your gown swayed gently as you walked, the cool morning air brushing against your skin. You could still feel the warmth of Aegon’s touch lingering on you, like an invisible armor shielding you from their stares. Your heart didn’t ache this morning — not for Aemond, not for anyone.

As you approached the main hall, you saw Alicent at the end of the corridor. Her eyes met yours, narrowing with a look you knew well: suspicion. Her gaze flickered to the way your hair was still slightly tousled, the faint mark barely hidden beneath the neckline of your gown. Her lips pressed into a firm line, but she said nothing. She didn’t have to. Her silence was its own form of disapproval.

But you didn’t slow down. You walked past her with that same unshaken grace, ignoring the weight of her gaze on your back. You had made your choice, and you wouldn’t apologize for it. Let them all watch. Let them all whisper. None of them had ever truly seen you before. But now, they would.

You were in your chamber, brushing through your silver hair in front of the mirror, the soft glow of the morning sun spilling through the window. The air was calm, the gentle chirping of birds outside offering a rare sense of peace. You adjusted the neckline of your gown, letting it rest just right on your shoulders. But that peace was short-lived.

The sound of your chamber door being thrown open echoed through the room, making you flinch. The handle slammed against the stone wall with a loud clang, and as you whipped your head around, your heart froze. There he stood — Aemond. His face was a mask of fury, his single eye sharp and burning like wildfire. He didn’t wear his eyepatch, and the sapphire in his empty socket caught the morning light, making it gleam with an eerie brilliance. His chest rose and fell with the weight of his breathing, his fists clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles had turned white.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. His gaze bore into you like a blade, unwavering and filled with rage that simmered just beneath the surface. It wasn’t the cold indifference you’d grown used to — no, this was something much more dangerous.

“You think I wouldn’t hear it?” he hissed, his voice low and venomous. He took a step forward, slow and deliberate, like a lion stalking its prey. “The whispers. The stares. Do you know what they’re saying?” His voice grew louder with each word, his tone sharp as steel.

You didn’t respond, your jaw tightening as you kept your ground. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you refused to look away. Let him rage, you thought. Let him see that I am no longer his to break.

He took another step forward, his gaze never leaving you. His lips curled into something caught between a snarl and a sneer. “They’re saying you left his chamber this morning.” His words came slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to savor the taste of them — as if saying it out loud made it more real. His eye narrowed, his gaze raking over you as if searching for evidence of your betrayal.

“Say something,” he demanded, his voice sharp like a crack of thunder. “Deny it. Dare to lie to me.”

You exhaled slowly, straightening your posture. You felt the warmth of defiance rise in your chest. No longer would you tremble beneath his gaze. No longer would you be the one left unseen, unloved. If he wanted the truth, you would give it to him.

Your eyes met his with quiet, unyielding strength. “Why should I?” you asked, your voice steady and clear. “It seems you’ve already decided what to believe.”

His nostrils flared, and for a moment, his eye darted to your neck. You knew what he saw — the faint mark that lingered just above your collarbone. His lips pressed into a hard line, his chest heaving. His gaze lingered on that spot for far too long before his eye snapped back to yours.

“Is this how you get back at me?” he snarled, stepping even closer, his face inches from yours now. “Him?” He said it like a curse, filled with disgust. His breath was hot, his presence overwhelming. “You’d disgrace yourself — disgrace me — just to prove a point?”

Your eyes narrowed, your lips curling into a bitter smile. “Disgrace you?” you repeated softly, as if tasting the words yourself. You tilted your head slightly, letting him see the mark more clearly, daring him to look at it. “You speak of disgrace, husband, but tell me —” Your voice was quieter now but sharp as a blade. “Was it not disgrace when you left me for her?”

The words hit him like a slap. His eye widened for a moment before it narrowed into a glare more dangerous than before. His jaw tightened, the muscle there twitching as he clenched his teeth. You saw it — that flicker of guilt, that fleeting moment of realization. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by pride and rage.

“You forget your place,” he said coldly, his voice like ice.

You raised your chin, your gaze never leaving his. “No, Aemond,” you said firmly. “I’ve only just found it.”

Silence hung between you like a drawn sword, sharp and dangerous. His breathing was heavy, his gaze wild with emotions he refused to name. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t cower. For the first time, you stood as his equal — no, more than that. You were beyond him now.

Without another word, he turned sharply on his heel, his black cloak whipping behind him as he stormed out of the room. The door slammed shut, the echo reverberating through the stone walls. You exhaled slowly, letting the tension drain from your body, your heart still pounding like a war drum.

Your gaze shifted to the mirror. You stared at yourself for a long moment, fingers brushing over the faint mark on your neck. Slowly, your lips curved into a small, victorious smile. Let him rage. Let him burn. He had his chance, and he threw it away.

You stepped into your mother’s chambers, the air thick with tension. Alicent stood in the center of the room, her face hard with disapproval, eyes sharp like the edge of a dagger. Her arms were crossed, her fingers tapping slowly against her sleeve — a silent warning you knew all too well.

Beside her stood her. Your sister. Helaena. Her soft, distant gaze remained fixed on the floor, fingers nervously twisting together. She looked as innocent as ever, unbothered, unaware of the weight of it all. But to you, she was a symbol of everything you had lost. Every unspoken word. Every stolen glance. Every moment of your husband’s love that was never yours to begin with.

“Sit,” Alicent commanded, her voice firm, unyielding. You knew better than to refuse. Slowly, you walked toward the chair across from her and sat, keeping your back straight, head held high. If she wanted to scold you, she would have to see that you were no child to be lectured.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Alicent’s voice was low but sharp, every syllable cutting through the silence. Her eyes bore into you, searching for a hint of shame. “The entire Keep is whispering about you. About him.” Her lips curled with distaste at the mention. “Do you think this is how a princess behaves? Do you think this is how a wife honors her vows?”

You kept your gaze on her, unblinking. “Did he honor his?” you asked, your voice quiet but unyielding. “Did he honor me, Mother, when he left me to wither in the shadow of another woman? Did he honor me when he sought solace in her arms instead of mine?"

Alicent’s face stiffened, her nostrils flaring as if you’d struck her. She stepped forward, her eyes narrowing with warning. “Watch your tongue,” she hissed. “You are his wife. It is not your place to question him. It is your duty to endure.”

“Endure?” You let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking your head. “I have endured, Mother. I have endured his indifference, his silence, and his loyalty to someone who was never his to love. And you expect me to endure it forever?” Your eyes flickered to Helaena, still quiet, still absent in her own mind. “Is that what you taught her too?”

“Enough!” Alicent’s voice cracked through the air like a whip, sharp and final. “Do not speak of your sister in this.”

But you didn’t stop. Not now. Your eyes locked on Helaena, and for the first time, she met your gaze. There was no malice in her eyes, only confusion, and somehow that made it worse. “You took him from me,” you said, voice laced with quiet fury. “You didn’t even know you were doing it, did you?” You tilted your head, eyes narrowing. “Do you know now?”

“Stop this,” Alicent snapped, stepping between you and Helaena. “Do not blame her for your failures.” Her voice was colder now, laced with disgust. “I raised you to be better than this — to be better than your selfishness. Do you think Aegon cares for you? Do you think that boy sees you as anything more than his next distraction?”

Your heart twisted, but you didn’t let it show. You had already asked yourself those questions, lying awake at night in the stillness of Aegon’s chambers. You had seen the shadows of doubt creeping into your mind. But here, before Alicent’s judgmental gaze, you wouldn’t break. You couldn’t.

“At least he sees me, Mother,” you whispered, eyes narrowing into slits. “At least he doesn’t pretend I’m invisible.”

Alicent stepped forward, her face inches from yours now. Her gaze was fierce, unrelenting. “He will ruin you,” she said with quiet fury, her voice deadly calm. “And when he’s done, when he grows bored, you will be left with nothing. No husband, no name, and no place in this world.” She leaned in, eyes hard as steel. “Is that what you want? To be nothing?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your eyes burning with unshed tears, but you did not let them fall. “I was already nothing to him,” you said softly, each word hitting like a blow. “At least now, I am seen.”

Alicent’s face twisted in disappointment, her lips pressing into a thin, angry line. She shook her head slowly, eyes filled with something like pity. “You are lost,” she whispered, stepping back from you as if you were something tainted. “And you will regret this.”

“Perhaps,” you replied, rising to your feet, your heart pounding but your voice unwavering. “But at least I will regret it on my terms.”

You turned to leave, walking past Helaena without sparing her another glance. She didn’t stop you. She never did. And as you left, you heard Alicent’s voice behind you, cold and sharp as ever.

“Don’t come to me when he casts you aside,” she said, her tone final, like a judge passing sentence.

You didn’t turn back. Let her think she had won. Let them all think that. You had nothing left to lose.

You walked along the garden path, your gaze soft as you watched your daughter chase after a butterfly. Her tiny feet padded across the grass, her giggles filling the air with a melody sweeter than any song. Her silver hair shimmered in the dappled sunlight, her little hands reaching for the butterfly that danced just out of her grasp.

A smile tugged at your lips. Moments like these felt like fleeting dreams, too delicate to last but too precious to forget. The weight of everything else seemed lighter here, where only the sun, the breeze, and your daughter’s joy existed.

From the far end of the garden, you noticed a figure approaching. His familiar, unhurried stride was impossible to miss. Aegon. He walked with his usual air of mischief, hands in his pockets, his eyes locked on you with a knowing grin.

“Look at her,” he called as he drew closer, tilting his head toward your daughter. “Chasing dreams she’ll never catch.” His tone was playful, but his eyes lingered on you a moment too long.

“She doesn’t know that yet,” you replied, watching your daughter spin in circles, trying to catch the butterfly as it fluttered just beyond her reach. “Let her believe she can.”

Aegon’s grin widened at that. “Spoken like a mother.”

By the time he reached you, your daughter had already noticed him. Her eyes lit up, and she abandoned her chase, running toward him with all the speed her little legs could muster. “Uncle Aegon!” she cried, her voice high and delighted.

“Little dragon!” he laughed, crouching down just in time to catch her in his arms. He lifted her with ease, spinning her around, her giggles turning into shrieks of joy. “Higher? Higher, you say?” he teased, his voice loud with mock surprise.

“Higher, Uncle! Higher!” she squealed, her arms stretched toward the sky as if she could touch the clouds.

Aegon obliged, hoisting her even higher, spinning her in wide circles that had her squealing with glee. His laughter mixed with hers, louder and freer than you’d heard in a long while. It was so genuine, so unburdened, that you felt your heart tighten.

He finally set her down, but she refused to let go of him, her small hands clutching his tunic as she leaned her head against his chest. He glanced at you, his breathing slightly uneven from the effort, his smile quieter now.

“Looks like I’ve been claimed,” he said, his voice laced with affection as he ruffled her silver hair. “Can’t say I mind.”

You chuckled softly, stepping closer. “You’ve always been her favorite.”

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes flicking to you with something sharper, something unspoken. “Am I?” he murmured, his gaze lingering on yours just a moment too long.

Before you could respond, your daughter tugged at his sleeve. “Again, Uncle Aegon!” she pleaded, looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Again?” he repeated, feigning exhaustion as he let out an exaggerated sigh. “You’ll be the death of me, little dragon.” But despite his words, he crouched down once more, letting her climb onto his back like a rider claiming a dragon.

“Ready?” he asked, glancing back at her.

“Fly, dragon, fly!” she declared, her small fists clinging to his tunic like reins.

With a grunt of effort and a laugh on his lips, Aegon straightened, carrying her on his back as he jogged around the garden, her squeals of joy trailing behind them.

You watched them, your heart swelling with something you couldn’t quite name. For once, everything felt… simple. No whispers. No stares. No burdens too heavy to carry. Just laughter, sunlight, and the sound of your daughter’s happiness echoing through the garden.

You and Aegon walked side by side through the corridors of the Red Keep, his arms steady as he carried your daughter. Her little hands clung to his collar as she leaned her head on his shoulder, her soft giggles filling the silent hall. You couldn’t help but smile, your gaze fixed on them — your heart lighter than it had been in days.

The faint echoes of whispers followed you. Maids glanced from behind pillars, guards exchanged quick looks, and noblewomen passing by slowed their steps, eyes lingering with curiosity and judgment. The weight of their stares was a familiar burden, but today, you chose to ignore it. Their words, their gossip, their assumptions — none of it mattered.

“Look at her,” Aegon chuckled, glancing at your daughter in his arms. “Falling asleep on me after all that excitement. Typical little dragon.”

“She knows where it’s safe,” you replied softly, your eyes shifting from your daughter’s peaceful face to his. He gave you a grin, one that was far too self-assured, as if he knew exactly what you meant.

His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, everything else fell away — the murmurs, the stares, the weight of expectation. It was just the three of you walking down a corridor that had once felt so suffocating but now seemed less so.

But not all eyes were so easily ignored.

From the shadows ahead, you felt it — the cold, sharp gaze of Aemond. His presence was unmistakable. He stood at the end of the corridor, his hands behind his back, his posture rigid. His one eye, the one that mattered, was locked on you. No — not just you. His gaze shifted to Aegon, to your daughter nestled against him, then back to you.

You felt the weight of his stare like a blade pressed against your back, sharp and unforgiving. It begged for your attention, demanded it. But you didn’t look at him. Not this time.

You tilted your chin higher, your smile never faltering as you turned back to Aegon. He noticed, of course. Aegon always noticed. His grin grew wider, bolder, as if daring Aemond to act.

“Don’t look back,” Aegon muttered low enough for only you to hear, his voice laced with quiet defiance. “He hates it when he’s ignored.”

You bit back a laugh, glancing up at him with a raised brow. “Good,” you whispered back.

With that, you continued forward, side by side with Aegon, ignoring the burn of Aemond’s gaze like it was nothing more than a chill in the air. And for the first time, you didn’t feel small. You felt seen.

As you walked past him, Aemond’s hand shot out and gripped your wrist with unyielding strength. You gasped, jerking back, but his grip was like iron.

“Aemond, let me go,” you hissed, twisting your arm, but it was useless. His one eye burned with something wild and furious.

“No.” His voice was low, dangerous, like the calm before a storm. He yanked you forward, pulling you along the corridor.

“Aemond!” Aegon’s voice echoed from behind, sharp and commanding. You glanced back, heart pounding, seeing Aegon striding toward you with purpose. “Let her go!”

Aemond didn’t stop. His fingers dug into your wrist, his pace steady and unrelenting. You stumbled to keep up with him, barely able to keep your footing. The cold stone walls of the Red Keep blurred as you moved past them.

“Aemond, stop!” you snapped, your voice sharp and defiant, but he didn’t even flinch. The guards and maids in the corridor turned away, their eyes averted, unwilling to intervene. No one ever did.

When you reached his chamber door, he shoved it open with one hand and dragged you inside. The door slammed shut behind you with a deafening thud, the finality of it making your chest tighten. He released you with a forceful push, and you stumbled back, clutching your wrist, your heart pounding like a drum.

Your breath was ragged, your eyes sharp with fury as you glared at him. “What is wrong with you?” you spat, your voice sharp with disbelief. “You have no right to—”

“No right?” Aemond’s voice was eerily calm, his words cutting like a blade. “I am your husband. I have every right.” He began to pace in front of you like a predator stalking its prey. His eye, sharp as ever, never left you.

“You are a fool if you think you still have that right,” you hissed, your eyes narrowing with defiance.

His head snapped toward you at that, his jaw tightening as his nostrils flared. “Careful,” he warned, his voice low and icy.

