#series: courage under fire

[roadtogracelandx45]

I really want to include the whole “She was coming, the train was coming, so was I.” in Courage Under Fire

[houseofamidala]

LIONHEART / robb stark by @heartofmortis

TARYN BARATHEON AND ROBB STARK the queen and the king in the north

[drugsorgasmsandcheese]

trouble, j. miller | chapter one

mob!joel miller x fem!reader

chapter summary: after getting fired from your job at the bookstore, your grandparents introduce you to the man who’s been helping them out for awhile: joel miller. now, it’s his turn to help you.

chapter warnings: reader swears and has dry humour (she’s a bit of me x), mentions of vip’s getting touchy but it’s hypothetical if that makes sense?? reader calls her grandparents ‘pops’ and ‘nonna’, no beta cause i cba, blah blah blah that’s it

also no hate to anyone who reads romance/physical smut books, the hate is simply towards minors who read them & their parents for allowing them LOL

word count: 2518

(series masterlist)

you really don’t know how much longer you can do this.

you’re six hours into your ten hour shift. you’re bored, you haven’t had your lunch break, and your phone is charging behind the desk where you were watching criminal minds before two teenage girls walked into the bookstore.

you’ve watched them for the past twenty minutes. they practically ran to the romance section, picking up books and flicking to certain pages you know had the most pornographic scenes in them before they’d giggle amongst themselves and add it to the pile they were building.

can teenage girls even afford this many books? you had been working since you were sixteen, and you’d barely get enough money to buy yourself two books whilst the rest would be stored away for college. and is this what people were reading nowadays? a male character that exudes toxic masculine standards whilst the author plays into the whole “innocent, virginal” female character who hadn’t the slightest clue about sex or life? is this what parents were allowing their children to-

“we want these books.” a demanding voice speaks to you, and you almost have to do a double take when you see the two teenage girls stood before you at the counter. god, you couldn’t even rely on the younger generation to be polite these days, especially not when one of them is judging you for your oversized hoodie and sweats and the crocs that sit on your feet.

“of course.” you force a smile, biting back on the insults you wish to hurl upon them. but, your boss is in the back. probably doing jackshit like she usually does, leaving you to work your ass off without any breaks.

the scanner scans the barcode on the back of every book before placing them in two bags. dante’s nine circles of hell sounds more appealing than this. you might just grab one of the books and hit yourself with it, hoping you hit so hard you might pass out and get to leave early. not like your boss would allow it, but the thought of having a hot shower and slipping into bed sounded nice.

“and your total is $194.68, is that going to be cash or card?” you rest your hands on the counter, looking at the two girls. one of them whips out a card, so black and matte you almost feel the courage to ask her if: it’s her fathers, and if so, is he single?

you hand her the card machine where she taps the card, and once the payment is deemed successful, one of the girls takes the bag, looks into it and frowns. “these aren’t in the right order.”

“excuse me?”

“the books aren’t in the right order.”

there’s a right order to put books in. none of them were even a series, and even then, does it really matter if your fucking fairy porn trilogy is separated?

“did you ask for them in a certain order?”

the girl gives you a look. “no?”

“so then why would i know what order to put them in?” you’re so done. you’re so fucking done, mentally, physically, and in the eyes of your boss, as well. the girls look at you, mouths agape, probably because they didn’t think they’d be spoken to this way, but you always said that the second a customer is rude to you, you’re being rude back.

the duo scowl at you as they leave the store, muttering insults under their breaths like it was a middle school friendship break up. you sigh, going to turn around to grab your phone when you jump back, spotting your boss leant against the wall.

“you’re fired.” she states.

“yes!” you fist pump the air sarcastically, grabbing your stuff and practically racing out the store. you didn’t even care if you were supposed to wait until the end of your shift to fully leave your job. you were hungry, tired, and your pops and nonna had told you that pops’ infamous burgers would be made for dinner and you were eager.

on your walk home, you listen to your music. it was relatively dark outside, and ideally, as a woman, you shouldn’t be wearing headphones in the dark. but you had always been more frightened by the noises you could hear rather than the ones you couldn’t.

you step into your home, taking your shoes off by the door and walk into the kitchen. you stop at the sight. your pops and nonna were stood in the kitchen talking to a man you have never seen before and you’re almost offended that your grandparents hadn’t allowed you to meet him because jesus christ and all things holy, that man is beautiful.

he’s tall. scarily tall, actually. and not to say you have a thing for muscular men but you would not mind letting this stranger throw you about. he leans on the kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest as he eyes you up.

“he. who is he?” you point to the man, looking at your grandparents.

your nonna tuts your name. “he is joel miller, helps us out where we need it. why are you home so early, sugar, i thought you had a ten hour shift today?” nonna embraces you, kissing your cheek as she taps your arm, signaling for you to sit down at the kitchen table.

a faux laugh escapes you. “heh, well, you see-”

“don’t tell me that damn boss of yours ‘s been givin’ you a hard time again.” your pops speaks up this time, interrupting you this time. your pops was a scary man. he used to be involved in a lot of shit back in the day, constantly being chased down streets and alleyways by the police, always having them on his doorstep which would cause his mother to scold him. you can’t count the amount of times he’s threatened to come down and give your boss an earful on both hands.

“she actually fired me. apparently addressing one’s stupidity isn’t allowed. however, i am more focused on joel. joel, what is your purpose in this here house?” your head turns to look at the man as he addresses you, and he gives you a small smirk, walking over to the table and sitting across from you.

“she got a mouth on her, don’t she?” he asks your grandparents, and your nonna chuckles.

“always has. only started living with us when she was eighteen because of college, but she’s always had something to say.”

“something that’s gotta be shared with everyone.” your pops adds, and you give him a playful pout.

“right here guys, right here.” you announce. “back to the topic at hand. joel, why have you interrupted my pops’ burger night?” you’re facing each other now, your eyes analysing his face but all he does is smirk and since when was smirking so attractive on a man?

“well, your grandparents here mentioned how you hated your job, and i just so happen to have one that needs filled at one of my clubs.” his texan accent was prominent and full as he spoke, his brown eyes never leaving yours. “‘s if you want it, of course.”

“what club?”

“apocalypse.”

you slam your hands on the table with a wide grin. “i’m sold. when do i start?”

joel chuckles. “no questions about the pay, the shifts?”

you shake your head. “nope, don’t care. you know how hard that club is to get into?” you turn your head to look at your grandparents. “extremely fucking hard, i’ll tell you that right now. and i’ll get to work in there? god, life is so generous to me sometimes.” you exhale lightly, jokingly.

joel doesn’t stay for your pops’ burgers, but he’s given some to take home anyway. you decide to walk him to the door, being the ever so kind woman that you were, ready to see him off when he stops.

“ya’ start at five p.m. tomorrow, alright? i’ll have someone show you around, get you your uniform ‘nd all that before the club opens.”

nodding your head at joel, you bid him goodbye and watch as he makes his way to a sleek, black porsche, get in, and drive off.

____

“what do you mean you’re working for joel miller?” alicia asks you. alicia was the first friend you made at college after you chewed her ear off for the entirety of your first class. a girl who followed gothic fashion and was an absolute sweetheart compared to the people you’ve known in the past.

“i mean exactly what i said, babe. he’s apparently been looking after my grandparents for awhile and he offered me a job at apocalypse after that old bitch fired me.” you shrug, taking a bite of burger you got from dining hall.

“but joel miller is…he’s dangerous! everyone says his clubs are just money laundering schemes to hide his actual money.” naomi spoke up this time. ever the worrier, she was.

“money laundering would mean that no one was using his clubs and they were just there, naomi. the clubs are exclusive. i mean, we’ve all seen the lines to get in. we’ve been in those lines!” alicia somewhat comes to your defense even though you know she’s fully against you working there.

“my friend tina, the one from the political science class, worked there last year, and she says the pay is amazing!” a woman with black curls approaches your trio, another close friend of yours: georgia. “don’t get me wrong, she said some shady stuff happens in the v.i.p. lounge, but probably just guys gambling or something.”

you embrace georgia. “see, good pay and all i have to do is not ask questions. i’ll be fine, guys. and you,” you look at georgia “need to meet me at our cafe so you can tell me about that little masc lesbian of yours.”

you finish the rest of your burger, and pick up your bag. “gotta get home, but i’ll fill you all when i see you.”

you wave goodbye to your friends, walking out of the building as you scroll on your phone. when you get to the street, you bump into someone, about to apologise until you look up and gasp dramatically. “you! are you stalking me. god, joel, i didn’t know i was worth being stalked. that’s so flattering.”

joel scoffs, and opens the passenger door to his black porsche. “get in. ‘m gonna drive you down to the club.”

“don’t have to tell me twice.” you get into the passenger seat, placing your bag down in between your legs and joel closed your door. he rounds the front, getting in beside you and starts the car.

“ya’ hungry?” he asks, driving away from your college building.

“i ate just before i left. had a cheeseburger. not the most edible thing i’ve ever had, but it worked.”

“if you’re hungry when we get there, i’ll take ya’ down to the kitchen and grab you somethin’ there. house mom might have some snacks for ya’ too.”

brows furrowed, you turn to look at him. “the fuck is a house mom?”

“older woman who works with the dancers, takes care of ‘em in between dances. she’ll have snacks, spare outfits or shoes, hygiene products. helps ‘em all like a mom would.”

“nice.” you nod your head, and soon you’re in the private parking lot for the club. joel gets out first, rounding to your side and opening the door up for you. “gotta love a southern gentleman.” you snicker, walking into the club behind him.

he walks up a set of marbled stairs, heading to the second floor. “you’ll be working in the v.i.p. lounge, ‘s where all the dancers are and most of our staff.”

the second floor of the club is lit with red led lights, creating a sultry atmosphere. there are private rooms scattered all around, but there are booths scattered in the middle. joel walks you down to a hidden room and opens the door.

“this is my office. you can put your shit in here.” you walk in and place your bag down on the cushioned sofa, taking a seat beside your belongings. “i’m here when i’m not in the booths doing business, but if anything happens out there, ya’ come and find me, alright?”

you nod your head at him.

“all v.i.p’s know dancers and staff aren’t to be touched, but you gotta promise you’ll come find me if that rule is broken.” after promising, he continues. “i’ll take you down to adele and see if she’s got any spare uniform for you. she’ll walk you through anything else.”

joel guides you down the haul with a hand on your lower back, and if there was a camera following you, you would’ve hand an office moment with this simple touch.

“momma!” joel yells, knocking on a pink door.

the door opens, and an african-american woman opens it. she looks at joel, then you, and embraces you in a tight hug. “welcome, baby. this the new girl we’ve been hearing about?”

“yes ma’am!” you answer before joel can, shooting him a shit-eating grin.

joel speaks your name, and your eyes meet his. “go inside while i talk to adele, she’ll be back to help you in a minute.”

as you step inside the room, you’re met with an abundance of dancers. some are singing, doing their hair and make up, zipping up their heels, and others are lay on sat around eating some snacks.

“hi guys!” you wave at everyone, and they all squeal when they see you, immediately asking questions.

you answer them as best as you can until adele comes in. “now, i gotta get her some heels and her uniform, and when i come back-” adele glances around the room, pointing at an east asian woman with pin straight black hair. “lucy, do her make up, just so she knows what the standard is. your hair is fine, baby, don’t need anyone touching that.”

lucy smiles and waves at you, and you return it as adele leads you into the changing rooms. “uniforms are simple. black shorts, black long sleeve, and…what size shoe are you, baby?”

you respond, and she goes over to a rack of black, leather heeled boots. they’re platformed, shiny, and you know your feet are going to hurt the second your shift is done. “and these. i’ll let you get changed and you just come straight out when you’re done. help yourself to some snacks as well.”

“i don’t have to pay you for them?”

adele chuckles. “no, baby. joel gives me the money to buy the snacks. anything for you girls, joel pays for.” and with that, she leaves the room.

you sigh, looking at the mirror in front of you. this was a new job, with a hot boss, and from what you could tell, the rest of the girls in there were lovely.

this was your life now.

____

a/n: first chapter mother fuckers let’s GOOOOO

taglist (if you want to be added, pls let me know!! & if your name is in bold, i couldn’t find your account :()

@dugiioh @amyispxnk @skysmiller @alyhull @noisynightmarepoetry @elliaze @dendulinka6 @zliteraturehoe @atyourmerci @al33naaa @mermaidgirl30 @lulawantmula @nana90azevedo @endlessthxxghts @getitoutofmymind @you-taste-so-sweet @blazeflays @iveseenstrangerthings50 @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @aquanatalie @katw474 @ludwigxii-blog @eloquentdreamer @kyloispunk @txmel @din-jarring @daddysmilf0123 @sofiparallel @dunkinzjm @runningmom94 @ashhlsstuff @moel-jiller @isimpforfictionalmen @drewharrisonwriter @stormseyer @rodriguez31 @elliesswearjar @vvitchesh3x @joeldjarin @untamedheart81 @ellishamae25 @pedropascalfan221 @mellymbee @pedritosgfreal @yassspose @casa-boiardi

[theblueflower05]

Crawling Back to You

(Part Two of First Love/Late Spring)

A/N: So like, I’m really excited that you guys seem to be digging this story. I was hesitant about it just because there’s so much of my own Na’vi/Metkayina lore thrown in there. Thank you for all of the kind response.

Word Count: 8k+

Warnings: From here on out, this story will be extremely explicit. Minors DNI. If Aged Up! Neteyam isn’t your thing, please exit to your left. Let’s all respect each other's boundaries, please.

Angst. Self deprecation. Alcohol consumption. Smut. Mutual masturbation. Fingering(fem receiving). Nipple sucking. Breeding kink. Scent marking. Public sex(if you squinttttt)

Summary: Neteyam returns from his Motnaui and isn’t in much of a celebratory mood when he realizes that he’s scrapped any chance of having a mate for Fertility season…or has he? Neteyam x Reader

Series Masterlist(all parts can be found here)

Previous< First Love/Late Spring

Next>: Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea

Secret's that I’ve held in my heart

Are harder to hide then I thought.

Maybe I just wanna be yours- Artic Monkeys

The brilliant Pandoran sun beats down on the crystal blue waters, fragmenting into bursts of light under the surface of the waves.

The Motnaui is intense, Neteyam’s lean frame isn't made for the open ocean but over the months as he trained intensely with the Metkayina hunters, he gained muscle he didn't even realize his body could retain.

His shoulders are broader and thighs thicker. He can keep up with the clan, he can help row the boats without his arms giving out on him.

Neteyam hasn't felt this way since they had fled the safety of the forest. He’s useful again. He’s worked hard to regain his title of Hunter.

Warrior.

Brother of the people.

He sense’s it as they jump between the endless maze of isles. Hunting and sleeping on the beaches under the open night sky. Swapping stories around the small campfires.

They don't see him as an outsider anymore. No, he is Metkayina. All of the hunters treat him as such. Clapping his back. Embracing him tight. Sharing in the whopping joy as he makes a clean, merciful kill.

They listen to the Omaticayan legends he tells the and fill him in on the lore of the sea.

The four days out at open ocean are needed and he feels sure footed now. Knows that he will always have a place in Awa’atlu. He can't wait for Lo’ak to complete his Iknamaya next cycle, to get to feel this feeling of deep belonging. Of acceptance.

The tattoo forever etched into the the skin on his on his shoulder burns. Throbs all the way down his elbow, ends right above his wrist. The permanent swirling ink a symbol of his place among the reef.

His third birth is as beautiful as his second. He is a man, twice recognized.

Neteyam reminds himself of that fact as he sits down next to Tonowari one night. The stars are sparkling and the dimming light of the dying fire makes the hulking chief look larger than life.

Still, the younger man gathers his courage.

“I wish to mate with Y/N” Neteyam states firmly. He had been Olo’eyktan in training for over a decade back in the forest. He uses the voice he’d take on when speaking of important matters “I would like your blessing to do so, sir”

Their brothers and sisters in the hunt surround them. Either asleep at the late hour or lost to their own conversations.

Or maybe they just know not to interrupt this important exchange. They only listen in with peaked ears and envious hearts.

Tonowari’s features go stern, his strong brows pulling together “Before my T’smuke returned to the great mother, I promised her that I would always take care of her daughter as though she was my own. I love Y/N as I do my children. Do you understand that, Neteyam?”

Neteyam is nodding “Yes sir, of course”

“She is a good woman. A very important member of our community, if I allow this courtship I have to be certain that you will honor that. That you will honor her place among us, and be serious about what that means for your own”

Neteyam mules over the words, thinks he knows what they mean. He will be marrying into the royal family of the Metkayina. He will be bound by blood to the clans chief. His future children will have a claim to the title of Olo’eyktan or Tshaik, third in line should anything ever happen.

“I am very serious about her, I will work hard to give her all that she deserves. I will build us a Mauri to raise our family in. I will dedicate my life to her and the tribe” It is not a vow lightly made, Neteyam knows this.

He had never been one to be fickle about responsibility.

It’s only when the intense expression on the Olo’eyktans face shifts, a broad smile stretching across his mouth, that Neteyam feels his posture untense.

Tonowari claps him hard on the back and offers him the leather flask of strong liquor that the hunters pass amongst themselves-

“Then you have my blessing” Tonowari laughs as the younger Na’vi man almost chokes on the burn of the Kava.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

When they return to the main island of Awa’atlu with their abundant catch they are greeted warmly by the clan. The giant horns are blown, drums play rhythmically. Children scream joyously and women dance scantly clad in ceremonial drab.

Its busy and blustering but there's only one thing on Neteyam's mind.

Only one person.

The same woman who had plagued him since his arrival all those months ago. You’re as elusive as the receding tide and he had become accustomed to having to look for you. To having to seek you out in a crowd, to go searching for you.

You hadn't seen him off and he hasn't spoken to you in many days. He misses you. It's an ache that he wants to soon remedy, that he knows he’ll never have to feel again. Not with Tonowari’s blessing fueling him.

Since he was young, Neteyam had wanted to be bonded.

He’d dreamt of sharing that special connection with another individual; the way that his parents did. He craved someone to cherish him, to take care of him and in return he’d do the same for them. He itched for a woman to braid his hair, to bear his children. To bury his cock in every night and wake up to every morning.

He was a simple man with a big heart and a lot of love to give. And he wanted to give it to you.

He just has to find you first.

Neteyam tries not to worry when he can't catch sight of your petite frame. Not one peek of your long hair or seafoam eyes. He couldn't scent the natural perfume of florally herbs that always seemed to surround you-

“Neteyam!” It’s Tuk.

She collides with him hard. Many years of being a climbing post for his siblings is the only reason he doesn't topple over. Is able to catch her mid air and hold her to his chest.

He’s greeted by his family-

And only a moment passes before he can notice that something is wrong.

It’s written all over Kiri’s face. In his mothers expressive eyes and the glances his father throws him as he embraces the Olo’eyktan from across the way. Even Lo’ak gives him something akin to a small glare.

“Whatever is going on, it will have to wait” Neteyam decides out loud, slowly lowering his baby sister to the ground. “I need to find Y/N, have any of you seen her?”

Kiri’s mouth opens and shuts, as though she’s trying to figure out what to say and it frays his nerves. His legs are antsy, burning with the need to run. To seek you out- still on the high of the hunt.

“I don't have time for this-”

“Brother, wait. It is about Y/N” Kiri grabs his elbow, keeping him still.

He doesn't like her tone.

Likes the expression on her face even less. She looks too serious, it doesn't suit her at all. Kiri had always been as airy as a tree sprite- carefree and bubbly.

Call it a gut feeling or the simple ability to read the room. He just knows whatever she’s about to tell him isnt going to be pleasant.

“What happened?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

His sister pulls him aside, into the mangrove tree’s and away from prying eyes and ears so that she can relay what she’d heard. Fill Neteyam in on what he’s missed.

He listens to every word…and they settle like stones in his stomach.

“Y/N thinks that you have accepted an offer of courtship from another woman”

“I didn't- I’d never!” Neteyam hisses in protest, shaking his head. It’s all one big misunderstanding. He has to make find you, shake these thoughts out of your head. Make you see-

“But you did,” Kiri replies firmly, her mouth pulled into a grim line.

She explains the meaning of the Lei’s.

The gravity of him accepting one from another female and Neteyam hasn't felt so small in many years. He’d been forced into adulthood early. Taken care of his siblings from a young age and then was thrust into the war with the RDA before he had even fully come out of adolescence. He was wise beyond his years, that’s what everyone had always told him.

He doesn’t feel that way now.

He’d fucked up, made a mistake that could very well cost him the future that he had worked so hard to secure since coming to the reefs-

And he hadn't even meant to! He’d been as naive as a baby, as ignorant to Metkayina traditions as an untrained child-

He wants to scream in frustration. Wants to kick the absolute shit out of himself. Instead he listens to his sister, his hands shaking as he balls them into fists.

You had been devastated. Heart broken. Wouldn't talk to anyone or come out to eat. Couldn’t stop crying-

“Enough” He pleads, he can't hear anymore of it. Guilt rises in his chest like bile.

Imagining what the last days had been like for you as he’d spend them having the time of his life, galivanting with other hunters. Getting drunk and having carefree fun-

“Kiri, what do I do?”

She sighs. It’s so rare to see her older brother like this. He’s always so solid. So strong and stable. It’s unnerving when he loses his composure. When his carefully built walls come down

She had known that the whole thing was a miscommunication and had tried along with Tsireya to convince you of that fact. But you wouldn't hear it, and avoided her at every turn.

You and her brother are both such stubborn dumb asses. Rubbing at her temples Kiri prays to Eywa for strength. Sully’s stick together.

“We fix this”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

As the evening eclipse starts and the sun disappears in the sherbert sky the beach lights up.

Bonfires roar, their flames tall and burning bright.

The air is filled with the smell of roasting Paokpak(island boar) and fish. Huge pots full of dishes that Neteyam had never seen line the long wooden table set up at the center of the celebration. Barrels of Kava have been brought out. The strongest of Metkayina liquors, brewed and stored for decades in airtight containers. Made from berries that are extremely hard to harvest.

This is a time for celebration, to gorge on the hard earned harvests the hunters have brought back. To celebrate the newly rited adults and prepare for the Fertility Season.

The beat of the drums is hypnotic. It's sexy and primal. It's a tune that all Na’vi know in their chest, one that their hips move to as if of their own accord.

Children play, Women sing, stories older then the briny deep are told. The air is electric; so full of magic and unity.

And yet, Neteyam is on edge.

He had been since his rude awakening earlier in the day. He’d spent his afternoon running around like an Austrapede with its head chopped off. Desperately trying to solve the issues that he hadn't meant to create.

After hunting down the culprit to all of this mess, a pretty lei made up of sunset orange lilies which he’d given to Tuk almost automatically after it’d been given to him, he returns it to its owner.

Seychelle is haughty. Rightly upset and shrilly confused as she takes the token of her affections back. Neteyam’s apology is poor and he knows it, he backs away before she can throw her drink in his face.

Tsireya had told him this was the only way to remedy the issue- to refuse the offer for courtship so that he could be open to be with another. The younger girl had been so relieved when he came to her, begging her to help him win back your affections.

“I knew you are a good man, that you don't have a mean spirit”

Tsireya is as eager as Neteyam to see her cousin happy. She doesn't think she could spend another night listening to your inconsolable weeping.

The last obstacle is the hardest.

You refuse to be anywhere near him. Are forced into the festivities because of your family standing, but pretend that Neteyam simply does not exist.

At every turn you evade him.

Sandwiching yourself between the hulking muscle of Ao’nung and Tonowari at the buffet table. Dancing in an enclosed circle of swaying women. Flitting away in a plume of smoke when he approaches you with your favorite ripe fruit in hand; leaving him standing there stupidly. Palms stained by the juice of the Lionberry as he squeezes it in frustration.

You’re hauntingly beautiful in the firelight.

He hates the fact that he’s not the only who notices it. The way the other males consume you with their carnivorous gazes makes him sick. His fingers clench and his knuckles crack of their own accord.

Long dark hair pours down your back in bouncing waves. The top that you wear clings to you like a second skin; the pearls and seashells glittering in the warm hue of the flames. Your own Lei, pink and pristine, is still resting on your throat. Many intricate bracelets and anklets clink as you walk and he cant take his eyes off of the way that the back of your tweng sits on your pert ass-

“Go talk to her” His dad suggests gruffly as he watches his son watch you. It’s getting hard to stomach at this point, all of that longing palpable and souring the atmosphere.

“She doesn't want to speak to me” Neteyam mutters. Trying not to feel too bad for himself. And failing.

Neteyam hadn't thought his return from Motonui would be like this. He’d envisioned a lot more kissing, and alot less moping.

“Woman aren't as complicated as they seem, son. You don't need some grand gesture-”

“Says the man who tamed Toruk after his first fight with his mate” Neteyam interrupts and Jake snorts at his unusual outburst.

His eldest son is usually so very put together- it's entertaining to see that a woman could bring out this side of him.

“I have nothing to offer her. Back home in the forest I could have given her- everything” Neteyam sighs as he admits what's been on his mind since he’d begun pursuing you “There’s no reason why she’d want to be with me, I’m aware of that”

Jake pulls his son close.

His first born. The apple of his eye. Neteyam was good to his core, and anyone who knew him could see it. Jake was so proud of him and wondered if this lack of self confidence came from the fact that he probably didn’t tell the boy of that fact enough.

“All that girl wants from you is reassurance. That’s all you need to give her, everything else will come with time. If she wanted to mate for status she would’ve done it long before you got here, kid. ”

Jake had been shitty at motivational speeches since his stint in the military. You would think his time as reigning Olo’eyktan would have given him some kind of skills. But still, his words are a bit clunky. But sincere.

After a moment, Neteyam gulps at the Kava in his hand. Drains his cup and then squares his shoulders before he’s off.

Eyes set unyieldingly on the prize.

Jake grins. If a good ol’ pep talk doesn't do it- liquid courage sure will.

You’re half heartedly participating in the conversations going on around you, just distracted enough that Neteyam’s able to stalk over. Unnoticed until he’s standing right infront of you-

“Y/N” His voice is firm, he wonders if you know how hard it is for him to keep it as such. “I see you”

Up close he can see how swollen your eyes are. How exhausted you look. You just nod, muttering out a quiet “I see you” in response.

Everything about your body language screams that you want to be left alone. Your arms are crossed over your chest, your ears tipped low. Your tail curls around your ankle and your nose keeps scrunching up.

He wishes he could let you be,

But you make him selfish. You bring out a side of him that wants to take. Has to be satiated or he’s going to lose his fucking mind.

“I must speak with you” He states his intentions, clear. Ignores the way Ronal glares daggers at the side of his head.

“I don’t think-”

“It will only take a moment. But I ask for the privacy to explain myself to you. If after you hear my words you still do not wish to talk to me I will respect that”

You glance at your family before responding to him. Sharing a look with both Ronal and Tsireya. Your cousin smiles encouragingly, your aunt gives a barley tolerant tilt of her head.

You sigh and nod, but step away from his hand when he offers it to you. It's an obvious rejection, but Neteyam tries not to dwell on it. His tail flicks anxiously behind him.

“We may speak in private. Come” your voice is low, before you begin to lead him away from the festivities. Down the beach until the firelight is in the distance and the beat of the drum is a low hum on the howling wind.

The storms will start soon. The sea is choppy, the clouds rolling in and the breeze cool.

It’s hard to find privacy on the sandy shores, intertwined couples can be found scattered along the waters edge. Lips locked. Speaking lowly and intimately.

Neteyam is pretty sure that one of his fellow hunters has his mate twisted into a mating press- if her breathless whimpers are anything to go by.

He avoids their writhing bodies, ignores the way it makes his own core tingle.

Fertility Season is all but here. The entire clan falling under its low boiling energy.

All he could think about as he had been out on the open ocean; is that this cycle he wouldn't have to spend it alone.

He’s not sure that is the case anymore.

After more walking, completely in silence, the two of you come to a mostly desolate area. Quiet and still, as private as it’s going to get.

You stare out at the cresting waves and Neteyam knows he needs to say something, anything. But all he can to is look at you.

At the way that the moonlight illuminates your silhouette, at the dusting of turquoise bioluminescent freckles that are scattered across your nose.

“I-Um-” You start, and that wont do. He cuts you off quick.

It is only him who needs to explain himself. “Let me start by apologizing to you. I am so sorry, Y/N”

You appear as though you’re going to start crying and if you do, he’ll lose all his carefully cultivated cool.

So he presses on.

“I had no idea that accepting Lei’s was a courting symbol here. I don't know how to make you believe me but if I had know I would’ve never-” Neteyam lets out a long shaky breath “I can only swear to you that in the future I will be more mindful of your clans traditions”

Time ticks by. The moon shines and the waves crash against the shore.

“Our clan” you break the silence, your voice gentle and melodic. “You passed your Iknimaya. It is your clan as much as mine”

He wants so desperately to hold you. He has for months, but the need is almost unbearable at this very moment.

“If I have lost my chance. Please, tell me now” it’s a plea. Because it hurts to look at you. If he can not have you- if you do not want him, he will accept it. Somehow. But being alone with you like this and not knowing is killing him. “I will…I’ll leave you alone, if you want me to”

You scoff, not looking away from him. Refusing to meet his eye, still staring blanky at the waves. “You act as though I am the one who accepted someone else’s offer. I have never wanted you to leave me alone, Neteyam”

“I’m sorry” Does he sound as idiotic as he feels? He surely hopes not.

“You already said that”

“Please, look at me”

“I can’t” you whisper- hissing at him warningly when he outstretches his hands “I- I don't want to ever feel like this again. You need to tell me what you want from me because I do not know. I will get confused again, if you do not tell me what we are doing”

He can tell by your expression that you are serious, and even so. He cant fucking believe it. Had he failed at courtship so immensely that you really don't know? He’s stuck in his head for a moment too long.

It makes you anxious, makes you back even further away.

“Please-” He’s all but begging, yet

you avoid his touch again and it feels like blades.

Your shrill warning hiss rings in his ears.

He returns it with a snarl of his own when you continue to refuse to let him touch you. Can't help it, the need to rebuff all of this uncertainty around the union that is so special to him is strong.

He grips the top of your arms, his long fingers holding your biceps.

You finally look at him. Your round eyes wide and vulnerable. Filled with unshed tears and unspoken questions.

“I want to mate with you” He starts because if you need to hear it all, word for word, then he’d tell you. “I want to build my life here with you by my side. I want us to have a home that will never know war-”

A tear rolls down the swell of your cheek.

“I-I want you to choose to be with me” He swallows, the lump in his throat getting bigger, higher. Threatening to choke his vocal cords “I will be good to you. If you let me”

His family had always required him to be the rock. Had leaned on him to take on the role of caretaker, he had had to keep it together. Keep them together. It wasn't easy for him to break open like this. It went against his very nature, all that self preservation he’d learned early.

But you need this. And he thinks he might too.

“Neteyam-”

“I will ask you again. If I have lost my chance tell me now”

Have mercy on him.

“I understand if you want to be with someone who can offer you more. I won’t fault you for it” he doesn’t know why he feels the need to tack that on. Why the self deprecating thoughts manifest their way into words that hurt for him to speak “I don’t have much here. But I’ll build it, for you”

Your muscles tense under his palms and he prepares himself for the rejection. The physical blow of it-

But then, you melt. Loosen. Your entire body sags fully into his grip. That pinched expression on your face slips away. Your full lips part and your eyes soften, brows furrowing together.

You look at him like he is something precious. Like you can see him- and he thinks you might be the first one who ever has.

He’d known it in his bones. Since the day he’d arrived. Since he’d first spotted your face in the crowd.

“Oel ngati kameie” you whisper, your hand coming up to cup his jaw. “Oel ngati kamei, Neteyam. I see-”

He leans heavily into your hand. His forehead clunking against yours, pressing hard. The contact stings, but its welcome. He needs it.

He needs.

“I don’t care about any of that. I don’t care what you have or don’t have. You know I don’t.” you murmur urgently, he can feel the words against against his skin.

When you press a whisper light, tentative kiss against the sharp of his cheekbone, something snaps. Something that had been strained and barely held together just breaks.

His control, he realizes as he crowds you.

As his fingers dig into your arms and he presses the line of his body against your own firmly.

You’re so soft everywhere. So much smaller than him. He’s all lean muscle, tall and hard. You’re pliable skin, a layer of blubber to keep you warm in the deep. So different from the women he’d grown up with. Your hips are wide, thighs pillowy.

You’d give him healthy children. His hindbrain howls.

When he captures your lips he hopes you realize that there’s no going back. That this is until death. He’d go to his grave before he was robbed of this again.

You gasp, sweet and small, and he eats it. Consumes all of the air in your lungs. You’re good at holding your breath anyway, right?

“Neteyam” you whine, pulling away, your lips wet and your pupils wide. You’re shaky, already a bit disoriented and he wants to keep you. Protect you. He’ll give you anything if you just keep looking at him like that.

“Are you ok-”

You reach up on the tips of your toes, slamming your lips back against his before he can finish his words.

Your hands tangle into his braids as you try to gain traction, pull him down to your level. Get a better hold on him.

Its intense, dizzying. You kiss him like you’re dying and maybe you are. Maybe you’ve been slowly dying since he first got here. Every moment that you hadn’t been able to be held by him had killed you- a slow torturous death.

You drag him down. Do you know he’d follow you anywhere? Under the waves, down onto the soft sand. He cups the back of your head, shelters your neck as he bullies his thin hips between your dense thighs and pressed you against the ground.

The months worth of tension isn't released gently, because it can't be.

The kisses are bruising. Wandering hands and desperate tongues. It’s carnal, Fertility season making both of your minds cloudy as you try to dig into each others flesh.

Nothing is close enough.

With a whine, your fingers slip under Neteyam's multilayered choker. Using it as leverage to tug on as you thrust your hips up violently. The heat at the apex of your legs grinding against his covered erection dangerously.

“Ah-” he gasps wetly “Easy, Narlor. Easy”

“Sorry” you simper, panting. Trying to get a hold on the feelings rushing through you. One hand gripping his necklace, the other slipping into the back of his hair, brushing the nape of his neck “I want- I dream about it all the time”

Fire rushes down Neteyam’s spine, both at your words and your feather light touch to his kuru. He wonders if you touched yourself after those dreams. If you had to take the edge off like he had. He shudders at the thought-

You’re kissing at his neck again, at all of that sensitive skin under his braids, near his ears.

Your quick touches are everywhere. Rushing all over his body. Manicured nails scraping over his skin-

“Ugh,” he warbles out as your curious hand disappears under his tweng.

Its a tight fit as your fingers dance along his hard cock. Delicate and teasingly light. He’s going to come all over himself like some inexperienced teenager that had never gotten a taste of pussy before if you don't. Slow. Down.

“Tell me about those dreams of yours. What’d we do in them?” Neteyam teases, his lips moving against the corner of your mouth. A distraction for both you and himself.

You can't form words, not as you feel how big he is. As you cherish the fact you’ll never be empty again. He's hard and pulsing in your hand and you want him inside of you. Your mouth, your cunt. You don't care. You want to be the only one who gets to feel him, no one else can ever-

There’s only one way to ensure that.

“Tsahelyu” you whimper, “Please Neteyam. Need it”

He slows down a bit, his head spacy but not totally lost. The bond is everything. It’s the most important aspect of Na’vi culture “I can't bond you here”

“Why?” its a petulant whine, your hips pressing against his again.

“I’m not going to bond you on the cold ground, Yawne. Out in the open”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind” you press and he chuckles, shaking his head “you could have me anywhere you want me”

It’s the raw honesty in your voice that drives him crazy.

Devotion in a way that makes him lightheaded.

He can't give you Tsaheylu yet, he wants it done right. He wants you tucked in a mountain of blankets with a warm fire going- at the height of Fertility Season. The ancestors watching over you as he intertwines himself into your soul for the rest of time.

“I will have you” He assures you, dragging his mouth across your clavicle, his long fingers working the strings of your intricate top loose “And you’ll have me. But you have to let me do it right”

You hate waiting. You tell him as he suckles his way across your chest. Moaning as he finally gets his mouth on your soft breasts. Your fist his braids, shivering as he feasts on your skin.

“I’ll make it worth your while” Neteyam promises between mouthfuls of supple flesh “You’ll want for nothing. I’ll give you anything”

He’s humping down into you, unable to stop his hips from shifting. His cock seeking your warmth. You’re right there, he could just-

“Please” you shiver, like you know what he’s thinking. Like you can read his mind and all the dirty thoughts that cross it.

You can't take it. All of his hesitating.

You’d heard that the Omiticayans were more reserved, more traditional when it came to mating but he was going to drive you crazy.

You push on his chest. Gentle yet demanding.

He doesn't want to remove his mouth from your breasts but he allows it all the same. His lips swollen, a thin string of spit connecting him to your tender nipple as he stares at you with questioning eyes.

Neteyam lets you push him off of you before he goes down onto his back, the sand grating against his shoulder blades as he lays flat. You grin the entire time. Your eyes sparkling with excitement. With hunger.

You look as horny as he feels and it kills him.

Your fingers pluck at the at the delicate ties of your tweng, loosening it until it falls from your curvy hips.

“Y/N” he warns as you then reach for his own. Tugging at the leather straps of his loincloth. He raises his hips, helping you shimmy it down his long legs.

“You can't bond me” You whisper as you straddle his waist, your small hands using his broad chest for balance, palms on his pectorals “Not yet anyway”

“Mhmm” Neteyams murmurs as his eyes roll into the back of his head. You're hot and dripping wet, the center of your legs steaming as you rub it against his groin.

“That doesn't mean you cant touch me” you coo at the man under you as you slowly begin to undulate above him. Your hips circling as your head lowers to tongue at the underside of his jaw.

“Shit” He curses in English, gasping at the night sky as you drag damply across his lower stomach .

“Yes?” you question him as you reach for his hand, leading it exactly where you need him most.

“Yeah” Neteyam assures, fingertips dipping where you're skin is plush and dripping- right in between your spread thighs “Yeah, Yeah”

Your hand is still leading his, cupping him firmly against your pussy as he feels how much you need him. You hadn't been the only one dreaming of this. You had danced behind his eyelids for months. His brain had played tricks on him, desperately splicing together mismatched audio in an attempt to conjure up what you would sound like when he finally got to have you.

A shivery keen escapes you when he presses on your swollen bundle of nerves and nah. His imagination couldn't hold a candle to this.

It’s not just how you sound its how you look.

Sat on top of him, resting on your knees with your chest bare save for that brightly hued Lei. Your kiss bruised bottom lip is skewered between your sharp teeth as you worry it in keyed-up concentration. Blue eyes low, your long eyelashes almost fluttering against your cheeks as you stare down at him.

It’s how you smell.

Ripe and earth wet- his mouth floods as he inhales lungfuls of it, your juices are all over him. His waist, coating his hand . Everywhere but right on his tongue where he wants it the most.

Exploring you where you’re the most vulnerable is slippery, your pussy swollen as he traces along the folds. Your clit beats with your pulse under his touch, inflamed and you cry out.

“Awe, baby” he tuts. Your hips chase him in jagged little movements, unsure and needy and it’s enough to get him grinning. You’d been so sure of yourself when you’d pushed him down and climbed on top of him.

Yet here you are a whining mess of his thing in his lap.

There’s no room to tease, he wants to watch you come all over him. Everything still feels too over sensitive. Too new and easily breakable. You’d spent the last near week questioning his feelings.

Neteyam had his words. He could wax to you poetic until your ears bled,

But he had this too. He needed to make you feel a way that no one else could and as he sunk his long digit inside of you he realized that this was better then any conversation. This felt like the most natural way to express all of his emotions, you sucking him in knuckle deep felt so right.

Velvet soft and vice tight, he’s hard between his own legs from just the feel of you. Just knowing that this was his.

You, your heart. Your body. Your tiny little cunt.

Tiny but taking him so well, not just one finger. But two. Then three. Your body moves like the crashing waves behind you, intense and wild. Shoving down onto him so hard that his wrist starts to ache with the demanding press.

“More” you pant wetly into his neck “Faster. Net-please”

He figures out that faster means harder, and harder means he has you all but vibrating on top of him. Bouncing in time with every thrust of his digits. The arm that isn't preoccupied comes around you to hold you steady as he finger fucks you until you're a squealing mess.

This isn't the first time Neteyam has done this.

There’d been girls back home. One girl in particular that didn't take it too personally that he needed tension relief from the war raging around them and not the arranged soon to be wife that everyone had been trying to shove down his throat back them.

This isn't the first time he’s done this but it’s the first time he’s felt this.

He nuzzles your head out from its hiding place in his shoulder. He has to watch your face, needs to see the way he’s making you fall apart.

This is the first time he’s felt the all consuming pull to be with another person. He wants you like this always. So close to him that he could taste the perspiration from your panting breaths.

You tighten up in his arms, going rigid as your pleasure crests. Your pussy fluttering and mouth gaping. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You’re orgasm is ethereal, raw and fervid.

It’s a glance at Eywa. He sees the great mother on your face as you writhe atop of him.

It’s alot, he can tell. Fuck he can only imagine what you’re feeling if it had been this intense for him. Neteyam lets you hide again after a moment. Your hair covers your face as you shake and he thinks you might be crying, but he just brushes a hand down your damp back. Soothing you back down from the high.

The stars are brighter, even as the clouds gather in gluggy gray storm clusters. Everything seems a little bit more beautiful with his fingers still inside of you. It pains him to slide them out, missing the tight clutch of you once his wet fingers are exposed to the cool night air.

Tsaheylu, you’d begged him earlier. His kuru throbs and gooseflesh erupts all over his body just thinking about bonding with you. He wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything.

You nuzzle against him, nosing at his cheek. Your lips ghosting at the corner of his own.

“You okay?” you wonder. Your voice deep and husky. So sexy it makes his eyes close for a second.

“I should be asking you that”

“Mmm, no need to ask. I feel so so good” you assure him, starting to sit up a little “I um-I kind of got really into it. I’m sorry”

“Sorry?” Neteyam questions, keeping his grip on you as you start to squirm. Not in pleasure this time. But in shame, the embarrassed kind. Coming down from the pleasure haze, that anxious edge comes back. Unsure even as you’re on top of him. “Don’t say that. Why would you be sorry right now?”

You huff, nose scrunching. Ears flicking “I made a mess all over you”

It might not be very nice but he can't help but laugh at you. His pearly white canines on display as he hoots, the belly laughs jostling you from your perch.

“What!” you grumble, but smile all the same. “Stop”

“Hmm. I love messes like this. Feel free to make messes like this anytime” his fingers, still glistening come into view as he brings them to his mouth. Your eyes widen, glued to him. At the slight suction of his cheeks as he licks them in earnest “See. Easy clean up, you’ve got nothing to worry about, Pretty”

You taste as good as you smell. His tastebuds tingle as he swirls the new flavor around. Complex; a sweet musk that he wants to bathe in. He’s acutely aware of the way you watch him, your sweet cheeks burning at his lewdness.

When he frees his fingers with a pop, he gasps as your tongue surges in his mouth.

Tasting yourself on his spit.

Fuck.

He lets you kiss him breathless. Lets you run your sloppy kisses all over his face, down his chin. Across his neck. He arches into it all, gives you all the room you need. He’s well aware of what you’re doing. Working your strong scent into every inch of his bare skin.

Scent marking is a vital part of Na’vi courtship. Ancient, ritualistic and respected. Practiced by your ancestors before the first songs.

It’s makes something in him pur, knowing that you want him to smell like you.

“I think that's enough” He grins when your tongue dips into his navel “They can smell me, baby. You did a very thorough job”

The pout on your face is beyond cute as you sit up on your knees. The little ‘hmph’ sound so adorably out of place in the highly sexually charged situation “But I wanna smell like you too. How will anyone know I’m yours if they can’t smell it?”

Neteyam's nostrils flare. His ears swivel on his head and his tail gives a good lash at that. You want to be marked by him too. Are willing to parade his scent around all of those assholes in the clan that have been trying to win your affections, even when it was clear you were uninterested.

“Lay down” It’s an order, spoken softly but directly and you follow it at once. A giddy smile on your face as you lounge on the sand.

You are a vision.

Hair sprawling and messy behind your head. Your legs spread, back arched. Pretty nipples pebbled hard and on display. The only thing covering you is the floral necklace around your svelte throat.

It doesn't take him long at all. He strokes his striped cock firm and efficiently. Too many years of having to get himself off fast enough not to be caught has made his practiced movements almost perfect.

You’re looking at him like that again. Adoration clear as day on your face. Soft for him. You see him-

“Ol Ngati Kamiel” your voice is saccharin as you speak and he grunts violently as he comes.

Ropes of it land on your belly, across your exposed chest. It’s almost too much when you reach down swiping into the translucent, sticky, mess and start rubbing it into your smooth skin. He collapses shakily beside you, needing to collect himself for a minute before he helps your cause.

It’s the most intimate thing the two of you have done all night, laying together. Basking in the afterglow. Your scents mingle, dancing together in the evening breeze and Neteyam wants to imprint this memory somewhere deep.

The festivities are still raging- and you really do need to get back. It’s an important night. Your clan wants you there, the two of you need to make your rounds. Keep appearances. He won’t keep you from your duties, no matter how much he may want to.

After a quick dip in the ocean, removing the filth of love making but still wearing the strong scent of each other's pheromones, you begin to redress.

Neteyam watches. Highly distracted as you shimmy back into your tweng before looping your top around your shoulders. He works clumsily at the leather of his loincloth.

“Wait-”

The two of you are starting the trek back to the bonfire when he reaches out to halt you. His fingers play with wreath of lilies around your neck and his eyes bore into yours pleadingly.

The smile you give him is more radiant then the silvery moons that twinkle in the inky sky.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Even at the late hour the ceremonial bonfire still crackles with life. The festivities have ebbed into something slower, more intimate.

The adults of the clan are all that’s left, children long gone and tucked into their beds or dozing off against their parents' side.

Kiri sits on a carved log, in a circle of familiar faces.

Her mother and father had left not long ago. Tuk had been fighting slumber but succumbed after the Elders crooned a particularly slow song about the Sky and Sea’s forbidden love. Jake had hoisted the young girl up and bid everyone adieu, swaying on his feet as his wife hissed at him about how after all these years, he still couldn’t handle his liquor.

Now, Kiri listens to stories as she sips slowly on her cup of Kava. Enjoying the pleasant burn;

But not willing to end up like her dumb as rocks brother who is sprawled on the ground. Lo’ak is all but unconscious, every time he opens his eyes they are unfocused and hazy.

That’s what he gets for trying to out drink clan members twice his size. He’d been on the losing end of the drinking competition from the start- he was just too stubborn to see it.

Lo’ak is lucky Tsireya doesn’t care much for drinking, and is more than willing to tend to him. She keeps trying to force him to drink water and nibble on bits of food.

Ao’nung isn’t faring much better; he stares at the moon with a dopey smile as he sings, incredibly off tune, to the song that fills the air. A gaggle of girls surround him. Each hoping to catch his eye.

It’d been an all night thing, affections being thrown at him while he ignored it all too easily.

“My bed will be full this season, I’m not worried about a thing” he’d shrugged it off when asked about it.

Roxto’s boisterous laugh had dwindled down when Kiri shot him an extremely unamused glare.

She’s debating on leaving Lo’ak to sleep on the beach for the night when out of the shadows comes her eldest brother; who had been missing for most of the evening.

The hours had bled away and Kiri had tried not to worry too much about the confrontation that was going on just beyond the jovial bubble of the Metkayina celebrations. You had been distraught and Neteyam had never been good at voicing his own emotional needs-

Huh.

It looks like she had nothing to worry about.

The grin on Neteyam’s face is shit eating. It’s the smuggest she’s ever seen him. Even at his first Inknimaya, back with the Omiticaya, he hadn’t reacted like this. All head raised high and walking on a cloud.

You tug him along behind you, you guys’ fingers tightly intertwined. Your hips sway excitedly as you bounce along the sand. Kiri’s brother's chest is puffed out in obvious pride as he follows your footsteps.

Around his neck is Lei made up of vibrant pink flowers. It matches the one in your hair, that sits kind of lopsided now.

As the couple gets you closer, and Kiri catches a whiff of your approaching bodies, she wants to wretch. You’re drowning in each other's scents and it’s quite obvious what you had been up to all night.

“So gross” Kiri gags in accusation once you’re both in earshot.

You two owed her so big. She thinks naming one of your future children after her would suffice.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Okayyyyy. This was so fun to write and I already have Part Three brewing! TAGLIST IS CLOSED.

So like. Lots to address here. Tons to talk about. I’m gonna start the conversation but I hope you guys continue it in the comments.

1. The Motnaui is something I completely made up(…yes after watching Moana and taking inspiration for the name) lol it’s a ritualistic hunt that newly anointed hunters and warriors go on after their Metkayinan Iknimaya’s. I know all the different clans Iknimaya traditions would be different and I thought this would be cool.

2. I read a story in the Avatar fandom where the liquor they drank was called Kava and it just stuck in my brain. I know Kava is a drink in real life too, but for the sake of storytelling, please think about them as completely different things. The drink in this story is more of a wine/moonshine mixture deal. Would really fuck your ass upppp.

3. Fertility Season is obvs totes made up. Why is it rainy during it? Because I myself would want a week of non stop loving making with a nice little fire going, under lots of blankets with it chilly and rainy outside. And at the end of the day I’m writing for me lol

4. NETEYAM IS A SWEETHEART WHO STRUGGLES WITH HIS SELF WORTH JUST LIKE THE REST OF US. Please listen to the Artic Monkeys while you read this chapter(wanna be yours, do I wanna know, 505. THE LONGING)

5. Expect more POV’s to come! It will always be mostly rooted from Y/N’s point of view but I love touching base with all of the other characters. It’s so fun. I’m thinking a snippet of Neytiris in Part Three!

[kingofbodyrolls]

Songs of the Heart (m) | pjm | chap 1: rebirth

Having just settled into a small house on the outskirts of the bustling city, you’re drawn into the haunting melodies of your neighbor’s sad love songs, echoing through the quiet walls day after day. Concerned, you finally gather the courage to knock on his door, unsure of what to expect—only to be face-to-face with Park Jimin, the renowned singer-songwriter whose voice has touched millions. What begins as a simple gesture of kindness soon unravels into something far more complex, as the melodies of his heart beckon you closer.

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: musician!au (not completely idol!au), single dad!au, slice of life!au → Trope: strangers to lovers / neighbors to lovers → Genres: slow burn romance / fluff / angst / smut / comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 5.6k → Warnings + triggers: nothing much, just heartache and small misunderstandings 🤭 → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: Hi!!! How are you doing?? 😄 I hope you’re as excited about this new series as I am (and I really, truly mean it when I say this might be my last series for a long while… so buckle up, it’s going to be a ride!). Now, before you go thinking I’m just setting myself up for failure, let me be real with you: my last Jimin series didn’t exactly set the world on fire—sigh. But I adore it, like, adore it. (I know, I’m biased, but can you blame me?) Soooo, this time, we’re going for a more “mainstream” vibe. Think heavily inspired by Jimin’s album Muse (seriously, his whole vibe in that is chef’s kiss), sprinkled with some Face flavor, and, honestly, just Jimin being Jimin. Because, let’s face it—he’s my bias, and I’m OBSESSED. Like, full-on crush mode. So, yeah, it’s basically me writing about my ultimate crush 😳 Now, let’s clear the air about the smut—I’m not going all-out with it here (though there will be some spicy moments, don’t worry 😉). Why? Well, I have a sneaky feeling this series is going to do okay (I mean, I adore these characters so much already 🥹, but engagement might be a different story). So, I’m going to save my energy for what really matters to me—the heart and soul of the story, instead of focusing too much on the smut (which, honestly, I’m not as into writing as I used to be). Okay, okay—back on track. I’m super excited to share this story with you, and I really, really hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Don’t forget to tell me your thoughts—whether you love it, hate it, or just want to fangirl over Jimin with me ✨ This whole story (which will be posted every Sunday for the next eight weeks) is for my dear friend @remmykinsff! I hope you’ll love it 💜

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“Why the hell do you have so many boxes?” Yoongi groans, his voice slicing through the quiet winter air as he hefts a particularly heavy one—something he clearly should have let Namjoon handle. His breath fogs up like ghostly clouds, a silent testament to the biting cold.

You stand by the moving truck, arms crossed, the chill curling around you like an unwelcome scarf. The streetlamp above flickers weakly, casting long shadows over the small gathering of your life in boxes. You shiver, not just from the cold but from the weight of this moment—watching your brother Yoongi and your best friend Namjoon haul the sum of your memories into the truck, piece by piece, bound for a new beginning.

It wasn’t your choice to leave; the landlord had pulled the rug out from under you with a sudden hike in rent you couldn’t possibly manage. But this wasn’t just an ending. There was a glimmer of hope in the move—a small house on the outskirts of the city with a garden that you could already see yourself tending, sunlight warming your face. Perfect wasn’t something you’d often dared to dream of, but this felt close enough to touch.

Namjoon heaves the final box into the truck and straightens with a satisfied grin. “That’s the last of it. We managed to fit everything,” he says, his breath visible in the frost-tipped air.

Yoongi, less triumphant, leans against the truck, arms crossed, his usual scowl softened by exhaustion. “Not a lot of stuff, huh? Then why does everything weigh as much as a small planet?”

You roll your eyes at him, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Tiny apartments don’t leave room for a lot of stuff,” you murmur, thinking of your now-abandoned shoebox of a home. What you own might not fill much space, but every piece carries its own story, its own weight. To them, it’s just heavy. To you, it’s everything.

“Yoon, you should really hit the gym more,” you tease, your voice laced with playful scorn, though the grin on your face betrays your fondness. The sibling bond—a language of its own, fluent in jabs and unspoken affection.

“Are you calling me weak?” Yoongi snaps, his tone sharp, but the flicker of indignation in his eyes is almost theatrical. He knows the answer. You know he knows. It’s part of the game.

You laugh, the sound light and unbothered, a knowing glint in your eyes as you glance at his slender arms. “I don’t have to say it, do I?”

Before the exchange can escalate, Namjoon steps between you with a calm authority that feels as solid as the ground beneath your feet. “Alright, easy, you two. I’ll take care of the heavy lifting. Yoongi, you drive.”

Yoongi scoffs, letting your remark go as he shoots you a withering look that doesn’t quite land. He climbs into the driver’s seat with a practiced air of resignation, his fingers brushing over the steering wheel as Namjoon closes the back of the truck with a satisfying clunk.

The three of you settle inside the truck, and silence slips in, gentle and familiar, as the hum of the engine vibrates beneath you. The radio crackles to life, filling the space with the soft strains of a slow love song. The melody spills out like liquid silver, sad yet hopeful, and the singer’s voice—a perfect blend of sweetness and longing—wraps around you like a blanket against the cold.

Your chest tightens as the words begin to take root, burrowing into the quiet corners of your heart: “Even though I was pitch black, I can’t stop thinking about you all day long. Without you knowing, I want to take one step, then another, closer to you. Stay with you. I will be your reason. I hope this feeling reaches you.”

You stare out the frosted window, the aching beauty of the lyrics mingling with the soft glow of the late afternoon light. The world outside shifts and transforms as Yoongi steers the truck with steady hands, the city’s sprawling chaos giving way to the calm, snow-dusted edges of the outskirts. Frost clings to the barren trees and lonely streetlamps, their icy shimmer catching the fading sunlight like quiet promises.

There it is—your new beginning, cradled in the quiet of the outskirts. The small house stands modestly, embraced by a low, whispering hedge that frames its quaint charm. A tiny terrace juts out at the front, its stone surface dappled with the faint traces of winter frost. You remember the cozy backyard from the last time you visited—a patch of earth waiting patiently for spring to bring it to life.

Yoongi eases the truck to a stop in front of the house, the engine humming briefly before falling silent. The three of you step out, boots crunching softly against the snow-dusted gravel. Your heart thuds louder with each step as you approach the door. It’s a humble thing—made of frosted glass that blurs the world on the other side, catching the dim afternoon light and casting it gently inside. You know that when the sun graces it, the whole entrance will glow like a promise.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you fit the key into the lock, turning it with a satisfying click. The door creaks open, and you step over the threshold into your new home. It greets you with its smallness—barely 80 square meters—but it feels vast compared to the cramped city apartment you left behind. Here, there’s space to breathe, to begin again. And the rent, blissfully lower than what the city demanded, makes it all the sweeter.

You glance at the neighboring house—a touch larger, its lot sprawling wider—but you don’t feel envy. This space is yours. Yours to fill with laughter, with quiet mornings, with life.

Flipping the light switch, the warm glow floods the entranceway. The layout unfolds before you in inviting simplicity. The entrance flows seamlessly into a snug living room, its openness spilling into the compact kitchen. The single bedroom feels intimate but holds a delightful surprise: a small walk-in closet that sets your heart alight with possibility. The bathroom, unexpectedly spacious, feels almost indulgent—a small luxury you hadn’t dared to imagine.

You stand in the quiet warmth of the space, letting it envelop you. Yes, it’s small. Yes, it’s simple. But it’s yours. For the first time in what feels like forever, you’re not just standing in a house. You’re home.

Namjoon brushes past you with a box in hand, his footsteps purposeful. “Where should I put this?” he asks, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of settling dust.

“In the bedroom, please,” you reply, recognizing your own messy scrawl on the side of the box. He nods, disappearing down the short hallway. Moments later, Yoongi follows, arms burdened with lighter boxes this time, his silent stare speaking louder than words. You’re not sure if it’s disapproval or exhaustion—or maybe a mix of both.

Together, the three of you move with practiced rhythm, unloading the truck, the occasional grunt of effort punctuating the soft winter stillness. One by one, your belongings find their way inside, until finally, after an hour and a half, the truck stands empty. Inside, your life now lies in disarray—boxes scattered like misplaced puzzle pieces across the small living room. Thankfully, the heavier furniture already sits snug in its designated spots, thanks to Namjoon’s methodical eye for order.

You all collapse onto the sofa, a symphony of sighs and tired exhales filling the room. The cushions envelop you like a long-awaited embrace, and you lean back, the ache in your muscles giving way to a fleeting moment of peace.

“Do you need help with anything else?” Yoongi asks, his tone more dutiful than eager. You catch the subtext immediately: he’s ready to leave, and who could blame him?

“No, I’m good,” you reply with a grateful smile, sinking further into the plush comfort of your sofa.

But Namjoon isn’t done yet. “Can we make dinner for you before we go?” he offers, sitting up straight as if a second wind has just hit him. You wave him off, declining politely, but he shakes his head, determined. “I saw a grocery store just down the street. Yoongi and I will grab a few things, and then he’ll cook for you.” He’s already on his feet, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves.

Yoongi remains rooted to the sofa, his arms crossed and his expression somewhere between incredulous and annoyed. “You think I’m going to cook for my baby sister?” he scoffs, throwing you a pointed look.

Namjoon doesn’t miss a beat, rolling his eyes like an exasperated parent. “What, are you planning to let your family starve?”

Yoongi’s brows twitch as he fires back, “She’s over thirty. She’s a grown-ass adult. She can take care of herself.”

Your lips part, ready to volley something back, but before you can, Namjoon grabs Yoongi’s arm, hauling him to his feet with an ease that speaks of strength and familiarity. “Come on, Mr. Grown-Ass-Adult,” he says dryly, shoving Yoongi’s coat into his hands while slipping into his own.

Yoongi grumbles under his breath, but he doesn’t fight it. As Namjoon steers him toward the door, he casts a helpless glance back at you, like a cat begrudgingly herded.

“We’ll be back in a moment,” Namjoon calls over his shoulder, his voice brimming with cheerful authority. “Relax. Or unpack. Your choice.”

The door swings shut behind them, leaving you in the stillness of your new home, the faint scent of winter air lingering. You let out a soft laugh, your heart warm despite the cold. Family might be exhausting, but they’re also everything.

Then the door closes, and for the first time today, you’re alone. The silence wraps around you like a fragile shell, amplifying the creak of settling walls and the faint hum of distant life. You sink into the sofa, letting the stillness settle, until your ears catch something unexpected—a faint thread of melody, a guitar’s quiet murmur drifting through the air.

Curiosity tugs you upright, your steps soft against the floor as you follow the sound. In your new bedroom, you pause, pressing your hand to the wall. The music is clearer now, gentle and raw, strings bending under someone’s practiced fingers. Your new neighbor, perhaps? The thought lingers as you drift back to the kitchen, the faint melody becoming a backdrop to the rustle of cardboard and clinking pans. You begin to unpack—the pans your brother will use to cook, the utensils that clatter together like an impromptu percussion. Cooking has always been his way of showing love, and you can’t wait to taste the comfort it brings.

As you move through the small kitchen, time slips through your fingers like grains of sand. You make progress—each box emptied feels like a small triumph. The living room is next, and though you didn’t bring much, your touch begins to transform the space into something warm, something yours.

The sharp chill of winter sweeps in as the front door swings open, announcing Namjoon and Yoongi’s return. Cold air rushes past them, carrying the earthy scent of snow and fresh groceries. Shoes and coats are shed in a flurry of motion, and Namjoon drags his bags to the counter, while Yoongi mumbles something under his breath—his version of commentary that you’ve long learned to ignore. Yoongi grumbles as he hauls two bags into the kitchen, while Namjoon shoulders four with ease, a playful smirk on his face as he shakes the cold from his hair. Your brother dives into the kitchen, already rifling through drawers to find the pans you just unpacked.