But you were done being careful. The weight of everything came crashing down on you. Your chest felt tight, but your resolve had never been stronger. You stepped forward, your voice unwavering as you met his furious gaze head-on.

“Don’t you dare talk to me about rights, Aemond,” you seethed, fists clenched at your sides. “Not after what I heard last night. You have no right to be angry. No right to drag me here like some possession. No right to demand anything from me — not after you crawled into her bed.”

Aemond froze.

The silence that followed was suffocating. The only sound in the room was the distant crackling of the fire. His face went still, too still, the flickering flames casting shadows that made him look almost inhuman.

He turned slowly, his gaze locked on you now with a dangerous intensity. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, his voice tight and controlled.

You laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Don’t lie to me, Aemond. I heard you. Your voice. Her voice.” Your eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but you refused to let them fall. “I stood at the door, Aemond. I heard you.”

His eye flickered, his mask cracking for a split second before he composed himself. “It’s not what you think,” he said, his voice quieter now, but there was no apology in it. Only pride.

“Don’t insult me,” you bit back, your eyes stinging with the betrayal that burned in your chest. “Don’t stand there and pretend it meant nothing. Don’t stand there and act as if I’m blind. I am not her, Aemond. I never will be.” Your voice cracked on the last word, but you lifted your chin, defiance blazing in your eyes.

He took a step toward you, but you raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks. “No. You do not get to touch me. Not after this.”

He tilted his head, his eye narrowing as if studying you in a new light. His lips pressed into a thin line. “So this is why you’ve been running to Aegon?” he sneered, his voice low and cutting. “You think he’ll love you? You think he can give you what I can’t?”

“At least Aegon sees me,” you shot back, taking a step forward. Your breath was shallow, your heart racing, but you didn’t stop. “At least he doesn’t pretend I’m someone else when he touches me.”

Aemond’s face twisted into something raw, something dangerously close to pain. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his breathing heavy.

“He will ruin you,” Aemond said, his voice shaking with barely restrained rage. “He will ruin you, and you will come crawling back."

“Then I’ll ruin myself,” you whispered, your voice hoarse but unwavering. You stepped past him, your gaze fixed on the door. “But I will never crawl back to you.”

You didn’t look back as you walked away, your hands trembling but your heart steady. The heavy thud of the door echoed behind you, but it didn’t scare you this time. For the first time, you felt free.

It had been a month since the night that drove you further away from Aemond. The distance between you two had grown into an unspoken chasm. You no longer sought his gaze, and he no longer reached for you. Instead, you found solace in Aegon and your daughter. Aegon was always by your side — in the gardens, at meals, and even during the quiet hours of the night when the world outside seemed to forget you existed.

Your mother, Alicent, watched you closely. Her disapproving gaze followed you wherever you went. She didn’t need to say it aloud — her silence was louder than any scolding. Her subtle warnings were clear: Stop this behavior. Fall in line. Do your duty as a wife. But how could you, when your husband’s heart had never belonged to you?

Then the news came.

The whispers spread through the halls of the Red Keep like wildfire. Servants murmured it as they passed, and the nobles whispered it behind raised goblets of wine. Princess Helaena is with child.

Your heart clenched in your chest. You stopped breathing for a moment, and then it all clicked into place.

It wasn’t Aegon’s.

You knew it the second you heard it. Your blood ran cold, and your mind filled with images you had tried so hard to bury. The sounds you heard that night outside Helaena’s door, the low whispers, the soft creak of the bed, and the unmistakable voice of him. Aemond.

It had been him all along.

Aegon had been with you that night amd the night after, his arms around you, his voice reminding you that you were seen, that you were wanted. There was no doubt in your mind that the child Helaena carried was not Aegon’s. It was Aemond’s. Your husband. Your own husband had betrayed you in the most devastating way.

Rage, sadness, and something else — something colder — coiled in your chest. You always knew, didn’t you? Helaena had always been the one he adored. You had seen it at every family supper, every glance he cast her way, every moment he chose to sit beside her instead of you. He had always been hers. You had been nothing but a shadow of her, a stand-in for what he truly desired.

The realization left you hollow. You could feel it gnawing at the edges of your mind. But this time, you refused to cry. You refused to let him break you again. Your gaze hardened, your breathing steadied, and you lifted your head.

If he wants her, he can have her.

But you would not be silent. You would not be small. You had your daughter. You had Aegon, and perhaps that was enough. Let them whisper. Let them stare. Let your mother scowl. You had already endured enough heartbreak to last a lifetime, and you would not give them the satisfaction of watching you shatter.

Not this time.

You walked hurriedly toward your husband’s chambers, your heart pounding in your chest. The cold stone floor of the Red Keep echoed beneath your feet, every step filled with purpose. Tonight, it ends. Tonight, we face the truth.

Reaching his door, you didn’t bother to knock. You pushed it open with enough force to make it creak loudly, the sound echoing through the room. The warm glow of the fire bathed everything in flickering amber light.

There he was.

Aemond sat by the fire, his long silver hair untied, cascading over his shoulders like a silk curtain. He looked different like this — younger, perhaps even vulnerable. His blue eye, the one that had always cut through you like a blade, was locked on the flames. The sapphire in his other eye socket shimmered faintly in the dim glow. He hadn’t bothered to wear his eye patch tonight.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t turn to face you. He knew you were there. He always knows when you’re there.

“Have you come to accuse me again?” His voice was low, dangerous, but there was something brittle beneath it. “Or is it more of your petty rebellion for everyone to see?”

His words were like arrows aimed at your heart, but you refused to let them hit their mark. You stepped further into the room, closing the door behind you with a soft but firm click.

“You know why I’m here, Aemond.” Your voice was steady, colder than the sea on a winter’s morning. “We are going to end this tonight. No more pretending.”

He let out a bitter laugh, tilting his head back to rest against the chair. His eye finally moved to you, sharp as ever, full of cold fire. “Pretending? Is that what you think I’ve been doing?” He leaned forward slowly, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. His gaze never left you. “Careful, wife. You may not like the answers you receive.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, nails digging into your palms. He dares to play coy? After everything?

“I heard you that night, Aemond,” you said, each word like a stone thrown into a still pond. The silence that followed rippled with tension. “I heard you with her.”

He didn’t deny it.

He didn’t even blink.

Instead, he tilted his head to the side, regarding you with that same calculating stare he always gave his enemies on the battlefield.

“So, you’ve decided to play the victim now?” he said, his tone sharp and mocking. “You, who spent your nights in Aegon’s arms while our daughter slept alone?” His voice was louder now, filled with venom. “Do you think I don’t hear the whispers? Do you think I don’t see the marks he leaves on you?”

Your breath caught in your chest, but you didn’t let it show. You refused to be the one to break. Not this time.

“Don’t you dare twist this on me, Aemond,” you snapped, stepping forward, your eyes blazing with fury. “I did not betray you first.” You pointed at him, your voice growing louder, stronger. “I was yours. All of me was yours. I waited. I hoped. I endured. While you sat there, loving her.” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. “Do not speak to me of betrayal when you gave me nothing but scraps.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he said nothing. His fingers twitched like he was moments away from lashing out, but he held himself still.

“You are a fool,” he hissed. “You think love is something that is given freely, something that is owed to you. It is not. I gave you my name. I gave you a child.”

“You gave me nothing but pain!” you shot back, tears threatening to spill, but you refused to wipe them away. “You gave her everything, and you left me to rot.”

He stood then, slow and deliberate, his tall frame casting a long shadow over you as he approached. He stopped just before you, his gaze bearing down on you like the weight of a thousand swords.

“And yet,” he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous whisper, “you keep coming back.”

The words were like a blade to your chest. Your breath hitched, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. You looked up at him, eyes filled with all the hurt, all the rage, all the love that had twisted into something cruel and unrecognizable.

“Not anymore,” you said, voice hoarse but firm. “This is the last time, Aemond. You can have her, have all of her. I won’t fight for someone who never fought for me.”

His face remained a mask of stone, but his eye flickered with something. Regret? Doubt? You didn’t know, and you didn’t care.

You stepped back, heart pounding like a war drum. Your hands felt cold, but you didn’t let them shake. With one last glance at him, you turned toward the door.

“Don’t you dare to walk away from me,” he growled, his voice rough like thunder in the distance.

But you didn’t stop.

Not this time.

You reached for the door handle, and his voice came again, softer but no less sharp.

“If you leave now, you don’t come back.”

You froze for a moment, letting his words sink in. Slowly, you turned your head just enough to look at him from the corner of your eye. You met his gaze, unflinching, steady as the tide.

“I already left, Aemond,” you said quietly. “You just never noticed.”

And with that, you opened the door and walked away.

Before you could get far from his chamber, you heard the sharp, hurried sound of footsteps behind you. Your heart jumped into your throat, but you didn’t stop walking.

Then, a strong hand seized your wrist.

“Aemond—” you gasped, turning your head just as he yanked you back with enough force to make you stumble. Your back hit his chest, and his grip on your wrist tightened like an iron shackle.

“Let me go,” you hissed, twisting your arm to free yourself, but his hold didn’t budge. His fingers dug into your skin, firm but not painful — not yet.

“Not until you listen,” he growled, his breath warm against the side of your face. His voice was low, sharp, and dangerous, like a blade being drawn from its sheath. He pulled you back into his chamber, slamming the door shut behind him with his free hand.

“Listen?” you spat, yanking at his grip again. “I have done nothing but listen, Aemond! I listened to your silence. I listened to your lies. I listened when you let me hear you with her!” Your voice cracked with raw emotion, but you didn’t care.

He spun you around, and for a moment, you were face-to-face with him. His eye burned with barely restrained fury, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. His jaw was tight, his lips pressed into a thin, angry line.

“Say it,” he said through gritted teeth, his eye locked on yours with a heat so intense it could burn. “Say what you’re truly angry about.”

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill, but you refused to give him that satisfaction. “Don’t pretend you don’t know,” you bit out, chest heaving with barely restrained emotion.

“I want to hear you say it,” he demanded, his voice harder now, like steel striking steel. His eye flickered with something wild, something desperate. “Say it.”

“You want me to say it?” you shouted, slamming your free hand against his chest, though he didn’t flinch. “Fine. I’m angry because you chose her! Her! I was your wife! I am your wife! And you betrayed me!”

Your breath was ragged, each word like a piece of you breaking off, shattering on the stone floor.

“And you think I betrayed you first,” you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of it all. “But you left me long before I ever went to Aegon. You left me alone, Aemond. Alone.”

His face twisted, lips parting as if to argue, but no words came. For the first time, he looked lost. His grip on your wrist loosened just slightly, but he didn’t let you go.

“I never left you,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, as if that was supposed to be enough. As if words could undo everything.

“Liar,” you whispered, tears now falling freely. “If you didn’t leave me, why was I always alone?”

Silence. His face, his cold, perfect mask, cracked for just a moment. He opened his mouth, but nothing came. No excuses. No lies. Nothing.

His silence was louder than any confession.

You felt your heart break all over again.

“Let me go, Aemond,” you said quietly, not as a demand but as a plea. Your eyes, red with unshed tears, met his. “Please.”

His fingers hovered for a moment longer, as if unsure whether to hold on tighter or finally let go. Then, slowly, his hand slipped from your wrist. The warmth of his touch faded, replaced by the cold air of the room.

He didn’t stop you this time as you turned around.

He didn’t follow when you opened the door.

And he didn’t say a word when you walked away.

You ran toward your chamber, tears streaming down your face like an endless river. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat louder than the last, fueled by a storm of anger, hurt, and betrayal.

Reaching your door, you shoved it open with trembling hands. The wood banged against the wall, but you didn’t care.

Then you stopped.

Your mother, was already there. She stood in the center of the room, her eyes immediately locking onto yours. Her expression shifted from calm patience to sharp concern the moment she saw your tear-streaked face and heaving chest.

“What’s wrong?” she asked urgently, stepping forward, her voice laced with worry. Her gaze scanned you from head to toe, searching for an injury or any sign of what might have happened.

Your chest heaved with a sob, and you didn’t hesitate. You threw yourself into her arms, wrapping yourself around her like a child seeking shelter from a storm. Her warmth enveloped you instantly. Her hands pressed firmly against your back, one of them cradling the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair.

“Mother,” you gasped between sobs, “he’s gone too far this time.”

Alicent stiffened at your words. Her arms remained around you, but you could feel the shift in her. Her breathing slowed, her posture grew more rigid.

“What did he do?” she asked softly, but there was no softness in her tone — only cold, sharp control. The same control she always used when the world demanded more from her than she could bear.

You shook your head against her shoulder, tears soaking into the fabric of her gown. “He—” your voice cracked, thick with emotion. “He betrayed me again, Mother. I heard him. I heard him with her.”

Alicent’s breath hitched, and her fingers stilled in your hair. Her jaw tensed against your temple, and for a moment, she didn’t speak. You felt it before you heard it — the cold, quiet fury settling into her frame.

“Helaena,” she muttered, her voice so low you barely caught it. Her grip on you tightened. “I warned him. I warned him.”

You pulled back slightly, wiping at your face with shaking hands. “He doesn’t care, Mother,” you said bitterly, eyes filled with pain and exhaustion. “No matter what I do, he always goes back to her.” Your voice broke again, and fresh tears welled in your eyes. “Am I not enough?”

“Don’t say that,” Alicent said firmly, cupping your face in her hands. She tilted your head up so you had no choice but to meet her gaze. Her eyes, filled with a mix of heartbreak and fierce protectiveness, bore into yours. “You are more than enough. Do you hear me?”

You nodded weakly, but doubt still clung to your heart like thorns.

Her gaze hardened, her lips pressed into a thin line. “If he cannot see it, then he is a fool,” she said with quiet conviction. “And I will not let my daughter be broken by a fool.”

Her words settled over you like a balm, momentarily easing the ache in your chest. Alicent pulled you back into her embrace, holding you tighter than before. For the first time in a long while, you felt like someone was on your side.

You continued to cry in your mother’s arms, your body trembling with the weight of everything you had endured. Her fingers stroked your hair in slow, soothing motions, the same way she had done when you were a child afraid of the dark. But this darkness was far more suffocating.

“I’m sorry,” Alicent whispered, her voice strained with guilt. She pressed a kiss to the top of your head, her hand resting firmly against your back. “I should have listened to you. I should have seen it.” Her voice cracked slightly. “I thought I was doing what was best for you, but I failed you.”

Her words only made you cry harder, the release of all your unspoken hurt pouring out at once. You clutched at her gown like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

“Tell me,” she said softly, voice steady but laced with desperation. She pulled back just enough to see your face, her eyes scanning yours with fierce determination. “Tell me what I can do to make it right. Anything, my sweet girl. Anything.”

You sniffled, wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks, and for a moment, you hesitated. The weight of the words you were about to speak hung heavy in the air. But you had thought about this for too long, dreamed of it too often to stop now. Your lips parted, and your voice, though hoarse from crying, came out clear and unwavering.

“End it,” you said, looking her directly in the eyes. “End my marriage to Aemond.”

Alicent’s eyes widened in shock. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she said nothing. Her gaze searched yours, as though hoping she had misunderstood. But there was no mistaking the resolve in your face.

“You want me to… annul your marriage?” she asked cautiously, as if testing the weight of the words on her tongue.

You nodded firmly, your eyes unyielding despite the tears still clinging to your lashes. “Yes,” you said, your voice stronger now. “I don’t want to be his wife anymore, Mother. I’ve given him everything, and he’s given me nothing but pain. He doesn’t love me. He never did.” Your eyes hardened, your jaw set. “And I won’t waste another day of my life waiting for him to see me.”