As you help Namjoon sort the groceries, you note their choices: fresh greens, vibrant vegetables, sturdy staples like rice, beans, and coconut milk. Practical and thoughtful, as always. Your brother doesn’t waste time, snapping orders your way to chop this and rinse that. Namjoon, wisely, steers clear of the chaos and retreats to the sofa, knowing better than to tempt fate near a knife.

You and Yoongi move seamlessly, a practiced rhythm born of years of shared meals and unspoken communication. The kitchen fills with the sizzling symphony of cooking: onions crackling, garlic blooming in fragrant waves, and the gentle stir of sauces melding together. The aroma wraps itself around you, warm and grounding, a promise of the meal to come.

When the food is done, the three of you gather at your small round dining table. The plates are filled with comfort—steaming rice, perfectly cooked vegetables, and savory flavors that speak of home. Yoongi hums faintly in approval as he eats, his silence a language of contentment. Namjoon, ever the conversationalist, smiles wide as he asks about the neighborhood. You don’t know much yet, but his enthusiasm fills the gaps.

The meal lingers, rich and satisfying, until the plates are empty and the room carries only the faint scent of what was. They stand to leave, hugs exchanged at the door, their warmth momentarily shielding you from the cold creeping back in. As they drive off, the truck rattling softly into the night, the quiet returns. But this time, it feels different. Not empty.

Your home, though still half-full of boxes, feels alive now, touched by their presence. And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Silence settles again, fragile and heavy—except for that faint sound of a guitar, now joined by a man’s voice. It drifts through the stillness, soft and haunting, the kind of melody that reaches into places you didn’t know were aching. From the little you can hear, his voice holds a quiet sorrow, tinged with a beauty that seems almost too fragile for this world. Wrapped in the haze of a full belly and the gentle pull of exhaustion, you sink deeper into the cushions of your couch. The music lulls you, and before you know it, sleep claims you.

When you wake, it’s to the sharp protest of stiff muscles, your body groaning in rebellion. You stretch, long and languid, wincing as you ease into movement. The living room light is still on, casting a warm but tired glow across the scattered boxes. Reaching for your phone, you blink at the screen: Saturday morning.

A sigh escapes you, accompanied by another stretch, your bones clicking softly in protest. As you yawn, the faint strands of music that lulled you to sleep the night before have grown bolder, louder, weaving through the quiet morning air. It’s coming from next door, a melody more insistent now, rising and falling like a tide against your walls.

You pause, half-annoyed, half-curious. Who plays music so loudly on a Saturday morning? Still, it isn’t unpleasant. The sound curls around you, melancholy and mesmerizing, coaxing goosebumps to bloom along your arms.

Shaking off the morning grogginess, you shuffle into the kitchen to make tea, the faint chill of the floor against your bare feet grounding you. As the kettle hums and hisses to life, your attention drifts back to the music. This song, like the one before, carries a sadness that pierces through its beauty, the kind of sorrow that feels personal yet strangely universal.

You sip your tea slowly, the warmth unfurling through your chest, and let the notes wrap around you. The lyrics, muffled but achingly tender, float into your thoughts. A sad love song, you think—heartache distilled into sound.

And then, for a fleeting moment, your mind wanders. Who is your neighbor, and what might they be feeling? It’s hard not to wonder. To play songs like this on a quiet Saturday morning—it speaks of longing, of loss, of someone trying to untangle the knots of their heart.

Exhaustion anchors you to the couch, your body heavy with the weight of weeks spent unpacking, working, and simply trying to adjust. The hours blur together as you let yourself drift, half-lost in the steady stream of music flowing from your neighbor’s house. Sad love songs, one after another, their melodies curling through the air like smoke, filling the silence with their ache. At least your neighbor has good taste; the voice is mesmerizing, familiar, tugging at the edges of your memory. And then it clicks: you’ve heard it before, floating from car radios or playing softly in cafes.  

Nearly two weeks slip by, the days stacked like unopened letters. Despite the proximity, you’ve yet to meet your enigmatic neighbor, though their music has become an unintentional soundtrack to your life. Namjoon, ever the social butterfly, has nudged you more than once to pay them a visit. “Just say hi,” he urged, grinning. But socializing hasn’t exactly been high on your list, not when there are boxes to unpack, deadlines to meet, and your energy drained to its dregs.  

Still, a seed of worry takes root. The songs haven’t changed—still steeped in longing, still carrying that unshakable sadness. Day after day, it’s as if the house next door is exhaling heartbreak. Maybe Namjoon’s right. Maybe you should go introduce yourself, ask about the neighborhood, and gently check if everything’s okay.  

Which is how you find yourself walking up the snow-dusted path to your neighbor’s door, nerves prickling like the winter air against your skin. Their house looms larger than yours, its quiet elegance a subtle reminder of its age and stature. Even the door, frosted glass like your own, feels imposing—a pale barrier between curiosity and the answers waiting behind it.  

Your footsteps crunch softly on the frozen ground as you approach. You hesitate, your breath clouding in the cold, before raising a hand to knock. For good measure, you press the doorbell too, its chime echoing faintly into the stillness.  

And then you wait, heart thrumming in quiet anticipation.  

The music drifts out from the house, faint yet achingly persistent, wrapping around you like the winter chill. You shift on your feet, blowing warmth into your hands, impatient as the cold nips at your nose and fingers. Just as the thought of retreating crosses your mind, the door creaks open.

Your gaze lowers, meeting a pair of wide, brown curious eyes belonging to a little girl. She’s impossibly small, bundled in a sweater too big for her, her dark hair a gentle mess. Her smile, shy but sweet, carries a warmth that momentarily pushes back the frost.

“Hi,” she says, her voice as soft as a whisper of wind through snow-covered trees. She studies you carefully, her head tilting as though trying to puzzle you out.

You return her smile, bending slightly to her level. “Hi, I’m Y/N. I just moved in next door.” A pause, then a gentle laugh. “I was getting a little worried with all the sad music coming from here. Are your parents home?”

Her smile falters, her gaze flickering downward before rising to meet yours again. There’s something heavy in her small expression, far too much for a child her age. “It’s just me and my dad,” she says quietly, her voice tinged with something you can’t quite name.

Your heart clenches at her words, though you don’t fully understand why. She’s so young, so sweet, and yet there’s a fragility to her presence that stirs something protective in you. For a moment, you wonder about her mother, where she might be, what might have happened.

“Is your dad home?” you ask gently, your tone as soft as your smile.

She nods, stepping back into the warm glow of the house. “I’ll go get him. Please wait here,” she says, her words so polite they make you smile again. She scurries off, leaving you at the threshold with the frosty air swirling in around your feet.

As you stand there, you catch glimpses of the house’s interior: the dim light casting long shadows, the faint smell of wood and something floral, and always that music—a bittersweet tune that seeps into every corner.

When she returns, she isn’t alone. A man follows her, his presence filling the doorway.

Your breath catches, your jaw slack as your mind struggles to process the sight before you. You’d expected the father of the sweet little girl to be ordinary, unassuming. But this? This man? He’s a vision pulled straight from the realm of angels.

The first thing you notice is his presence—tall, confident, yet carrying a quiet weariness that tugs at the edges of his posture. He’s dressed simply, but somehow that makes him all the more striking. A plain white t-shirt stretches across his chest, the sleeves rolled just enough to bare sinewy arms, and on his wrist, a faint tattoo peeks out like a secret. His black dress pants sit high on his impossibly small waist, falling loosely down his legs in elegant folds, a sharp contrast to the effortless way he carries himself.

And then there’s his face—soft yet devastatingly sharp, a contradiction of beauty. His jawline is so defined, it looks as if it could carve through stone, and yet his full lips, slightly parted as if mid-thought, ground him in warmth. His eyes—soft brown, tender, and framed by glasses and sleeplessness—pull you in, speaking of long nights and untold stories.

His hair, warm blonde kissed with streaks of brown at the roots, falls in uneven waves, longer in the back. It looks as if it was tousled by the wind or restless fingers, and you can’t help but wonder if he even knows how effortlessly beautiful he is. A few faint birthmarks dot his skin, adding something human to a face that feels otherworldly. As he steps closer, his features soften even more, and your pulse quickens.

“Hi,” he says, his voice a low, soothing melody that sinks into your bones. It’s angelic yet grounded, the kind of sound that lingers, reverberating long after the words are spoken. “What can I do for you?”

For a moment, you forget how to speak, how to breathe, how to exist. All your intentions, your purpose, your very reason for knocking on his door dissolve under the weight of his gaze. You can only stare, unmoored, helplessly captivated.

“This lady said she’s our new neighbor,” the girl chirps beside him, her bright voice cutting through your daze like sunlight through clouds. She looks up at her father with a grin, and he nods, clearing his throat.

He steps closer, extending a hand toward you, the motion deliberate and polite. His hand is warm when it meets yours, soft in a way that belies the calluses at his fingertips—marks of labor, of skill, of a life lived. 

“I’m sorry, where are my manners?” he says with a gentle smile, and you realize your heart is racing, thundering in your chest like it’s trying to escape.

“My name is Jimin, and this is my daughter, Hwa-Young,” he says, his voice soft yet resonant, like the distant hum of a melody that refuses to be forgotten. It’s only then that you realize—mortifyingly—that you’re still holding his hand, the warmth of his palm grounding you far too much. With a jolt, you release it, your cheeks burning like embers, the sting of your foolishness wrapping itself around you. This is why you don’t talk to people, you scold yourself silently. You’re a mess. A fool.

The moment blurs, and you barely register Jimin’s words as he politely repeats something—was it your name? Before you can respond, Hwa-Young steps in, her voice clear and chiming with youthful certainty. “Her name is Y/N,” she declares with the pride of someone who’s solved a puzzle.

Jimin smiles, his expression warm enough to melt the frost clinging to your thoughts, and opens the door wider. “Would you like to come inside for a cup of tea, Y/N?”

You nod mutely, words lodged somewhere between your heart and throat. Speaking feels too dangerous; your silence, you hope, can’t betray how tangled your thoughts have become.

Inside, the house welcomes you with a kind of quiet charm. You peel off your coat and shoes, swapping them for a pair of slippers left by the entryway. The hallway leads you into a living room bathed in soft, creamy tones, its minimalist style broken only by the unmistakable fingerprint of family. Children’s drawings hang on the walls in uneven rows, their vibrant colors a stark but beautiful contrast to the muted decor. A small clay sculpture, wobbling slightly on its base, sits proudly on a side table. It feels like stepping into a story—a place where every corner holds a piece of life lived and loved.

Jimin gestures toward the sofa, and you sink into its inviting cushions, the fabric soft against your fingers. Hwa-Young follows, nestling beside you with a quiet familiarity, her presence grounding. From the nearby kitchen, the faint clatter of porcelain and the rustling of tea packets signal Jimin’s quiet movements.

The room feels alive with warmth, not just from the home itself but from the gentle energy of its inhabitants. You take it all in—the way the light filters through the curtains in golden streaks, the faint scent of lavender mingling with the hum of boiling water, and the soft chatter of a child’s imagination as Hwa-Young shows you a paper star she made.

You glance toward the kitchen, where Jimin moves with unhurried grace, and a strange calm settles over you. Maybe, just maybe, this unexpected meeting wasn’t such a mistake after all.

“Are you from the city?” Hwa-Young asks, her voice bright with curiosity, her smile tugging at the corners of her youthful face. You nod, mirroring her smile with one of your own.

“Yes, I just moved in about two weeks ago,” you reply, the words tumbling out like snowflakes in the quiet. “How old are you?”

“I just turned ten!” she exclaims, her voice brimming with pride, her grin wide and unrestrained. Somehow, the innocence in her joy stirs something deep within you, a warmth that begins to thaw the cold edges of your weary heart.

“Congratulations,” you say softly, folding your hands in your lap as if to hold the fragile moment still.

Jimin enters the room, carrying two steaming mugs of tea. He sets them gently on the coffee table, the soft clink of ceramic against wood breaking the silence. With effortless grace, he disappears briefly, returning with a glass of water for his daughter. As he takes his seat in a plush chair opposite you, his presence feels both calming and grounding, like the steady rhythm of a familiar song.

“How are you liking the town so far?” he asks, his voice carrying a soothing cadence, as if he’s accustomed to drawing out answers with kindness alone.

Lifting the mug to your lips, you blow softly on the surface of the tea, the fragrant steam curling upward like a wisp of memory. “I like it so far,” you say, your tone reflective, as though you’re still making sense of this new chapter in your life.

The faintest flicker of realization ignites, and you remember the reason for your visit. You set the mug down, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “I haven’t seen much of it yet. Between work and unpacking, I’ve barely had a chance to explore. But, actually…”

He takes another sip of his tea, and you can’t help but let your gaze linger. The delicate curve of his lashes, impossibly long and casting soft shadows on his cheekbones, draws your attention. His lips—pink, full, and unassuming—meet the edge of the mug, and for a brief, absurd moment, you find yourself wondering how something so simple could be so captivating.

What are you even thinking? You shake off the thought, clearing your throat.

“Ah, yes,” you stammer, a little too loudly. “I couldn’t help but notice…” You trail off, grappling for the right words. “I’ve heard a lot of sad songs coming from your house since I moved in, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Like, not…heartbroken or anything?”

Your words hang in the air, an awkward tangle of concern and curiosity, and you silently curse yourself for blurting them out. Was that a question or a statement? Even you aren’t sure.

But then he smiles—a real, genuine smile—and for a split second, his eyes vanish into crescents of warmth. His teeth peek out, slightly crooked, but so charming it nearly takes your breath away. Running a hand through his tousled blonde hair, he chuckles softly, his laugh like a melody in itself.

“Oh, that’s me. I’m the one guilty of all the sad music,” he admits, his voice carrying a quiet confidence that makes you feel at ease despite your earlier awkwardness.

Your brow furrows in thought as you tap your pointer finger against your lips, the name of the voice eluding you. “What’s the name of the artist? I know I’ve heard him on the radio, but I just can’t place it…”

His smile blooms, radiant and unrestrained, his eyes crinkling into crescents of pure light. “That’s me,” he says, a giggle escaping his lips, soft and melodic like the hum of a lullaby.

You blink at him, utterly perplexed, your mind spinning as you try to piece together what he could mean. “Sorry?” you venture hesitantly, hoping for clarity, your confusion painted plainly across your face.

“The artist,” he explains, his voice effortlessly calm and sure, “is Park Jimin. And I’m Park Jimin.”

The name lands in your ears, but it takes a second longer for the meaning to sink in. His daughter bursts into delighted laughter, while you sit frozen, your expression surely something straight out of a cartoon—wide eyes, jaw unhinged, disbelief written all over you.

Your thoughts race, chasing one another in circles. His voice, angelic and hauntingly beautiful, had felt familiar from the moment you heard it. And suddenly, the puzzle clicks into place. The songs—the ones that wrapped around you like a bittersweet embrace—were his. His.

Your eyes dart toward one of the rooms down the hall, where the music had been flowing endlessly up until the moment he greeted you. But now, the silence is palpable, a stillness that confirms your dawning realization. It wasn’t the stereo at all. It was him.

“Daddy, show her a song!” Hwa-Young pipes up, her small voice brimming with excitement as she hops off the couch and scampers toward a room. The door is ajar, revealing a glimpse of equipment and scattered papers.

Jimin’s smile softens, his eyes meeting yours with a gentle invitation. Without a word, he rises and gestures for you to follow. And as though caught in a spell, you do, your curiosity pulling you forward.

His studio is a world unto itself—a symphony of black and white, sleek lines, and personal chaos. Guitars in all shapes and sizes line the walls, their polished bodies gleaming under soft light. A microphone stands at attention, its cable curling like a lifeline to the scattered pages of sheet music littering the desk and floor.

It’s not just a room; it’s a glimpse into his soul, a sanctuary of sound and vulnerability. You can’t help but let your gaze linger, taking in the effortless beauty of it all.

Hwa-Young leaps onto the couch with a boundless energy that only a child can muster, the cushions bouncing under her weight. She pats the spot beside her, a silent invitation laced with an innocent warmth. You accept, settling in as Jimin crosses the room with a quiet confidence, his every movement purposeful yet unassuming. He retrieves an acoustic guitar, its wood glowing faintly under the soft overhead light, and perches on a nearby stool.

“Play her that new song, dad,” Hwa-Young beams, her voice lilting with pride and affection. She leans back into the couch, her tiny frame dwarfed by its embrace, but her presence fills the room.

Jimin nods, a soft smile tugging at his lips, and then his fingers meet the strings. A single strum reverberates, low and tender, a sound that seems to dissolve the walls and pull you into a different world. 

And then he sings.

His voice flows like a stream over smooth stones—gentle, searching, yet laced with a fragile ache. Feather-light and haunting, it brushes against you, delicate as a whisper yet powerful enough to root you in place. “We never met, but she’s all I see at night.Never met but she’s always on my mind.Wanna give her the world,And so much more.Who is my heart waiting for?If every day I think about her,Yeah, every day of my life.Then tell me why I haven’t found her.”

Each note hangs in the air like a secret meant only for this moment, for you, for the stillness that has settled over the room. Your mind empties, swept clean by the sheer beauty of his voice, each syllable carrying raw emotion that you can’t help but feel, though it’s not your story to claim.

You watch him, this man who pours his heart so freely before a stranger, as if vulnerability were as natural as breathing. His fingers dance over the strings with practiced ease, but it’s the weight in his voice—the yearning, the quiet pain—that lingers in your chest.

A flicker of a question rises, unbidden, as you take in the scene—a renowned singer-songwriter, his talent unmistakable, living humbly in this crappy and cheap neighborhood. Why here? Why this place, when his voice alone could carry him anywhere? But the question dissipates as quickly as it forms, lost in the tide of his music. At this moment, none of it matters.

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv

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→ Author’s endnote: soooo?? Tell me everything! What do you think about Jimin? Is he stealing your heart yet, or is it his adorable daughter who’s totally got you wrapped around her tiny finger? 👀💜 And don’t even get me started on what’s coming next... are you excited? Nervous? Ready to cry?? Because trust me, the next chapter has all the feels™. Let’s hear your thoughts—I’m dying to know!

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 6: I Am Missing You To Death]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, a Wolfman update, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, sexual content (18+), dragons, murder, suicide, say hello to the Crab Fam! 🥰🦀

Series title is a lyric from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “I Slept With Someone In Fall Out Boy And All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 9k (she chonky!).

Link to chapter list: HERE.

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There’s fire on the table, ice in your blood. Alicent and Helaena are prisoners in their rooms, and tomorrow Otto will be beheaded in the Dragonpit, but you are here in the Great Hall surrounded by candles, cider and beer and wine, rare roast boar sweating blood like rubies, raucous celebration.

Your father and Clement are laughing with Medrick Manderly, Lorent Marbrand, Luthor Largent, other men of Rhaenyra’s council; when they toast their wine, it sloshes carelessly out of the glass goblets. Corlys Velaryon—whose navy helped secure the city—is pensive and withdrawn, saying very little. At the center of the high table, the woman who calls herself queen is manic: color in her cheeks, light in her eyes, but not a warm life-giving glow, a hollow glint like the flash of coins or swords or moonlight. She is receiving a litany of congratulations for her victory from the lords of loyal houses: Blackwood, Bar Emmon, Costayne, Tully, Frey, Dustin, Cerwyn, Grimm. Frequently and unmistakably, Rhaenyra glances across the hall to where Daemon is conspiring with her military commanders, his back to the wall and arms crossed and face daunting yet distracted somehow, reminding you very much of Aemond. He does not look at his wife. He looks elsewhere, into the future, into the past, into the northwest where Nettles and Baela are waiting for him to return to the cursed corridors of Harrenhal.

“Please eat something,” Everett says quietly. He is carving off the least-bloody pieces of roast boar and laying them on your plate, where they remain untouched. He doesn’t have much to talk about with the other men as long as the topic of conversation hinges on combat. He knows books, not blades. Everett can walk, though only slowly and with great difficulty; he does not ride horses, he does not fight, he does not have a wife and in all likelihood never will. He reads and he watches, sharp eyes like a hawk’s.

“I’m alright,” you reply with effort that feels like lifting iron, stones, the dead weight of a man.

“You’re not,” Everett says, pained.

“Cregan Stark is a good man!” your father is telling his compatriots. He has grey hair and a crafty grin and speaks with dramatic sweeps of his arms. “When he heard of my daughter’s tribulations, borne with such courage, such resilience, he assured me that his intentions to wed her were unchanged. He pledged to forgive her any transgressions suffered at the hands of the Usurper.”

“A better husband than any of us!” Clement trumpets, toasting his wine glass with anyone who will accommodate him. Clement does have a wife—and two sons so far, the infant heirs of House Celtigar—but he spends far more time writing to Lord Stark than his family back on Claw Isle. “Gallant! Merciful! The most clever and civilized Northerner to ever live!”

“Hear hear!” his audience answers spiritedly, though Everett only frowns.

“And soon Cregan will leave Winterfell,” your father continues. Rhaenyra is now listening attentively. “He will finish rallying and fortifying his men, and then march south to crush the last vestiges of this infernal, traitorous uprising!”

Resounding cheers, fists drummed against the table. Clement picks up where your father left off: “Already Roddy the Ruin and his Winter Wolves slaughtered 2,000 Lannister men at the Fishfeed. Can you imagine the carnage when Cregan arrives with his host of young, fresh, able-bodied warriors?! We will eviscerate the Kingmaker! We will avenge Rhaenys, Lucerys and Jacaerys! And when we find the Usurper, when we drag him out of whatever hovel he’s crawled into on his belly like a snake, we will cut him open to see if his guts are green as well!”

As men roar all around you—men who have killed, men who are starving to do it again—you stare down at the reflection in your wine, a vacant face that barely resembles yours. You cannot write to Aegon. He cannot write to you. Where and how he is will remain a mystery until you meet again…or until the Blacks uncover his fate. In your mind, he is both alive and dead; he is sick, he is well, he is suffering, he is finding solace in another woman’s bed, he is lying broken on the side of the road, he is sailing under the cover of darkness into Dragonstone on a borrowed ship, he is drunk, he is sober, he is burning up with fever, his is reunited with Sunfyre, he is in desperate need of you, he has forgotten you completely.

“I bet he’s at Storm’s End!” Medrick Manderly bellows, motioning with a turkey leg as if it’s a dagger. “We should send assassins to slay him!”

“No, no, the Reach!” Luthor Largent counters. “He’s probably on his way to meet his brother Daeron there!”

Theories are lobbed back and forth like the arrows of archers, none of them right. No one asks you. No one has asked about the abuse you supposedly endured either. It was taken for granted as truth; what else could anyone expect from a captor as notoriously depraved and insatiable as the Usurper? Your melancholic demeanor is proof enough. Inquiry beyond that would be impolite. And then Rhaenyra says, startling you: “Is there any chance he’s gone to Dragonstone?”

“He cannot be there, Your Grace,” your father assures her. “It is impossible to take Dragonstone without there being signs, ships in the sea and smoke from the kitchens and the like. We would have heard from the lords of the Crownlands who reside near the island.”

Unless they have silently abandoned Rhaenyra’s cause. Unless Aegon and Larys have won them over. You have to protect him. You have to distract the side you once called your own. You twist the dragon ring on your left hand, gold wings and jade eyes. No one asks about that either; sometimes you think they don’t really see you at all. You say softly: “He spoke often of Dorne.”

“Dorne?” your father muses, stroking his short beard.

“Of course he did,” Clement says. “Degenerates are quite at home there.”

Medrick Manderly is muttering: “We’ll never find him if he gets past the Marches…”

Rhaenyra gazes at her husband again, a hollow, vulnerable sort of desperation, a plea that echoes against stone walls. He knocks back the last of his wine, turns his back on her, and strides out of the Great Hall. Rhaenyra’s pale eyes—a treacherous, oceanic sort of blue like Aegon’s—are glossy with despair. You’ve crossed paths with her before, of course, usually from a distance; but you are fascinated by how much she has changed. With each person she loses—King Viserys, infant Visenya, Luke, Jace—another piece of her is cut away like a man being flayed. The so-called queen is more erratic, more cold. She has had her remaining children brought to King’s Landing: Joffrey, Aegon the Younger, Viserys who is a sickly and disengaged toddler, his eyes and nose always running. They are tucked safely away in their rooms currently. They are glorified prisoners, just like you; they have no role in shaping the world they will one day inherit.

“My lady?” Autumn says, tapping your shoulder. The Blacks know her only as a handmaiden who assisted you in escaping the clutches of the Usurper when he fled King’s Landing. They have no idea who might have fathered the child in her rounded belly. It would not be safe for them to know. Before her time comes to deliver, Autumn will have to go someplace where the Blacks will be unaware if her son or daughter has the silvery hair of a Targaryen. You promised her a new home, but you cannot give it to her yet; nothing you own is truly yours, and Aegon left too suddenly to gift her property on your behalf. Autumn, curiously, does not seem to be in any hurry to leave you.

“I’m alright,” you say again, another leaden lie. The men are now discussing how the Usurper should be executed once they’ve found him: beheaded, hanged drawn and quartered, fed to a dragon, burned alive, some combination thereof. Medrick Manderly is suggesting that they have him flayed alive. When Cregan Stark arrives at last, surely there will be Boltons in his retinue.

“You are exhausted,” Autumn announces, loudly enough for the others to overhear. “You have been through so much. Please, my lady. Allow me to escort you back to your rooms.”

“Will you, please?” Everett asks Autumn. His eyes flick to hers, his fingers tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll check on her before I retire for the evening.”

Autumn offers you her hand. This is a kindness, an escape. You take it and rise from the table.

“My daughter!” Bartimos Celtigar laments, gesturing to you. His spectators, men rabid with bloodlust, nod and murmur sympathetically, like it is almost something too distasteful to speak of. Murder can be discussed openly, torture, weapons, war; but the violence women collect and carry in their bones? Those are details best left unsaid. Perhaps it strikes too near to their own deeds, if they dared to think hard on them. Your father approaches and kisses you twice, once on each cheek. Rhaenyra drinks her wine and stares blankly at the place where Daemon had stood. “So wronged, so mistreated, and yet she is still with us. She will rise again. She has a glorious future ahead of her. We all do. All of us who serve Rhaenyra, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. To the words of my house: Perpetual Resurrection!”

The men lift their cups and shout, none more deafeningly than Clement: “Perpetual Resurrection!” Everett mouths it quietly to himself. Corlys Velaryon says nothing. Rhaenyra holds her head high, sorrowful but defiant. You retreat from the Great Hall with Autumn, the hem of your gown flowing out behind you, black like the faction the Celtigars have aligned with, black like mourning.

“No,” you tell Autumn as she starts up the stairwell that leads to your bedchamber.

She is puzzled. “Where then?”

“Take me to the dungeons.”

“What? Why?” Then she understands. “Oh. Oh no. You don’t want to go down there. It’s awful, dark and grimy, dried blood on the walls, handprints and fingernails. Spiders and bones. Rats everywhere.”

“So you know the way.”

“Yes,” she admits cagily, tugging at a coiled lock of her coppery hair.

Your eyes narrow. “When were you in the dungeons?” You met Aegon there? He took women there? Before the war, before he was burned, before he met me?

“Don’t ask questions you wouldn’t want the answers to,” Autumn says primly. Then she ushers you through doorways and shadowy stairwells that lead down, down, down.

Grand Maester Orwyle is in the black cells. Jasper Wylde has already been executed; Tyland Lannister is being tortured until he reveals the location of the Greens’ stores of treasure. Otto Hightower, condemned to death, is housed on the floor of the dungeons reserved for prisoners of noble birth. There are torches burning in the corridor, rage-orange luminescence like dusk bleeding into the cells through gaps in the iron bars. Autumn does not leave you alone there, but she does wait at the end of the hall to give you—and the man who three times served as the Hand of the King and was twice removed from the same office, first by King Viserys and again by Aegon when Otto proved too cautious for his liking—some semblance of privacy.

Otto peers up at you from where he sits on the floor of his cell, strewn with dirty straw and glowing firelight. He appears old, impossibly old; the flesh has evaporated between his skull and his yellowed skin. He already looks like the skeleton he will be soon. He once counseled Aegon against flying into battle with Sunfyre, and Aegon hated him for it. But Otto was right, wasn’t he? “Did you tire of all the merriment upstairs? Or have they run out of roast boar? I could smell it cooking, you know. All day long as rats chewed at my ankles.”

“I imagine you now regret not running when you had the chance.”

Otto shrugs haggardly. “My odds would have been as good on the road as here. Out there, I might have been descended upon by a bear or a shadowcat or a band of thieves who left me gutted on the roadside. At least my death will be clean and swift.”

“Is there anything I can bring you?” you ask him, gently now. “Anything I can do for you? Before…tomorrow?” Before your life is ended. Before the Greens lose one of their greatest assets.

His gaunt face stretches into a slow, taunting grin. “You have chosen a side, Lady Celtigar.”

That’s true, isn’t it? By not spilling the Greens’ secrets. By falling in love with their king. “If Rhaenyra wins, I have to marry Cregan Stark and Aegon dies.”

“And you want him to live so he can marry you.”

It stuns you so much it takes a moment to find your words again. “Well, that’s not possible.” He already has a wife, no matter how insane she is now.

“I would not assume that any form of depravity is beyond his skill.” Otto sighs deeply. “Before that bitch took the city, I was corresponding with the Dragonseeds called Ulf the White and Hugh Hammer. They claim they will switch to our side for titles that Rhaenyra denies them. Ulf wanted Storm’s End—delusional, the drunk could not manage a fishing village, he spells half his words wrong—and Hugh asked the Blacks for Casterly Rock. Apparently Daemon was actually amenable, but Rhaenyra refused the notion entirely. How fortunate for us. If we offer these Dragonseeds the seats of lesser houses—Costayne and Merryweather, I’d suggest, both traitors to Aegon’s cause—I think they’ll declare for us. Alicent must write to them. With Aemond, Criston, and Daeron on the battlefield, and Aegon gods know where, she must be the one to negotiate for our side now. She is capable of it. I know she is.”

“She can’t get to the rookery.”

Otto smiles up at you cunningly. “I suspect her letters will somehow find their way there,” he says. “And you are now more knowledgeable of the would-be betrayers’ whereabouts than I am.”