Alicent’s face twisted with conflict. She glanced away, her brows furrowed in deep thought. Annulment was not a simple thing, not for people of your station. It would bring scandal, whispers, and questions from every corner of the court. And yet, none of that seemed to matter to you anymore.

“I know it won’t be easy,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “But you asked me what you could do to make it right, Mother. This is how.”

Alicent’s eyes returned to yours. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes shining with the same fierce love and protection she’d always given her children. Slowly, she nodded.

“If this is what you truly want,” she said slowly, her voice heavy with certainty, “then I will make it so.”

Relief washed over you like a wave, and for the first time in so long, you felt as if you could breathe again. You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around her once more, your tears now a mixture of grief and hope.

“Thank you,” you whispered against her shoulder, your voice muffled but full of meaning. “Thank you, Mother.”

Alicent held you tighter, her resolve hardening like steel. “No one will hurt you again, my love,” she vowed softly. “Not him. Not anyone.”

You stood by the window, eyes distant as you gazed at the horizon. The cool breeze brushed against your face, carrying with it the faint scent of salt from Blackwater Bay. The world outside felt vast, free — a freedom you had been denied for far too long.

The creak of your chamber door broke the stillness. You didn’t turn, already knowing who it was. His footsteps were slow, deliberate, the soft thud of his boots on the stone floor echoing in the quiet room.

“Should I be worried?” Aegon’s voice came from behind you, light and teasing as always, but there was something gentler in his tone this time. “You look ready to fly away.”

You glanced over your shoulder at him. He stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe with his arms crossed, his head tilted slightly as he studied you. His violet eyes weren’t hazy with drink for once — they were sharp, clear, and focused entirely on you.

“I’m not flying anywhere,” you murmured, turning back toward the window. “Not yet.”

Aegon stepped further inside, closing the door behind him. His footsteps grew closer until he stood beside you, his gaze following yours out to the sea. The two of you stood in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unspoken hanging heavily in the air.

“Mother told me,” he said quietly, his eyes flickering toward you. “About the annulment.”

You stiffened slightly but didn’t look at him. “Did she?”

He nodded, leaning forward, his forearms resting on the windowsill. His gaze was distant now, his smile faint but knowing. “She did,” he said, his voice unusually serious. “About time, I’d say.”

A dry laugh escaped you, short and bitter. “It won’t be easy,” you muttered, your fingers lightly tracing the cool stone of the window ledge. “There will be questions. Judgments.”

“Let them judge,” Aegon replied, his tone sharp with defiance. “They’ve judged me my entire life, and I’m still here.” He turned his head to look at you, his eyes warmer now, his gaze steady and unwavering. “You’ll be here too.”

You finally looked at him, really looked at him. There was no mockery in his eyes, no smirk on his lips. Just quiet understanding. It was rare for him to be this sincere, but when he was, it struck you more deeply than you cared to admit.

“I’m tired, Aegon,” you confessed softly, your voice barely a whisper. “Tired of fighting. Tired of hurting.” Your gaze dropped to your hands, fingers clasped tightly in front of you. “I just want peace.”

Aegon reached out, his fingers gently brushing against yours before fully taking your hand in his. His grip was firm, grounding, but not forceful. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your temple.

“Then let me help you,” he said, his voice so low it was almost a plea. “Let me give you peace, even if it’s only for a little while.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You glanced up at him, and for a moment, all you could see was the boy he had once been — reckless, wild, but always searching for something more. He wasn’t perfect. Far from it. But he had always seen you.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned into him, letting his warmth seep into you. His arms wrapped around you, his chin resting lightly on top of your head. For once, you didn’t feel the weight of the world on your shoulders.

For once, you felt safe.

You froze in his embrace, your breath hitching in your chest. The words hung in the air like a spell, heavy and inescapable.

“I love you,” Aegon whispered, his voice so soft it was almost lost in the quiet hum of the wind outside. “More than a brother should. More than I ever should.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, a wild, chaotic rhythm that drowned out every other sound. Slowly, you pulled back just enough to look up at him. His eyes — those sharp, tired violet eyes — were locked on you, unguarded in a way you had never seen before.

“Don’t,” you said quietly, your voice trembling. “Don’t say things you can’t take back.”

“I won’t,” he replied without hesitation, his gaze unwavering. His hands remained on your waist, gentle but firm, as if afraid you might run. “I’ve held it back for too long. Lying to you, to myself, pretending it was just brotherly affection.” He shook his head, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “But I’m done pretending.”

You shook your head slowly, stepping back, but he didn’t let go of you completely. Your hands pressed against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. “This is madness, Aegon,” you said, your voice cracking. “They already think the worst of me. If they knew about this—”

“Let them,” he cut in, his voice sharper this time, his eyes blazing with defiance. “They’ve called me worse. Drunk. Useless. A failure.” He took a step forward, closing the distance again, his face inches from yours. “But you — you’re mine. You always have been.”

Tears stung your eyes, a mix of anger, confusion, and something far more dangerous. “I’m not yours, Aegon,” you said, though your voice was weaker than you’d intended. “I belong to no one.”

His gaze softened, his hands sliding down to your wrists, holding them gently. “No,” he agreed, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “But if you ever wanted to be, I’d never let you doubt it. Not like him.”

You flinched, his words cutting deeper than any blade. He didn’t have to say Aemond’s name for you to know who he meant. The memory of betrayal burned fresh in your mind — the nights you had waited for Aemond, the cold emptiness of his absence, the hollow pain of knowing he had chosen someone else.

Aegon saw it all. He always had.

“I’m not him,” Aegon murmured, his voice breaking slightly. “I won’t leave you wanting.” His thumb brushed away a tear that had slipped down your cheek. “I won’t make you beg for love that’s already yours.”

You closed your eyes tightly, tears falling freely now. The weight of it all — the betrayal, the loneliness, the anger — came crashing down on you. But with it, there was something else, something you had tried so hard to deny.

Warmth. Safety. Him.

Your hands slowly unclenched against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. Your breathing was shallow, uneven, your mind at war with your heart. For so long, you had fought to keep your dignity, your pride. But for once, you just wanted to feel loved.

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. He didn’t move, didn’t push. He just waited. No smirking. No taunting. Just him.

“Aegon…” you whispered, barely a breath.

“Say it,” he urged gently, his voice raw, desperate, yet patient. “Say you don’t want me, and I’ll walk away. I swear it.”

Silence filled the space between you, the only sound the unsteady beating of two hearts. Your lips parted, but no words came. Your hands slowly tightened in his tunic, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.

You didn’t say it. You couldn’t.

Because it wasn’t true.

His eyes flickered with something between relief and disbelief, his breath shaky as if he had been holding it for far too long. Slowly, he leaned in, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t.

And when his lips finally met yours, it wasn’t harsh or wild. It was soft, steady, and certain — a promise, not a demand. His hands cupped your face with the gentleness of someone holding something fragile and precious. You felt the heat of him, the certainty of him, and for once, you didn’t feel like you had to fight for it.

You just felt loved.

Days passed, and you remained in the quiet solitude of your chambers. The weight of everything — betrayal, heartbreak, and uncertainty — settled heavily on your heart. The walls felt both like a shield and a prison.

Your daughter’s laughter was the only light in your days. She would run into your room, her little feet pattering against the cold stone floor as she climbed onto your bed, babbling about butterflies, flowers, and whatever small adventure she’d had that morning. Her warmth reminded you that not everything was lost.

Sometimes, your mother would visit. Her presence was quieter now, less judgmental, as if she’d finally realized how much she had failed to see. She wouldn’t always speak, just sit beside you, her fingers brushing through your hair like she used to when you were a child. No words were needed in those moments.

And then, there was Aegon.

He came more often than anyone else. Sometimes he brought wine, other times small trinkets for your daughter. His visits were loud and unbothered, like a storm forcing its way into your still, quiet world. He would joke, tease, and try to make you laugh, though he rarely succeeded. But his persistence never wavered.

He never asked for anything. Never demanded. He just stayed.

But they never came.

Helaena never knocked on your door. Not even once. Perhaps it was guilt, or perhaps she simply didn’t care. Aemond’s absence, however, was a deeper wound. For a time, you had waited for the sound of his footsteps, the familiar thud of his boots against the stone. You hated yourself for it. Hated that part of you still wanted an explanation, an apology — anything.

But it never came.

Then, one morning, the whispers reached you. The servants spoke quietly as they passed your door. You overheard their hushed words about Aegon going to the Queen. Demanding that his marriage to Helaena be annulled.

“She’s with child,” one of them had said. “The Queen won’t allow it. It’s already too late.”

Your breath caught in your chest. You knew it wasn’t Aegon’s child. It couldn’t be. He had been with you. Every night, every moment since that fateful night, he had been with you.

The truth settled over you like a weight you couldn’t lift. It was Aemond’s.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your gown, nails digging into your palms. You thought you had buried that pain. You thought you had buried him. But hearing it spoken aloud, knowing that his betrayal had consequences beyond your own suffering — it shattered something inside you.

When Aegon arrived later that day, he found you standing by the window, staring out at the gardens below. Your expression was distant, hollow. He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned against the fire place, arms crossed, watching you quietly.

Aemond stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling with sharp, controlled breaths. His single eye burned with fury, the flames of his rage barely contained. Behind him, your mother’s voice called his name, sharp with warning, but he didn’t move. His gaze was locked on you — on you and Aegon.

You rose slowly from your seat, your heartbeat thundering in your chest. Aegon remained seated, his eyes narrowing with lazy defiance as he tilted his head back, watching Aemond like one watches a beast deciding whether to lunge.

“Aemond,” your mother’s voice came again, firmer now, closer. “Don’t.”

But he didn’t listen. His gaze flickered to Aegon, his lip curling in disgust, then back to you. “So this is what you’ve become?” he hissed, his voice low but dangerous, like a snake coiling to strike. “Parading yourself like some… common whore in the arms of our brother?”

Your breath caught in your throat, rage and disbelief mixing into something sharp and searing. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms.

“You dare speak of shame to me?” you shot back, your voice trembling not with fear but with barely restrained fury. “After what you’ve done with her? After you betrayed me for Helaena?” You stepped forward, your eyes locked with his, daring him to deny it. “Don’t speak to me of dignity, Aemond. You lost the right to judge me.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, his eye narrowing to a slit. He took a step forward, his movements slow, predatory. “Helaena is the mother of my brother’s children,” he said coldly, each word measured like the swing of a blade. “She is my sister, my blood. I have only ever done my duty to her.”

“Duty?” you laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and hollow. “Is that what you call it now? Did duty drive you to her bed? Did duty make you hold her the way you never held me?” Your voice broke, and you hated it, hated the crack of vulnerability that slipped through. “Don’t speak to me of duty, Aemond.”

Behind him, Alicent stepped into view, her face pale with shock and shame. Her lips parted, but no words came out. She glanced between you and Aemond as if realizing, for the first time, the full weight of what had been broken.

“That’s enough,” your mother’s voice was hard, the voice of a queen. “Both of you.” She stepped between you and Aemond, placing a hand on his chest, forcing him to step back. “You have done enough damage, Aemond.” Her eyes met his with cold finality. “Leave.”

But he didn’t move. His gaze shifted, not to Alicent, but to you. His eye softened, his lips parting like he was about to say something — something important, something he hadn’t said before. But then his gaze shifted to Aegon.

Aegon, who hadn’t moved from his seat, watching it all with a calm, arrogant grin. Slowly, he raised his cup to Aemond in a silent toast, his eyes glinting with mischief and triumph.

That was it.

Aemond’s mask of control shattered.

With a snarl, he lunged toward Aegon, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him out of his seat. Aegon laughed, even as he was shoved against the wall, his grin unfaltering.

“Hit me, brother,” Aegon taunted, his voice low, his eyes wild with challenge. “Hit me like you want to. Hit me, and watch what happens next.”

“Stop it!” Alicent’s voice rang out, her hands trying to pull Aemond back, but he wouldn’t let go.

“Is this why you wanted your marriage annulled, brother?” Aemond growled through clenched teeth, his face inches from Aegon’s. “So you could claim her for yourself? She’s mine. Mine!”

You stepped forward, voice sharp and clear as steel. “I am not yours, Aemond. Not anymore.”

His grip on Aegon faltered for just a moment. Slowly, he turned his head to you, his breathing harsh and uneven. For a heartbeat, he looked at you not with rage, but with something closer to pain. His lips pressed into a hard line, and his eye searched yours like he was looking for something that had already been lost.

“No,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “You are mine. You have always been mine.”

Your heart twisted, but your resolve didn’t waver. You shook your head slowly, stepping back, putting distance between you.

“Not anymore,” you said, voice steady, final. “I belong to no one but myself.”

Aemond’s gaze flickered with something raw, something close to heartbreak. He looked to your mother, his eye silently pleading for her to stop you, to do something. But Alicent lowered her gaze, her fingers brushing her forehead like she carried the weight of every mistake that had led to this moment.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you pulled your hand from Aemond’s grip, but he caught it again, his fingers wrapping tightly around yours. His eye was wild, filled with something raw — desperation, regret, and anger all at once.

“Please,” he said, his voice breaking in a way you’d never heard before. “Don’t do this. Don’t leave me.” His fingers tightened around your wrist, and his breathing grew heavier. “I can fix it. I can fix everything."

You shook your head, your eyes filled with hurt, but your resolve did not waver. “It’s already done, Aemond,” you said, voice steady despite the storm in your heart. “The marriage is annulled. There’s nothing left to fix."

Aemond’s gaze flickered to your mother, searching her face for some sign that it wasn’t true. “Mother,” he breathed, his voice filled with disbelief. “Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me you wouldn’t do this to me.”

Alicent’s face was a mask of quiet sorrow. Her eyes, though filled with love, held none of the mercy he sought. “It is done, Aemond,” she said softly, her voice heavy with the weight of her choice. “I will not see her suffer any longer.”

The words struck him like a blade. His grip on your wrist faltered for a moment, but he didn’t let go. His eye darted back to you, filled with panic now, as if he were drowning and you were his only lifeline.

“No,” he muttered, shaking his head like he could deny the reality of it. “No, you’re mine. You promised me. You vowed before the gods.” His breathing grew shallow, his face twisted with something far too close to heartbreak. “You belong to me.”

Your chest ached, but not with love — with the weight of everything that had been broken. You took a breath and met his gaze with unwavering strength. “I belonged to you, Aemond. But not anymore.” You pulled your arm back, trying to free yourself from his grip, but his fingers only dug in deeper.

“Don’t do this,” he hissed, his voice low and filled with warning. “You don’t get to walk away from me. You are mine.”

“Let her go, brother,” Aegon’s voice cut through the tension, sharper than steel. He stepped forward, eyes locked on Aemond, his grin gone, his usual air of indifference replaced with quiet menace. “You’re making a fool of yourself.”

Aemond’s gaze flickered to Aegon, his face twisting with rage. “This is your doing, isn’t it?” he snarled, his grip on you tightening like a vice. “You’ve poisoned her against me.”

“You did that yourself,” Aegon shot back, his eyes narrowing. He moved closer, his steps slow but purposeful. “Let. Her. Go.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched, his whole body tense as if he were a bowstring pulled too tight. His breathing was ragged, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might strike Aegon.

But then Alicent stepped between them, placing a firm hand on Aemond’s chest. “Enough,” she said with all the weight of a queen’s command. “Let her go, Aemond. This is over. Accept it with dignity, or I will see you escorted from this room by force.”

Aemond’s eye darted to Alicent, disbelief flickering across his face. “You would turn against me too?” he asked, his voice cracking with something far too close to a child’s plea for his mother’s love. “For her?”

Alicent’s face softened with sadness, but there was no doubt in her eyes. “For all of us, Aemond,” she said quietly. “Including you.”

His fingers loosened. Slowly, reluctantly, he let go of your wrist, his hand lingering for just a moment longer before falling away completely. He stared at his hand as if it had betrayed him. He turned on his heel, his strides slow but deliberate as he left the room. The heavy sound of the door slamming shut echoed in the silence that followed.

You rubbed your wrist where his grip had left a faint mark, your breathing shallow. Aegon stepped closer, his eyes scanning you with quiet concern. “Are you hurt?” he asked softly, his gaze falling to your wrist.

You shook your head, eyes still on the door. “No,” you whispered, your voice steady but drained of emotion. “Not anymore.”

Alicent stepped forward and cupped your cheek, her eyes filled with guilt and quiet pride. “You were brave,” she said softly, her thumb brushing your cheek. “Braver than I ever was.”

You leaned into her touch for a moment, letting the warmth of her comfort wash over you. But then you straightened, your eyes hardening as you gazed toward the door where Aemond had disappeared.

“I’m done being afraid of him,” you said, your voice sharp as steel. “He can rage, he can threaten, but he will never control me again.”

Aegon’s smile returned, softer this time, tinged with something like pride. He stepped to your side, close enough for his arm to brush against yours. “Well said,” he murmured. “He won’t touch you again. Not while I’m here.”

For the first time in a long time, you believed it.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack

#aegon ii targaryen #hotd #hotd imagine #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen #hotd one shot #prince aegon targaryen #aegon ii fanfic #hotd x reader #aegon x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #aegon fanfic #aegon targaryen x you #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond

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jestericulating · 14 days ago

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i feel like its my curse to fall in love with side characters but i feel like we dont appreciate mithara’s brilliance enough

like ur gonna look me in my eyes and tell me u willingly miss out on an incredibly written character just bc she doesn’t have as much content and you gotta murk a few twerps to get her. knock her out like the rest of us

like she’s such a fascinating woman. for someone so vindictive and evil she’s so willing to be immediately vulnerable with you and voice her concerns just because you decided to save her and she recognises that most people in their right mind would leave her for dead but You Don’t and she literally doesn’t waste a second expressing her gratitude. who else willingly does that without me having to wrench it out of them huh

and i think it’s so fascinating because she’s literally a commander And Also a noble and yet you can ask her about anything to do with home and her life before and she’ll tell you it all so willingly just because you asked. she doesn’t hide anything from you; everything is out in the open and straightforward from the get go. she’s a no nonsense woman and i deeply respect that

it could also just be a me thing but there’s something i really appreciate about her not really having any specifically romantic greetings. she’s stalwart and alert and ready to run into battle for you until you ask her for a kiss and then her voice softens and she’s sweet and teasing you and it just feels So Much More Natural you know?? i find some of the other romances dialogue to be a little too mushy or on the nose for my liking so minthara is hard Not to romance every time. even on a redemption durge run she doesn’t chastise or get upset with you for not taking the netherbrain for yourselves Even Though it was what she had been dying to do since she joined your party. she doesn’t even really need your apology, she’s just happy to be by your side more than anything and i think thats what makes her so Ride or Die because all that matters to her is you!!!! even at the reunion party that she says she doesn’t particularly care to be at (i dont believe her for a second i KNOW she likes some of the companions deep down) she hangs around and waits just so that you can hang out with your friends because she wants you to be happy. she is a very ambitious and selfish woman and yet as soon as you get with her she pushes all of her selfishness aside Just to account for you. if you dont wanna do it then it won’t happen. end of story. she’s not gonna force you even if it’s literally all that she wants. yeah the compromise is that instead of doing the Massively Evil Thing you just do a Smaller Evil Thing but i dont ever play characters that Aren’t in some way morally dubious so whatever

i fear there is no one so fiercely loyal and supportive of any decision you make than minthara and i’ll die on that hill

#this is a safe space for minthara truthers #i genuinely dont think ive ever loved a character as much as her #i dont wanna hear NOTHING about her hunger for power #we all know act 3 gale + astarion #i said so much no idea if any of it makes sense but whadeva #bg3 #minthara #minthara baenre #baldur's gate 3

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sorceresssundries · 23 days ago

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Ruined

Pairing: Gale x Fem Tav

Summary: Regency Era AU! Tav is burdened by whispers of a cursed love life. Twice betrothed to promising men, only to lose them to tragic fates, Tav’s allure has become a point of fascination and fear. Intrigued, the recently arrived Mr. Dekarios pursues her despite the ominous rumours that surround her.

Warnings: Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Porn with Plot, NSFW

Word Count: 6K

A/N - this was written as part of a prompt challenge, the prompt was 'Let me ruin you.'

Tav was, yet again, compelled to endure the dreary monotony of another wretched ball. It was the seventh of the season, though indistinguishable from the first—or indeed from any that had succeeded it. The floral arrangements, while marginally altered, brought no true novelty. The pheasant, a substitution for last week’s goose, was hardly the culinary triumph the hosts had envisioned. Yet still, the gathered throng twittered and preened, as though this fête were the crowning glory of the season.

It was not.

She often found her thoughts wandering from the oppressive glow of chandeliers to the untamed wilds beyond the manicured grounds. There, she imagined herself letting her hair and laughter fall loose, and riding bareback through the weaving woods she often drifted to, lured by wildflowers and birdsong. Or even further, to the ocean where the waves beat and pulled against the shore and promised mystery and new horizons.

Her daydreaming and lack of refinement had often left her labelled as preoccupied, unladylike, vexing.. To those throughout her life who had attempted to curtail her tendency to wish for the unobtainable. Corsets and etiquette may have done their best to pour her into a shape worth enduring, but there were no rules nor laces tight enough to bind the wild beat of her reckless heart.

But here she was, bound again and bored again, at another repetitive show, for another repetitive year. Constantly torn between wanting to be wild and needing to be secure.

This season, like the last, had brought Tav yet another marriage proposal - her third in total. She accepted it with the quiet resignation of one who had grown all too accustomed to the inevitability of such offers.

Offers which, so far, had ended in tragedy.

Two seasons ago, she had been affianced to a fine gentleman of estimable rank and fortune. Their engagement was announced amid great fanfare, and society applauded the match as one of rare brilliance. Alas, before vows could be exchanged, her intended husband succumbed to a sudden fever, leaving Tav bereaved and pitied.

The following season, she accepted another suitor, a baronet’s eldest son, whose devotion bordered on zeal. Yet fate struck cruelly again: he fell from his horse mere weeks before their nuptials, his neck broken in an instant.

After the second tragedy, the whispers began. They followed her like shadows, flitting from one fan to the next, growing more embellished with every retelling. Some claimed her beauty was too perfect, a snare set by the Fates to lure men to their doom. Others murmured curses, of misdeeds from ancestors long ago visited upon the innocents of the present.

Whatever the tale, Tav was transformed in the eyes of society - from the most captivating of melodies, to the siren who used it to drown the besotted.

She was hoping that the third time would, indeed, be the charm many claimed it to be. The only reason she had accepted the invitation to this particular ball was due to the request of Mr. Rowle, a solicitor who spent most of his time in London and was in search of a wife to keep in his large house in the countryside.

He had asked for her hand, and she had accepted. It was to be announced later this evening.

Mr. Rowle was the kind of man who could hardly be described as remarkable. He bore the vigour of watered-down wine, and his presence filled every room he was in the way a stale breeze might fill a drawing room. Still, he had taken a particular shine to Tav after realising, quite astutely, that she possessed both beauty and a good name, with very little competition standing in her way. His appreciation for her was pragmatic, driven by the efficiency of her family’s connections rather than any deep passion.

Tav had no illusions. She knew what marriage meant in this world. Mr. Rowle, for all his mildness, was no different from the fiancées who had come before him—well-intentioned, perhaps, but uninspiring. A man who would offer comfort and stability, if not love.

He was aware of the rumours that surrounded her, but Mr. Rowle was not a superstitious man, and so after only a couple of dances and several conversations about the weather and the local wildlife, he had visited her home and made her an offer of matrimony. It was swift, practical, and utterly devoid of romantic flourishes. He had no grand speeches, no sweet promises, only a proposal that seemed as casual as the conversation they had shared over punch.

Tav had felt nothing. Certainly not elation, nor disappointment, nor even relief. There was nothing in Mr. Rowle’s offer that made her heart race or her pulse quicken. His offer was as placid and dull as his presence.

And yet, she agreed. Not out of a sense of duty or obligation, but because she could not think of a reason not to. The prospect of becoming a solitary wife in a large, empty house with a husband she did not love seemed no worse than the alternative—more of the same, the same crowded balls, the same endless parade of unremarkable suitors, the same stale expectations.

“I shall make do,” she had resolved to herself, turning her thoughts away from her own desires.

Not that she particularly minded being on her own. In fact, she found her company much more invigorating than any other person she had socialised with all season - save, perhaps, one.

Mr. Gale Dekarios was a recent attendee to the events of the county, and was the subject of countless fluttering eyelashes, timid stares, and whispered speculations. Wealthy, strikingly handsome, and possessing an education that was the envy of many, he had recently taken up residence in the county after parting scandalously from his lover in the capital. A member of the nobility, it was said - though no one dared utter whose name, precisely - with whom he had been an illustrious paramour until he had, regrettably, fallen out of favour.

Quick-witted, and perhaps a touch too clever for his own good, Mr. Dekarios had the uncanny ability to sharpen a room’s attention merely by entering it. Tav had disliked him instantly. She rolled her eyes at the chatter of scandal that clung to him, noting how it seemed to polish his reputation rather than tarnish it.

The same clucking mothers who had pecked at her name until it was in tatters, pushed their daughters towards him at every opportunity. Hoping that a dance or a conversation would lead to a betrothal between the rich, educated former lover of a noble and their insipid waif of a daughter.

She certainly had no intention of tripping over herself to catch his eye.

Mr.Dekarios however, was not quite as sure-footed.

He was intrigued by the woman of substantial beauty who often seemed to flitter, disinterested at the corner of the gatherings. Filling her own glass, and tapping her feet to the music as she sat in solitude, thinking no-one could see the rhythm of her slippers beneath her gown.

He had asked about her almost immediately. Discretion was paramount, of course, so he made his inquiries with care, approaching a variety of confidants and acquaintances. Their answers, though varied, all carried the same shadowed thread.

She was a beauty, they said, as luminous as she was mysterious. Yet her allure was whispered to come at a cost. Twice, she had been betrothed, and twice tragedy had struck before vows could be exchanged. Both men, hale and hearty, had perished suddenly and unexpectedly. Fever claimed one, and a fatal fall took the other. Another one, some solicitor , was apparently rumoured to be next in line.

Some spun her tale with a touch of poetry, casting her as an otherworldly enchantress whose perfection ensnared mortal men. Others muttered more pragmatic warnings, hinting at curses, ill luck, or sins of her forebears.

Whatever the version, the message was clear: she was a woman to be admired from afar, not pursued.

And yet, after watching her, Gale found himself thoroughly unconvinced.

The first time he asked her to dance, she had declined with polite finality, offering no further explanation. It wasn’t rejection so much as dismissal, as though his request were little more than a passing inconvenience. He hadn’t been discouraged.

The second time, she wavered—her lips curving into a subtle smirk, her eyes alight with a glimmer of something that might have been amusement. Still, her answer had been the same. No.

The third time, however, her disbelief at his persistence had given way to reluctant acceptance. “I’m not sure this is wise,” she had said, even as she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor.

“Wisdom is overrated,” Gale replied, his grin laced with mischief. “But if it’s any consolation, I promise not to step on your toes.”

And so began the pattern that would define their every subsequent meeting.

Each time they danced, his hand held her waist with a touch that grew imperceptibly firmer, his dark eyes dipping lower, his gaze lingering longer. She told herself she imagined the faint stroke of his thumb against her gloved hand, yet each time the contact sent a spark rippling through her. For the first time, she understood the folly—and the wisdom—of feeling alight from something so small.

Unlike other partners, he eschewed the usual, droning topics of weather and the quality of the supper. Instead, he asked questions that surprised her. He wanted to know about her family, her thoughts, her opinions.

She had flirted and bantered, and he had laughed - beautifully, richly. A sound that disarmed her completely and, more often than not, drew her own laughter from her lips until her corset protested against the joy.

But beneath the growing warmth between them, a shadow still lingered. Tav couldn’t ignore it. Surely Gale, for all his charm, was not unaware of her reputation, the whispers that followed her like a darkness even beneath the brightest chandeliers. Surely he, like everyone else, knew of the misfortunes that had befallen those who dared to come too close.

Her curiosity eventually overcame her. One evening, as the music faded and the final steps of their dance drew them close, he lifted her gloved hand to his lips. His touch, light and brief, sent a shiver through her even as his dark eyes locked onto hers, steady and full of something she dared not name.

“I would like to pay you a call tomorrow,” he said softly, the intimacy of it wrapping around her like a caress.

Bemused, and emboldened by their growing familiarity, she could not help but challenge him. “Have you not heard, sir?” she asked, tilting her head with mock gravity. “Any man foolish enough to commit himself to me meets a grisly end. I am the curse of the county.”

“I am well aware of your fascinating history.” His lips twitched, a grin threatening to break free. “It reminds me of certain females of the animal kingdom who are known to murder - and occasionally devour - their partners after the union is complete. It seems you either possess exceptional efficiency or lack the intelligence to at least wait until the marriage contract is signed.”

“Intelligence?” She arched a brow, her smirk sharpening. “Sir, I lack the patience.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding with exaggerated sagacity. “Then perhaps next time, you ought to choose a suitor whose company you can bear for long enough to secure the contract.”

“If I find such a man,” she countered with a smile, “I shall let you know at once.”

His laughter rang out, warm and unguarded, sending a strange ache through her chest. It had quickly become her favorite sound—a sound that made the rest of the world fade, if only for a moment.

But the following day, when he arrived at her home, she turned him away.

Not because she wanted to. On the contrary, she found herself hovering near the window long after his carriage had departed, her hands gripping the sill as though it might steady the tumult inside her.

No, she turned him away because she understood the danger of marrying for passion in a world where she was not allowed to express it.

And somewhere deep down, buried beneath her rational mind and resolute exterior, there lingered a fear she dared not voice. The rumors, as wild and swirling as they were, had taken root in a corner of her heart. No matter how much she dismissed tales of blood curses and ancestral magic as foolishness, the whispers of society were insidious. If you are told something often enough, if you hear it echoed and embellished in every corner of every room, the ability to believe it burrows cruelly and stubbornly into the softer places of the soul.

It didn’t matter that no proof existed, nor that the very idea was absurd. The possibility, however faint, was enough to haunt her.

And the thought of such a fate befalling Gale—his dark, knowing eyes dimmed, his laughter silenced, his warm hand gone cold—was too cruel to consider.

She accepted Mr Rowle’s proposal the very next day.

And so here she was, at the ball where it was to be announced, once again folded up into manageable pieces, and ended up feeling so confined it became difficult to breathe properly, let alone laugh or flirt or, god forbid, enjoy oneself.

She thought once more of the woods and the ocean, of a freedom she would never find, and it all became too much.