You nod. This is true, for the Blacks speak openly around you. While Corlys’ alleged bastard Addam Velaryon—who accompanied the navy into King’s Landing—now patrols the skies above the city on Seasmoke, Ulf and Hugh are currently stationed at Maidenpool in a remote corner of the Riverlands and awaiting further instruction. Rhaenyra dislikes them, you can sense this already. She has heard tales of boasting, drinking, whoring, brawling, bottomless greed. She does not trust them. She does not understand how the gods allowed her sons to be killed and those scoundrels to live.

Otto says: “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“What is it that draws you to Aegon?” He speaks with profound, genuine confusion. “What is there to admire? To yearn for?”

You see him, playful crooked smile and dazed eyes, careful hands, tiny silver braid. Unaware that you’re doing it, you twist the dragon ring on your finger. “He’s brave. He’s kind. I don’t understand why none of you can see it.”

“Ah.” And now Otto at last comprehends. “I was in love once,” he says wistfully, very far away, gazing at the stone wall, gazing at nothing. “I don’t remember what it felt like. But I remember that it happened. I suppose I will see Alicent’s mother again tomorrow. I hope she still recognizes me.” His eyes return to you, reflecting torchlight that shifts and distorts. “These dark, contagious facets of life change us all. They ruins us. Time, heartache, violence. You become capable of inconceivable things. You would scheme and deceive. You would murder.”

You can hear Aegon’s voice in the silence of the dungeons: I ruin causes. I ruin people. I couldn’t do that to you. “I’ll help your side however I can.”

“Do not allow the Blacks to discover your treason. You are far more valuable to us as someone who can drift between worlds than as a professed ally, assuming you cannot turn the Celtigars.”

“I can’t.” You could convince Everett, perhaps. But he isn’t the heir to Claw Isle.

Then Otto smiles, and it is the softest, most tender thing you’ve ever seen him do. “Please tell Alicent that I love her.”

“I will.”

“Now go,” he says. “Before you are witnessed here. Before you endanger what you want most.”

To end the war. To stop this suffering. To be with Aegon again. You hesitate, not knowing how to say goodbye. What is there left to say when the man in front of you is already dead?

“Go,” Otto Hightower orders again; and this time you obey.

He dies at 9:00 the next morning. Sunlight streams fierce and blinding into the Dragonpit. The smallfolk applaud and cheer, though perhaps mostly because Syrax and Caraxes are perched atop the domed roof and waiting, fangs bared, to devour anyone who dissents. In the people’s eyes, you see less savagery than terror. You can read the thoughts that dart between them, infectious like fever: We do not trust Rhaenyra, this ruthless queen, this Maegor with teats. We do not trust her bloodthirsty uncle-husband. We do not want to burn if Aemond and Vhagar return to reclaim the city.

Daemon swings the blade himself. It takes three blows to sever Otto’s head. This must have been intentional; you know what an expert swordsman Daemon is.

~~~~~~~~~~

You sit compliantly with your family at meals, dances, executions. You stroll in the gardens. You bring Helaena flowers, lilies, irises, tulips, daisies, roses. You bring Alicent paper and quills and ink. You take the letter she writes to the rookery above the chambers where Grand Maester Orwyle once resided. As the raven departs for Maidenpool, black wings flapping in cerulean summer air, you stare through a window that looks out onto Blackwater Bay towards Essos, Driftmark, Dragonstone.

Is Aegon there now? Is he alive?

You have no way of knowing; while ravens pass between King’s Landing and the Riverlands frequently, you cannot risk someone noticing correspondence with Dragonstone. But you feel that Aegon is safe on that fearsome, windswept island. You feel that he might even be gazing out of his own window, back towards the mainland, back towards you.

When you return to your bedchamber, Everett is there. He is seated at the writing desk and pointing to pages in a book about animals of the Crownlands, bears and dragons and crabs. The book is for children; the words are large and accompanied by colorful illustrations. Autumn is sitting in Everett’s lap, giggling as she repeats the words that he croons through her firelight hair.

You pause in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

“Learning how to read!” Autumn replies brightly.

“I thought you weren’t interested in that.”

“I’ve been struck by sudden and forceful inspiration to shed my commoner ignorance.”

“Autumn, dear,” Everett prompts. She climbs out of his lap, sweeps him a teasing girlish courtesy, and sails out of the room. Everett looks to you. “Come. Sit.”

“Not in your lap, hopefully.”

He laughs. “Where on earth did you find her?”

You take a seat at the edge of your bed, toying with your ring. Your fingertips glide over the bumps of those gleaming jade eyes. “A brothel here in King’s Landing. I don’t know what sort of family she was born into.”

“Oh,” Everett sighs sympathetically. Your father and Clement would be viciously pejorative, would demand Autumn’s removal from your service immediately. But Everett is a different sort of man. He was even before he was burned, and he’s far more so now. “The poor thing.” Then his eyebrows leap up. “Wait. How did you end up visiting a brothel…?”

“It doesn’t matter.” You peer out the window that overlooks the beach. You’re always watching the sea now, as if it can tell you its secrets, as if it can whisper to you in a language made of gull cries, breaking waves, starlight and moonbeams reflected on indigo currents in the dead of night.

“It’s strange,” Everett says. There is a soft, sad smile on his face. “Your body is here with us, but your soul isn’t.”

You don’t know how to reply. You don’t know how to explain everything that’s happened.

“The Usurper must have harmed you terribly.” Everett is not asking, but he is opening the door; you can tell him anything that is burdening you, and he will keep it to himself. You once sat with him as he lay dying, or at least when everyone believed he was; everyone but you and Maester Arthur back on Claw Isle. You once helped bring him back to life. That is a bond forged with something stronger than iron, something deeper than blood.

Aegon? Harm me? “He would never do that.”

Now Everett’s eyes are fixed intently on you. He is reading you like calculations of taxes, expenses, accounts, gains, losses. He realizes, hushed and alarmed: “You weren’t taken to King’s Landing by force.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

His jaw drops open, his eyes blink incredulously. “Do you…do you think he’s the rightful king?!”

“It’s not about that for me.”

“You are betrothed to another man.”

“Yes,” you agree.

“The Usurper is married.”

“Yes,” you say again. “And yet…”

“Seven hells,” Everett exhales. He shakes his head. “But…the Usurper…Aegon…he…he…he’s a monster, isn’t he? A rapist, a degenerate, a slothful and selfish wastrel?”

“No. He’s not. Just like Rhaenyra isn’t a sweet, serene mother to her kingdom.”

Everett smirks ruefully. He can’t argue with this.

“Aegon will pardon any Celtigar who rebelled against him. All they need to do is swear fealty upon being captured.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

“I know where he was planning to go. I don’t know if he made it there.”

“And you worry for him,” Everett says softly.

You nod, unable to speak. You can feel the threat of tears scorching in your throat, dark churning clouds that forecast lightning, cyclones, floods.

“His burns have healed?” Everett asks. “Everyone knows he was horribly wounded at Rook’s Rest.”

“They’ve scarred over. But that doesn’t mean he’ll be alright.”

Everett understands this, he remembers the discussions the two of you once had with Maester Arthur. Severe burns weaken the organs, even years after the flesh is no longer raw and weeping. Survivors are prone to failure of their kidneys, liver, heart. They must be careful to avoid further trauma. Aegon does not have that luxury. “I don’t know what remedy to offer you,” Everett says remorsefully. “Rhaenyra met with Alicent, and the dowager queen put forth a generous compromise. Alicent proposed that the realm be divided. Aegon’s seat would be at Oldtown, and his jurisdiction would include the Reach, the Westerlands, and the Stormlands. Rhaenyra would continue to rule from King’s Landing and preside over the Crownlands, the Riverlands, the Vale, the Iron Islands, and the North. Both branches of the family would survive.”

“Rhaenyra could have ended it.” You marvel at the simplicity, the doomed slighted possibilities. “Here and now. The bloodshed would be over. Aegon could return to me.”

“Rhaenyra rejected the notion of any concessions whatsoever. Our father and Clement encouraged her. I would advocate for a peaceful resolution, I would advance your interests, sister. I would, I swear I would. But it is futile. You know they don’t listen to me.”

No, not in the arena of warfare. Everett is the heir to your father’s skill with trade, but Clement is the future Lord of Claw Isle, and it is he who wields swords and shields and leads men into combat. Everett cannot fight. Other men will never regard him as their full equal. “You have listened to my treason and not condemned me. I cannot ask for more from you than that.”

Everett stands from his chair, a slow, laborious undertaking. He crosses the room gingerly, lifts your chin to break the trance as you stare down at your ring, beams like the sun. “You want him.”

“Yes,” you admit helplessly.

“You’ve never wanted any man.”

“Just him. It can’t be anyone but him.”

Everett nods, thoughtful, amused. “Then I will pray that Lord Cregan Stark takes a wrong turn on the Kingsroad and ends up in the Vale, or the Iron Islands, or Essos, or perhaps even walks right into the sea. He’d sink, I’m sure. All those furs must be heavy when wet.”

“If anyone asks, you believe Aegon to be in Dorne.”

“I certainly do.” Everett smiles, touches his lips to your forehead, shuffles off to find Autumn and tell her that she can come back now.

Some nights, if you can enter without being noticed, you steal into the bedchamber that was once Aegon’s, the place where you brought him back from the dead, the place where he made you crave things that had once only filled you with dread, fear, revulsion. No one else has claimed Aegon’s rooms. No one else wants them. They make jokes about the debaucheries his walls must have seen, the unholy stains that surely riddle his mattress, rugs, curtains. They don’t know him at all, and nothing can make them want to. Tonight, there are quarreling voices coming from outside. You go to the open window, your lungs expanding with cool indigo air, and look out.

“Where are you going? Daemon? Daemon!” Rhaenyra is raging after him, following him onto the wet sand of the beach. “Back to Harrenhal? Back to your whore?!”

He does not answer. He strides arrogantly, he storms away from her, this woman he once loved for her tenacity and pride. He has no appetite for weakness. He has no patience for pruning those creeping, thorny vines of madness that are growing into her mind, her veins. Already Caraxes is landing in the surf to take him back to his foothold in the Riverlands, to Baela, to Nettles.

“Then go!” Rhaenyra screams after Daemon. And if you can hear this, surely others can as well. “Just go! We don’t need you here! I don’t need you here!”

Lies, lies, lies. Desperate and transparent lies.

Daemon and Caraxes take flight and disappear into the nightscape darkness over the ocean. You climb into the bed that was once Aegon’s, curl up in a nest of his blood-flecked sheets, breathe in lingering wisps of rose oil and the echoes of his low, drowsy voice, thick with wine and milk of the poppy and forbidden desire for a woman who sheds and replaces her skin again and again and again.

~~~~~~~~~~

A week later, you go to the gardens and read under the heart tree about cures and poisons. When you return inside—clutching a glass jar containing sticks, leaves, grass, and a single wriggling caterpillar, a gift for Helaena—the Red Keep is in chaos. Servants and guards are gossiping feverishly. Upstairs, Alicent is howling with grief. You glimpse Autumn racing up a staircase towards the dowager queen’s rooms to comfort her. There are sounds of celebration in the Great Hall, cups being toasted and cheers loosed like dragonfire. You follow them, suffocating terror constricting your throat like a noose. Is it Aemond, Criston, Daeron? Is it Aegon? Have they found him, have they killed him?

At the center of the high table, Rhaenyra is wearing a gown of black and red on her body and a smile of soulless satisfaction on her face. She holds a glass of maroon wine high above her head. “To vengeance!” she calls, and the lords that fill the hall thunder the words back to her. “To victory!”

“Father…?” you say, rushing to Bartimos Celtigar’s side. Clement is shaking hands with Manderlys and Blackwoods and Costaynes, grinning radiantly. Everett and Corlys are peering around grimly, looking uneasy, looking ashamed.

What have they done now? Who have they murdered in cold blood?

“Father, what—?”

“He has no more heirs,” Bartimos Celtigar tell you, as if it is the most joyous of surprises, as if is a gift like a gemstone or a rare book.

“Who?”

“The Usurper. Both of his sons are now dead. Neither of his brothers have children. Aegon has no heirs!”

“Maelor,” you whisper, envisioning that defenseless white-haired child, giggling, affectionate, anxious, sobbing in the arms of Sir Rickard Thorne. The jar tumbles out of your grasp and shatters against the stone floor. “Maelor is…he’s…he’s been killed…?”

“By a mob of Black loyalists at Bitterbridge,” your father says. “The Greens were trying to smuggle the child to Oldtown. Our supporters attempted to seize the boy so he could be brought to us. Alas, they were too boisterous. He did not survive, and neither did his keeper Rickard Thorne.”

They tore Maelor apart? They clawed and yanked at that little boy until there was nothing left but shreds of muscle and moon-white bones? You gape up at your father, unable to recognize him, unable to keep the horror from your face. “You’re celebrating the murder of a child?”

“They did the same when Luke was killed.”

Because Aegon thought they had to. Because he wanted to protect his brother. “It was wrong then and it’s wrong now.”

“You are too compassionate, daughter,” your father says, smiling with a puddle-deep, patronizing fondness. Was he always this way? Has he changed so much, or have you? He touches your cheek, and you want to flinch away from him. “You lose sight of the scale of this war. Each child of the Usurper that dies spares thousands of others. Aegon now has no heirs left, not unless you count that little girl who’s hidden away somewhere, and don’t the Greens reject the right of a daughter to inherit the throne? Isn’t that what all of this havoc has been about, preventing Rhaenyra’s ascension? This is a resounding triumph for our side! This is something to commemorate!”

They tore Maelor apart??

Corlys gets up from the table and leaves the Great Hall. Everett is watching you with wide, fearful eyes. He is pleading silently: Don’t react. Don’t panic. Not where they can see you.

“Are you well?” your father asks you, concerned now.

“I feel ill,” you hear yourself answer. You grip the back of his chair so the floor can’t rip itself out from under you.

“Just a moment,” Everett says, rising in that labored way, the scar tissue straining painfully at his ankles and knees and hips. “I’ll accompany you back to your rooms…”

But you can’t wait for him. The tears are already flame-hot and misty in your eyes. You rip away from the Celtigars, away from all the Blacks, and escape upstairs. Breathless, sobbing, you go first to Helaena’s bedchamber. Aegon’s wife is standing in front of her window that overlooks the sandstone courtyard, cobblestones of muted earthy gold. You can hear courtiers chattering far below. You can hear the carousing reverberating from the Great Hall. Helaena does not turn when you arrive; she does not give any indication that she is aware of you.

“Helaena,” you gasp. “Your Grace, I…I’m so sorry…what has happened…it’s despicable, it’s soulless, I cannot stop Rhaenyra’s men from reveling in it but I would never defend their actions, I would never join them, I am horrified and heartsick and appalled—”

“It’s a travesty,” Autumn says from the doorway, and you glance over at her. When you look back to the queen, she has vanished.

“Helaena?!” you shout. You and Autumn bolt to the window. Down in the courtyard, courtiers are shrieking and fleeing from the mess. On the cobblestones, Helaena lies sprawled; her arms and legs are bent at impossible angles. A pool of blood spreads out from under her like a river swelling in a storm until it spills over. Guards are hurrying to the scene, their armor jangling. “Helaena!”

“She’s gone,” Autumn says, bundling you into her arms before you can make for the hall, the stairwell. Her belly presses unyieldingly into you. “There’s nothing you can do. Don’t go down there. You can’t help her now.”

You cover your face with both hands and scream: for Maelor, for Helaena, for Alicent, for Aegon, for the world full of people who can’t stop paying the debts others incurred.

“Don’t go down there.” Autumn’s voice is warm and hushed, her grasp strong. “You can’t help Helaena now. You can only hurt yourself. You don’t need to see it. You don’t need her blood on your hands.”

Everett appears, looks out the window to investigate the commotion in the courtyard, backs away with a hand covering his gaping mouth. “Oh, gods. All the gods, Old and New. What a goddamn fucking disaster.”

Autumn at last releases you, and you dash into the hallway with Everett following as quickly as he can and Autumn walking with him, one arm looped through his. You find Alicent in her rooms, standing motionless beside her bed in an emerald green gown. She is trembling and speechless, she is in shock. You embrace her. “I’m sorry,” you say, tears falling on the velvet of her dress. “I know that doesn’t make it any better, but I am.”

Everett and Autumn enter the bedchamber and shut the door behind them. “What—?” Everett begins.

“I have to go to him,” you say. You step away from the dowager queen and wipe your eyes with your sleeves, black like onyx, like obsidian, like death.

“Who...?”

“Aegon. The king,” you tell them. “He’s going to hear of this. He’s going to know what happened to Maelor and Helaena. I can’t let him face that alone. I can’t let him fall into despair.”

“But he…I mean…” Everett is trying to choose his words sensitively. The state of the royal marriage was no secret anywhere in the realm. “Was he even…involved with his wife and children? In any meaningful way?”

“It’s not about them, it’s about him thinking that he’s responsible, that he’s a curse to anyone he touches, that he ruins people, I…” You shake your head franticly. “I can’t stay here. I have to go. I have to be with him.”

“Go where?!” Everett exclaims.

“Dragonstone,” Autumn answers for you.

“Dragonstone,” he repeats numbly. “You can’t be serious! How will you get there?!”

“I’ll take a horse to Crackclaw Point and then pay a boat to ferry me across the water.”

“Alone?!” Everett says.

“I’ll have to be. You cannot travel by horse, only carriage. And your absence would be noticed too swiftly. Father would send soldiers after you if he feared you’d been captured.”

“You’ve never gone anywhere alone, now you’re going to travel a hundred miles over earth and ocean to Dragonstone?!”

“She won’t be alone,” Autumn says. You and Everett turn to her. She is grinning. “I mean no offense, my lady, but you know nothing of the world beyond your castles and gardens and books full of naked men drawings. You would not last a day on your own.”

“You can’t ride a horse either,” you object. “You’re with child. It could be dangerous.”

“I’ve done far more vigorous activities while pregnant, believe me.”

“You’re really going?” Everett says, quiet, mournful. It seems that you’ve only just reunited with him.

“I have to. Aegon thought I’d be safe with the Blacks, and I am, I suppose…but I’m not really a Black anymore. And I can’t let him suffer alone. I…I…”

“You love him,” Alicent says. She gazes at you with huge, glassy, void-dark eyes, like those of a doe felled by arrows. She is half-here and half-not, and thank the gods for that. Her loss is too great. She cannot bear it all at once. Part of her knows her only daughter is dead on the cobblestones outside, her last grandson was torn apart by a mob that were more beasts than men. And then part of her is only aware of this room. “Properly. Entirely. In a way he can understand.”

“I do,” you confess. I do, I do.

“I’m glad,” Alicent says dully. “Someone must.”

She staggers to her bed, lies down on it, curls up like a wounded animal, rips away her golden necklace of a seven-pointed star and throws it to the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the night, you and Autumn leave King’s Landing on horses Everett procured. There is only a skeleton crew of guards left in the Red Keep; the rest are partaking in the festivities that pulse in the Great Hall like a heartbeat, candlelight and music and manic glee. Yet among the smallfolk, no one is celebrating. They are in mourning for their misfortunate, benign queen and her toddler son. They are hissing venomously about Rhaenyra, Daemon, Bartimos Celtigar.

The court will not notice Autumn’s absence, not for days at least, perhaps not ever. Everett will upend your bedchamber before he goes to sleep, knocking over chairs and tables, yanking sheets from the bed. In the morning, he will tell your father that he assumes you are still resting from your illness, from the insurmountable stress of the past months. Women are so fragile, after all; their lives are one tragedy after the next. When at last someone checks on you—hopefully not for a few days—it will appear that you have been taken after a struggle. You did not leave. You were kidnapped by fiends using the secret passageways. You are a prisoner of the Greens again, and likely spirited away to the Stormlands or the Reach or perhaps even the remote, golden sands of Dorne.

You and Autumn travel by night and sleep through the day, staying at roadside inns paid for by the heavy sack of coins Everett gifted you. It is not difficult to blend in among countless travelers and refugees displaced in the wake of the war. You have no distinguishing characteristics, no Valyrian-white hair or ragged burns or sapphires in place of eyes. In fact, Autumn attracts more attention than you do. She is beautiful, talkative, effortlessly flirtatious. Men trail after her at every inn. You receive exemplary service, the hottest soup and the cleanest rooms. She complains to you about how difficult it is becoming for her to rest as her belly grows: perhaps five months along, perhaps six, she isn’t certain, her cycle was already irregular from the lemonweed tea brewed at the brothel.

In a small town called Eagle Harbor at the base of Crackclaw Point, you need to hire a sailor to take you across the narrow strait to Dragonstone. You fumble through stilted inquiries at a tavern until Autumn takes charge, half-drags a bald, bearded man back into the pantry, emerges with him five minutes later, and orders a pint of ale that she sips with a lazy, arrogant smirk.

“May the Mother have mercy!” the sailor says unsteadily, wiping sweat from his brow. “I’ll go to Dragonstone and back ten times for this red-haired demon!”

You and Autumn board his humble vessel at the end of the town’s lone pier and set off through choppy, night-draped waters towards Dragonstone. On the way, the sailor informs you that he’s made this trip a handful of times in the past two weeks, delivering an assortment of workers to the island: servants, guards, maesters, cooks.

“Rumor has it,” the sailor says with a conspiratorial grin. “There is a very illustrious occupant currently holding Dragonstone. He is scarred, but he is growing stronger. Surely you know of whom I speak. He must have beckoned you to join him. Perhaps you are servants. Perhaps you are whores. He has a famed appetite for them.”

“Perhaps, perhaps,” Autumn offers casually.

“Many here in the Crownlands are aware,” the sailor continues. “But you will not catch anyone being too loose with their gossip. The Beggar King is no enemy to us. The Bitch Queen is an enemy. That money-grubbing Bartimos Celtigar is an enemy. But the Greens will end the taxes he put on us. The sooner the Beggar King is well again, the better. He and his dragon too.”

When the sailor docks at Dragonstone, Autumn helps you up onto the pier and then gets back in the boat. “You aren’t staying?” you ask her, baffled, troubled. You have grown terribly attached to her. Cold night rain falls onto the island, growing heavier by the minute. Lightning snaps through the darkness and strikes near the castle.

“No. I want to be with Everett.” Autumn smiles. “And I know the king would not wish for me to impose upon Dragonstone.”

She’s probably right. “Why is he so cold to you? So avoidant?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Autumn says. “He doesn’t want you thinking about him fucking anyone except you.” She grins, winks, gestures for the sailor to unmoor his boat again. “When the Greens come to retake the capital, please ask them not to incinerate me.”

“I’ll pass the message along.”

“Good luck,” she says, waving. “We’ll wait to set sail until you’ve started up the steps.”

Through the darkness, through the driving rain, you trudge up the beach and then ascend the stone steps carved precariously into the cliffside. The grey stone is slippery; for parts of the climb, you walk on your palms as well as your boots. Your ring clinks against rock. When the clouds momentarily blow away from the moon, the gold wings glimmer in the silver light. There are torches burning in the mouths of iron dragons as you near the entranceway of the castle, towering walls that disappear into storm clouds. There is candlelight flickering in the corridors and chambers within. You can see dots of miniature infernos in the windows.

Aegon is in one of those rooms.

Suddenly, a screech startles you so badly you nearly plunge off the steps. Fire blooms in the night air only yards from your face. He’s clutching the cliffside, glaring at you with molten gold eyes set in an angular skull, snarling, smoke drifting skyward from his nostrils. You scream before you can stop yourself.

Sunfyre!!

You crouch down on the steps, squeeze your eyes shut, and wait for him to burn you alive. Seconds pass, ten, twenty, thirty. When you look at Sunfyre again, scales shimmering in the moonlight, he is observing you not with hatred but with curiosity that is clever, almost catlike. You have never been this close to a dragon before. You’ve never wanted to be, and now is no exception. He smells like smoke and sulfur, earth and ash. Sunfyre clambers nearer to you, his muzzle outstretched. You flinch away, whimpering, but he is not deterred. The dragon sniffs and nudges at you, his breath hot, his snout bumping against your arm and shoulder.

“Stop!” you squeak, petrified. “Sunfyre, don’t!”

At last, he seems to realize he’s frightening you. The dragon retreats with a low grumble from deep in his chest. You scramble up the remainder of the steps before he can change his mind.

There is distant shouting, and someone cranks open the castle gate for you. You hurry into the courtyard, running now, as rain pours down on you and thunder booms. There is a figure in a hooded cloak trotting out of the castle entrance. At first you don’t believe he can be Aegon; he is standing too tall, moving too brisky. You have never seen him so well before. But then he calls to you, and there is no doubt.

“Angel?!” Aegon shouts in disbelief over the drumming of raindrops. He is rapidly closing the distance between you. The wind tears off his hood. Beneath it his hair is longer than you remember and wild except for a single small braid down the left side of his face. His cheeks are ruddy. Tears stream from his eyes. He has heard what happened to Maelor and Helaena; he has been weeping for them, for the impending ruin of anyone he’s ever touched. “What the hell are you doing here—?!”

And instead of waiting for an answer he kisses you, or you kiss him, or you both do it at once, an unspoken covenant written not in ink but in the blood that whispers to each other through the veils of vessel walls, muscle, scarred skin. His hands are cradling your jaw, his lips ravenous. He smells like rose oil; he tastes like wine and rain and the clean salt of tears, the ageless mineral blue of the ocean.

“It has to be you,” you tell Aegon, a ghost of a voice in the maelstrom of the storm. Your thumbprint skates across his full bottom lip before you kiss him again, more slowly now, entwining yourself with him, hipbones and ribcages and handprints that will never wash off. Do you see what I’m offering? Do you feel what I want? “You’re not ruining me. You’re saving me. And it can’t be anyone but you.”

Aegon studies your face, stunned eyes murky like the waves, and then hungry as well: depths that swallow ships, watery graveyards that feast on bones. Then he takes your hand and leads you into Dragonstone. Inside, Larys Strong is waiting under a cascade of torchlight. He blinks at you as if you might disappear. When you don’t, he tilts his head to the side, intrigued.

“Lord Larys,” Aegon says curtly. “Make yourself invisible for the rest of the night.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys purrs with a bow. Then he vanishes into the shadows.

“This way,” Aegon says, and you follow him up a staircase and down a corridor to a bedchamber illuminated only by a few flickering candles and flashes of lightning. In the corner of the room, you glimpse swords and armor; on Aegon’s bedside table, there is a glass bottle of rose oil and the hollowed-out shell of a crab, boiled red like fresh blood. And then you are on the bed and Aegon is beside you and there is not a single thread of you, muscle or marrow or nerve, that is afraid. “Are you sure?” he’s asking between deep, insatiable kisses, his fingers working on the laces of your gown. “We don’t have to. We can stop.”

But does he want that? No, no, he’s starving just like I am. “I’m sure, Aegon.” And you uncover each other with hands that rip away cotton and silk like trees are stripped bare in the winter.

His clothes are gone, cloak and trousers crumpled on the floor, and he pauses with trepidation in his eyes. His scars riddle him with uneven swaths of white, pink, red, a burgundy so dark it’s almost the violet of a bruise. The macabre patchwork stops at the lowest part of his belly, where his skin becomes abruptly pristine, pale, velvet-soft. “I guess…” He swallows noisily. “I guess this isn’t what you imagined the man you’d sleep with would look like, huh?”

“No,” you agree, smiling, pulling him in close again. I never imagined enjoying this at all. “And I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Aegon helps you tug off your gown and loosen your hair; it spills freely over the bedsheets. He’s on top of you, his warm weight perfect and welcome and right. Too swiftly for you to be nervous, his hand has settled between your legs. He strokes you, only on the outside where there is no threat of pain, as his tongue darts into your mouth and wetness soon coats his fingers. Then his fingers venture lower, seeking to enter you, the first time anything ever has. And you feel it, though you wish you didn’t, involuntary and uninvited: your body tensing just as his finger attempts to glide inside, a biting pain that makes you wince.

“No,” you yelp softly, a betrayal of your own flesh.

“Okay,” Aegon murmurs reassuringly. “That’s okay. Not a problem. Here…” He sits upright, draws you to him, bites lightly at your throat as you settle in his lap. “You’re in charge. You decide if and when it happens. And if this time doesn’t work, that’s fine, that’s completely fine, we can try again later, I can wait—”

“Are you alright like this? Am I too heavy?”

He grabs your face with his left hand—fingers hooked around your jaw, his eyes locked with yours—and says roughly: “Don’t ask about me again.”

“Okay,” you moan into him as his right hand skims down to touch you, to coax the fear out of you, to draw powerful circles around the place where your pleasure is greatest.

“This is about you.”

“Okay,” you say again, only a whisper this time, obedient, desperate.

“Please let me have this,” Aegon begs, resting his forehead against yours, his silver hair grazing your cheeks. “Please let me take care of you this time.”

“Yes,” you sigh, breathing him in, roses and heat and wine and sharp, oceanic, mineral lust. You lay your palms against the gnarled scar tissue of his chest and Aegon chuckles bitterly.

“I can’t even feel it. I’m a monster.” Then you press your bare hips to his, gradually finding a rhythm, slipping his cock through slick, warm folds that are aching more ardently than you ever knew was possible. “Oh fuck,” he gasps. “I felt that.”

“I want you,” you plead. “I want you, I want you.”

“Not yet…”

You are aware that your tension unraveling, your muscles opening as Aegon massages you until his hand is soaked, until you’re so wet the friction is almost nonexistent. Outside waves crash and lighting flashes and thunder growls like a dragon. I can’t wait. I need him. You lift up and Aegon holds his cock steady, coating it in your wetness with a quick pump of his hand, so you can lower yourself onto him. Slowly, you can feel his cock sinking into you, an indescribably foreign sensation, fullness and stretching and dull, strange contentment that is more like the potential of pleasure than anything else. There is discomfort as well, yes, a burning and a stinging that swells as he fills you. You try to keep it from your face; still, Aegon can read the pain there like black ink on pages.

He shakes his head and murmurs: “Stop, stop, I’m hurting you.”

“I want it. I can take it.”

He’s kissing your lips, your cheek, the slope of your jaw. “Give yourself time to adjust. There’s no rush, Angel. I’m not going anywhere.”

You wait until the pain seems to have vanished, then—carefully, tentatively—you rise up and lower yourself again. Yes, there’s definite pleasure now, less sharp than where he touched you before but deeper, more total. You try this again, again, faster now. Aegon’s breath hitches. He’s trembling; sweat glistens on his forehead and dampens his hair.

“I’m going to show you something,” he pants. “But you have to help me out.”

“Help how…?”

“Tell me what I’m doing right.” His fingers are on you again, pressing, circling. And there’s something about this combination of two very different colors of pleasure—dull fullness inside, intense ecstasy dancing over the skin—that lights a spark in you like striking flint.

You cry out, your pace as you ride him quickening, any last remnants of pain banished to distant memory. You are conscious now that you are working towards a peak of some sort; you can feel it building in you like fire in the mouth of a dragon.

Aegon asks: “Faster? Slower?”

“Faster,” you reply, and his hand obeys. You moan, fingers knotted in his hair and lips against the scar tissue of his throat, grisly webs that you cherish for knitting him back together, for saving his life.

“Harder or softer?”

“Harder,” you beg him in a whisper. And all at once, the pleasure is overwhelming, unstoppable, incomparable to anything you’ve ever experienced or ever wanted to, anything you thought was possible, anything you believed you were worthy of. It wrenches everything out of you, desire as well as turmoil, every thought in your skull and fear in your bones. It passes, leaving your heart thumping violently and an involuntary throbbing that squeezes Aegon’s cock, releases it, squeezes it again.

Aegon lays you down on your back and thrusts into you, shallowly at first to make sure you’re alright, then deeper and more powerfully. There’s no pain at all, only a hazy calmness, a need to be near to him, to tangle up closer and closer until you share everything, veins and arteries and the capillary beds of lungs. He’s exhausted already; you notice a few needle-thin split seams in his scar tissue. There are faint stains of crimson blood on your belly, your chest. His fingers link through yours, his moans grow louder and more jagged. He comes so hard tears spring into his eyes, and you feel one more thing you hadn’t expected to: not vulnerability but power, pride, satisfaction.

“It’s like that every time?” you ask, drowsy and amazed as he rolls onto his side and pulls you against him. The rain is still falling outside. Lightning paints the windows; thunder quakes them.

“If it’s done well.” Aegon is pink-faced, breathing heavily, staggeringly beautiful. “See? Nothing to be afraid of.”

“No wonder you’ve fucked hundreds of women.”

He laughs. “Not that many.” He grins as he kisses you, brushing your hair back from your face. “You’ve rid me of them all. You’ve burned them away.”

“I love you,” you say without planning to.

Aegon replies, but not in words you can understand. He whispers something in High Valyrian, his eyes dip closed, he is asleep before you can ask him what it means.

[supernotnatural2005]

The Meet Cute - Chapter Two

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Summary: After a drunken mistake comes a surprising turn of events the morning after. With a helpful push from your best friend, will you finally stop second guessing yourself for once? Will you finally take the risk with your heart?

Word Count: 2.7K

AN: Hey guys! It's finally here, part 2 of The Meet Cute. I'm sorry it's taken me so long, I really wanted to make a return to this story worth it. (I hope I've done so lol) and hopefully you'll be pleased to know, there will be more to this story, possibly another chapter or 2 👀

Warnings: FLUFF! Swearing, some self-doubt, not much else.

Tagging: @zepskies , @kr804573 , @roseblue373

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the pounding in your head. It was as if a marching band had set up camp in your skull, playing the world’s worst rendition of a pop hit on repeat. The second thing you noticed was the light streaming through the curtains—way too bright for the morning after regrettable amounts of alcohol consumed the night before. You groaned, pulling the blanket over your head to escape the merciless sunlight.

Snippets of the previous night began to filter through the fog in your mind: drinking at the bar, Dean’s cocky smirk, Matty ranting about “all the hot ones being straight” after learning about Sam’s fiancé, and...dancing? You groaned again. You vaguely remembered Dean’s hands on your waist, his laughter mixing with yours as the two of you spun around on the dance floor.

You rubbed your temples and turned over, trying to piece it all together and froze. There was someone in bed with you.

Your heart stopped as you stared at the silhouette next to you under the blanket. Broad shoulders, messy hair, the faintest hint of stubble visible on the face buried in the pillow. Oh god. Oh no.

Your stomach churned as you tried to remember more. Did you and Dean—? No, surely not. You weren’t that drunk. Were you?

“Please don’t be Dean. Please don’t be Dean,” you whispered to yourself, panic mounting. Summoning all your courage, you reached out a shaky hand and poked the figure in the arm.

“Mmmf,” came the groggy response, followed by a voice that was far too familiar. “What are you doing?”

You ripped the blanket off the figure and came face to face with a very dishevelled, very sleepy Matty. Relief crashed over you like a tidal wave, and you collapsed back onto the mattress.

“Matty!” You yelled, half-laughing, half-screaming.

Your best friend popped his head out from under the covers, hair sticking up in about twelve directions. He squinted at you. “Why are you yelling? I’m hungover, too, you know.”

“Why are you in my bed?!”

“Because I’m a saint,” he said, rolling onto his back with a dramatic sigh. “You were freaking out about ‘doing something dumb,’ so I stayed. You’re welcome, by the way.”

You flopped back onto your pillow, relief giving way to irritation. “You couldn’t have stayed on the couch.”

“Do I look like a couch person to you?” He scoffed, giving you an offended look.

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “What happened last night? And why does it feel like I’ve been run over by a truck?”

Matty propped himself up on his elbows, his grin way too smug for someone in his condition. “Well, let’s see. You had a very friendly dance marathon with Dean—who, by the way, was very into you—and then, when your legs gave out, he carried you back to your room like some kind of knight in shining armour.”

Your face was on fire by this point. “Please tell me that’s all.”

“That’s all I saw,” he said innocently. “But who knows what Dean was thinking about?”

You grabbed a pillow and hit him square in the face.

Matty laughed and ducked away before adding, “Oh, and by the way, we’re all getting lunch together.” He said nonchalantly and paused as he checked the time on his phone. “In about two hours.”

Your jaw dropped. “WHAT?!”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Matty said with a wink. “Dean was all for it, but I figured you’d try to hide from him out of sheer awkwardness. This is me, as your best friend, forcing you to take a chance for once.”

“I—Matty, why?!” You groaned, covering your face with your hands.

“Because you,” he said, poking your shoulder, “are a chronic avoider, and I, as your very wise and selfless friend, refuse to let you sabotage yourself. Dean’s hot and clearly into you. You’d be stupid not to at least try, even if it’s just some fun.”

Your stomach churned again—this time from nerves. “But he’s way out of league.” You tried to reason, and Matty rolled his eyes so hard you were surprised they didn’t fall out of his head.

“Bitch, please.” Matty sassed, making you raise a brow at him. “You’re gorgeous, you’re hilarious, and you planned a wedding that people are going to talk about for years. If Dean doesn’t see that, he’s blind. Now get up and get ready. Wear something that says, ‘I’m effortlessly perfect but also fun to be around.’”

You stared at him. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is,” Matty said with a grin. “And you’re about to pull it off. You’re welcome.”

As he strolled out of the room, you flopped back onto the bed, nerves tangling with excitement. Matty might be meddlesome, but he was also usually right. Maybe it was time to take a risk. After all, it’s not like you had to marry the guy. What was the worst that could happen?

It was nearing 12 o'clock by the time you made your way downstairs to the little restaurant at the other end of the venue. Your sister was still indisposed; she too had had a wild night, and you left a message for her to meet you when she was feeling “alive” so you could see her off before her honeymoon trip to the Maldives.

Lucky.

The walk to the restaurant was simultaneously the longest and shortest of your life. Apparently, Dean had gotten your number at some point last night when you received a text from him not long after you finally got out of bed, reconfirming these so-called ‘lunch plans’ Matty had made.

The latter man strolled beside you, looking far too pleased with himself, while you mentally picked apart every detail of your outfit. You’d spent an embarrassing amount of time staring at your closet, replaying Matty’s words: “Wear something that says, ‘I’m effortlessly perfect but also fun to be around.’” How could an outfit say all that?

You eventually landed on a soft sundress in a colour that complimented your skin tone, paired with sandals that were cute but practical. “Effortlessly perfect” turned out to be very effortful, and “fun to be around” was apparently a leather satchel bag with tassels.

“Are you sure this is okay?” You asked Matty for the seventh time as you tugged at the hem of your dress.

Matty gave you a once-over and smirked. “You look great. Very, ‘Oops, I woke up like this, but let’s drink mimosas and talk about art.’”

You groaned. “I hate you.”

“Not as much as you’ll hate yourself if you mess this up,” he shot back, opening the door to the restaurant for you with an exaggerated bow. 

“Now, go be charming.”

Inside, Dean and Sam were already seated, looking annoyingly perfect. Sam had an air of quiet confidence as he sipped from a mug. Dean, on the other hand, was leaning back in his chair, a lazy grin spreading across his face when he saw you.

“Hey!” Dean called, standing to greet you both. “You look beautiful.”

The blush hit you before you could stop it. 

“Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.” In fact, he looked amazing. Instead of the black suit you’d seen him in last night, he was clad in a dark maroon flannel that accentuated those broad shoulders you’d had the pleasure of hanging onto last night, and some dark-wash jeans that showed off his long and slightly bowed legs.

Dean stepped closer, his green eyes sparkling as he leaned down and kissed your cheek. You had to hide your surprise with a clearing of your throat and a polite smile. Beside you, Matty muttered, “Smooth,” under his breath, and you fought against jabbing your elbow into his side. Why was this a good idea again?

“Matty,” Sam greeted with a polite nod, clearly still wary after last night’s shenanigans.

“Sammy,” Matty said brightly, taking the seat across from him in the booth and leaning in with a conspiratorial grin. “Miss me?”

Sam shakes his head with a chuckle. “You’re persistent. I’ll give you that.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Matty quipped, and you rolled your eyes at the two of them before sitting across from Dean, who looked entirely too amused by the dynamic. Before any more conversations could flow, a server came over with a fresh pot of coffee for your table, and you thanked her gratefully.

“So,” Dean said, resting his forearms on the table as he focused on you, “did you survive the hangover?”

“Barely,” you admitted with a laugh, stirring into your coffee your usual amount of sugar and creamer. “Thanks for, you know, last night. For carrying me to my room. I’m honestly mortified you had to even do that.” You chuckled, heavily embarrassed. Dean didn’t seem to mind though as he waved a dismissive hand.

“Don’t be. I had a great time.” He grinned wide and genuine, eyes shining with something unspoken. 

“Well, I appreciate it either way.” You mumbled shyly. The intensity of his gaze made your stomach flip, and you looked down at your cup, fiddling with the rim nervously. Why is he even interested? Whispered the insecurities you fought to ignore. Made more difficult without the help of your good friend, Jameson.

“You okay?” Dean’s voice softened, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, sorry,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “Still shaking off the whisky haze.”

Dean didn’t look convinced but didn’t press you.

“So, how did you two meet?” Sam asked curiously, and Matty piped up before you could, taking charge of the storytelling, as per usual.

“Well, it’s a tale for the ages.”He started rather dramatically, really putting his 3 months of drama school to use.

“Picture it: college orientation day. I’m walking across campus, radiating my usual charm, when suddenly—bam! Y/N crashes into me, spilling an entire tray of cafeteria tacos all over the both of us.”

Your cheeks burnt as Dean and Sam stifled laughter. “That is not how it happened!”

“Oh, it absolutely is,” Matty countered, grinning wickedly. “And then—because she felt so bad—she tried to help clean me up but slipped in some of the taco sauce, nearly taking us both out.”

“I didn’t slip,” you protested, laughing despite yourself. “And it was nachos, not tacos.”

“Details,” Matty said with a dismissive wave. “The point is, it was fate. She looked up at me, covered in salsa and regret, and I thought, ‘This girl is going to make my life infinitely more interesting.’”

Dean chuckled, and his gaze softened as he looked at you, as if he could relate, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“That’s a pretty solid start to a friendship.” Sam nodded through his amusement.

And you shrugged, biting back a grin. “I guess if someone’s willing to stick around after that kind of first impression, they’re worth keeping around.”

Matty placed a hand over his heart. “You hear that? She kept me. Truly, I’m blessed.”

Dean laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “I don’t know if I’m more impressed by the nacho incident or by the fact that you’ve put up with him this long.”

“Neither,” you teased, sipping your coffee. “The real mystery is why he’s put up with me.”

Dean shook his head, his eyes meeting yours. “I think I can see why.” You looked away shyly, but you were unable to fight your smile.

“How about either of you? Any stories, and by stories I mean humiliating tales, to share?” Matty began stirring his coffee, just like he was the conversation.

"Well... there is one that springs to mind.” Sam teases, and Dean groans, already bracing himself.

“Oh, come on. Do we really need to—”

“Oh, we do,” Sam and Matty interrupt simultaneously, making you giggle into your hand.

“How about accidentally signing up for a salsa dance class because someone thought it was a ‘salsa tasting’ event?” Sam informed with a jab of his thumb in Dean’s direction.

Matty’s eyes lit up as he nearly choked on his laughter. “Please tell me he actually went through with it.”

Sam nodded, his grin widening. “Oh, he did. The full two hours. By the end, the instructor gave him a ‘most improved’ sticker, which I think was more pity than praise.”

Dean shook his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “I stand by it. A little footwork never hurt anyone.” He shot you a quick look. “Those skills aided me just fine last night.” Again you had to look away at his implication with a shy bite to your bottom lip. Memories of Dean’s talented footwork and moves around the dance floor flashing in your mind.

“Alright,” Matty announced, “before we continue, what’s everyone ordering? Because I, for one, need to eat for a family of four to recover from this morning.”

The conversation shifted, and for the next few minutes, you all ordered your food, the playful banter continuing. Your nervousness started to fade. The tension in your chest eased with every laugh Dean pulled from you. He was funny, easygoing, and had a way of making everything feel like an adventure. Even when Sam joined in, adding his own dry humour to the mix, you felt more and more comfortable in their company.

Dean leaned in to ask you more questions about your life, and you’d told him how you’d found a niche for planning, event planning more specifically, and decided to make a career out of it. Dean seemed to hang onto every word, genuinely interested.

In turn you learnt more about his job as a mechanic and co-owner at his dad’s garage that specialised in classic cars, which you found to be incredibly impressive. And as you listened to him talk about his work, you noticed how his hands moved with confidence and ease, like he was describing something he was deeply passionate about.

You also learnt that both of them were fellow  ‘Kansans.’ Whereas you resided in Topeka, Dean and Sam lived in Lawrence, and although it was only a town over, it explained why you hadn’t run into either of them beforehand.

As the conversation continued, you found yourself relaxing more and more. The nervous energy that had been gnawing at your insides started to dissolve. 

By the time the food arrived, you were laughing freely, engaging with everyone at the table, and… finding yourself feeling comfortable with Dean. It didn’t hurt that, with each passing moment, the way he looked at you felt more intense. Like he was paying attention to you in a way that felt different from the others.

After everyone had finished eating, Matty took it upon himself to grab the check—naturally. He reached for it with a dramatic flourish, blocking Dean’s hand.

“Absolutely not,” Matty declared. “This is on me. Consider it an investment.” He aimed the last words at you with a wink, and you looked at him incredulously.

When you all stood up to leave, the others moved on ahead, but Dean lingered by your side. You felt his presence, warm and easygoing beside you, and you couldn’t quite suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

“So,” he said, his voice low and teasing as he slowed his pace to match yours, “any chance I can see you again sometime? Without the audience?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the suggestion. The sudden weight of the question hung in the air between you, and you weren’t sure how to respond. Everything about this felt a little surreal—like a moment that could go either way. But then Matty’s words echoed in your mind: ‘Don’t sabotage yourself.’

You took a breath, steadied your nerves, and smiled, a little shy but hopeful. “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”

Dean’s grin widened, and for the first time in a long time, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this wasn’t as terrifying as you thought. Maybe it was time to take the risk, to stop second-guessing yourself, and let things unfold as they were meant to.

Dean stepped a little closer, his hand brushing yours as you walked side by side toward the door. You couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something worth the gamble.

AN: Okay, so how do we feel about the reunion between these two? And Matty's glorious input? 😂 He honestly is the best cheerleader! I hope you guys enjoyed this, let me know what you think and if you're excited for the proper date with Dean 👀

If you'd like to be tagged in future chapters let me know.

[emo-markie]

*:･ﾟ✧ Supernatural oc/reader fic recs

I like to read. So I read. A lot. This is my curated selection of fics that make me feral. I highly recommend checking out the creators!

REMEMBER TO READ THE TAGS!

Last updated : October 10, 2024

red means work in progress

blue means complete work

(sorted by alphabetic order)

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SAM WINCHESTER

Birdcage Fires by FallingDomino on Fanfiction.net

Rating: M

After finding a naked girl on a lonely stretch of California road on a stormy night, Sam doesn't have long to try and help the amnesiac girl before Dean drags him back into the life of hunting. Over the past three years, he never really forgot her, but when they reunite, the brothers discover something much more sinister about the night Sam saved her. Sam/OC, Before S1, skips to S4

Complex by NeQuittezPas on AO3

Rating: M

Sam Winchester will do whatever it takes to save his brother from Hell. When all else fails, he tries a spell—and botches it. Cassandra Holmes awoke from uneasy dreams and found herself transported to a fictional universe. Cass wants to go home. Sam wants his brother back. Maybe, working together, they can both get what they want.

Pie and Consqeuences by SteelRigged on AO3

Rating: T

Dean’s eyebrows were popping off his face. He looked at Sam, who had pie falling off his nose, and swallowed a smile. "You're getting slow, Sam," Dean said, and patted his brother on the shoulder. Sam wiped pie from his cheeks and chin. Veronica's rage had caught him off guard. She was one of the few people from his past he was still on good terms with. At least he thought they had been on good terms. At least neutral terms. Not pie in the face terms. “Oh Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Dean muttered, glowing with pleasure. “Don’t worry. I’ve been there. You probably deserved it.”

pythia - a supernatural rewrite by uncouth-the-fiffth on AO3

Rating: T

John goes missing. Like every time you use your Gift to track him down, it's hardly for his own sake. If it weren't for Dean, trembling under that too-big jacket on your stoop and working up the courage to even say Sam's name, you'd happily never think about their father ever again. Or what you're doing to Sam's life by pulling him back into the hunt. If it was up to you, John Winchester would never be heard from again. But the boys need you. So, you go.

I highly recommend checking out the author's other fics here: uncouth's spn fics

The LightBringer by I_Am_A_Silver_Lining on AO3

Rating: E

Waking in the body of Lucifer, having their memories and powers, should have been horrible. And it was... ...Until it wasn't OR Kore wakes up as Lucifer, powers, memories and all. She is still herself with a little something sinister sprinkled in and decides to rip up the script and throw the apocalypse out the door. However, her True Vessel seems to still believe she wants to get in him, but he'd MUCH rather have it the other way around... OR OC invades Supernatural and takes over the world one piece of trash at a time. with ART

This Untraveled Road (series) by BAPWarrior18 on AO3

By Fate or Free Will

Rating: M

In the year 2003, a witch unleashed a powerful spell that drastically altered the fates of thousands of girls and women around the world. Some were killed. Some were protected. Many went about their lives or deaths unknowing of their transformed purpose. However, each were meant to be soldiers in the war against evil. Each were meant to tip the scales in the favor of good. For one in particular, there would have been no tipping of the scales… if not for some higher being’s determination to piggyback not only on the spell, but on the things that had already been set in motion by demons. OR In which the Winchesters meet the original breed of hunter, causing tiny ripples that turns their world on its head. And brings forth the war of change. For better or worse.

War of Change

Rating: M

THE ROAD SO FAR… The Winchesters met their bespoke Slayer, shifting the balance of their lives and unknown to them, the fate of the world. The Catalyst awakened new paths, altered goals, and shifted motivations. Like a drop in a pond transforming into a tsunami. As intended. Six Special Children survived Cold Oak. Four Slayers fought at the opening of the Devil’s Gate. One Slayer met death and lived. One Slayer confessed and vanished. All the while, two beings of undefined purpose watched and plotted. None could have predicted the drastic turn of events caused by the union of Slayers and Champions. NOW Demons and hunters scramble to make sense of the new world order. Some revel in the change. Some attempt to fix the balance. Others struggle to carry out carefully constructed plans. In the meantime, the Winchesters navigate what it means to be Champions. The Catalyst comes to understand her true gift. And the purpose of The Connected becomes clear.

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DEAN WINCHESTER

one of these nights by uncouth-the-fifth on AO3

Rating: E

“S’ a good night,” Dean tells you, beaming, “we can do another round, right?” “Hell yeah,” you shrug, and raise your empty glass, “Here’s to alcohol poisoning, baby.” “Yeah,” Dean echoes, almost slurring. “Baby."

This Curse On Our House by Sonny13 on Fanfiction.net

Rating: M

Faith has battles in her bones and nothing left to lose; a dangerous combination, but perfect for a hunter. But she's got demons out for her blood, convinced she can break some kind of curse, and they call her the Child of War - whatever that means. Things might be a little easier if Dean Winchester wasn't so damn frustrating.

Toil and Trouble by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier on AO3

Rating: M

What’s the best way to infiltrate a coven? Be a witch. What does a modern witch need these days… Dean is going to be your familiar. He really wants to be a dog. He's not going to be a dog, and it works out way better and messier than either of you planned.

“Yeah, I have a Great Dean.” by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier on AO3

Rating: E

Dean is a good boy.

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CASTIEL

Angel 101 by kittenofdoomage on AO3

Rating: E

The angels are dying out in huge numbers, and Castiel, searching for a way to save Jack from being used by them, and to also save them, is called by another angel to assist in what he thinks may be the solution.

Branded by ObliviousApple on AO3

Rating: E

Basically, the first time Cas ever touches you, a brand appears on your arm. A brand that says his name in Enochian. Come along for the ride as you try to stop the apocalypse, save the Winchester's from their own idiocy, and fall in love with our favorite feathered bastard. Spoiler alert: the brand is a soulmate mark. Who saw that coming?!

David by therev on AO3

Rating: T

What if the person who found amnesiac!Cas when he stumbled out of that river in Colorado had been a man and not a woman? And what if when Dean caught up with him, he found that Cas had a husband? And what if he was a real character and not the throw-away that they made Daphne?

Empire State of Mind by saprrowed on Fanfiction.net

Rating: M

Rating: E

Castiel makes a friend in New York City. And like many New York sitcoms, this is a story about nothing.

Feathers by enter_the_phantom on AO3

Rating: T

The giving of feathers and the revealing of wings is a sacred act for an angel, and it's something Castiel doesn't take lightly. But if there's one human he'd enter into such a close bond with, it's Abby Singer, the Winchesters' hunting partner and adopted sibling. Whenever he's around them, he feels things he's never felt before, and as strange as these new emotions are, he doesn't want them to stop. Unfortunately for him, Abby isn't the most receptive to his presence. They've been stubbornly opposed to his awkward attempts at friendship ever since they first met. In fact, it feels like he's the only one who can't seem to forge a relationship with the prickly hunter. Even more unfortunately, it doesn't seem to matter anyway, because another angel has already beaten him to it.

Gas-n-sip by eratothemuse on AO3

You just needed a job. Who knew that getting one at your local Gas-n-Sip would end up like this? (Set in 9x06 “Heaven Can’t Wait”)

Guardian Angel by ZonateBiscuit on AO3

Rating: M

When you feel lost, you begin to pray. Charlie Crivens is lost, but she's not sure anyone can hear her. Slow build Castiel/OFC

I Was A Stranger And You Welcomed Me by dorkilysoulless on AO3

Rating: E

Whoever he is, he's either homeless or hitching. He's also too damn pretty not to take home.

The Love Story of the Runner Up by Margo_Kim on AO3

Rating: T

“So you saw a white man in a trench coat pop out in an alley,” Paul says, “and you thought, what, ‘I want to see where this is going’?”  “If you get hung up on details like that,” Miguel says, “it will take a very long time to get through this story. For a very weird era in his life, Miguel dates an angel who is in love with another man.

The Original Cambion by thereluctantshipper on AO3

Rating: E

Just as they're gearing up to stop the apocalypse, Bobby, Dean, Sam, and more importantly, Castiel, meet the original Cambion, a half-demon half-human hybrid. And she wants to... Help them? OFC insert, starts roughly S5E16, will not follow story all the way through.

Questions and Answers by lacqueluster (GG_and_MM) on AO3

Rating: E

Castiel is becoming increasingly uncomfortable in his vessel. He comes to you with some questions.

Where Angels Fear To Tread by OrigamiDoll on AO3

Rating: E

Reader meets the Winchesters and Castiel when they roll through town on a hunt. They inadverdently expose her to the supernatural and turn her world view upside down. Soon, her house becomes a frequent detour for the boys and a friendship begins to blossom between the reader and Team Free Will. Castiel finds himself fascinated by the reader. Where will things lead?

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CROWLEY

Dead Body Moving by NeQuittezPas on AO3

Rating: M

Nell never expected to return from her cross-country roadtrip, but when a fellow camper goes missing during her stay at the Grand Canyon, she may live far, far longer than she expected.

Like I'm Not Made of Stone by ProlixInSpace on AO3

Rating: E

In ancient Mesopotamia, one careless death-goddess invents a cruel curse. Its singular victim can never die, but will rather live the last single year of a random human life somewhere in time, every year, forever and ever. In Hell, a belligerent soul takes centuries of abuse from Lilith herself, and is molded through her cruel tutelage into something darker, more ambitious, and cleverer by far than your standard-issue demon. A pair like that can only become more than the sum of their parts.

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GABRIEL

alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) by bumbleberrysky on AO3

Rating: T

You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It's something you're destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you'd thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you're suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you'd been brought here in the first place? Maybe... Chuck works in mysterious ways after all. [divergent around s13/the end of s13-- will likely have spoilers]

Along For the Ride by MyPurpleSkies on AO3

Rating: T

Danielle Awenasa Callaghan thought being a hunter was complicated enough. That is until she joins the Winchesters along for one hell of a ride that involves repeatedly saving the world from danger, falling for a Trickster that's more than he seems, hiding the fact that your godfather isn't exactly human from the boys you're beginning to see as part of your family, and discovering that she and the King of Hell share a mutual appreciation for David Bowie's music. Not to mention being told by a cupid that she's met her soul mate already. Oh, let's not forget that she nearly died and was saved by some mysterious stranger that Death refuses to tell her the identity of.

I Want to Tell you by lacqueluster (GG_and_MM) on AO3

Rating: E

He can’t tell her when she’s drunk. That wouldn’t be right. He’ll tell her tomorrow. He’ll bring her coffee and let her shower and then he’ll sit her down. Tomorrow. It’s definitely time. He has to get this off his chest and tomorrow is the day.

Kibble by The_White_Rabbit42 on AO3

Rating: T

Sam and Dean ask Gabriel to cat sit for you, and it leads to a surprising discovery.

Third Time's a Charm by The_White_Rabbit42 on AO3

Rating: E

Gabriel unexpectedly comes to your aid and reveals a part of himself you never expected to see.

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SIBLING OC

Dynamics of an Asteroid by NeQuittezPas on AO3

Rating: T

Sam thumped a photo album down onto her desk. Beneath the thin film of dust, the cover was dark burgundy. Margo recognized it at once. “Ah.” He was here for the other reason, then. The one she’d always dreaded, even if she’d imagined it more than a few times over the years. He was here because that photo album contained pictures of Margo from the time she was born through the time she was in high school. A rare few of them even showed her together with John Winchester—Sam’s father. And also, incidentally, her father. She was not prepared for this conversation.

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CHILD OC

Along Came Sophie by LaceyoftheTypewriter on Fanfiction.net

Rating: T

Dean is still fighting supernatural crime with Sam when a pretty young plot twist named Sophie Gardner shows up claiming to be Dean's 15-year-old daughter. As she worms her way into his heart, he comes to realize what exactly he's been missing, and how far he'll go to fix what's broken.

Light of mine by TheTardyOwl on Fanfiction.net

Rating: T

A Fledgling is almost killed during one of Michael and Lucifer's explosive arguments. Gabriel steps into the role of Caretaker for the little Angel and discovers that his new charge isn't what he expected.

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PLATONIC OC

Student Housing by darkshrimpemotions on AO3

Rating: T

Sam decides to rent out rooms in the bunker to college students. Finding yourself in a housing bind just before the start of your sophomore year, you decide the dirt cheap rent is worth the risk that your landlords might be serial killers.

[yerimsdreams]

The Hour of the Wolf

author's note: so this is a series i started instead of studying for my exams lol. and also a coping mechanism to deal with the hotd drought.

cregan stark x oc (she/her pronouns)

warnings: mentions of death. spoilers for fire&blood. swearing.

''The King is dead.'' 

The declaration reverberated through the cold corridors of the Red Keep, carrying with it a chill that seemed to seep into the bones of those who heard it. A murmur of unease rippled through the assembled lords and men, their breaths hanging in the cold air like ghosts. At the front of the gathering stood Cregan Stark, every inch the embodiment of the North in his fur-lined cloak and somber demeanor, flanked by his men, who loomed like shadows behind him. 

''By whose hand and by whose sword, I wonder?'' He inquired, looking down on the Lord of Driftmark, not swayed by his formidable reputation. 

Corlys' gaze briefly faltered at the question, his hand tightening around the pommel of his cane, glancing down at the polished floor of the Red Keep.

''Poison, my lord.'' A voice spoke from inside the council chamber, one that belonged to a young lord from the Riverlands. 

Cregan glanced behind Corlys, finding Lord Benjicot Blackwood along with Ser Oscar Tully and his older brother Lord Kermit Tully. ''Do the babes speak true?'' His voice held a sneer, the insult landing heavily on the youthful lords, who bristled at the disrespect but found themselves unable to summon a retort in the face of the imposing northerner.

The Lads, as they were known, shuffled uneasily, their courage waning under the Northman's scrutiny. Even their proud lineage did little to steel their nerves against the palpable menace in Cregan's gaze.

Corlys curtly nodded, though in comparison to the little lords in the room, he was unmoved by Cregan Stark's appearance and berating. ''Aye.''

The Lord's grey eyes shifted to his own men, nodding his head to the Sea Snake, a silent order to seize him. Without a word, two of Cregan's guards stepped forward, their heavy boots thudding against the stone floor. The King's Landing guards hesitated, their hands inching toward their swords, but they were swiftly disarmed by the northerners, who moved with the swift precision of wolves on the hunt.

The Sea Snake was dragged into the hallways and escorted to the dungeons, without as much as a word from the old man. 

Cregan's focus lay with the Lads now, fully stepping into the council chamber, his presence casting a long shadow across the room. ''Who told you the war was done? The Clubfoot? The Snake? Because you won your little battle in the mud? Wars end when the defeated bend the knee and not-'' 

''What is the meaning of this?'' 

Every man turned at the sound of the undaunted voice echoing from the hallway, curious who would dare question the Wolf in the North.

It was a surprising sight, and quite the contrast to Lord Stark: a smaller woman with violet eyes and long silver hair cascading loosely over her shoulders.

For most men in the room, it was their first encounter with a Targaryen Princess. The North spoke of the Targaryens as otherworldly beings - riders of dragons, with a fiery temper to match their beasts. They were described as possessing an ethereal beauty, almost unearthly. 