She slipped from the crowded room, the clamour of prattle unbearable, and wandered aimlessly through a labyrinth of endless, identical corridors. The monotonous expanse seemed to stretch without end, until, at last, she stumbled upon an unoccupied alcove. With a soft, relieved sigh, she surrendered to the cool solidity of the wall, allowing herself the rare indulgence of slouching heavily against it. The breath she released felt as though it had been held captive not just for hours, but for the entire length of the season itself.

Her reprieve, however, was fleeting.

“Miss Taventon,” came a familiar velvet voice, “I was hoping to stumble into you.”

It was a cruel challenge, to maintain both eloquence and ire in the presence of someone so devilishly handsome. Yet, she resolved to rise to the occasion all the same.

“A pleasure Mr. Dekarios,” she replied, her voice carefully even. Her eyes flicked down the corridor behind him, searching for signs of life. It was, to her dismay, empty. The usual din of aimless chatter was absent - ordinarily a blessing, but now a vexing reminder that to be alone with him, even for a moment, was to court the sort of scandal that clung like burrs to one’s reputation. She lacked both the energy and inclination to untangle herself from such a mess.

“Perhaps we may continue this discussion elsewhere,” he offered, wanting to protect her decency but not at the expense of losing the pleasure of her company. His interactions with her had become a sparkling rarity he would loathe to let slip between clumsy fingers.

His eyes caught the faint light of the sconces, their gleam too knowing, his half-cocked smile far too disarming. Indeed, Tav found herself wholly disarmed. Her wits scattered like leaves in a strong wind, and she could scarcely think clearly enough to determine what she ought to do—or say.

Before reason could intervene, her hand shot out, taking hold of his arm with a firmness that startled even her. She pulled him into the nearest room without so much as a word of explanation.

The door clicked shut behind them, and they found themselves within a study, low-lit and mercifully empty. Towering bookshelves lined the walls, the scent of leather-bound tomes mingling with faint traces of cedar and ink. An extravagant writing desk stood as the room’s centerpiece, the only witness to their impropriety.

He was so close, gazing down upon her, the scent of plummy wine and heat simmering upon him. A dangerous thought flitted through her mind. If she so chose, she need only rise to the balls of her feet and kiss away the smile that played so smugly upon his lips. What might it taste like - that peculiar blend of arrogance and charm? Would it be sharp and bitter, like unripe fruit, or unexpectedly sweet, a slow trickle of late-summer honey?

The notion startled her, sending a betraying flush to her cheeks. To taste his superiority - to swallow it whole, to let it nourish her own fire - was a thought too bold, too improper. She stepped back abruptly, the motion breaking the spell his gaze had woven around her. The weight of his eyes remained upon her, unrelenting, as though he could divine the secrets she so desperately sought to hide.

Her lips parted, but no words formed. What could she possibly say to shatter the charged silence that hung between them? She felt unmoored in a storm she was unprepared for, swirling with curiosity, and something perilously close to longing. Yet even in her disarray, she knew that silence was a weapon she dared not wield for too long.

“I hear you are betrothed,” he said first. His tone was peculiar, sharper than usual, edged with something she could not readily name. “My sincerest congratulations.”

For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw the faintest flicker in his expression - hurt, perhaps, or resignation. But the mocking tilt to his words fanned her anger, quick and volatile.

“If your intention is to bait me with sarcasm or false pleasantries,” she snapped, indignant, “then I can assure you, your ire is wasted.” Her cheeks flushed with the heat of her temper. “You have very little appreciation of my position, and I will have no judgment from you, nor from anybody else.”

Her voice trembled on the edge of breaking, her hot-blooded nature betraying her as usual, and she felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to spill. She turned her face away, willing herself to regain control, furious that he could provoke her so easily.

“I apologise,” he said, gentler now. “If I have upset you, I assure you, it was never my intention.”

He reached out then, instinct overriding reason, his hand hovering in the space between them. He longed to trace the line of her jaw, to gently guide her gaze back to his. He lived for those moments when her eyes met his, those fleeting seconds when the world fell away and he could lose himself utterly in their depths. To be this close to her yet deprived of that connection felt like an unbearable cruelty.

But just as quickly, reason caught up with him. He hesitated, his hand faltering mid-air before he let it fall back to his side. He thought better of himself—of her—and allowed her the space she sought, even if it meant she kept her face turned from him, her eyes averted, her expression unreadable.

“If that was not your intention, sir,” she asked “then what is?”

He hesitated once more, caught between decorum and the desperate urge to speak the truth. If her engagement was to be announced tonight, as rumour suggested, this moment might be his last chance—his last opportunity to tell her what had remained unsaid for far too long.

In the silence, her eyes once more found him, too curious and impatient to be coy.

“My intention… was to make you aware of my feelings for you. It is no use, I can hide them no longer, and if this is my final opportunity to make them known then.. I would be a fool not to take it.”

If he expected her to be flattered, he would be disappointed.

“I see.” She said, whilst waiting for her thoughts to arrange themselves into a suitable order. “And you have decided to make this confession, alone with me? On the night of my engagement? How noble of you, sir. How thoughtful.”

He had the decency to blush a little, “I did not mean to.. I did not think..” “No, because you have no need of thought. You may act as and how you please with little to no repercussions upon your indelible reputation. What is one more scandal to the mystical and ravishing Gale Dekarios? It would surely only further your allure, to have talk of another lover notched upon your no-doubt dwindling bedpost.”

“Now, hold on..”

“No. I shall hold no more. This is perhaps my final chance for a match, as limp and uninspiring as it is, it is still a match. I do not have the luxury of flitting my way across ballrooms and wearing scandal like the latest fashion. My name is muddied, and my future with it. This engagement is my chance at a comfortable and secure future, do you understand?”

“It is strange, my lady, as secure and comfortable are not words I would have associated with you, or your future.” For one so intelligent, Gale Dekarios often demonstrated the wit of a backwards ass.

“And what words did you associate with my future? Ruined? Destitute? Cursed? The only curse that has befallen me is the one that prevents me from charting my own course. You think I wish to marry that man? I assure you I do not.”

“Stubborn is the word I would use! And infuriating!” His voice was rising to meet hers. “You ought not to worry about the match” he remarked, exasperated. “This time you are bound to vex the poor soul into an early grave”

“Yes, I am vexing! I have been told many times. And I am stubborn, I am glad of it. Because if I am not then I am meek, and if I am not curious then I am stale, and if I am not passionate then I..” she could feel the words crack in her throat, truths she did not want to admit were being spilled from her like poisoned wine “then I am ruined. Not the ruin that this stagnant, monotone tribunal has decreed, but truly ruined. The kind of ruin that steals the sun from my skin and the fire from my soul. That straightens my curls along with my spirit and leaves me pale, faded, and hollow.”

She was blazing, alight, and so achingly, achingly tired of it all.

“The ruin they speak of, the one they condemn with such piety - freedom, passion, love without boundaries or permission - that is no ruin at all. That is a privilege. One that you are entitled to, sir, but I am not and now never will be. I crave to be so ruined.”

Her chest heaved as she finished, her final words hanging in the air like a dare. She was certain he would turn and leave her, that her outburst was too wild for a gentleman of his stature to bear. It would hurt her, for him to turn, but it would not destroy her. She was made of obstinance and wildfire. She would endure.

But he did not turn. He stood there, gazing at her with an expression she could not read and a patience she did not understand.

“Then let me ruin you.”

She was a match struck.

Before she could form a reply - before she could even think - he crossed the small space between them in one deliberate step. His hand rose to cup her cheek, his palm warm against her flushed skin. The touch was surprisingly gentle, belying the fire burning in his gaze, and for a moment, she thought he would simply hold her there, suspended in this unbearable torment.

But then his lips were on hers, and the whole world tilted.

The kiss was no delicate brush of affection. It was a collision. His lips claimed hers with an urgency that stole her breath, leaving her reeling.

She should have pulled away, every rational thought in her mind screamed that she must. But instead, her hands betrayed her, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat, the only thing keeping her upright.

His hand cupped the back of her neck, strong and steady, his fingers threading through her hair as he tilted her head to deepen the kiss. When his tongue swept against hers, the shock of it sent a jolt through her, every nerve in her body alight. She met him with equal fervor, her tongue pressing against his in a rhythm that had been desperate to know. A low, primal sound rumbled from his chest, vibrating against her as he pressed closer, his body warm and solid against hers.

The moan sent a shiver through her, and she felt herself leaning into him, her fingers tightening their grip as though afraid he might pull away. But he didn’t. His other hand slid to her waist, strong fingers splaying across the delicate fabric of her gown as though he might anchor her to him.

She could feel the heat of his breath, could taste the faint hint of wine on his lips, and the sheer reality of it overwhelmed her. Her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat a chaotic echo of this is madness.

And yet, she couldn’t stop.

Her body betrayed her again, arching toward him. When his lips parted from hers, moving to trail a line of fire along her jaw, she let out a shaky breath, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Gale,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, as though speaking his name might shatter whatever fragile spell had woven itself around them.

But he only paused for a moment, his lips hovering just above her ear as he spoke, his voice rough and low. “Tell me to stop.”

She opened her mouth, the words poised on her lips. But no sound came.

His forehead rested lightly against hers, his breath coming fast and uneven.

“Tell me to stop,” he repeated, his voice low, rough, and trembling with restraint. “And I will. But kiss me again…

She opened her eyes to find him staring at her, his gaze searching, as though he feared he had gone too far. But there was no condemnation in her expression, only a fire that mirrored his own.

He paused, as though steadying himself, “Kiss me again, and know that I am done. That I am yours. That I will ruin you for all others but me—and me for you.”

His words unraveled something deep within her, loosening threads she had clung to for far too long. She felt her breath hitch, her resolve wavering as she stood on the precipice of something she could not yet name.

“Yours?” she whispered.

“Everlasting”

The weight of his promise pressed against her, both a burden and a liberation. She knew the cost of stepping over this threshold, knew what it would mean to claim him as hers and to give herself in turn. And yet, in that moment, the world beyond the walls of the study—the rigid rules, the whispered judgments, the life that awaited her—seemed so distant, so inconsequential.

Her hand rose of its own accord, trembling as it brushed against the collar of his coat, tracing the fine fabric. She felt the sharp intake of his breath, and it emboldened her.

She kissed him, branded him, a kiss to end all others.

A sound escaped him then, something between a sigh and a growl, and before she could say more, his tongue was against hers again.

He broke away briefly, his lips hovering just above hers, his breath warm against her skin.

“There will be no going back,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion.

“Good,” she replied, her fingers curling tighter into his coat. “I have no wish to.”

His hands were large and practiced upon her corseted waist. He knew that he would not be able undo her now the way he wished to. He wanted to rip the strings and restraints that bound together the softness of her body. What a waste, what a crime, to tighten and pull together someone as vivid and iridescent as her. To compress her heavy breaths and even heavier laughter into a space too small to hold it. He wanted to hear her, unbidden and unbound. Taste her, full and soft and naked beneath him.

His eyes swept over her, lingering on the curve of her throat where pearls pulsed teasingly, the flush that painted her cheeks, and the slight parting of her lips as she fought to catch her breath. What need did a creature like her have for silk, satin, or pearls? They were dull imitations of beauty, mere adornments trying to mimic what she carried so effortlessly.

It was her—the way her skin caught the light, the way her hair fell in wild waves when she let it loose, the way her laughter could ripple through a room and silence even the most biting of whispers—that made those lifeless things shine. They owed their luster to her, mere shadows granted brilliance by proximity to the source. Just as he felt by being close to her.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he murmured, his voice low and rough with longing.

She released herself from his grasp to a noise of frustration, before stepping back until the back of her legs met with the solid wood of the grand writing desk. It was covered in papers, books which held little interest. He wished to throw them all to the floor, nothing that lay upon that desk could ever possibly be as entrancing as even the thought of Tav laying splayed across it - spine arched and back rising.

“Show me.” She said.

She perched upon the desk, and his breath was ragged and eyes hungry as she lifted her skirts tantalisingly slowly, inch by inch, revealing her feet, her ankles, her calves. How hard he was, just from the sight of her ankles. He wished to kiss each part of her she was unveiling, parts he had imagined in his dreams night after night. Pushing his tongue against her insole, running along the delicacy of her ankle and up her calf. Further and further and further up until his teeth could grace her stocking clasps and he could finally indulge in the scent of her greatest intimacy.

He fell to his knees before her, in lust-induced worship. He had found a Goddess made mortal, and he wished to venerate her with sermon and satisfaction until her divinity returned. He would offer his mouth - tongue and teeth and words, upon every altar she owned. Purl hymns and benediction into the slick heat of her sacred cunt until she offered him blessing after blessing in return.

His hands gripped her thighs, lifting her closer to him as his mouth claimed her. He wanted her to fall apart against him, to know that no other would ever worship her like this, with such complete surrender. Her cries filled the room as he licked and moaned and devoured, and when she trembled beneath him, he knew he had her.

But the fire blazing between them refused to be sated.

He rose to his feet in one swift motion, his hands gripping her hips as he pulled her flush against him. Her skirts were rucked high, her bare thighs wrapping around him instinctively. She reached for him, her fingers fumbling with the fastenings of his trousers until she freed him, her hand wrapping around the hard, pulsing heat of him.

“We do not have to...” he groaned, desperately clinging to the last vestiges of proprietary, to throw a lifeline despite drawing himself.

She needed no lifeline from him. Gasping, she positioned him against her, and kissed him hard as with one rough, claiming thrust, he buried himself inside her. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders, her head falling back as he filled her completely. The desk groaned beneath them.

He drove into her with a raw, relentless intensity, his hands gripping her hips as he pulled her closer, deeper, with every thrust. The sounds of their coupling filled the room—her breathless cries, his low growls, the slap of skin against skin. She was everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever dreamed, and he would have her again and again until she knew it.

Her legs tightened around him, her heels digging into his back as her body arched against his. She met him thrust for thrust, her hands clutching at him as though she feared he might disappear. She was wild, untamed, and he was utterly at her mercy.

“Gale,” she gasped, her voice rippling with pleasure.

He kissed her messy and feverish, a clash of teeth and tongues as their passion spilled over. He swallowed her cries as her body tightened around him, her release ripping through her with a force that left her trembling in his arms.

He followed moments later, his own release crashing over him like a tidal wave. He held her close, his forehead resting against hers as their breaths mingled, their bodies still joined. The room was silent save for the sound of their ragged breathing, the scent of their lovemaking hanging heavy in the air.

She smiled up at him, her eyes alight with mischief and satisfaction. “And here I thought you were a gentleman.”

A chuckle rumbled from his chest, low and warm, as he pressed a tender kiss to her temple. “One cannot always be a gentleman,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement.

Her gaze drifted over the room, taking in the disarray they’d left in their wake—papers crumpled and askew, books knocked from their orderly piles, and an inkpot that had tipped, its dark contents staining the pristine wood and smearing across important-looking documents.

“We’ve made a mess,” she said, her tone somewhere between scolding and delight.

“More than a mess,” he replied, his disarming smile lighting his face. “Ruined, I would say.”

Her laughter spilled into the room, bright and unrestrained, and he caught it in a kiss. His lips brushed hers softly at first, then with growing fervor as if he could never quite get enough of her. Reluctantly pulling away, he began the task of tidying her up, his hands reverent as they smoothed her disheveled skirts.

He knelt before her, fastening her stockings with a devotion that made her heart race. Each clasp was accompanied by the soft press of his lips to her thighs, a mixture of penance and unrepentant indulgence. When her hair pins were hopelessly scattered, he did his best to tame her curls, his fingers clumsy yet endearing as he pinned them back into something resembling order.

Satisfied—or at least as much as either of them could be—he sank into the grand leather desk chair, its creak breaking the quiet. With a gentle tug, he pulled her onto his lap, cradling her against him. His hands roamed her back and waist, languid and adoring,

“There is a packet ship,” Gale said, “Leaving from Falmouth in three days' time. We could be on it.”

She stilled, her lips barely parted, and her gaze lifted to meet his. “A ship?”

“Yes,” he replied, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, a smile that resembled a promise. “A fine vessel. A friend of mine—Wyll, a duke’s son—will be aboard. The Nautiloid. We could go together. You and I.”

Across the sea. How many nights had she stood at her window, gazing out beyond the carefully manicured hedges, imagining the vast, untamed expanse of the ocean? How often had she dreamed of a ship’s deck beneath her feet, the wind twisting her hair into wild hurricanes, no land in sight—only water, only freedom?

Her breath quickened, her thoughts racing, but he continued, seizing the moment. “I had planned to leave earlier. The tedium of society was wearing unbearably thin. I long for further study, for exploration.” He paused, his voice softening as he lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. “But I stayed. For fleeting moments in your company, for the hope of something more.”

Her heart swelled and twisted in equal measure. “And you are not afraid? That becoming my companion will pull you towards an early grave?”

He laughed softly, the sound rich and warm as he cupped her cheek. “Afraid? No. I could think of no better way to end my days than by your side.” His gaze grew serious, intense. “No supposed curse you bear frightens me. I think your suitors thus far were simply not of strong enough disposition to keep your wild flames stoked. And so, they burned out. As many would.”

“And you,” she asked, arching a brow, though her voice was edged with a smile, “are not at risk of combusting, I suppose?”

“I’d like to hope not,” he replied, his grin returning, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth as though to trace the smile that bloomed there.

“So, Mr. Dekarios,” she began “if I do board this ship with you, if I cast off everything I know and chart my own course, what will we find there?”

His smile softened, his hand falling to hers, their fingers lacing as though they had always belonged together.

“Adventure”

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #gale bg3 #gale baldur's gate #gale fanfic #Regency AU

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thegoldencontracts · 7 months ago

Text

How Can You Fluster Them?

Characters: Heartslabyul, Savannaclaw, Octavinelle

Ace Trappola:

- Pretty easily, actually.

- As smug and teasing as he can be, there are quite a few things that get him flustered.

- Bring up how sweet he's acting or how sentimental he seems to watch him sputter furiously in denial; show him direct affection and kindness to watch him blue screen for a second before embarrassedly scoffing about how lame you're being.

- You can fluster him even further by teasing him about how smug he was a second ago. That really gets him.

Deuce Spade:

- While you could tease him about being 'stupid', yes, that is a bit hurtful, and it isn't really the best way.

- Just the opposite. Genuinely complimenting his intelligence, his strengths? That's what catches him off-guard. He doesn't quite know how to acknowledge it when someone truly, genuinely tells him he's not dumb, and him not being an effortless scholar doesn't mean he is.

- There are other ways, of course, like sudden acts of affection, pranks, or even dodging his kisses.

- He gets all red, and a tad defensive. It's the funniest sight.

Riddle Rosehearts:

- Most affection flusters him.

- Seriously. He's never really received it, considering his upbringing, so even things like hugs or kisses on the cheek leave him red. You're not quite certain whether it's more cute or sad.

- He'll get rather huffy if you point it out. It's rather comedic, but you might want to refrain from laughing too much, lest he ends up chastising you.

Trey Clover:

- Pointing out his true brilliance.

- That's the main method. Although he's used to affection, to being told he's a good baker, a nice guy, and whatnot, he's not quite used to having his true potential acknowledged.

- He'll look away with a flush, denying his true intelligence, the true strength of his Unique Magic, or whatever it is you've opted to praise him for.

Cater Diamond:

- Allowing him to be genuine.

- It will take a while, frankly. With most people, Cater dons the personable mask of Cay-Cay the friendly senior, but with time... And patience, he may warm up to you enough to be himself. Be moody, the ultimate hater of sweets, and whatnot.

- He can't help but feel oddly flustered, caught off-guard, really, when you let him complain about the way Riddle was before his overblot, when you make him something salty for a dessert of sorts.

Leona Kingscholar:

- There are quite a few ways.

- If you two are together, he might tease you quite a bit. Reciprocating said teasing is certain to get him huffy and flustered. Teasing in general, really. Dodging his kisses? Headpats? Photoshopping him in cat ears? If you're close enough to him, they'll all work wonderfully.

- And... Genuine understanding flusters him as well. Prioritizing him in small ways, like taking a break from your gaming to talk to him, or allowing him to vent to you.

Ruggie Bucchi:

- Caring for him.

- Ruggie is used to having to act incredibly mature for his age, yes. He's cunning, clever, and responsible, important traits to make up for his disadvantages in life.

- So, when you (jokingly, I would hope) babytalk him, pat him on the head, or ask if he'd like to be the little spoon, it gets him terribly huffy. What's that supposed to mean, huh?

- It's even worse when you genuinely care for him, making him meals, or offering him a massage. It's hard for him to accept help. He's not a kid! He doesn't need the babying! It's worth nothing that he has a very broad interpretation of what counts as "babying". However, he will accept after a while, and be very, very flustered about it.

Jack Howl:

- Teasing him.

- He's always in denial about his softer side, no matter how apparent it becomes that he truly admires or cares for something or someone. He gets terribly flustered at his own sentiment.

- Teasing him about it just makes things worse. Dramatically exclaim how cruel he is because he said he "wasn't concerned for you or anything". Play dumb when he tries to ask for a kiss in a roundabout manner. The result is hilarious.

Azul Ashengrotto:

- There are so many ways to do this.

- Teasing him about his affections, for one. This is the same man who couldn't even admit to caring for his business, who claimed that love made one exploitable. He's already terribly mortified by his own so-called exploitability. Asking if he likes you gets him rather pouty before you're dating.

- Genuine, continued kindness is also rather flustering for him. You- care for him? Wish to see him succeed? You accept his flaws? You don't view him as pathetic for his tears? It's all territory he's terribly unused to.

Jade Leech:

- Standing up for him when he's insulted, for one. Telling the stranger that, no, his mushrooms aren't creepy, they're impressive, they just need to get a hobby. That leaves him shocked for a bit.

- There's also things like being the one to tease him, caring for him, listening to his rambles about mushrooms.

- Those leave him red-faced for a good few seconds. Calling out his flustered state garnets a pointed "Let us move on".

Floyd Leech:

- Initiating affection.

- Really, although he seems lackadaisical most of the time, impossible to fluster, it isn't quite that hard. He isn't used to being kissed, or hugged, or even praised without a certain business-oriented touch.

- So, when you suddenly kiss him, or offer to be the big spoon, or whatnot, he freezes up.

- If you point it out, he gets comedically defensive. Someone needs to tell him how terrible "I-I'm not blushing or whatever, that'd be laaame, so shut up!" Works as a method of denial.

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theonottsbxtch · 3 months ago

Text

SET FIRE TO THE RAIN | LN4

an: i'd like to preface this by saying this is purely fictional and i don't believe lando would behave like this, i've been in many situations like this or where i've watched goregous girls be brought down, if you ever find yourself in a situation like this, talk to someone and if you're too scared to do that. my inbox, my messages are open to talk, i know how difficult it is and i'll always be there for you, every step of the way. love you all <3

summary: based off of this request , the story of a girl who manages to set fire to the rain by finally cutting off a pattern.

wc: 2.6k

warnings: toxic relationship

She had sworn off men.

The last one had hollowed her out in ways she hadn’t thought possible. They’d met at university, and from the start, there was an intensity that made her feel alive, as if the world had cracked open just for them. He was charming, magnetic—a rare kind of brilliance that pulled people in without effort. But beneath the surface, there had been something darker. She’d noticed it in small moments at first, like the way he’d make her doubt her own memories or twist her words into knots she couldn’t untangle.

With him, everything good came with a price. A beautiful night could end with his cutting silence, or an ordinary conversation could spiral into accusations and resentment. He knew exactly how to keep her on edge, to keep her second-guessing herself, until she wasn’t sure where her own thoughts ended and his began.

By the time she realised how deeply he’d tangled her sense of self, it felt too late. She was trapped in a constant push and pull, desperate to hold onto the parts of him that had once felt like home, even as they chipped away at her sanity. She left university more bruised and broken than she’d ever been, feeling like a stranger to herself.

For months after, she found herself replaying conversations, picking apart moments, wondering if somehow she had been the problem. She promised herself she’d never let anyone pull her back into that place—she was done with love, or whatever twisted version of it she’d believed in.

But then she met Lando.

And he was different, at the start at least. There were no telltale signs, or maybe there were and she'd missed them all. But with Lando, she felt like a whole new woman.

Meeting him felt like something out of a story she’d stopped believing in. He was bright, alive, a force of nature. She’d been swept up almost instantly, drawn not just to his charm but to the way he seemed to move through the world. Lando was a Formula One driver—a rising star with an infectious grin and the kind of life that felt thrillingly out of reach. He wore his confidence like a second skin, turning heads everywhere he went, and somehow, for reasons she still didn’t fully understand, he’d turned his gaze toward her.

Their first days together were a whirlwind. He flew her out to races, their weekends a blur of city lights, roaring engines, and late-night conversations where he shared his dreams with a vulnerability she hadn’t expected. She felt as if she was breathing for the first time in years. Lando seemed genuinely interested in her—not just in her beauty or her laughter, but in the way she thought, the things that kept her up at night. He listened in a way her ex never had, his attention a gentle but steady presence that quieted the shadows of her past.

With Lando, she was lighter, bolder. She found herself laughing more, breaking free from the cautious habits she'd formed to protect herself. Even the constant travel, the media attention, the risks that came with his career—none of it scared her. If anything, she was excited by it, captivated by his life at full throttle. She told herself that this was what real love must feel like: exhilarating and limitless.

And yet, as the months slipped by, small things began to nag at her—a flicker of irritation in his eyes when she questioned him, a quiet possessiveness in the way he’d tug her closer when others looked her way. They were tiny cracks, the kind of things she could overlook. But her instincts, dulled as they were by the thrill of his attention, began to stir, whispering that all wasn’t as perfect as it seemed.

She brushed off those whispers. She had promised herself she wouldn’t let fear drive her life, wouldn’t let a good thing slip away just because of shadows in her past. Lando was different, after all. He had shown her sides of herself she thought she’d lost forever.

But sometimes, late at night, she couldn’t ignore the familiar tightening in her chest, a flicker of unease she couldn’t explain. It was nothing—just a bad memory she needed to bury, she told herself.

She was safe, she was happy.

And that was all that mattered.

Until it didn’t.

It started in the small, invisible ways. A slight edge to his voice when she couldn’t make it to a race. The way his grip on her hand tightened a fraction too much when she was talking to someone else, even just a friend. She told herself these things were normal, the quirks of a man under constant pressure. Lando’s world was built on speed, danger, and fierce competition. It made sense that he’d be intense, that he might sometimes hold her a little too tightly.

Then came the nights when he’d disappear after races, unreachable, only to return hours later with excuses she could barely piece together. She’d lie in bed, watching the clock, her mind twisting in circles she’d thought she’d left behind. When he finally came back, he’d laugh off her questions, brushing them aside with an easy charm that was starting to feel a bit too practised.

“You worry too much, baby,” he’d say, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with a smile that was all show and no substance.

She wanted to believe him. She’d fought so hard to let her guard down, to believe that love didn’t have to mean hurt. And for a while, she’d manage to push the doubt aside. After all, wasn’t it better to be with him, flaws and all, than to be haunted by ghosts she couldn’t let go of?

But the cracks widened. One evening, after a long dinner with friends, he pulled her aside, his voice low and edged with irritation. “I don’t like how you were looking at Oscar tonight,” he murmured, his eyes narrowing.

She blinked, caught off guard. “Oscar? He’s your teammate, Lando. We were just talking about your race.”

“I don’t care what you were talking about. You don’t need to give him that much attention.” The words were soft, but there was an edge beneath them that sent a chill through her.

It was like something inside her split open, letting old fears seep through the walls she’d so carefully built. She tried to laugh it off, to remind herself that Lando was nothing like the man from her past, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was slipping, that she was losing her footing on familiar, dangerous ground.

The excuses she made for him started to feel heavier, harder to carry. She was left questioning herself, wondering if maybe she was the problem, if somehow, her history had left her too damaged to hold onto happiness.

But deep down, beneath the doubt and the fear, she knew something was wrong. It wasn’t just her past haunting her this time; it was Lando. The way he seemed to light up her world only to cast shadows over it moments later. The way he made her feel seen and invisible all at once. She could feel herself changing again, growing cautious, careful.

And with each passing day, the Lando she’d once trusted felt more and more like a stranger.

But leaving? That felt impossible.

After all, who else would love her like he did?

No one would.

At least, that’s what her ex had said. It was what Lando insinuated, so it had to be true.

The words echoed in her mind on the quietest nights, when she lay beside him, his arm heavy over her waist, pinning her down in more ways than one. She’d stare at the ceiling, tracing the same lines over and over, feeling trapped in a strange in-between—a place where she was too afraid to stay but too afraid to leave.

When she’d first heard those words from her ex, they’d cut deep, etching a truth she carried like a scar: No one else will love you. No one will understand you the way I do. She’d almost forgotten how it felt to hear them again, subtle and soft, woven into Lando’s comments, his sideways glances, the way he’d sometimes pull her close and murmur, “You’re lucky I put up with you, you know.”

And, to her shame, she’d nod, a small part of her believing it. Maybe she was lucky, she thought, to be wanted by someone as thrilling as him. Who else would have taken her on whirlwind weekends, whisked her away to foreign cities, painted her life in colours she’d only dreamed of? Who else could make her feel this alive and desired? Surely, she should be grateful.

So she stayed, clinging to that fragile, half-real world they’d built together. She ignored the voices of her friends, who’d started to ask if she was okay, if she was happy. She brushed off their concerns with a laugh, told them Lando was just “passionate,” that he had a fire in him, that life with him was thrilling, intense. But the truth was that he didn’t bring just fire; he brought a burn that left her raw, exhausted, a shadow of the woman she’d thought she’d become.

The turning point came one rainy night, it hardly rained in Monaco, after an argument that had started small but escalated, Lando’s anger flaring as she’d barely managed to keep herself from shrinking under his words. He’d stormed out, slamming the door behind him, leaving her alone in the dim light, the sound of rain pattering against the window like a quiet reminder of everything she was losing.

As she sat there, a familiar sense of dread settled in her chest, mingling with the weight of words she’d heard too many times before. You’re lucky I’m here. No one else would deal with you. No one else would want you.

But this time, she felt something else—a flicker of defiance, an anger that had long been smothered by fear and doubt. She realised, with a clarity that shook her, that these words weren’t truths but weapons. Weapons used to keep her in place, to make her question herself until she couldn’t see straight.

Maybe she was more than what he saw in her. Maybe she was more than the broken woman her ex had left behind.

The rain outside was pouring harder now, pounding against the window, drowning out everything but her own heartbeat. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the weight lift, even if only slightly. She didn’t know if she had the strength to leave, but she knew she couldn’t stay—not like this.

Being with Lando felt like trying to set fire to rain.

Every time she reached for warmth, for comfort, her hands came away empty. Every promise he made seemed to evaporate just as quickly, leaving her cold and reaching for something that was never really there. Loving him was an exercise in futility, like trying to hold a flame in a storm, only to be drenched by the downpour of his moods, his shifting affections, his quiet, calculated disapproval.