Yet, the woman standing before them exceeded these tales. They depicted the ruling family as if they were part of a distant legend, but here stood a living, breathing embodiment of those legends, surpassing them in every way. 

Princess Visenya Targaryen

Kermit, Oscar and Benji let out a relieved sigh as she made her way into the large room, finally a familiar face that would save them from the Stark's wrath. 

''Princess,'' Cregan bowed his head, following her figure, ''these boys-''

''These young men,'' she corrected, her tone brooking no argument, ''have been our courageous allies and should be treated as such.'' She vouched for them, facing the Lord of Winterfell. 

Cregan tightened his jaw, but merely nodded at the woman in front of him. 

She could sense the conflict in his eyes, she momentarily glanced at the sigil on his chest before continuing. ''Lord Stark, I have worked closely with them. They are not the ones who should be berated for their deeds.'' 

''The King is dead, Princess. The men accountable are the same men ruling in your nephew's place.'' Cregan said, straightening his posture. 

''My nephew pardoned them.'' She stepped closer, her voice steady but firm. 

His expression hardened at her words. ''They were not pardoned by me.'' His tone dropping to a growl as he loomed over her. 

Visenya was visibly bewildered by his response, wondering how he had seemingly grasped all authority to himself within a few hour span. ''And who are you to the King? What is a wolf to a dragon?'' She retorted, a challenge thrown down at his feet.

''A meal.'' Benjicot quipped from the sidelines, earning stifled chuckles from his companions.

Cregan's head turned towards the Blackwood lord, his eyes flashing with annoyance. ''Watch your tongue, boy.'' He warned. 

The three young men immediately fell silent, their gazes back to the ground. 

The Princess took a deep breath, her voice colder than the Northern winds. ''You overstep, Lord Stark. You cannot simply cast aside royal decrees because they do not suit you. My nephew's will is the law.'' 

''His will, perhaps,'' Cregan allowed, ''but not his wisdom. He is a boy, one-and-ten. Do you want him to be surrounded by turncloaks and kingslayers?'' He leaned in, his face mere inches from hers, the heat of his breath mingling with the frost of her resolve.

''Lord Stark,'' she said, her voice trembling with restrained anger, ''do not think you can intimidate me with your Northern bluster. I have faced dragons and men far fiercer than you.'' 

A tense silence followed her words, only the distant sound of the smallfolk audible. The Lads watched as the King's aunt squandered off with the Warden of the North. 

Then, unexpectedly, Cregan’s stern expression softened into something resembling admiration. ''Very well, my Princess,'' his voice softened, ''your counsel is appreciated.'' 

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded, her resolve firm. She glanced behind the broad-shouldered lord to look at his men. ''Larys Strong, Septon Eustace, Perkin the Flea and Grand Maester Orwyle. Bring them to the dungeons, and do not shy away from violence.'' 

The northmen moved swiftly to obey, much to Lord Stark's astonishment. He watched, somewhat bemused, as his own men followed the orders of someone else. 

Cregan's lips twitched into a semblance of a smile as he turned back to the woman in front of him, his respect growing for the Targaryen Princess. ''You have a commanding presence, Princess. I'll give you that.'' 

Visenya met his gaze, giving him a grateful nod. ''I shall take my leave now.'' 

As she made an advance to leave the room, Cregan's voice stopped her. ''Uh, Princess, may I have a word with you? In private.'' 

She paused, the request catching her by surprise. For a moment, she considered his words, the flicker of curiosity sparking in her violet eyes. Then, with a composed nod, she acquiesced. ''You may.'' She turned to Benjicot, Kermit and Oscar. ''You're excused, we will speak later.'' 

The Lads curtsied at her words, happy to oblige. Before they left the chamber, Ben and Oscar pretended to kiss one another, teasing the Princess as Cregan had his back turned to them. 

She shook her head at their banter, but chuckled nonetheless. ''What can I do for you, my lord?'' 

''I would like for your nephew, the King, to strictly remain in his royal apartment for the time being.'' He suggested, a more serious expression on his face. 

The woman frowned, her arms crossing instinctively over her chest as she processed his words. ''Why?'' 

''His safety. As long as the men who poisoned the usurper are still alive and in this castle, he is not safe with anyone but you. We cannot afford to take any risks with his life.'' His tone was firm, but gentle. 

Visenya studied him, weighing his words, realising they were true. ''You should tell him yourself. I think Aegon should meet the man who is still fighting in his mother's name.'' 

Cregan nodded, offering the best of a smile a man from the North could. ''It would be an honour, Princess.'' He bowed. 

She bit back a smirk as he slightly bent over, amused by how Lord Stark's demeanour had changed from when she first walked into the council chamber. 

''Follow me, my lord.'' She motioned her head towards the large doors. 

The Princess led him to Aegon's apartment in Maegor's Holdfast, not much words being spoken between the two allies. 

She stopped the northman a few steps away from entering the King's room. ''Lord Stark, I must remind you that my nephew has endured a lot these last years. Besides me and his sisters, he has no one left. He… appears like a child, but he no longer is one. Do you understand?'' She spoke softly, a certain vulnerability present when talking about the young boy. 

Cregan was touched by it, empathising with the losses the Targaryen family had suffered. He knew how it felt for he had suffered great losses of his own in his father and younger brother. 

''I understand, my Princess.'' He nodded. 

She smiled, grateful for his understanding. ''Good.'' They continued walking until they stood in front of Aegon's door, greeting the Kingsguard who were present there. 

The eleven-year old sat by the window, looking out on the city. 

''Aegon, this is Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell. He would like to speak with you.'' His aunt carefully introduced him to the boy, who slowly turned towards them. 

Unlike his aunt, Aegon did seem to feel overwhelmed by the man that was towering over him as if he was the Wall himself. Cregan offered a respectful bow to the young king. ''Your grace.''

Aegon, who had been silent since their entrance, nodded slowly, his gaze shifting between the imposing figure of the northman and his aunt, who stood nearby with an encouraging but anxious expression.

Visenya moved to gently put her hands on his shoulders. ''Lord Stark has been a great ally of ours. He was a friend of Jace.'' 

The mention of his late eldest brother briefly brought a spark to his eyes, but it was gone as soon as it came. 

''Me and your brother hunted together,'' Cregan's gaze was earnest as he addressed the boy, his tone steady and devoid of the harshness that had marked his earlier confrontations, ''he had a real knack for it.'' 

Aegon simply nodded, leaning more into his aunt's touch the longer the conversation went on. 

''Aegon, you'll have to stay in here a bit longer.'' The Princess cautiously told him, squeezing his shoulder. 

He looked up at her, pouting his lips. ''Why am I not free yet?'' 

''It is for your safety, your Grace,'' Cregan answered, ''this city is full of vipers. There are liars, turncloaks, and poisoners in this court who would murder you as quick as they did your uncle to secure their own power.'' 

''Who did?'' His small voice asked, having his aunt hold him closer. 

''Lord Strong, Lord Velaryon, the Flea, and more.'' Stark responded, briefly glancing at the Princess. 

Aegon frowned at the answer. ''But, they are my friends.'' 

The Princess wanted to sob at the pureness with which her nephew spoke, somehow still blind to the acts his ''trusted'' companions had committed. 

Cregan knelt beside him. ''False friends are far more dangerous to a king than any foe, your Grace. The Snake, the Clubfoot, and the Flea only saved you to make use of you, to rule Westeros in your name.'' He replied, his words wise. 

The King's frown did not disappear, but he let the Lord's answer sink in. He looked up at his aunt, seeking reassurance. 

She knelt beside Cregan, cupping Aegon's face. ''You must be careful of whom you trust. I know this is difficult, my sweet boy. But I believe in your abilities. You are as brave as your brothers, as wise as your mother, and as daring as your father.'' 

The Warden of the North stood back up on his feet, feeling as if he was intruding on a private, family matter. He simply watched as the Princess spoke encouragement into her nephew, looking nothing like the woman who had waltzed into the council chamber and put him in his place. 

He'd heard the whispers of King Viserys' second daughter, the spare to the Iron Throne. His closest friend, Lord Cerwyn, had once told Cregan a story of how the younger sister of Rhaenyra had been merely two-and-ten when she tried to burn a group of young lords in dragonfire when they'd all tried to ask for her hand in marriage. Another tale claimed the Princess had locked the Dowager Queen Alicent, her stepmother, into a tower and had tried to feed the key to one of the dragons in the Dragonpit. 

Cregan was sure that parts of the hearsay must have been fabricated to put the Princess under a certain light, but doubts danced around his mind. The way she'd stormed into the counselling room had been bold, the way she'd spoken to him and had commanded his men was fierce. But seeing her now, comforting the young king with such tenderness, Cregan realised there was much more to her than the stories conveyed. She was a guardian, a protector of her family and those loyal to her. 

Aegon seemed to draw strength from her words, his small frame relaxing slightly. ''I will try to be brave and wise, Aunt.'' 

She smiled warmly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. ''I know you will,'' she leaned forward and kissed his temple, ''I think you can use a good night of rest, my boy. I will see you in the morning, okay?'' 

Her nephew nodded timidly, still a bit unnerved by the presence of Lord Stark. ''Okay.'' 

''Goodnight, sweet boy.'' She ruffled his hair as he quietly whispered the word back to her. His eyes darted over to the northman next to her. ''Thank you, Lord Stark.'' 

Cregan inclined his head. ''You are welcome, your Grace. I wish you a night of rest.'' 

As they left Aegon's chambers, Visenya closed the door gently behind her, the heavy oak creaking slightly before settling into silence. Cregan scratched his voice, the sound coming out like a grunt. 

''Let me escort you to your chambers, Princess. It is no time for a Princess of the Realm to walk these halls alone.'' He offered, gesturing towards the shadowy corridor that led to the royal apartments.

Visenya let out a chuckle, a look of pity in her eyes. ''Lord Stark, it is not I who should be afraid of wandering these corridors alone, if I may put it so forwardly.'' 

Cregan raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at his lips. ''Why may that be, Princess?'' 

She started walking towards her personal chambers, leaving a curious Stark to trail behind her. ''I am grateful for your presence here at court, my Lord. You have continued to fight for her, even after her tragic death,'' she swallowed hard at the thought of her sister's passing, ''and for that you have my eternal gratitude.'' 

The Warden nodded, tilting his head. ''But…'' 

''But not everyone shares my sentiment.'' She glanced at him, her expression serious. 

Cregan's smile faded, sensing where she was going with this. ''Forgive my bluntness, Princess, but I have the upper hand here. Anyone who dares raise a hand against me or my men will have it removed.'' 

Visenya stopped in her tracks, Cregan frowning as he waited beside her. ''Lord Stark, I do not doubt that. However, this is King's Landing, this is not the North. Kin slays kin here to sit on a wretched and cursed chair,''

''This court is a game. You either make the rules or you obey them.'' She finished, her body now fully turned towards him. 

The Wolf held her gaze, her violet eyes reflecting the flickering torchlight. ''And what role do you suggest I play in this game, Princess? Am I to be the enforcer or the pawn?'' 

Visenya resumed her steps towards her room, the northern lord following her. ''Neither.'' 

His brows furrowed. ''Neither?'' He echoed, puzzled by her cryptic response.

''You, Lord Stark, will punish the enforcers and pawns. Make an end to this continuous cycle of treachery and selfishness so my nephew can rule in peace without men clawing at his neck for even an ounce of power.''

Her words were strong, yet with a hint of vulnerability as she begged the Lord of Winterfell to make sure her nephew could be a King, but more importantly, a boy who was surrounded by people that wanted the best for the Realm and him, and not themselves or their Houses. 

''In the North, we do not break our oaths, Princess. My father pledged his support to yours and his chosen heir, your sister. I will see to it myself that Aegon will sit on the Iron Throne, with good counsel to uplift him during his reign. I promise this to you.'' He said firmly, his eyes fixed on hers as he made a vow to protect her nephew. 

Visenya now realised why Rhaenyra had been so keen on having the North on their side. The House of the Wolfs never forgot an oath, it was not to be broken, even in death. Lord Cregan Stark was a young lord, her age, but he carried himself as if he had lived a full life as the King in the North. 

She took a deep breath, her expression softening as she regarded the Warden of the North. ''You're an honourable man, Lord Stark. It's a rare thing to find.'' 

Cregan inclined his head slightly, a hint of a smile touching his lips. Her sincerity touched him. ''Honour is all we have in the North, my Princess. Without it, we are nothing.'' 

As they reached the entrance to Visenya’s chambers, she stopped and turned to face him. ''Then may your honour guide us through the trials ahead.'' 

He nodded, a resolve settling in his eyes. ''Goodnight, Princess. Rest well.'' 

''Goodnight, my Lord.'' She replied, her tired eyes looking up at him. 

Despite their bids of goodbyes, neither moved. The dim light of the torches cast flickering shadows on their faces, highlighting the quiet intensity in their eyes. 

''Princess,'' Cregan said delicately, his voice almost a whisper, ''if you wish I can command one of my men to guard your door for the coming nights.'' 

Visenya gently shook her head, appreciating the gesture. ''That won't be necessary, my Lord. But thank you.'' 

Cregan nodded, respecting her decision. ''As you wish, Princess. I'll leave you now.'' 

As she turned to enter her chambers, Visenya glanced back at him one last time, her eyes meeting his. ''Goodnight.'' She murmured again. 

''Goodnight.'' The Warden replied, his voice equally soft. 

He stepped back, allowing Visenya to enter her chambers. As the door closed behind her, Cregan stood there for a moment longer, finding himself unable to move away from her quarters. 

He took a deep breath, settling his hand back on his sword, Ice, as he tried to steady his thoughts. Cregan had never been intrigued by another person as much as he was with Princess Visenya Targaryen. Her strength and tenderness had stirred something within him, a feeling he couldn't easily shake. 

She was an enigma to him. 

With a final nod to himself, he turned and walked away, his steps echoing in the quietness of Maegor's Holdfast. The image of the Valyrian princess haunting his mind. 

The night was silent, save for the distant howl of the wind outside the castle walls, a reminder of the harsh world that still remained. 

The following day dawned clear and brisk. Visenya had been summoned from her quarters to greet the arrived Maiden of the Vale, Lady Jeyne Arryn. The Lady of the Eyrie stood awaiting in the courtyard of the Red Keep, her presence regal. 

Both women's eyes lit up as Visenya appeared through the castle doors. ''Good morrow, cousin.'' Jeyne called out warmly, moving to embrace her. 

''My Lady, it's good to see you.'' The Princess returned the embrace with a tight, affectionate squeeze. 

''Visenya, my dear,'' they pulled away, but held each other's hands, ''my condolences. Your sister was a brave woman, one of a kind.'' 

The younger woman gratefully nodded. ''Thank you, cousin.'' 

''How are you holding up?'' Jeyne asked, squeezing Visenya's hands. 

Visenya momentarily glanced to the ground beneath them, gathering her thoughts. ''It has been challenging, my Lady. But your presence here brings me strength.'' 

Jeyne's eyes filled with understanding, feeling for the losses Visenya had endured. ''We must be strong for each other, Princess. Your nephew needs you in these dire times.'' 

She nodded, drawing comfort from her words. ''Indeed,'' she smiled, ''where is Rhaena? Did she not join you?'' Visenya glanced around, but seeing no sign of the young Targaryen woman. 

''She wished to see her brother immediately,'' Jeyne explained her absence, ''her twin sister Baela joined our journey from Dragonstone. They're with Aegon together.'' 

Visenya's smile widened at the news of the Dragon Twins. ''He'll be relieved to see them.'' 

As they spoke, a group of riders on horseback entered through the gates, with Lord Stark leading them. The Targaryen princess noticed him first, unconsciously smiling as he dismounted from his mare. Jeyne followed her line of sight and raised an eyebrow at her family member. 

Cregan, catching sight of the two women standing in the middle of the courtyard, decided to approach. He said something to his men before walking over to the Princess and Lady. 

Visenya subtly straightened her posture, a faint smile tugging at her lips. ''Lady Jeyne Arryn, allow me to introduce Lord Cregan Stark. Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North.'' 

The man bowed his head in a formal greeting, his gaze respectful. ''Lady Arryn, it is an honour to meet you.'' 

Jeyne returned the greeting with a gracious nod. ''Lord Stark, the honour is mine. I've heard much about your steadfast loyalty to Queen Rhaenyra.'' 

Cregan smiled politely, his eyes briefly flickering to Visenya before returning to Jeyne. ''I only do what is necessary for the North and the realm.'' 

The Maiden's keen gaze didn't miss the subtle exchange between the two. She turned back to Visenya with a knowing smile. ''Well, it seems the North is in good hands.'' 

Before Visenya could respond, a commotion broke out at the doors of the Red Keep. Baela stormed in, with Rhaena following closely behind. 

''Why are we not allowed to see Aegon?'' Baela demanded, her voice echoing through the courtyard. ''He is our brother!'' 

Visenya raised an eyebrow, seeing that her younger cousin had not lost her fiery temper in the time they had spent apart. ''It is nice to see you too, Baela. I missed you dearly.'' Her voice tinged with sarcasm. 

Baela shot her cousin a frustrated look but didn’t respond to the sarcasm. Cregan stepped forward, his expression calm but firm. ''It is for the King's safety. Until we can ensure his protection, we must limit who can see him.'' 

''We are his family! We would never harm him. This is absurd!'' Baela interrupted, her tone heated as she took a step closer to the Warden, sizing him up. 

Rhaena, quieter but just as determined, added. ''Lord Stark, we only want to see our beloved brother.'' 

Cregan looked on amusingly as Baela continued staring at him, her gaze unwavering. 

''My Lord, you cannot possibly keep the boy locked up with only his aunt as a companion. Let the girls see him. It will do more good than harm.'' Jeyne said, supporting Baela and Rhaena. 

The Wolf glanced to Visenya, whose expression had softened slightly. ''He needs his family, Lord Stark.'' 

Cregan hesitated, his stern demeanour faltering under the combined pressure of the women. Finally, he sighed. ''Very well. But I must insist on maintaining strict security measures.'' He yielded, begrudgingly. 

Baela's fierce gaze softened, and she nodded in appreciation. ''Thank you, Lord Stark.'' 

''We appreciate it.'' Rhaena added quietly. 

Cregan nodded curtly, still not entirely comfortable but willing to concede for the sake of the young king and his family. As the sisters hurried off to see their brother, Visenya lingered a moment longer, her eyes meeting Cregan's. 

''Thank you.'' She said, her gratitude clear. 

The Warden simply nodded, still seeming a bit aggravated by having essentially been overruled. ''If you'll excuse me, I have some matters to attend to.'' 

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Visenya and Jeyne standing together. Jeyne watched him go, then turned to her cousin with a knowing smile. 

Jeyne’s eyes twinkled with mischief as she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. ''It seems the Wolf in the North is quite taken with you, my Princess.'' She teased. 

Visenya frowned, though a warmth climbed up her neck. ''What do you mean?'' 

''Cregan Stark is a man of few words, but he seemed quite intent on every one he spoke to you.'' The Maiden responded, a hint of playful knowing in her gaze. 

Visenya’s cheeks flushed slightly, and she glanced in the direction Cregan had gone, feeling a flutter of unease. ''I am his only way to get everyone to listen to him, Cousin. It's just political.'' 

Jeyne sighed. ''Even the most stoic men cannot always hide what is beneath the surface. Every man has the same weakness, Visenya. You of all people know that.'' 

Visenya's expression grew contemplative, her eyes lowering to her clasped hands. ''I will have one of my ladies guide you to your chambers. I am needed at the library.'' She deflected, scratching her voice. 

The older woman nodded understandingly, though her gaze remained thoughtful. ''Of course, Visenya. I appreciate your hospitality.'' She decided to drop the topic of Lord Stark, sensing her cousin's daughter had not yet fully come to terms with her own desires. 

As Jeyne followed the lady-in-waiting to her chambers, Visenya turned and made her way toward the library, intending on grabbing some books for Aegon to read or for her to read for him. 

Once in the library, she was relieved to have found some peace and alone time. As she meandered through the shelves, her fingers brushing lightly against the spines of countless volumes, her mind drifted back to the conversation with Jeyne.

Lord Cregan Stark could not possibly open his heart to her, could he? His presence is as imposing as the North represents, but he'd been gentle when they visited Aegon the night before. He is honourable, as he has shown time and again, but he carried himself with a sense of authority that was both commanding and, at times, overwhelming. 

Visenya’s gaze fell on a particularly old tome, its leather cover worn with age. She reached out and gently pulled it from the shelf, her thoughts still circling around Cregan. The image of him, standing in the courtyard with a hint of something softer in his eyes, contrasted sharply with the stern figure he often projected.

She opened the book, the musty scent of old paper filling her senses. Her eyes traced the faded ink that had been placed there by her ancestor of whom she bore the name. 

Queen Visenya Targaryen, sister-wife of Aegon the Conqueror. 

It had been Rhaenyra who came to their parents with the name. Her older sister had always had an affinity for Vhagar's first rider. Some people would suggest that she was not a role model, but herself and her sister had always disagreed with that sentiment. The Queen had once wielded immense power and influence, even after Aegon passed away. 

Perhaps she should find strength in the legacy of her ancestor. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps and the door to the library swinging open. A familiar voice, filled with barely contained fury, cut through her reverie. 

''Visenya!'' Baela's voice echoed, sharp with anger. 

Visenya’s heart sank, her moment of peace abruptly shattered. ''Baela, my girl, please refrain-'' 

''Our grandsire! Why is he rotting away in the dungeons?'' She demanded to know, frustrated beyond belief. 

She closed the book and placed it back on the shelf with deliberate calm. ''Baela,'' she began, her tone measured, ''Lord Corlys was involved in the poisoning of the Usurper.'' 

Baela frowned, her arms flying everywhere. ''And? Is that not a good thing? The cunt is dead.'' Removing Aegon from the throne had been the entire purpose of the war, why was her grandfather being punished for it? 

Visenya sighed, preparing herself for the difficult task of justifying why Corlys sat in the dungeons along with the others. ''I know, but he committed treason, along with Larys Strong. Whether we found him a Pretender or not, a King was killed. I know he wouldn't, but I cannot allow to have traitors guiding your brother in his minority.'' 

Baela's eyes blazed with rage. ''He was fighting for our family! How could you let this happen? He is rotting down there!'' 

''What would you have me do, Baela?'' Visenya raised her voice. ''It was Lord Stark and his men that arrested them. I know he did it to help us and to help Aegon, but Lord Stark has a point.'' 

The younger girl clenched her fists, her voice trembling with emotion. ''And why does he have the right to do all of this? He comes in two years late, and thinks he can just take over? He made a promise to Jace! Do you think he would have wanted his grandsire executed?'' 

The mention of Jacaerys had her heart ache. Baela was right, Jace would not have wanted this, but Jace also would have wanted his younger brother to be safe. 

''Jacaerys would want us to protect Aegon. Lord Stark is trying to help us do that, even if his methods seem harsh.'' Visenya took a deep breath, struggling to keep her emotions in check. 

Baela's eyes filled with tears, her anger mingling with despair. ''You cannot let this happen, Visenya! He acted in the good of the realm. He did this for us! For you!'' 

It pained her to see her cousin in this state, but she did not have the power here. ''Baela, there is only so much that I can do.'' 

The girl's desperation was palpable. ''But you must do something! You have influence,'' Baela took a few steps towards her, tightly grabbing her hands, ''I am begging you, Cousin. We have already lost so much, we cannot lose him as well.'' 

Visenya felt the weight of Baela's plea pressing on her. The Wolf had been adamant in his arrest of the men involved in Aegon's murder, but she could at least try. 

''I will speak to him,'' she relented, quickly continuing before Baela could interject, ''but I do not promise you anything. My influence knows its limits.'' 

Baela embraced her family member, holding her close ''Thank you. Thank you. I know you will do your best.'' 

The older woman returned the embrace, resting her chin on Baela's shoulder. ''I am happy to see you again, my girl. You've been vigilant.'' 

The pair had not seen each other since Visenya left Dragonstone for Harrenhal, to assist the Riverlands in Daemon's absence as he flew with Caraxes for King's Landing with Rhaenyra. 

''You too,'' Baela sniffed, more tears streaming down her cheeks, ''without you none of us would be here.'' 

Visenya gently pulled back, wiping a tear from Baela's cheek. ''It's over now, and we still have each other. That is the only thing that matters.'' 

Baela nodded, her eyes still shimmering with tears but now holding a spark of hope. ''I trust you, Cousin. I will wait for your word. And thank you, truly. For everything.'' She hugged her once more before stepping back. 

''I will see you soon, before supper.'' Visenya nodded, to herself and to Baela. 

With a nod, the younger woman left the library, almost running to tell her sister of the promise Visenya had made to them. 

The Princess let out a deep breath that she had been holding in from the moment Baela stormed in. She knew it would be difficult to change Lord Stark's mind, especially on the matter of treason and broken oaths. She needed to appeal to his sense of honour and justice, to make him see that pardoning Corlys was in the best interest of the realm. 

It was one of his men that guided her to the council chamber, where his commander had been spending his time since leaving the courtyard. 

Visenya carefully opened the large doors, sending the northman back to his original station. She hesitated for a moment, her thoughts racing as she took in the sight of Cregan Stark standing at the head of the council table. The position, one that had belonged to her father, now seemed to belong to him, and it suited him more than she cared to admit. His hands rested on the surface as he studied the maps and parchments spread before him. 

As she slowly approached, he looked up, his expression softening slightly when he saw her. ''Princess,'' he abandoned his previous occupation, his full attention on her, ''what brings you here?'' 

''I need to speak with you about a matter of great importance.'' 

Cregan straightened, sensing the gravity in her tone. ''Of course, Princess. What is it?''

She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. ''It concerns Lord Corlys Velaryon. His imprisonment… it cannot stand.''

His expression hardened, the brief moment of softness replaced by the stern demeanour he wore so easily. ''The Sea Snake was complicit in the murder of a King, and he swore loyalty to the Usurper after the death of your sister. That is treason.'' 

Visenya kept her voice calm, despite the frustration already bubbling to the surface. ''He acted out of necessity, to keep Aegon alive. Larys Strong and my half-brother wanted to send him to the Wall or execute him. Corlys made sure of it that my sister's line would live on, and her blood would sit the Iron Throne. He saved my nephew, protected him when others would have seen him dead.'' 

''And in doing so he betrayed his oaths. I understand the man's reasoning, but the law is clear. A king was poisoned, a line crossed that cannot be ignored. If I were to let this treason go unpunished, what message would that send? That anyone who claims to act for the good of the realm can kill a king and walk free?'' His eyes narrowed as he met her gaze. 

Her temper flared at his unwillingness to see reason. ''Do you think I do not understand the weight of his crimes? Do you think I am asking this lightly?'' She raised her voice, betraying the emotions she was struggling to contain. 

His face remained stony, his voice steady as he responded. ''I believe you understand it all too well, Princess. But you are letting your personal history cloud your judgement. He is the grandfather of your cousins and was one to three of your nephews.'' 

''Yes, he was their grandfather. Do you think they would wish to see him have his head taken for protecting their little brother? What would Jacaerys say of this to you?'' Visenya's hands clenched into fists at her sides. 

The mention of his late friend only seemed to stoke a fire in Cregan's anger. ''Jace was a noble, young man, a true Targaryen. But even he would have understood the necessity of upholding justice, no matter how painful it might be.'' 

Her breath hitched, before letting out a scoff. ''You think he would have condoned this? That he would have stood by and watched his grandfather be executed like a common criminal? He would have fought for him - just as I am doing now.'' 

Cregan took a step closer, his presence as imposing as the northern winds. ''And I would have fought beside him, just as I fight for the realm now. But this is not about sentiment, Princess. It is about the law, and the law must be upheld.'' 

Visenya's eyes burned with aggravation as she stared up at Cregan, her chest tight with the weight of their confrontation.  She had faced many challenges, many men who tried to bend her will, but this- this was different. Here she was, pouring out her heart, trying to make him understand the gravity of what he was doing, but all she saw in his eyes was that same, unyielding determination. 

It was infuriating, the way he seemed so immovable, as if her words had no effect on him. She felt a surge of helplessness, a sensation so foreign to her that it made her insides twist with anger. She had never felt so powerless, so unheard. 

''You are so consumed with the idea of upholding the law that you cannot see the damage you are doing. Lord Corlys has been loyal to our house for decades. He has earned more than a traitor’s death.'' Her composure was slipping, her tone turning sharper. 

''I cannot allow personal feelings to dictate justice.'' He remained impassive, not swayed by her pleading or arguments. 

A tense silence followed, the kind that seemed to stretch time itself. Neither of them budged, like the night before where they stood in front of her chambers, but it was different this time around. There was no hint of affection or intimacy, only gazes filled with icy resolution. Gone were the quiet moments of understanding they had shared, the brief glimpses of something more that had flickered between them in the darkened halls of the Red Keep. 

Cregan looked like how she imagined a Lord of Winterfell to look - as if the snow was running through his veins, unbending to the fire of a dragon. The delicacy she had seen in him before was buried deep beneath the ironclad exterior he wore. He was as immovable as the northern mountains. 

He was everything she despised and respected in equal measure - uncompromising, resolute, and bound by a code that left no room for the heart.

It was Visenya who spoke first, her words cutting through the air like a blade. ''You will regret this, Lord Stark.'' 

Her voice was low, almost a whisper, but there was no mistaking the threat that laced her words. It wasn’t a threat of violence or retribution - those were tools for lesser minds. It was a promise of consequences. 

Cregan's eyes remained locked on hers, though they were not filled with a freezing winter anymore. He could almost sense the toll this was taking on her, what his unwillingness to compromise meant. 

''Perhaps,'' he said quietly, the chill in his voice thawing just slightly, ''but this is the path I must walk, just as you walk yours, Princess.'' 

The Warden understood that Visenya was fighting to protect what she held dear. She did not hold any sort of love for the Sea Snake, but she did for his granddaughters and for the support he and Rhaenys had given her older sister when she needed it the most. 

He understood her, even sympathised with her, but he could not bend. Not for her, not for anyone.

Visenya's visage hardened once more, her walls going up as quickly as they had come down. She turned dejectedly, her dress swirling around her as she made for the door. The Princess disappeared into the haunted corridors of the Targaryen castle, her footsteps ringing out in the silent chamber.

Cregan watched her go, acutely aware this would not be the last time he would squander over the life of Corlys Velaryon. 

The room felt frostier, emptier, as if her presence had left a void in its wake. He let out a slow, measured breath, trying to shake off the lingering unease. He stood firmly in his decision, and believed it to be the righteous one, so why did Visenya's pained face and words remain seared into his mind?

[writing-for-marvel]

Withdrawal

[He’s Hazardous To My Health Series]

Paramedic!Bucky Barnes x Resident!Fem!Reader

< < PART 2 | Series Masterlist | PART 4 > >

Summary: You wait for Bucky to call.

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the AU, some angst and self doubt, references to sex, references to Bucky having a traumatic past

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: Will he call? Won’t he call? Let’s find out! Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

Bucky stares down at his phone and sighs.

He wants to call you, genuinely, so why is dialling your number so difficult?

Perhaps it’s too soon, is what he tells himself. It hasn’t even been a full day since the end of your date, calling now probably makes him look desperate.

Should he message you? Tell you that he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you all day? Ugh, no… that seems extremely forward for someone he’s only been on a single date with, regardless of if it’s the truth.

There’s never been anyone whom he’s connected with enough to warrant a second date, let alone have him promising to call. He’s completely out of his depth, drowning in a sea of anxiety and no one has taught him how to swim.

Bucky knows he’s overthinking, but you make it hard to think clearly. You have his brain short circuiting, reforming synapses so that all his thoughts are rerouted to the same thing: you.

Turning his phone off, he sets it down beside him. Just because he isn’t calling straight away, doesn’t mean he won’t at all. It’s probably better to wait and not seem super eager.

Or is that counterintuitive? If you enjoy someone’s company, should you let them know so you can see them again as soon as possible?

Fuck, why is this such a daunting task? He’s never had an issue with talking or flirting with anyone before, it seems to come naturally to him. And yet the thought that he’ll say the wrong thing, and fuck up whatever it is between the two of you is making his stomach churn with prickling nerves he’s never experienced before.

Perhaps he’ll find the courage to call tomorrow.

* * *

“You seem distracted, what’s on your mind?” The familiar voice from the driver's seat of the ambulance pulls Bucky from his daydream.

You, is what Bucky thinks. You are constantly on his mind. Him and his best friend Steve are half an hour into their shift and you have not left the forefront of his mind in that entire time.

It’s like he’s in a trance.

“There’s this girl from the hospital…” Bucky trails off, unsure how to articulate exactly how you’ve bewitched him since meeting not even a week ago.

The night before last wasn’t just another hookup. At least, not to him.

“I’m gonna need a little more information than that Buck, there’s been quite a few girls of yours, especially from the hospital.” Steve laughs, but Bucky’s chest tightens at the insinuation that you’re just another fling, even though Steve doesn’t know any better.

“Two nights ago we went on a date, it ended up back at her place.” This is probably not news to Steve - he’s heard many stories about Bucky’s one night stands which would have started exactly like this. But there is one huge difference this time around. “And then I told her I’d call.”

“You’re thinking about a second date with her? She must be something special.” Bucky chuckles under his breath. Yeah, you really are something special. So fucking special.

“She’s beautiful, intelligent, funny, witty. When she was treating that little girl from the train derailment she was so good with her, kind and patient. I don’t know how to describe it, we just click. I don’t think I’ve ever allowed myself to feel more than physical attraction for someone but with her it just happens, I can’t stop myself.”

He doesn’t want to admit it to himself, but Bucky’s already addicted to you. He’s only had one fix, but he’s already showing symptoms of withdrawal. Every second apart feels like an hour, craving your company and the rapture firing in every neuron of his body when you’re in his presence.

“Look at you actually falling for someone.” Steve teases, without even knowing the full extent of how enthralled Bucky is with you. “So when are you seeing her again?”

Silence fills the front seat of the ambulance when Bucky can’t answer the question.

“Bucky, you have to see her again! Listen to how you’re talking about her, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you actually speak about wanting to see someone again. You need to call her.” Steve stops at a red light and looks over to Bucky in the passenger seat. His best friend knows him better than perhaps he knows himself but doesn’t have the same obstacle with letting people in as Bucky does.

“That’s easier said than done.” Bucky can’t mask the dejected tone in his voice, and Steve recognises the crestfallen hang of his head, knowing exactly what he means without voicing it aloud.

“I know you've been through a lot in your life Buck, you’ve built walls up to prevent any more heartbreak…” Steve starts, but Bucky doesn’t need yet another reminder of his tragic backstory.

“Alright Mr I minored in psychology, I get your point. I’m damaged goods and don’t let people get close to me.”

“It’s just a second date, Buck, you aren’t asking for her hand in marriage. Just see where it goes.” Steve makes it sound so easy. Most people wouldn’t get so stressed about something they would consider as minor as a second date, yet Bucky feels like he’s about to expose the most intimate parts of his soul to someone for the first time.

“But I don’t want to hurt her. I know nothing about dating or being in a relationship.” Bucky pauses - the fact that he’s even considering something as substantial as a relationship with you punches him in the gut. He’s never wanted that with someone before. “And I don’t want to get hurt myself.” Because all Bucky has known is relationships breaking down. To him romantic relationships are synonymous with pain and he’s had enough of that for a lifetime.

“You’ll never know if you never try. I know you think letting someone in will lead to heartbreak, but what if it’s the opposite? What if by letting this person into your heart you finally find love and contentment?” Bucky has never allowed himself to imagine a life where that is a possibility - opening himself up to that prospect sounds like a recipe for more suffering. Besides, he’s been damaged goods for a long time, he’s sure there’s no one who would want to put up with him anyway.

“You really are a hopeless romantic.” Bucky comments, trying to avoid the questions Steve is raising, and divert the topic of their conversation.

“I want you to be happy, Buck. You’ve never afforded yourself that courtesy.”

Though his experience screams at him to run in the opposite direction, that this would be a horrible decision leading to further pain, Bucky finds it hard to believe someone as sweet and good-natured as yourself would ever hurt him intentionally. Even if there is only a slim chance that he doesn’t completely fuck this up, given Bucky cannot stop thinking about you, he supposes it’s worth a shot calling you.

“Well, maybe it’s finally time I do.” Bucky mutters under his breath.

* * *

You’ve been checking your phone periodically throughout the day to se if you have any new notifications from Bucky, but each time your phone lights up, a new wave of disappointment floods your chest.

You wonder if the notion of actually calling you, or simply messaging, has even crossed Bucky’s mind once since he left your place about 36 hours ago, or if he already knew it was an empty promise at the time he made it.

“Heard anything yet?” Wanda asks hopefully, but you shake your head in response. The first thing Wanda asked during your next shift together was how your date went with Bucky - between treating patients you described the picnic Bucky set up on the riverbank and (in slightly less detail) the euphoric night you shared when you made it back to your place.

“I’m stupid for actually believing he’s going to call, aren’t I?”

“…No.” Wanda offers after a brief hesitation which tells you more than the single word does. Sensing your regret in asking, she continues on. “Sweetie, only you know the connection you share, I can’t speak to that. If you feel like there’s something special there and he promised to call, then you have every right to believe him.”

Perhaps you’re being foolish, you should know better than to hang your hopes on a man who is notorious for being a fuckboy, but you really thought Bucky was being genuine when he promised to contact you. That the blissful night you shared, and the waves of ecstasy which melded into a flood of pure pleasure, meant more than just a one night stand.

Or at least it did to you.

“Just because he’s never pursued more than a first date with other people in this hospital doesn’t mean he isn’t now, or isn’t with you. Sometimes it just takes the right person, that could be you.” You take some comfort in the sincerity of her tone, but the voice in the back of your mind reminds you of what Wanda alerted you to prior to your date: no one gets a second date with Bucky Barnes.

“You’ve changed from giving me no hope to giving me false hope, Wan.” You joke, trying to brush off the conversation and not reveal just how heartbroken you’ll be if Bucky ghosts you, even with Wanda warning about his ways.

Internally you remind yourself that it’s only been a day and a half and to not be too mad at him, yet. Perhaps he intends to call, but hasn’t gotten around to it, though you’re pretty sure you’re only telling yourself that to stop the perpetual ache in your chest rather than truly believing it.

“He promised he would call, that’s not false hope.” Wanda advises, shooting you a look of encouragement as you both complete paperwork for your respective patients.

At that moment, the doors to the ER swing open and none other than the paramedic you were just speaking about walks in wheeling a patient.

You hate how good he looks, long chestnut hair framing his face and those dazzling blue eyes you’ve dreamed about shine from all the way across the room. He’s unfairly attractive, and he walks into a room like he knows it too.

Him and his partner consult the head nurse of the ER, who, after examining her clipboard for a moment, points towards your direction, making your stomach flip.

Steel blue eyes meet yours and for a moment your entire world stands still. The sounds of the busy ER fade away and even the presence of Wanda beside you dissolves into non-existence when his eyes find you and a smile overtakes his features. That damn cheeky smile which makes your knees weak.

He truly is infuriatingly beautiful.

“Hey.” Is all you can think to say as they approach, a lump in your throat forming which would prevent you from voicing any more words if your brain could think of any other than how strapping and handsome he looks in his uniform.

“Hi.” Bucky responds softly with a dreamy smile, eyes lingering on yours for a long beat before turning away. How could someone who looks at you with such warmth not want to see you again?

You shake the thought from your mind as your focus on the patient, a young man with scared brown eyes. You can’t afford to be distracted right now, even if you desperately want to look back at him and revel in the fondness brimming in his eyes which was so apparent during your date.

After Bucky’s equally tall, broad and handsome paramedic partner gets you up to speed on the patient's history, you get to work on taking his vitals.

“Rogers, Barnes, give us some space to work, please.” Dr Strange requests and without the chance to say another word to each other, both paramedics disappear out the corner of your periphery.

What you don’t notice is Bucky’s soft gaze on you through the glass walls of the patient room as you start your work up, believing that he had simply got back in his ambulance and out into the field.

“That’s her?” Steve asks from beside Bucky. He knows full well it must be you, he’s never seen his best friend look so enamoured with a girl, nor lost for words as when he set eyes on you, but he wants Bucky to admit it aloud.

“Yep, that’s her.” Bucky says with a pride that if Steve didn’t know any better, would suggest that her meant his girl. Bucky answers without taking his eyes off you, the corners of mouth tugging into a smile. His best friend has it bad, and he doesn’t even realise.

Steve suspects if he doesn’t remind Bucky they have a shift to get back to, he’d happily watch you work for the rest of the day.

He allows Bucky a couple more minutes of that luxury before heading back to the ambulance, knowing his best friend well enough to realise before either Bucky or yourself do, just how significant Bucky’s feelings for you are.

* * *

Bucky steps out of the shower, the warm water having rinsed the hard days work off himself.

He knows he needs to call you. Waiting any longer, especially after seeing you today, even if it were only for a brief moment, would surely only indicate disinterest. That’s so far from how he feels about you, so he decides needs to take matters into his own hands and fulfil the promise he made two nights ago.

A fresh swarm of butterflies fills his stomach. He’s actually going to do this.

He just hopes you’re after more than just another hookup. Bucky’s used to being the one only interested in sex, but if the roles are reversed this time, it’ll be his exposed heart being ripped from his chest.

No, he can’t think like that. He’s finally giving himself a chance at happiness.

Bucky reminds himself that you asked him to promise to call after your date. It’s not just him that wants this, you want him to call.

With that thought, he pulls out his phone and quickly presses on your contact, so he doesn’t chicken out, and with a shaky hand holds his phone to his ear. Bucky’s heart beats in his throat as the first ring sounds, and then skips a beat altogether when the click of you answering fills his ears.

“Bucky, you called.” He can hear the smile in your voice through the line, but what makes his heart clench is the trace of surprise he can perceive, as if you truly hadn’t expected him to call.

“I did promise to.” He reminds you, but it doesn’t entirely eliminate the bitter shame bubbling in the pit of his stomach that even though he did in fact promise, you didn’t fully believe him.

“I’m happy you did. I had a really great time the other night.”

“So did I.” Those three simple words don’t sum up just how much Bucky wholeheartedly enjoyed every second he spent with you, regardless of if that were naked in your bed or getting to know you on a picnic blanket as the sun set across the horizon, but in his anxious state he can’t find words more poetic to express it. “And I’d love to do it again if you’re up for it.”

“Hmm, I’m gonna have to think about it.” He can tell by the light tone of your voice you’re joking, but he supposes he deserves waiting for an answer considering he made you wait for his call. “Of course I’d love to go on a second date with you James.”

The combination of your words and the fact that you punctuated the sentence with his true first name sends Bucky straight to heaven. Everything about you makes him completely weak in a way he has never experienced before. All of those walls Steve seems to think Bucky has built around himself don’t appear to exist with you, instead, you’ve come into his life as easily as walking through a front door with a welcome mat out front.

“I guess I’m going to have to outdo a picnic at sunset then.” He chuckles to himself, knowing that he’s never had this problem before, but realising it’s a good problem to have.

You continue to talk well into the night, forgetting what time it is, and that you both have early shifts in the morning. None of that matters when you’re so caught up in each other.

Bucky simply enjoys the sound of your voice, and how it soothes the remaining anxiety which was swirling in his chest before calling you. He certainly isn’t hanging up first, not when talking with you has been the best part of his day.

He’s chasing happiness. And he might just find it with you.

Part 4 > >

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Courage Under Fire| Currahee Part 5 | Band of Brothers

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Betsy watched as Olivia turned the final sealed letter from her brother James over in her hands several times. She had been doing that since the night before and it was starting to worry her and the other nurses. 

"Liv? Why don't you open it?" She asked softly as she went over to the head nurse's bunk and sat down on the end of it. 

"I can't." Olivia admitted softly as she stopped turning the letter over and raised her eyes to look at her friend, "It will make the fact that we lost him real. Ever since we were little, James has been Bobby's and my protector. You think Bobby and Edward were bad when it comes to me, Jimmy was worse. He always wanted a baby sister and when I came along.' 

'His wish came true." Adele added as she sat down on the other side of Betsy, Alice had sat next to her friend and clasped her hand in hers to stop the fidgeting.

  The blonde nodded her head in agreement as Lipton opened the door and called them to formation. Olivia tapped her finger against the slanted handwriting before she leaned over and put the letter back in her journal. It just wasn't her brothers' death that was bothering me, it was the whole almost screwing Joe Liebgott in the latrines. She was almost scared of those feelings that he had stirred up. She didn't know if it was lust or if she had fallen in love with him as quickly as she had with Lewis.

"Liv? Are you okay?"  Lipton asked, seeing that she was lagging, normally she was the first one out of the barracks encouraging her girls to hurry it along. "Yeah, Lip, I am okay.' She returned as she stood up, smoothing her hands over the material of her jumpsuit. It was a new uniform for the girls and she wasn't quite used to it yet.  

The Sergeant frowned, he along with several others could tell she wasn't okay but she was acting like she was, 'You know you can talk to me if you want, Liv.' 

 Her bottom lip trembled and she steeled herself, "Thanks Lip. Did he say what we are doing?' 

 'Classroom instruction most of the day. " She offered him a crooked smile and nodded her head, at least he wasn't going to make them be out in the rain, that was the last thing they needed. More colds were going through the platoons and making their way towards the nurses. If one got sick, they all got sick. 

** 

Instead of joining Liebgott and Talbert at their table like she normally would, Olivia opted to sit with Lewis and Dick near the front of the classroom.

 "Wanna talk about it?" Lewis asked, lowering his voice to where only Dick and Olivia could hear. She didn't answer right away, instead, she chewed on the inside of her bottom lip looking at Strayer who had just come into the classroom. 

"We know Liebgott followed you into the latrines." Dick offered up, keeping his eyes on Strayer, he knew that Olivia was a lot like him and didn't like this kind of attention on her. Anything to do with relationships or sex, and they both just shut down. 

"Did you?'  Olivia had expected Lewis to be angry instead he was curious and a little jealous, like he had been when he found out she had been sleeping with Bill after he left for New Year at his parents' house before going to Fort Dix. 

"No, Mary walked in before things could get too far. I think that they have slept together too." 

She answered, the familiar heat of embarrassment crept into her cheeks, and she quickly lowered her eyes to the desk to avoid Strayer's gaze when he looked over at the trio. 

Lewis made a move like he was stretching so he could look over her shoulder at Liebgott who was staring steadily at Olivia's back, willing her to look at him. '

'That may be sweetheart but I think he wants you more.'  

Olivia gave him a look that clearly said she didn't believe a word he said before Strayer called their attention to the front. Lewis dropped his hand onto her thigh and squeezed it, she slipped her hand off the desk and covered his hand with hers squeezing it.

**

"What did you do to Liv?" Tab asked quietly, he had shifted into the empty seat next to him once they realized that she wasn't sitting with them. She had been oddly distant from them since Sobel's raid and Joe following her into the latrines.

 "Nothing." He returned, shifting his gaze from Olivia's back to his friend. 

"Tell him the truth." Mary hissed, she had been upset with him since he had shown clear favoritism to Olivia and had resorted to one or two-worded answers. She had frozen everyone out and had to restrain herself from going up to Liv and causing problems with her. 

"Tell me what truth?" He perked up, he liked hearing how people messed up, and knowing that Joe somehow messed up with Olivia before they even got anything started made him almost happy.

 "That he followed her into the latrines and if I would have walked in, they would have had sex." Floyd's eyes went from his friend to where the Southern Belle was sitting, surprised. Some of the girls were more open to doing stuff while Olivia and Lily were more shy about it. Though he had heard stories about how Olivia and Lewis had been together and the rumors about OCS and how she was in the same barracks as Nixon and Winters. So he wasn't sure what to believe. As if she felt his eyes on her, she glanced back at him and offered him a smile before turning back to the front before Strayer realized he had lost their attention. From the stories they heard, Strayer could be more strict than Sobel and they didn't want to set him off.

**

Adele bounced her knee as she sat next to Bobby at the table behind Talbert, Liebgott, Mary, and Grant, this whole thing made her nervous, she didn't care much about the knowledge stuff, it was the practical stuff that they needed to know. How was this knowledge going to save men's lives? Or even theirs? 

"Addie, relax." Bobby muttered, placing his hand on her knee to keep it from bouncing, "We are almost done and then we will have lunch."

 She glanced at the hand on her knee and then at his face, "I am just going stir crazy. This isn't going to help us at all." 

He knew she was right that the nurses needed to have more practical training whereas the men needed it all. He also knew that the other girls hadn't had any sort of military training like his twin did. 

As soon as their grandfather found out that she was watching, they pulled her into what they were doing. She and Marla both knew how to clean and put together a rifle and fire it. Their great-grandmother Belle once she had heard that Olivia was going into an active war zone, sent her the small pistol that she herself had used during the Civil War shooting the Yankee that tried to sexually assault her and she shot him.

As far as he knew, Olivia had been working on showing the girls how to defend themselves with what they had in their medical bags and if she could teach them how to use handguns or rifles she would. As much as she worried about him, Lewis, and Bill, she would about the girls. And from the looks of it, she was starting to worry about the other boys. 

**

"You going to sit with us Liv?" Tab asked once they broke for lunch and the head nurse was gathering her notebook and pencils to put back in her medical bag. "Yeah, Princess, we missed you," Joe added, causing a pink tinge to cover her cheeks. 

"I don't think Mary will appreciate me being with y'all."  Her green eyes found Mary who was giving her an open hostel look. Like she could take Olivia’s eyes out for being close to Liebgott and Talbert. 

The Sergeant shrugged his shoulders and held his hand out to her, he couldn't care less what Mary thought about Olivia. He enjoyed having her around, she brought a lot of softness to everything and after being surrounded by men for so long, he enjoyed it. 

Fighting a smile, she took his hand in hers and let him pull her to her feet. 

"Why did you hide up front with Nixon and Winters?" He asked settling his arm around her shoulders as they walked towards the mess hall, she shrugged her shoulders, "I needed to as much I love y'all it was for the best."

Talbert stopped them from walking with the others and waved them on, "Why was it for the best? Because you were embarrassed that you got caught almost fucking Joe in the bathroom?" 

Her cheeks flushed angrily and she turned her head away and went to move away from him causing him to click his tongue and move to stand in front of her, his fingers catching her chin to make her look at him while his free arm went around her waist. 

"Or is it because of Mary stopping it?'

She released a breath she didn't know she was holding, "It's just not that Floyd. I am homesick, I miss James and Nick."

He squeezed her hip, Bobby had told them about their two older brothers that they had lost first at Pearl Harbor and then in Midway. He pressed his lips against her forehead and hugged her waist tighter, she didn't need to hear it was going to be okay, she just needed to be comforted.

"I can't open the letter from James, it was the last one that he finished before they took off for the mission. Dick Best sent a letter with it and mentioned that it was and how proud Jimmy was of me." 

"Did Mary try to say anything with that?" Floyd questioned, his dark eyes searching hers, his anger flooding him. 

"No, but Amber did, she said that Jimmy and Nick were both disappointed in me because I slept with Bill and Lewis."

 The anger turned to surprise as he arched his eyebrow, "Ain't nothing with exploring your needs baby. As much as you take care of us, you need to take care of yourself and your needs."

 "Hey, Bean!" Bobby's voice came from the doorway, "Get yer ass in here! They have spaghetti!" 

Olivia laughed and pulled away from Floyd, since living next door to the Guarnere's, they got spoiled almost every Sunday with homemade pasta and sauce. In fact, Augusta started teaching Olivia and Marla how to make it. 

"Comin’, Bobby." She returned, before grasping Floyd's hand in hers and pulling him into the mess hall behind her. 

“Bean?" Floyd laughed, causing her to shrug her shoulders. 

"No idea. My great-great PawPaw started calling me that when I was little. If you call me that." She paused and  turned to point her finger in his face, "Floyd, I will never talk to you again." 

He laughed and held his free hand up, making a mental note to ask Bobby about it, he knew that he would be more likely to tell him compared to Liv. Especially if it came to their great-great-grandfather, the older twin was more likely to open up about it. That and he didn't want to lose her friendship just quite yet, especially with the way she was finding herself standing up to Sobel. Only time would tell how much the girl was going to change.

**

Joe offered Olivia a smile and nudged her with his elbow once she joined him at the table, Talbert steps behind her, giving him a look over her head. Silent telling him not to do anything to mess this up. The two of them were a package deal with Chuck Grant and Mary. He knew the next step of this was going to get Olivia and Mary to get along. That was going to be a feat on its own. 

Bobby, who had sat down across from them, reached out to grab the piece of white bread off of his sister's tray only to get his fingers slapped by her,  "Robert, don't touch."

 "My own sister." He huffed annoyed.

"Don't touch my food."  She pointed her noddle-filled fork at him, "You know better. And Frank.' Through the din of chatter and scraping forks, she heard Frank Preconte, saying it wasn't spaghetti, it was army noodles with ketchup with a mouth full. "Please swallow before speaking."

"And there's the prim and proper southern belle." Bill teased, twisting to look at Olivia who was glared at him.

"You know better too, William. Swallow." His eyes danced mischievously, he wanted to say that they both knew she swallowed but that wasn't the time or place. 

"Ey! Get out of here!' Bill scolded as Hoobler twisted to grab Frank's plate.

 "Boys." Olivia huffed as a whistle blew and Sobel, Amber, and Evans came in, "Orders changed! Easy is running Currahee!" 

'Mother F." The head nurse muttered as she pushed herself away from the table.

 Joe grabbed a hold of her waist and put her in front of him, so he didn't lose her in the crowd. Silently she dropped her hand down and covered his hand with hers. Joe fought off the need to go switch his hand around and twine their fingers together like they had in the bathroom before Mary interrupted them but it was because of her and the fact that Sobel was still in the room, giving Winters a smug look and Olivia's anger flared, she hated that he thought he could get away with this, and he was waiting for one of them to mess up so he could revoke the pass.

They finally had a weekend's pass and they didn't want it revoked at the last second not with Frank and Johnny's brides being in town and not with Joe's date with Olivia on the line. They all needed the time away from Sobel and Amber even if it was for a couple of hours. The girls who had been there for a month had been told about their first pass and how Sobel saw one of the boys dancing without his jacket on and reamed him for it.

"Liv, I swear to god if Amber isn't running Currahee, I am going to be so pissed," Alice complained as she squished into the line in front of her and Joe, her eyes going to their hands and back to her friend's face that clearly said she didn't want to talk about it.

"I know, I am going to be pissed too but there's not much I can do about it."

"That's a load of bullshit, Liv." Johnny Martin said from her side, "You are in charge of the nurses, not Sobel and honestly you letting them two walk all over you is kind of ridiculous."

"What do you want me to do Johnny?" She returned twisting her head to look at him, "Last time I ended up repeating marches and we got passes revoked." "You are a smart girl, you will figure it out and you won't let our passes get revoked." By this time they all knew that Joe was taking Olivia on a date and they all wanted to see if anything would come from it. Most of them were betting that something would.

Olivia knew that Johnny was right and she should take control of her merry band of nurses, she just had to use the newfound confidence to do so.

**

"Sargent Scott, you need to dress out to do the run with us," Olivia ordered once they were outside and she caught sight of Amber standing there.

 "What?" 

"You heard me, Sargent. You need to dress out and run it with us. If I run it, you run it." 

"But."

 "I don't care if you are sucking Captain Sobel's dick, I am the one in charge of the nurses, not him, and you have to do what I say. And if Captain Sobel doesn't like it he can take it up with General Sink and General Forbes." She answered, "Now fall out."

Amber glared at her and then turned to Sobel who was openly gaping at her.

"Do as she says." He muttered, already trying to find a loophole but he wasn't finding one, Olivia was right, she was in charge of the nurses and even Sink and Strayer when they had found out what he had done to the nurses' belongings told him that yes, they were under his command for most things, but they followed the rules of the Nursing Corp more and Olivia was the CO not him, so he couldn't punish them like he did the men and in turn for what he did to them, he got a mark on his record and was told if he did it again, he would be stripped of his rank and Winters would become CO and him the XO and he didn't want to give that control up to Winters.

**

"I am going to be sick.'  Betsy complained as they started up the hill, the girls for the first time were sticking together instead of being spread out through the group. Mostly because of the tell signs of the men being sick. For a lot of the girls, including Olivia who could handle blood and guts, if she heard or saw someone being sick like that, they would get sick too. 

"Bets, I love you but," Olivia paused to fight off the rising wave of nausea, "please shut up." 

She didn't know any better she was sure that Sobel did this to them on purpose, he wanted to see if he could weed out any of the weaklings who hadn't already dropped out due to the stress of trying to keep up with the stress of the training and the stress of being under Sobel. But those who were remaining seemed to be stubborn and stupid enough to stay and keep going on with the torture that was the paratrooper training.

They had just gotten to a curve where the nausea got to be too bad causing Olivia to veer to the side and empty her stomach out into the bushes. 

"Liv? You good?" Alice asked pausing to leave the ranks but Liv held out her hand to stop her, "I am fine, keep going, I will be right behind you."

 Alice hesitated, unsure if she wanted to leave her behind but she knew better than to not take an order from her so she turned and started up the hill again.

Olivia coughed several times to make sure she didn’t throw up again, her mind racing a million miles a minute. She knew that they couldn’t keep going like, if they went into combat with Sobel a lot of them would be killed and there was nothing really they could do about it. 

Slowly an idea started forming in her head, it would take a lot of work but if she did it right it would work. Smirking, she hustled over to the girls again. 

Just in time to hear Sobel taunt Bull, 'Private Randleman, you look tired, there's an ambulance waiting for you at the bottom of the hill." 

"Ali,' Olivia warned seeing her hand curl into a fist, "Bull won't react, and neither should you." 

"But is it okay for you to react?" She returned as Sobel's voice rose, "No pain, No more Currahee. No more Captain Sobel."

 "Liv? What's with that look?" Betsy asked from her other side as she used the sleeve of her PT shirt to clean off the remaining sickness off of her mouth, "I don't like that look."

 "Don't worry about it Bets." She returned as George Luz started singing, "We pull upon the risers, we fall upon the grass." 

It started out slowly just within the row where George was with Bull and several others then it started working its way back through the other platoons back to the nurses who between coughs and pants started singing. 

"Liv, seriously, I don't like that look," Betsy complained, she was worried that her friend was going to get into trouble.

"I wouldn't worry about Liv,' Alice panted, "She always knows what she is doing. And now is no different."

*** 

Bobby wasn't necessarily thrilled when he heard that his sister was going on their weekend pass with Liebgott, but at the same time, he knew that he couldn't tell her no. She would just do it all behind his and Edward's back like she had with their parents when she and Bill started dating and deep down he knew that he and their other brothers wanted Olivia to be happy, she had spent so much of their childhood and all of their teenage years putting others in front of her.

Himself included.

 "Hey Liebgott, got a second?" He asked as he finished tucking his tie into his shirt.

"What's up, Bobby?" Joe returned, his dark eyes going from the open door where they could hear the laughter coming from the nurses who were slowly gathering at the end of the barracks to him.

"I know you are going with my sister tonight, just do me a favor and don't hurt her."

"I would never." Joe was actually being honest about that, if it had been any other nurse or even Mary, he would never promise such a thing, he would fuck them and then leave them,  but because it was Olivia and he wanted her more than anything in the world, he was willing to promise it. 

"Good, because if you hurt her, I will kill you, and Edward and Lee will help me hide your body." Bobby returned with a smirk. Lee was their third oldest brother and was in the Marines along with their brother Daniel and was fiercely overprotective of Olivia, Marla, and Katie. Even more so than Bobby and Edward. 

"And I will help.' Talbert added the night before he had guard duty with Olivia and learned a lot about her and about the Stewart family and felt oddly protective of her. Not in the  I want to date you way but in this girl is my friend and I want to make sure she is okay type of way. 

"I won't," Joe assured them before stepping out of the barracks and heading over to the nurses, his breath catching in his throat when his eyes landed on Oliva who for the first time he had known her, she wasn't in her uniform, she was dressed in civilian clothing, her hair was down was hanging down in loose curls compared the victory curls that the other girls had. He cleared his throat and took a step forward.

"Liv," Betsy commented, inclining her head towards Joe, the head nurse turned around and offered him a bright smile.

"Ladies," He greeted before holding his hand out to Olivia, "You ready Princess?"

  Warmth spread through him when her eyes twinkled and the dimple in her cheek deepened at the pet name and she stepped forward taking his hand. 

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do." Daisy teased from where she was standing with Evie, Adele, Ruthie, and some of the boys from Dog Company. 

"Oh, honey," Olivia returned teasingly as Joe twined their fingers together, not caring that Mary was staring hostilely at them. "I am planning on doing everything you would do and more."

Since she had taken control over the girls again and brought Amber back in line, her confidence soared and it felt good. The confidence made her feel like she could go do anything and everything. 

"That's my girl." The blonde teased, causing her to wink and blow a kiss. 

Laughing, Joe steered her away from her nurses, "What exactly do we miss when you lot are together?"  

“A lot of girls talk.” She returned, “A lot of which is centered around you boys. Who would date who if fraternization was okay.”

  The interest he was willing to fake turned into real, he had been expecting it to be like pulling teeth to get her to talk about anything other than training, “Oh, and who would you date?” 