He came home that night, soaked from the rain, his eyes darker than usual, his expression unreadable. She could smell the sharp tang of whiskey on him, the subtle tremor in his hands as he reached for her. She took a step back, though, bracing herself.

“Where were you?” she asked softly, not even expecting a real answer. She’d stopped expecting those a while ago.

He shrugged, a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Out,” he said, as if that was explanation enough. He glanced at her, his eyes sweeping over her with a mix of amusement and something colder, something she couldn’t place. “Why? Did you miss me?”

There was a time when she’d have laughed, played along, swallowed her doubts and insecurities just to keep things smooth between them. But that time was gone. Now, she felt nothing but a quiet emptiness where her laughter used to be.

“Maybe I did,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “But not anymore.”

A flicker of something crossed his face—surprise, maybe, or the sting of wounded pride. He scoffed, leaning back, crossing his arms as he studied her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She swallowed, steadying herself. “It means I don’t want to be kept in the dark anymore. It means I’m done waiting for you to be someone you’ll never be. You talk about how lucky I am, Lando, but the truth is, I think I deserve better than… than this.” Her voice cracked, and she felt her face flush with both fear and defiance.

He laughed, a low, mocking sound that sent a chill through her. “You think you can do better than me?”

She met his gaze, her hands trembling as she fought to keep her voice steady. “Yes. I think I can.”

It was a small, simple statement, but as the words left her mouth, she felt something shift inside her, like a flame catching despite the rain. She knew he’d try to reel her back in, try to make her doubt herself, to make her think she’d never be enough for anyone else.

But she’d felt enough of the fire and the rain, the illusion of warmth that left her soaked and freezing. She was done waiting for him to change, done trying to be enough for someone who would never be satisfied.

He watched her for a long, silent moment, his face unreadable. Then, with a harsh, humourless laugh, he turned and walked away into his gaming room, leaving her standing alone in the dim light, the rain pounding against the windows like a heartbeat.

And as she stood there, she realised she’d already begun to let go. For the first time, she wasn’t afraid of the emptiness, the quiet. She was ready to face it, to feel the cold and the rain, knowing that someday she’d find her own warmth again.

This time, she wouldn’t look back.

She packed her bags, and unlike with her ex, she didn’t cry. She didn’t find an excuse to stay.

With each item she folded and placed into her suitcase, a sense of liberation washed over her. Clothes, books, the little mementos she’d collected during their whirlwind romance—all of it felt heavy, like anchors that had dragged her down into a darkness she no longer wished to inhabit. This time, she didn’t hesitate to let go.

The silence in the apartment felt almost deafening, but it was a comforting kind of silence, the kind that echoed with possibilities rather than the suffocating weight of past memories. She moved methodically, her hands steady and sure, and each zip of the suitcase felt like another step toward reclaiming herself.

When she finished, she stood in the middle of the living room, looking around at the remnants of their life together. It felt surreal, like a movie set she’d walked onto without ever really belonging. There were the photos of them at races, beaming smiles and happy moments frozen in time, and the framed poster of him in his racing gear, his helmet in hand, looking ready to conquer the world. But now, instead of warmth, those images filled her with a sense of finality. They were remnants of a story that had come to an end.

Her heart raced as she glanced toward the room he was in, half-expecting Lando to return and confront her, to wrap her in his familiar embrace and whisper sweet words that would lure her back into his web. But she shook the thought away. She wouldn’t fall for that crap again. This was her moment, the beginning of something new, and she refused to let fear creep back in.

Because she loved herself.

And in order to love herself, she had to choose herself.

So she did.

the end.

297 notes · View notes

eff4freddie · 6 days ago

Text

Date Night

aka the Sexorcism, an After She Left one-shot Words: 6k

Explicit - Minors DNI

It's been a few weeks since Jackson's second attempt at a prom, and even though you and Joel are finally together, it's hard to move past some of what it took to get there. But it's OK, because you've got an idea.

Warnings: Here be smut. PIV, no protection (don't do that and especially not in an apocalypse), praise kink, dirty talk, 69, nose riding, after all that angst finally we just get to watch these two fuck, it's been 84 years... A/N: I miss these two. And I'm ovulating. So y'know, time for a smutty little mini story I guess. You are welcome to read After She Left before this, but you don’t gotta to enjoy the smut.

You couldn’t understand how it was possible, to be so bone-tired that you weren’t sure how you were keeping your head on your shoulders, but so wired that you could barely keep your feet from tapdancing under your desk.

In front of you, the classroom sat quiet in the lazy afternoon sunlight, the half-hour of reading time you’d instituted after lunch giving you enough time to roll your shoulders and remember the heady days of abundant ibuprofen.

It was Joel’s fault you were so tired. He had a habit of keeping you up late, nestled into the crook of his neck on your couch as he told you what Tommy was like as a teenager, told you about how he was awkward and clumsy in high school, how he found he liked shop class because everyone had to wear ear muffs and he didn’t feel the need to be talkin’ all the damn time. Told you about Sarah, about her brilliance and her tinkly little laugh, the love for her radiating from him, warm enough to seep into your bones as you sat beside him. You loved your evenings on the couch with him, listening to the rain on the roof or watching the fire crackle, reading by the lamplight and ignoring when he snored, lightly, beside you. You wanted so many more of those nights, all of those nights you could get.

It was Joel’s fault you couldn’t sit still. Borne out of some kind of Southern manners, whatever was left of them after the end of the world, he’d apparently taken a vow of chastity since that first morning in that random bedroom in the town out to the West, your gasping need for him so acute after Shauna’s betrayal, after nearly losing Ellie, after waking in Joel’s arms. You weren’t sure what was driving it, his sudden reluctance, but it felt clawing and cold, something grasping at his belly from beneath the ground. A new kind of virus that fed on doubt and unfinished sentences.

Two nights ago, restless and unable to settle on the couch beside him even after he tucked the blanket over your bodies and read to you from some paperback Tommy had found on patrol months and months ago, you had felt the words clawing their way up your throat, bilious and corrosive, crafty enough to slide between the gaps in your teeth.

‘What is this, Joel?’ you asked him, your voice louder than you realised in the quiet of your living room. He paused, his whole body going still. You waited for him to turn to you, growing impatient when he stared, resolute, at the page in front of him.

‘Be more specific, baby,’ he said, after a beat or two, and you swallowed, adrenaline pumping hard enough to keep you on a roll.

‘You kiss me, and we cuddle on the couch, and you told me you loved me the night of the Prom, but then since then it’s been…I mean, I don’t know how long since then-’

‘-six weeks and four days,’ he interrupted, and you paused just long enough to allow your surprise to register. He had been counting? Was that a good thing, or a very bad one?

‘…Right,’ you went on, ‘it’s been that long, and you haven’t…we haven’t…’

He sighed, putting the book down, and you thought for a moment of a disapproving principal discovering his favourite student accused of passing notes in the back row, of an exhausted and disappointed father looking at the clock as his recalcitrant teen snuck in an hour after a curfew, of a surly and disapproving boyfriend strung out by his girl’s hysterics. You felt the jolt of anger behind your sternum. First he was counting and now he was sighing at you? Who the fuck did this overgrown apocalyptic cowboy think he was?

‘M’house is so quiet,’ he said, looking down at his lap to avoid looking back at you. He knew, of course he knew, that he’d let it go on too long. That he’d promised on the steps of the mess hall to talk to you, to communicate more, and that he’d told himself that’s what he was doing when he kept you up all night yapping, in the hope that you’d get too sleepy to turn him out. He wasn’t sure how to explain himself, wasn’t accustomed to this level of intimacy, and it had been easier, so much easier, to tuck you up warm and safe on your couch and read t’ya then to ever have to speak out the truth.

‘What do you mean?’ you said, trying to keep your tone even as you felt a pinprick of fear pierce the comforting self-righteousness you had been wrapping yourself in.

‘When I’m over there, it’s just me…’ he went on, quiet, muscles drawn tight into stillness. ‘Swear sometimes I can hear the wood rottin’ in the floors it’s that quiet.’

You swallowed, your stomach sinking. Ellie had been with you now for nearly three months, and she had brought into the house chaos and warmth and terrible baking, endless sketches spread out over the kitchen table, a feeling that the place was as much hers as it was yours now, that it was for the both of you.

‘S’not just that,’ he went on, his brows saddled. ‘She was there…slept in my bed.’ At this he paused and turned to you, panic on his face. ‘I was always on the couch,’ he clarified, and you nodded at him.

‘I know you were,’ you assured.

‘Just like it over here, is all,’ he shrugged. ‘S’warm over here, and it’s got my girls in it.’

‘But then, why…?’ you asked, not able to form the words ‘haven’t you taken me up the stairs and ravished me three ways from Sunday’, letting the gentle implication rest, instead.

‘Because Ellie’s here,’ he said, simply. ‘I mean, I know she’s not always here, sometimes she’s out at Dina’s, or she’s at the movies with her friends. I know that.’

‘You worried Ellie’ll come home and see you nose deep between my thighs on the carpet?’ you asked, smiling, trying to lighten the mood and it worked a little, Joel letting out a pleased huff.

‘If that’s all I’m doin’ to ya she’d be lucky,’ he said, and you felt the blooming heat on your cheeks. ‘It don’t feel right comin’ in here and…sullying the place, I guess. Know I’m a visitor here, know that this is a special place for you girls.’

You considered this for a moment. He still didn’t feel home here, you realised. He was keeping a safe distance, a respectful distance, a visitor to his not-daughter and his girl.

‘We want you here, Joel,’ you said, and he hummed in a kind of acknowledgement.

‘This is her space, she carved it all for herself, and I can’t be…too much in it,’ he said, after a while. You could see this was hard on him, talking about it just as much as thinking about it. You nodded your head.

‘What about if we went to yours?’ you asked, and he sighed. You hadn’t been there since Shauna ruined your cake, since Ellie had moved over to yours, since you and Joel had finally found your way to be together. He worried, even if he would never find the words to really explain it, to you and also to himself, that the memories of all that hurt would carry themselves on the tiny motes of dust, catch in your lungs and poison you of him, infect this fragile little thing he and you were nursin’ between his outstretched hands.

‘Can’t put you out,’ he muttered.

‘I’ll give you a few days to clean the place up,’ you said, definitive. ‘I want that place spotless so we can get in there and defile the shit out of it.’

He barked, a kind of surprised but joyful exhalation. He fuckin’ loved you, even if you did boss him around.

You considered it a sexorcism, of sorts. Joel was right, you realised. Shauna had been hanging over the two of you ever since you were almost and then not quite and then finally some kind of together. You had wanted to throw caution to the wind, had wanted to be the kind of person that didn’t care about getting hurt, that walked the plank with her eyes open, but that wasn’t the world you lived in anymore. That wasn’t what kept people alive twenty years.

So, you’d hung back, maybe let him keep you safe and warm on your couch, maybe terrified to puncture something gentle and ill-formed, let the comfort of it wrap itself around you until it started squeezing the air from your lungs.

You called the end of the school day early, completely unable to concentrate on Mika’s book report when the book he was reporting on was another comic from 2001, and not a single child under your tutelage had complained about leaving after lunch. It was a Friday, and that meant it was movie night in town so all the kids would be heading there after dinner, and you wanted to go home and shower, smear some powder made of ground up rose petals and talc on your cheeks, try and find a pair of underwear with the elastic still intact.

You wanted to work Shauna out of your system, while comprehensively working Joel in. Your hands had been tremoring all day. You felt like you were fourteen, like this was the first date of your life, like a virgin on her wedding night. You felt like an idiot. You felt like your skin was a size too small. You felt, not for the first time, head over heels for this man.

The sun was setting as you made your way over to his place, watching most of the town gather at the mess hall as you slipped behind side fences and onto Joel’s front porch. You’d barely stepped a foot on the first step before he was pulling the door open, what you had come to think of his best green flannel tight over his biceps. You stepped forward, a shy little grin on your face as you noticed he had slicked his hair back, freshly showered and smelling faintly of pine even from this many paces away. You felt the blush creep up your cheeks as he turned the full intensity of his gaze to you.

‘Hey,’ he said, stepping forward and extending a hand to you. You’d barely laid your palm in his before he was caging your fingers, gripping you and tugging you into him, his other hand falling to the small of your back as he pulled you backwards into the house, chest to chest, nose to nose. ‘Longest fuckin’ afternoon of m’fuckin’ life,’ he said, and you managed to squeeze out a giggle before he was on you, his lips hot and hungry, his hand reaching up to cradle your jaw as he opened it.

You might have gasped a little. You’d kissed him before, of course you had, but there was something in it now, something urgent and anticipatory, that had both of your pulses racing under your skin. You felt the scruff of his whiskers against your cheek as he nuzzled at you, your hands settling on his waist and pulling him closer to you, like you could climb him, like you could open his chest and settle yourself there against his sternum.

‘Fuck,’ you whispered, an understatement. He exhaled through his nose, pulling up long enough to gaze down at you, holding your face gentle and strong in his paw.

‘Wanted this for so long,’ he muttered. ‘Been so stupid makin’ us wait for it.’

‘Sssh,’ you whispered, reaching up to cup your hand over his mouth. His brows raised in surprise but he stood still, letting you muzzle him. ‘No more of that,’ you instructed, and he nodded slightly under your hand. ‘Y’got me now, Big Bad Joel Miller,’ you reminded him, and you watched as something dark, something sinful, sparked behind his eyes.

He gently pulled your hand away. ‘She wet for me, baby?’ he asked, and you shivered, spellbound by the sin of it, by the promise. All you could do was nod, watching as his eyes drifted closed, as he let out a quiet moan. You reached down, your fingers ghosting over the fly of his jeans, to feel the bulge of his cock, the straining flesh just under the denim.

‘Want you, want this,’ you whimpered, catching your bottom lip between your teeth as you gazed up at him. He grinned.

‘C’mere,’ he grunted, lifting you wholly over his shoulder and making your shriek, your laughter catching in your belly as he gripped the back of your thighs.

‘Joel!’ you squealed, struggling against him as he held you fast, pivoting you both towards the stairs.

‘Quit wriggling,’ he grinned, lifting a hand to gently swat at your bottom, chuckling as you gasped. ‘Oh, you don’t mind it when I’m mean t’ya,’ he observed, his chest swelling in pride, as you hung over his shoulder.

‘Shurturrrp’ you gritted out, your world upside down as you watched the stairs fall away behind you. He chuckled again.

In his bedroom he set you right, surprisingly gentle, at the foot of the bed.

‘Arms up,’ he instructed and you found them raising above your head unbidden, barely a thought having passed before they acted of their own accord. He pulled up your shirt, the fabric clinging to you where you had started to sweat, and you wondered why you’d bothered agonising over the decision as to what to wear when he was going to peel your clothes right off you the moment he could. Down to your bra you watched as his eyes lit up, roaming over your chest as he lifted his hands to your shoulder blades and brought you closer to him.

‘God damnit,’ he muttered, ducking low to come eye-level to your tits. ‘So pretty, baby,’ he praised, reaching over with one hand to cup the swell of your breast, his thumb rolling the nipple over the cotton. The simple movement sent lightning bolts of clawing pleasure through to your cunt, your tremulous pulse thrumming between your thighs. Impatient, you reached down and lifted the flesh from your bra, watching his eyes glaze over as he observed them drop.

‘Fuck,’ he whispered, as you reached out to thread your hands through his curls, to steady yourself and to feel him, to draw him to you, to bring his mouth to your nipple, feeding him your tit like a dying man on a desert island.

‘Jesus…’ you whispered as he sucked, swirling the tightening little bud beneath his tongue. You had felt what it could do to your cunt that one night on the couch months and months ago, had thought about it in the quiet moments, in the dark moments, between wakefulness and sleep. You gripped his hair in your fingers as he whimpered a little, a happily little grunt forming in the back of his throat.

You were going to be the death of him. Perfect tits in his face, warm and soft skin under his tongue. From here, even through your little skirt, that he was sure had at one time belonged to Maria, he could smell your arousal, longed to reach out and gather your slick between his fingers, lick them clean of you just to get them dirty in your cunt all over again.

He could feel his cock, hard and urgent against the zip of his jeans, and if he hadn’t been so hellbent on wringing the pleasure from you he would have shucked off the denim and taken care of himself right then and there. Breath ragged, he instead steadied himself, closing his eyes to imprint the taste of your skin on his tongue, as he unlatched.

He kissed you again, your head cradled in his hand as he stepped you towards the bed, the back of your knees butting up against the mattress. He wanted to do this right, had been thinking about it for weeks, for months. The first time he was with you he knew he had used you for his own comfort, trying to embed your warmth inside himself so he could take it with him on cold mornings. The second time it had been to ground you, to push back the grasping dark. Tonight, it would finally be just to love you. To feast on your body, to pull the moans from your throat and the breath from your lungs. To undo you, to let you undo him in kind.

He felt your little hands scratching as his belt, huffed out a little laugh as you unbuckled him, a look of concentration setting lines into your brow.

‘Easy, baby,’ he whispered low, reaching down to hold your hand in his. ‘We got all night.’

‘Waited forever,’ you muttered, frustrated. ‘Please, Joel, want you in my mouth.’

He groaned, momentarily frozen, as his cock registered what you’d said before his brain did. ‘Can’t say shit like that t’me, sweet girl,’ he warned you, as you reached up to him, pulling his mouth back onto yours to silence him.

‘Please, baby,’ you whimpered against his lips, resting your hand on his neck where you could feel his racing pulse. He nodded, just enough that your hands were again at his belt, your fingers easing down his fly and reaching in to grip him, watching his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as his breath stuttered.

You knew he was big, but it still surprised you, the true weight of it. You slipped it from his underwear, pulling it clear of the waistband to rest in your palm.

‘Wait,’ he muttered, and you stilled, watching him compose himself under furrowed brows. You grinned up at him, thrilled by the power you had over him in this moment, watching as his hands shook. Then he rolled, hooking his legs under your knees until you were on your side and he was up again, back on his feet as he reached out and pushed your skirt up over your waist.

‘No, Joel I…’ you started, but stopped when a thick finger traced its way over the folds of your underwear, already soaking the cotton.

‘Smell so sweet,’ he said, almost to himself, before addressing you properly. ‘You really think you could make me wait for her?’ You could only moan in response as his fingers slipped beneath the waistband, the callused skin of his fingertip meeting your aching, welcoming folds.

With his other hand he shucked his jeans over his hips, pushing them down until they gathered at his feet, his underwear going with them. You gazed, heavy lidded, as he crouched over you, pulsing cock hanging heavy between his legs. Not for the first time you considered that he resembled a roman warrior, carved out of marble, when this was all over considered crowning him in laurels for the sight of his abs alone.

‘Stay there,’ he instructed, slipping his fingers from your folds despite your protests and going instead to stand behind your head. He pulled you towards him by the shoulders, until your head was dangling over the bed, his cock now jutting out just in front of your nose as you hung between his thighs. It was obscene and you loved it, tracing back the veins on the underside of his cock to the thicket of his wiry hair, mapping it first with your eyes, and later, your tongue.

You opened your mouth.

Joel gasped, the sight of you prone beneath him, little pink tongue pillowing out of your mouth to accept him, your cunt scenting the air around you with your arousal as you reached to his thighs to bring him to you. He groaned, taking a step or two forward, resting his knees on the edge of the bed as he lowered himself to your glistening lips, your neck straining towards him. Gentle, so gentle with your pretty throat, he slipped the head past your lips, his eyes fluttering shut as he felt you stretch your jaw to accommodate him.

You groaned around him, his cock only just slipping past your tongue, feeling the saliva pool at the side of your mouth as you welcomed him. You let your eyes slip closed, feeling him pulse on your tongue as your head bobbed over the side of the bed to take him in, startling a little when you felt his hands reach out again to cup your tits, still sitting over the cups of your bra. What a sight you must have been, you mused, tits out and skirt shucked up over your hips like a whore, swivelling and writhing on top of the bed in the hope for some kind of stimulation over your aching, pulsing cunt.

‘So good, baby,’ Joel groaned above you and you felt more slick pooling between your thighs, his fingers again tweaking your nipples as he manhandled you from above. You relaxed your jaw, concentrating on breathing through your nose and letting your pulse lessen, feeling your muscles go slack as he worked himself further into your throat.

Joel couldn’t tear his eyes away, watching as his cock bulged in your windpipe, distending the flesh. You groaned, gulping down on him, swallowing around his pulsing flesh and making him count backwards from a thousand so as not to end it right there and then. You were sinful like this, eyes watering from the stretch, grasping at his thighs and pulling him closer, forward, moaning.

‘Oh, my sweet filthy girl, so good t’me,’ he praised, as he knelt over you, bending at the waist to slide his hands down your body and again cup your cunt. You jolted, a shuddering little sigh leaving you as you felt his fingers press again at your lips. ‘Lose these,’ he said, ripping the fabric of your underwear from you and pulling your knees up, planting your feet on the blankets beneath you. You felt even more exposed to the room, dripping now onto the bedspread, and you felt yourself fluttering, your cunt pulsing against nothing, the libidinousness strangely freeing as you released Joel’s cock from your throat just to lift your head and suck one his balls into your wet heat.

‘Ha!’ Joel gasped above you, watching as his glistening cock sat fat and heavy along your nose, your eyes still shut tight as you slurped happily on his ball. Your other hand reached up to weigh and tease the other, the combined sensation sending shockwaves down his shaft. He forced himself to breathe, taking loud and slow inhales and exhales through his nose, sliding a fat finger into your cunt to both reward and punish you for your trickery.

You groaned, the heel of his palm resting heavy on your clit as he pistoned his finger in and out of your slick. Careful not to jostle you, he shifted his weight forward, coming up on his knees on the edge of the mattress and leaning, moving his hands to plant beside your hips. You gasped as you realised what he was doing, rolling your hips to angle yourself towards him, feeling the lips of your cunt unfurl under his hungry gaze.

‘God, she’s so perfect,’ you heard him groan, settling down on his elbows and dipping his head between your thighs. ‘Prettiest cunt I ever saw.’ You pulled your mouth from him just long enough to gasp ‘all yours, all for you Joel’ before he descended, fastening his lips to your tight little bud as his nose parted your folds beneath it. You writhed, all thoughts evaporating from your mind, as you felt your hips grind into his face.

‘Fuck, oh my god Joel!’ you rambled, the weight of his body pressing down against you as his cock bobbed just at the end of your nose. He didn’t respond, not with words, deciding instead to pull your clit between his teeth. You felt your eyes roll back in your head, your hands grasping at his thighs, your mouth opening just enough to rub the underside of his cock against your tongue. He shuddered and you did it again, licking a stripe along his flesh before you lifted your head and angled the head of his drooling, heavy cock between your lips again.

This was war. This was a race. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of winning, of making you come, before he’d shot his load down your throat. In response to your renewed determination Joel shuddered, a long, low moan reverberating along your tortured bundle of nerves as he pushed his nose deeper into your core, wiggling it there. Your scent surrounded him, your scorching folds opening beneath his ministrations, and combined with the shocks of pleasure you were wringing from him he had to remind himself to breathe. He couldn’t think straight, saw stars fizzing behind his eyelids, felt the headiness of your slick, the scent of you surrounding him, drawing him in deeper, down further, your pretty little mouth torturing him while you drowned him with your cunt. ‘This is what those sailors crashed their ships into the rocks for,’ he suddenly realised, the only vaguely cogent thought he could muster.

You tried to lie still, tried to hold back the pleasure building at the base of your spine, but you were writhing, riding the bridge of Joel’s nose as he pushed it further inside you, clit caught between his lips as he suckled. He wasn’t playing fair, you complained in your head. How could you concentrate on beating him when he was trying to suck your soul out through your cunt? You tasted salt on your tongue, opening your eyes to watch his hips stutter, his whimpering little moans coming more frequently now as his cock started to dribble. Again, you reached up to cradle his balls, your jaw aching, saliva dripping past your chin, as you felt his shaft pulse with his need.

You couldn’t last much longer. You wanted it to go on forever.

You desperately, urgently needed to come.

Joel raised his head, rutting against you as he fisted the blankets.

‘Baby, you gotta…won’t last if you…’ he stuttered but you ignored him, doubling your efforts despite the way your head had started to swim. He gasped, pistoning his hips into your mouth by pure instinct, curses flowing from his mouth as he gazed down at your dripping folds.

‘Yeww furrsht’ you grunted, bobbing your head against the edge of the mattress in time to his thrusts. You felt him laugh, his belly and his chest shuddering, as he gently, heavily, lifted himself back up on his knees.

‘Ok baby, you win,’ he said in mock surrender, crawling onto the mattress beside you as you caught your breath. You ignored the way the room swam, slightly grey at the edges. A victory was a victory, after all.

‘Jesus Christ, all this time we been dancing around each other you had that mouth on ya?’ he sighed, shaking his head. ‘I’m a damn fool.’

You grinned, reaching up to wipe your chin and massaging some of the ache from your jaw.

‘Enough of that,’ you said, reaching out to rest your hand on his bicep as he gazed down at you, warmth in his eyes.

‘Didn’t wanna come like that, baby,’ he whispered, reaching out to push your hair behind your ear, trailing his hand along your jawline to fall, delicate and heavy all the same, atop your chest. ‘Not ‘til I’m deep inside ya.’

You shivered, the heat of his words amplified by the sincerity of them, by the gentle filth he was whispering with reverence. You ached, now, a kind of cavernous feeling settling inside you as your cunt fluttered. You let your eyes drift down, to his throbbing cock resting heavy on the blankets beneath him, the tip leaking and an angry red.

‘Please,’ you whispered, gazing up at him again as he ran a fingertip down your belly to nestle, warm and safe, inside your core.

‘Ok, baby,’ he whispered back, shifting his weight to position himself, lifting your legs by the knee to cradle his hips between them.

He notched himself at your entrance. You felt yourself go soft, didn’t realise you were holding your breath. ‘Love you, my sweet girl,’ he said, bringing his lips down to yours so he could catch them between his teeth as he pushed inside you. You moaned, the hot sound of your pleasure ricocheting around inside his mouth, as you lifted your hips to welcome him in.

‘Doin’ so good,’ he praised, reaching down with one hand to rub gentle circles on your clit. ‘I got you, baby. Let me make you feel good.’

You nodded, your eyes falling shut at the stretch, the sting in the core of you giving away to a pulsing kind of pleasure, a destruction and a remaking.

‘Oh, God…’ you whimpered, as he nudged his nose to yours, smelling your arousal on his skin as he dipped his head lower again to kiss you. Again, he pried you open, held you fast with his lips and with his cock, as you let him consume you all the way down to your last atom.

He was everywhere, his weight and his heat surrounding you, so overwhelming, so encompassing, that you felt tears gather at your cheeks. You shifted, lifting your head away and up to the crook of his neck, sinking your teeth into his skin to nibble on him, to take some part of him into yourself, to let the primal take over, in your writhing hips, in your gnashing jaws.

Joel groaned, the feel of your bite driving his hips further, reaching down to hitch your leg over his hip, sawing in and out of your swollen, dripping cunt, feeling your walls flutter as your hands clawed at his back.

‘That’s it, sweet girl,’ he encouraged, as he felt you piston your hips to meet his. ‘Work me into that sweet little cunt.’

You whined, the pleasure of it overwhelming you, releasing his skin from your mouth just to arch your head back, extend your neck and suck in lungfuls of air just to bellow them out as he brought you, overwrought, to the very edge. You could feel your cunt clamping down on him, could feel your slick gathering beneath you, sodden, on the blankets. Could hear your cries of pleasure as if from a distance, could barely recognise them as your own.

He was going to end you. You were going to let him.

‘Want your come in me,’ you rambled, pausing just long enough to take in Joel’s moan. ‘Want to drip you until tomorrow, go off to the mess hall with your come running down my thighs.’

‘Fuck,’ Joel exclaimed, wondering exactly what kind of hell beast his cock had unleashed, and if he should warn the other residents of Jackson. He fucking adored you, and your filthy mouth, and in that moment all he could think of was filling your sweet little pussy to the brim, lashing you to the bedpost and not leaving you until you were dripping him. Keeping you tethered and fed and leaking him, barefoot in his kitchen ready to hitch your skirt over your thighs and swallow his heaving cock into your scorching little cunt.

You could feel his thrusts getting sloppy, his hips stuttering as he gasped, resting his lips on your forehead as he whispered filth you could barely make out into your skin. You could feel your cunt tightening, your stomach muscles curling up to pull your hips further towards him, your shoulders tight as you gripped the blankets beneath you. You could feel it, the winding of the spring.

‘Oh, can feel her grippin’ me,’ Joel mumbled, ‘she gettin’ ready to explode, sweet girl?’ he asked, and you could only nod, eyes shut tight trying to hold back the pleasure.

‘Good girl,’ he groaned and you shuddered, lighting shooting through your core at his casual but devastating praise. ‘Come for me, sweet girl, let me have it,’ he grit out, shifting his weight to rest on one elbow and run his hands down to rub again at your straining clit. You gasped, the air knocked from your lungs by the sudden pleasure of it, and you felt your jaw lock as you clamped down on the feeling.

‘Joel, you’re gonna make me…’ you started but found yourself entirely unable to finish the sentence, the tremors racing up your sides and rendering you speechless.

‘Do it, baby. Gonna paint this sweet little cunt full’a me,’ he promised, and you felt it, then, the point of no return.

‘Joel!’ you exclaimed, eyes wide and searching his as he rolled his hips, holding you steady in his gaze as you came apart around him, fucking you through it as you writhed, his own release chasing soon after as he felt you fluttering walls grip him, milk him, releasing deep into your cunt molten and scorching, his pleasure and his love.

On aching legs, you ambled your way out of the bedroom, the morning sun just spreading itself over the mountains, casting the halls in a golden glow. Joel’s snores drifted down the stairs as you went, following you into the kitchen and embedding themselves deep into the tattered lace of the curtains. You knew Joel had some coffee, he’d bragged about Tommy bringing some back for him on patrol, and even if it was twenty years old you still felt the man had earned it, your cunt still pulsing from his ministrations the night before.

While you waited for the water to boil you stood, leaning your hip into the counter. But for the snoring the house was quiet, but it was a calm kind, a peaceful kind. You looked over at the kitchen table, to where you and Ellie had first met after school for her tutoring lessons, to where Joel would bring you both dinner in what you had initially thought was some kind of paternal gesture and what you now realised was a ploy to make sure you didn’t leave.

You glanced over to the couch, resolving to bring over some blankets from your place such that Joel could tuck you up in them over here, too.

You poured out a coffee, knowing without having to ask that Joel would take it black. The air felt livelier, somehow, the promise of something riding alongside the dust motes. As you moved through the quiet, your footsteps back up the stairs barely left an echo.