She was quiet for a moment as he pulled her through the crowd of men from Dog and Fox company towards the long winding road that led to town, “You were at the top of my list, Nix and Tab right behind you.” 

“Really?” He smirked; it was surprising that he was at the top of her list given the rumors surrounding her and Lewis, “What about Winters? You two seemed awfully cozy.” 

“Dick?” She laughed, “We are just friends, I was moved into the barracks with him and Lew in OCS after my fight with Amber, he helped me through James’ death. Besides, the man is shy. He walked in on Lew and me once and he went red. Like redder than his and Malarkey’s hair.”  

“Walked in on you and doing what?”  He paused and moved to where he was standing in front of her, their clasped hands resting against her lower back, causing butterflies to fill her belly like they had two days prior. 

“Same thing we were doing before Mary walked in but I was mostly clothed.” 

“My sweet Liv isn't as sweet as she seems.” He teased enjoying the pink tinge that covered her cheeks. 

“Oh? So I am yours?” She returned, causing him to pull her to him, chest to chest, his dark eyes searching hers. 

“You say the word princess, I would make it happen.” The teasing was gone and the serious, almost angry Joe that she had come to know in the last month and half was in front of her. “Well?” 

“I, um,” She stammered, not sure how to react to this. He was so different from Lewis, who she could always tell when he was teasing her. Joe not so much. Maybe that’s what made her so interested in him. 

Smirking, Joe brushed his lips against her, first soft almost feather like then again, firmer and full of want. 

She whined when she felt his hardening cock pressing against her, her free hand making a desperate path up his arm and shoulder to fist in his dark hair.

A low groan met her ears as he pulled her tighter against him, wishing suddenly that they were alone and he could make love to her. 

“Get a room Liebgott.’ Skinny Sisk commented as he and Amelia, the nurse who replaced Louise who had to leave due to a family emergency, walked past them.  

“Shut up Sisk.” He returned pulling away from Olivia’s mouth, his dark eyes studying her face, her cheeks were flushed pink, and her eyelids were fluttering, her chest was heaving against his from trying to catch her breath. 

“Remember Livvy, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Daisy teased as she followed the rest of the group before turning to Ruthie and France telling them to pay up. 

“Were they really taking bets on if we wouldn’t make it to  town before this happened?” She asked, causing Joe to nod his head and press his lips against her forehead. He had to rally to get those without pulling her into an alleyway. 

“Figures, my brothers did the same thing with me and Lew.”

 “What is the deal with you two?” He asked pulling away from her to lead her into town, “He’s more of a shadow to you than Bobby is.” 

“Let’s not talk about that tonight. There’s a lot to it and it’s really heavy, and we have enough heavy right now.”  

He nodded his head, he wasn’t going to press it not now not when he was so close, that was something for them to discuss down the line. 

**

“Mary, come on.’ Chuck Grant called seeing the brown-haired girl staring after the couple who disappeared into the diner.  She wanted to go after them and spy or try and get involved in it or both. She knew that she and the other girls were easily replaceable and that Sobel would do anything and everything he could to get rid of them and she had worked too hard to leave now. 

“Don’t worry too much about that.” Bobby commented as he joined them, his jacket already undone and tie loosened, “My sister isn’t ready to settle yet, after everything that our mother put her through and having to uproot our lives to take care of Fredrick,” The older twin shook his head as if to rid himself of the bad memories. 

“Not to mention the stuff with Bill.” Talbert commented, “Sides isn’t there something going on with her and Nixon?’ 

“You could say that.” He started pulling out the flask that had been gifted to him by the Nixon family when he graduated high school and a promise to go to Ireland to stay in the family castle when the war was with.  

His sister on the other hand got the diamond earrings she was wearing that night and an offer to pay for her nursing school again, after the war. 

Stanhope and Doris had been informed of the lie that Lewis told Katherine to stop any sort of crazy plans that she had for Olivia and Marla and decided that if Olivia was their pretend daughter-in-law, then they had every right to spoil her.  

“What aren’t you telling us?” Mary prodded, they had all known him well enough to know that there was more to the story than what he was saying. 

“Our mother hates Olivia and our younger sister Marla. She never wanted daughters, to her sons were more valuable. When Liv and I were born, Katherine thought she took the spotlight off of her.” The man may have been standing there with them but his expression looked hundreds of miles away, “And in a way she did, she was the first granddaughter. “ He paused again, “Before we moved back to South Philly after Fredrick got to be too much for her to take care of on her own.”  She almost broke down when Fredrick threw things at her, cursing her, telling her she wasn’t Lydia, it broke his heart. All Liv wanted was to help him out, and she got treated like that, “Katherine came to visit with this man that was old enough to be our grandfather and wanted to have Liv marry him for his money.” 

Talbert, who had been silently flirting with Ruthie, one of the nurses from Dog Company turned to look at him surprised, “Seriously?” 

Bobby nodded his head again, “Olivia refused, said that she would join the convent that Aunt Cissy was at then marry someone that she didn’t love. She is a hopeless romantic that girl.” He rolled his eyes, “I think that’s why she was so enamored by Lewis. And him with her. He came swooping down the same week that this happened and was Liv’s escort to that goddamn debutante ball.” 

“Liv? A deb?” Talbert was floored and he couldn’t wait to see the couple and give Olivia a hard time for it. As much as Olivia was a lady, he couldn’t see her being a deb and doing all of that. 

“There are pictures, pretty sure if you ask Liv, she has them with her.’ Bobby shuddered, he had to be involved with it and hated every moment of it, even after Lewis started passing around the flask. 

“But what does that have to do with them now?” Mary asked, “Nixon is like her shadow.” 

Bobby shrugged his shoulders as he took another swig off of the flask, “Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that she stopped the wedding when he was going to marry Kathy.”

Mary, who had been quiet throughout the whole thing, paused, “Are they together?” The older twin who was raising the flask to his mouth froze, his sister would kill him for bringing this up, "Not necessarily, they made a deal that if she is still single at 21 they would actually get married."

"What do you mean actually?" Talbert asked. 

"Lewis told this huge white lie about how they got married after Liv stopped the wedding so she didn't have to marry Davis down the line." While Mary looked at this like a victory, Talbert and Grant understood why Lewis did this; he wanted to save her from a loveless marriage and get her heart broken over and over again. If they had the choice they would've done the same thing.

"Mare, don't." Bobby started as if he could read what was going through her head, "She already has enough on her plate without you fucking things up for her."

**

“Who’s your friend Joe?” The waitress asked as she came up to the table with a flirty smile on her face. She made sure that every time that one of the men from Easy Company came in she was the one that waited on them. And Joe, Talbert, Bobby, and Grant in the few weekend passes that they had quickly became her favorites. 

“This is Liv.” Joe returned as he pulled Liv into the booth next to him, his hand going to her knee stubble hint that he wasn’t there to flirt or do anything else. Liv was his date. “She is the head nurse and is Bobby’s twin sister.” 

“This is the waitress that my brother was talking about?”  Olivia asked,  the familiar Charleston dialect met Hannah's ears as she tapped her pencil against the notepad, her smile fading, wondering what was exactly said when they all left town.

"Mhmm," Joe agreed, causing her to squint her eyes and study the girl before nodding her head.  "Makes sense, Bobby always goes for the pretty girls." 

Hannah brightened  at the girl's statement, "We heard Bobby had a sister, we just didn't know that she was going to be here with us."

"He wasn't expecting me to be here either."

"But we are damn glad that you are here." Joe threw in, his eyes fully on Olivia who offered him a bright dimpled smile. The warmth spread through him again and he slid his hand closer to the hem of her skirt but her hand grasped his wrist stopping it. 

"Stop.' She mouthed causing him to grin and capture her mouth with his. She laughed against his mouth and pushed his shoulder to push him away from her, "You are trouble."

"I know.' He returned, pressing another kiss to her mouth, if they could have gotten away with staying at camp away from all the prying eyes and Sobel, he would have opted to stay there with her instead of being with the crowd. She had been the only girl that he had ever met that made him want to do that. Not even Mary, the woman that held his attention for two weeks before the nurses arrived or any of his previous ex's made him want to do that.

Hannah huffed annoyed before jotting down their drink order and going back to the kitchen area to get them.

"I don't think she is necessarily a fan of me being with you." Olivia started as she released his wrist. "Oh well," He shrugged as he trailed his hand under her skirt touching her bare skin. "Joe.' She warned, but made no moves to stop him, "Behave."

"Babe, I hate to tell you, but I never behave." He went to press his lips against hers again and was stopped by a tiny voice yelling, "Auntie Bean!" She pulled away quickly, and smiled, "Eddie!" She slipped out of the booth and scooped her nephew into her arms, and rained kisses on his face causing him to giggle and try and push away from her.

"Where's your daddy and mama?" The little boy pointed a chubby finger behind him toward the door, sure enough, Olivia's oldest brother and his wife were standing by the hostess stand waiting to be seated.

 Samantha had caught sight of the man in uniform waiting for her and raised a questioning eyebrow, Edward had said something about Olivia going out with one of the boys in her platoon but she didn't think she was actually serious about it, her eyes searched out the man who had slid out of the booth as well to talk to her son who was staring at him, wide-eyed.

"I really hope she knows what she is doing." Edward sighed, "Joe is a known womanizer, he hooked up with the girl in his platoon and a couple of the waitresses here."

"I think your sister will surprise  you.' His wife returned as Olivia sat their son back on his feet and set him running back to them, "If she can get Lewis to want to change his ways, why not with Joe?" 

The older Stewart shrugged his shoulders watching as his sister slid back into the booth with Joe, he didn't want to admit his worry that his sister was going to get her heart broken by Joe and she would have to be constantly around him and have that reminder that he just wanted her for sex.

**

**

Joe caught Olivia's fingers in his hand as they settled at the table with Floyd, Grant, Skinny and several others had been at, and studied the rings that she had on her ring finger; he had noticed them before but never thought to ask about them. "The top one is from Lewis, it was a birthday present." She started using her free hand to point at the band with the dark red stones, "It caused a lot of problems between him and Kathy and me and her. She found it in his bag and assumed it was for her like she did with the earrings and necklace."

"God damn, Princess, what did you do to deserve this kind of stuff?" He questioned after a low whistle causing her to drop her hand onto his crotch and caressed his hardening dick.

"Fuck."He hissed lowly, "Careful.'

She turned her head and pressed a kiss to his cheek as her fingers caught his zipper.

"Liv."

"The other one is from Bill.'

 She carried on like they were having a normal conversation, "A promise more or less that he was going to do better and try and win me back." Her fingers pulled down the zipper and slipped inside grasping his length.

Growling lowly, Joe fisted his hand into her wavy hair and brought their mouths together kissing her, as she worked her hand up and down his length. 

A clearing throat broke Joe away from Olivia's mouth with a groan, he had been so close to cumming  and the fact that they had been interrupted pissed him off.

 "What?!" 

Floyd's laughter caused his anger to soar and Olivia to blush and bury her beet-red face into his neck. 

"Not funny Talbert. At all." Joe huffed as he pressed his lips against the top of Olivia's head.

"Sorry, but Liv's brothers are coming and I am sure she doesn't want them to see how wild she can be." Floyd returned, dropping into the seat next to her.

 Still blushing wildly, Olivia pulled away from Joe's neck and looked at their friend, "Thanks Floyd."

He nodded his head and pointed a finger to his cheek causing her to roll her eyes and lean over and kiss it. 

"Staying out of trouble?" 

 The lazy smirk pulled on the corner of his mouth, "Never.' 

"Why do all the men in my life say that?" She questioned, her eyes searching out first her twin brother who was with Adele sitting cozily together in the corner booth to where Lewis was at with Peacock and Khein and then to Bill who was with Evie fighting.

 "I swear, I spent half of high school pulling Bobby out of trouble and then in OCS pulling Lewis out of it." 

"Well, that's what wives should do for husbands." Mary's voice came as she joined them at the table.  

Floyd straightened when he felt Olivia tense, her fingers curling around the handle of the mug of beer tightly, "We aren't married." 

"That's not what your brother told us." She returned, flipping her brown hair over her shoulder smugly. 

'Did he also tell you that Lewis made it up to save me and our younger sister Marla from marrying someone old enough to be our grandfather? That our mother is so money and power-hungry that she doesn't care about her daughters well being and happiness? That was she okay with us possibly dying?" 

Joe had straightened as well looking between the two girls, he was surprised that Olivia was going to keep this from him after everything that they had shared with each other only an hour earlier. If he was a better man, he would have felt guilty about being with another man's wife, legal or not but he wasn't. He wanted her so much that he was willing to overlook this fib. But there was part of him that was furious that she didn't tell him earlier. 

Why was that too heavy to discuss? 

Mary almost looked stunned, she hadn't expected Olivia to stand up for herself like this, she had expected to be able to steamroll her into leaving Joe alone. This Olivia was different from the one she had grown accustomed to.  She didn't know if it was a good difference or a bad one. 

"Did he tell you that Kathy was a total bitch and that's why I stopped it?" Olivia's voice raised to where it alerted Lewis of what was going on and he came over to the table. 

"Liv? You good?" His hand went to touch her shoulder but she flinched away, for the first time, ever. 

"What in the hell happened?" He ordered. 

'Apparently, you two are married." Joe returned, his own anger that had been simmering from being interrupted and the fact that Mary had to bring this up. 

"So?" The 2nd Lieutenant questioned, a part of him wanted to back Olivia up and confirm what she was saying and the other part of him wanted to cause chaos and with the Vat .69 going through him he decided that it was the best option. "She may be my 'wife' but I am not going to stop her from doing whatever or whoever she wants. Even if it's you."

"Lewis!' Olivia exclaimed surprised, she couldn't believe that he was acting like this. 

"What? Liv, it's the truth, you know and I know it." 

"What's wrong with me?" Joe asked standing up, his hand wrenching free from Olivia's.

"Joe." She started standing up as well, putting herself between the two as if by their own free will, Joe's hands went to her hips and rested there pulling her back towards him, covering the fact that his fly was still undone. Thankfully, he had tucked himself back in when Olivia removed her hand, so they wouldn't really have a clue about what was actually going on other than making out, "Nothing is wrong with you. Lewis is just drunk.' 

"Am not." 

"Lewis, I know you as well as I know myself." Olivia started, 'You are drunk and you need to sober up.' 

"If I wanted someone bossy, I would have married Kathy. Not someone who is okay with being a slut." 

Joe's fingers tightened on her hips almost painfully and Bobby, who had just joined the group after putting it off, inhaled sharply. "Lew, that's enough." 

"If you wanted someone who would treat you badly and use you just for your money, then you should have married Kathy. You could have stayed at the church but you followed me, you were the one that thought up the whole oh, let's pretend we are married to piss off Katherine. Not me. You could have said no and left at any time." Olivia's voice trembled with hurt and unshed tears before she extracted herself from Joe's embrace, "But you didn't.  You agreed to wait until I was 21 if I didn't meet anyone else."

 The emotions that she had been holding onto for so long started bubbling up and she was afraid that she wasn't going to be able to push them back down.  

"I am um going to go back to base."  Her voice trembled as she turned to press her quivering lips to Joe's cheek, "I am sorry, I will make it up to you."  

"I will go back with you, Lieutenant." Ruthie, who had been sitting next to Floyd offered. "No honey, you stay and have fun. I will be okay."

[throneofsapphics]

old faces, part eight 

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Summary:  you and Rowan meet again after seven years, and deal with the fall-out of a secret. 

Warnings: mentions of death, drinking

Word Count: ~5.6k 

A/N: i’m not too sure about this one, but here it is!

series masterlist

The sun shifted, light hitting you directly in the eyes. You groaned, throwing your arm over your head. Disentangling yourself from your sheets … not your sheets, the one on your bed at the castle. 

Lurching forward in bed, a pounding headache set in, and not alcohol induced this time. 

The hungry look in Aelin’s eyes. Rowan’s hands on your face, your hips, in your hair. Aelin’s hand running over your shoulder, down your arm. Soft lips, canines grazing over your neck, whispers in your ear … 

You slammed your palm into your forehead, like you might shake the memory out - or reverse it.  

Was it a bad idea? Probably. 

Did you want it to happen again? Yes. 

Should it? No. 

You debated all of the possible reactions to last night’s events. 

Pretend it didn’t happen? That wouldn’t work. 

Hide out in the staghorns for the rest of your days? First, Ceri. Second, they might be concerned and come looking. 

Tell them it shouldn’t happen again? The most ‘mature’ reaction, but the most terrifying one to you. The next few weeks would be busy, and with a little luck you could limit encounters, and have time to find the courage to say what you needed to. 

“Don’t run away in the morning.” 

Like you’d run all those years ago. Was that what he meant? You’d run to keep yourself safe. But now … you’re struggling to grapple with a reason why that shouldn’t change. Everything was different now, and that meant you should react differently. Gods, it felt like your life was full of ‘shoulds.’ Everything you should, should have, and should not. If you could kill a word and bury it deep under, that would be the target. 

Pounding on the bedroom door. You’d been distracted enough you hadn’t sensed or scented anyone coming - but it was Ceri and Evangeline, and sure enough the door swung right open. The older girl had an apologetic look on her face as Ceri nearly sprinted in, jumping right up on your bed, flopping down on her back. 

You sent her what you hoped was a reassuring smile, and she only grinned back, telling the two of you she’d see you at breakfast. A nice way of informing her she was expected. 

“How was your night,” you prompted your daughter, and was treated to a full recounting of events. It took your mind off of the end to your night - or the beginning of your morning, and her joy was infectious. Listening attentively, you found yourself drawn into her story. 

“We jumped over a massive fire, taller than you!” 

“That’s impressive.” 

She nodded, “it was all magic.” 

“It was,” you added, smoothing out some of her hair. 

A few hours later, another pounding on the door - not the bedroom one this time. Swinging it open, it was him. Instantly, your face turned bright red. His mouth quirked at one corner. 

“Aelin’s still asleep,” he looked past you to see Ceri, grinning at him but not moving. An orange fluff ball was on her lap. Fleetfoot ran past him, running over to greet the two. 

“I’m glad they get along,” you said, as Halle jumped down, and the two went past them, probably to try and find someone to slip them bits of meat. Whenever you were here, so was Halle. Even if they tried, they couldn’t keep her away. 

Rowan was also treated to a full recounting of the previous night's events, something you tried hard to pay attention to - very intentionally not looking at him. Had he come to make sure you hadn’t run away? At least that meant they still wanted you here. 

-

Rowan was a bit surprised you were still there in the morning. He’d not expected, necessarily, but was fully prepared for you to disappear. Just like before. That wasn’t fair of him, not at all, but it didn’t stop the unwanted thought from popping in. You could barely look at either of them, as expected. 

Still, nothing seemed awkward throughout the breakfast - if you could call it that, the sun was already bright overhead. Aelin looked like, and had, just rolled out of bed. He debated what time to come knock on your door, but turns out someone beat him to it. Apparently she’d woken you up around nine, when the majority of the castle was still sleeping off the night before. You’d smiled fondly at her as she told everyone, before ruffling her hair. 

He found himself scanning the table. Their friends, and court, all in one place. Generally it resulted in some level of chaos, but he didn’t mind it. In four days, guests would start flooding in, and he relished in the temporary peace. 

Five months ago, they’d first brought up the ball to you. In the time that passed, you’d started your work as an advisor, and it had been invaluable. Although once word fluctuated to the librarians, they’d stolen plenty of your time with help for research. 

Too much of it, once they’d noticed the absolute exhaustion, Aelin had a little chat with them. Well, Ceri had brought it up first. Never giving any hint that you’d neglected her somehow - Rowan knew you wouldn’t - just that you weren’t sleeping as much, that you’d stay up half the night with books. Your daughter had always been skilled at sneaking around, and she’d only gotten better. 

“Ceri told me you spoke to the librarians,” you said casually, glancing up from the papers you were studying. “You didn’t have to do that, but thank you.” 

Aelin snorted, “they’d run you down to the bone if you let them.”

You would be ‘on-call’ during the week of meetings, but not ‘required’ to attend them, like the rest of the court advisors.

It happened this year several countries outside of Erilea would attend. That was confirmed before your arrival in Orynth, but Ceri’s appearance - and your own, would add an extra layer of interest. Anyone with two eyes could see who Ceri was related to, and he wouldn’t deny her anyway. 

He’s certain people know of her by now, but seeing and knowing are two very different things. He hated it, but it would be good to note who asked too many questions, and everyone in the castle already knew what to listen out for, and that was one item on the list.

Now that Beltane was over, there were several days of different kinds of preparations to do. Ones that were much less enjoyable. 

Ceri was staying for another few nights, but after breakfast you managed to slip away, with Fenrys, before he or Aelin could catch up to you. 

-

“Tell me what happened last night,” Fenrys demanded as you walked through the door. 

“We’re supposed to be working,” you tried to deflect, failing miserably. 

“I can’t do that until I figure out why you’re so …” 

“So what?” you hissed

“Skittish.” Fenrys raised his brows, arms crossing over his chest, daring you to disagree. Unfortunately, you couldn’t. With an overdramatic groan, you collapsed back onto the couch. “That bad?” He took the seat across from you. 

“No,” you closed your eyes. This might be easier to say if you don’t look at him. “Aelin and Rowan kissed me,” it came out barely above a whisper.

“And how do you feel about it?” He asked, and you peeked your eyes open. His expression was carefully neutral, giving away nothing. 

“Conflicted,” you answered honestly. 

“Was it not enjoyable?” A bit of amusement slipped into his tone. If you told him that - it would be a lie, and it would get back to them - he wouldn’t be able to resist making fun of them for it. Maybe if that happened … they’d be inclined to come prove you wrong. 

No. no. no. 

“That’s not it,” your hand ran over your face. “It just can’t happen again.”

“Why?” 

“You’re nosy today.” 

He snorted, “it’s my default.” 

“Fair enough.” 

“You weren’t supposed to agree,” his eyes rolled before his expression slipped back into neutrality. Unfortunately, he didn’t give up. “Why?”

He stayed silent during the long moments you attempted to put words to it. “It’ll make things … messy. Complicated.”

“Simple is boring.” 

“It’s easy. Maybe that’s what I want.” 

“The fact that you said ‘maybe,’ proves that wrong.” 

“What about Ceri? This is probably strange enough for her already” 

“She’s a kid.” 

“Exactly.” 

“So she’ll adapt. Are you scared she’ll ask if you’re special friends again?” You laughed, it wasn’t that funny, in fact the idea of it was horrifying, but it was enough to make you loosen up. 

Once you’d calmed down, Fenrys kept opening his mouth. “It’s obvious you all want each other. Why would you deny yourself?

That damn word again. Are you going to deny her? Are you going to deny him? Your toxic thoughts chose a fantastic time to resurge. Maybe you were nothing more than a way to pass time, a temporary reprieve to their boredom. Something to get out of their system. The mere thought left you feeling dirty, made your skin crawl. You didn’t know if you were capable of seeing them in that light. 

“Maybe I'm a masochist,” you finally responded. 

-

“I don’t know what to do,” she told Lys, collapsing back onto the couch. Twelve hours ago, you’d been here with her. 

“That’s a new one,” Lysandra grinned. “About the kiss?” Aelin scowled, and flipped her off. She hadn’t told her, hadn’t told anyone, but somehow the shifter figured it out and promised to keep it a secret. 

“No,” she gritted her teeth. Although she was a bit lost on that one, something she could figure out with Rowan. One task at a time, she reminded herself. One gods-damned thing at a time. 

First, get you a dress. 

Second, figure out when she can kiss you again. They hadn’t expected you to fall right in with them, although it would’ve been nice. But, the last thing she wanted was to scare you off - and that meant patience. 

Rubbing at her temples, she refocused herself. “On how to get her to go dress shopping.” 

“What’s stopping her?” Aelin kept her mouth shut. 

Definitely not something she’d be spreading around, she’d been trusted with that precious kernel of information. The main reason was to not betray her trust. But, even if you’d given your permission for her to share, she’d be reluctant to. A precious gift. One she’d want to keep to herself. Then again, Aelin had pissed several people off in the past for withholding information. What could she tell Lysandra without giving too much away? No matter what she said, it would imply something, and she refused to lie to her friend. Thankfully, before she could come up with an answer, Lysandra nodded in understanding. 

“Should we ambush her? Take her out to one of the shops?” 

“Catching her by surprise is our best shot,” Aelin paused, “but she’d hate being taken out into public like that.” She grinned at Lysandra, her plan already formed. Emerald green eyes twinkled in response. 

-

You intended on having a slow morning. All of the work you wanted to accomplish for the week was done, and for once you had zero plans. Recently, keeping yourself busy seemed like the only reasonable way to keep your sanity. Two days ago you’d kissed them. They’d kissed you. 

Maybe having zero plans was a bad idea. 

Aelin’s thumb grazing over your lips. Rowan’s fingers sliding into your hair. 

A loud meow snagged you out of the memories, and you mumbled a ‘thanks’ to Halle. At least nobody could witness you speaking to your cat, currently winding herself in between your legs. You leant down, scratching between her ears. 

“What is it?” Yellow eyes stared up at you, before she darted towards the cabinet. “I know Ceri snuck you one this morning.” 

Dried pieces of fish. Would stink up the house permanently, if you hadn’t a small box to contain the … stench. She wouldn’t stop staring, and you caved. A little bit of magic floated it, just high enough for her to lean up, snatch it, and dart off somewhere else. 

Less than a year in Orynth, and it already felt like home. At first, it felt a bit like a betrayal to Antica - to the friends there who’d become family, but … someone could have multiple, you supposed. Part of you might always belong there, but another part was growing its roots in this city, and Ceri was flourishing. That always helped. Your ‘advisor’ role helped too, bringing a different kind of purpose and motivation. Maybe you weren’t ‘vital’ or ‘essential’ to the country, but you felt like you were helping - and that was enough. 

A pulse from the wards showed visitors coming. The feel of their magic told you who, and your cheeks preemptively flushed. Glancing at the clock, Aelin was up early, for her. And dragged Lysandra with her. You didn’t have a good feeling about this. 

The door creaked, and then swung open. Maybe you shouldn’t have told them if it isn’t warded, locked, or before eight in the morning, they could come right in. Still in the kitchen, you sighed and started making tea for them. Then, you’d figure out whatever Aelin’s plan is, and try to keep yourself from blushing every time you looked at her. Halle re-appeared, winding herself around your ankles. 

-

Aelin wasn’t surprised you didn’t come meet them at the door. After all, you’d told all of them that if the wards didn’t keep them out, they could come right in. They’d all taken advantage of it one time or another - Fenrys, most of all. 

“You’re up early,” you commented - water set to boil on the stove. Aelin, on instinct, quickened the process for you, flames heating it up. A flash of surprise, you glanced at the pot, before shooting her a smile. “Thank you,” you murmured. 

“We’ve got things to do today,” she grinned, catching your eye. 

You looked at her skeptically, before asking Lysandra, “should I be worried?” 

Lysandra shrugged, and she jabbed her elbow into her ribs. At least you looked amused, rather than concerned. She waited to broach the topic until you were all seated. 

Halle had hopped into your lap, and you sighed - but didn’t try to remove her. There was a barely detectable smell of fish coming from somewhere. 

“Do you have a dress yet?” She already knew the answer. 

“I don’t,” one hand stroked Halle's fur, but the cat was still tense - staring right at Aelin, as if she could read her mind. Maybe it was too early, because it felt vaguely like the cat was warning her. “Ines hasn’t stopped harping on about it, one of her cousins is a seamstress.” 

“Who?” Aelin tilted her head, and you named the exact person she had in mind. 

“She told me last night she already gave her my measurements,” you groaned, “and I agreed to meet her tomorrow afternoon.” Aelin’s heart dropped to her stomach.

“That’s wonderful,” Lysandra cut in, and your eyes darted between the two of them, bottom lip rolling between your teeth. 

“It’ll be just me, here. If you’re not busy, I could use a friend or two with a good fashion sense.” 

Friend.

“We volunteer,” Lysandra replied, “what time?” 

“She’ll be here around two.” 

Meetings for the morning, some of the final preparations, wrapped up at half past one. They’d be a bit late, but could still make it. 

“Perfect timing.” Aelin noticed the cat finally settled. 

-

The kindest way to put it, was you were a wreck the next morning. In fact, you drank several cups of tea designed to keep you calm, and it worked somewhat. Baking carob cookies helped too. 

At least you knew the seamstress, Lya, from nights out. Unfortunately, she detected some of your nerves. 

“I promise I’ll try not to jab you,” she grinned. 

Laughing, you asked, “how much will I owe you?” 

“I’d be willing to trade instead.” That worked fine for you. 

Aelin and Lysandra showed up a quarter of an hour after her, and you were grateful they’d come. Their presence added excitement, instead of dread. They spoke eagerly to Lya, already familiar with her, about different colors, textures, designs, and you tried your best to keep on top of it.

Gold. That was the color you ended up deciding on, and a small gleam appeared in Aelin’s eyes at it. Sleeveless, gauzy and flowing, and a v neckline - bordering on the hint of modesty. 

An hour later, you’d made it through unharmed. You ended up trading three amulets, and a ward to alert of anyone approaching. She tried to insist the ward itself was enough, but you’d refused. If you were exchanging actual cash value, it probably would even out. But, without knowing, she’d made you feel comfortable during it, calming any nerves, and that was worth much more to you. 

Neither Aelin nor Lysandra commented, but they stayed with you until after the seamstress left. Just in time for Ceri to come home, her three friends in tow. The same friends she’d convinced to attend the local school with her, for the three days a week she went. 

“They really are inseparable,” Lysandra commented as you watched them through the window, running right up the path. Ceri paused twenty paces away, and her eyes lit up, she knew who was here. Maybe she remembered Lya was coming today - and you always baked when guests came over. 

The door swung open, and after a few quick hellos they breezed right into the kitchen where the sweets were. 

“And I thought you were excited to see me,” Aelin called after them. Laughter, and then the sound of a box opening. It took a few months, but they always made themselves at home now - and you loved it. 

Minutes later, they sprinted out into the back garden - going to check on the chickens. Lysandra made an excuse to leave, and it was just you and Aelin. 

“More tea?” You asked, heading towards the kitchen. You needed something to do, because looking at her kept bringing back memories, and being alone with her was dangerous. 

Aelin stood, and caught your wrist as you passed, calloused fingers closing around your skin. Knowing you’d probably regret it, you let her invade your space. Jasmine and lemon verbena. Her eyes met yours, before slowly scanning down your face - pausing on your lips, where your teeth bit almost painfully. 

You were frozen in time and place, stuck and lost as her thumb tugged it free, before slipping between your lips. Your skin heated, heart quickening as you swirled your tongue around it. The smallest touch from her should not be doing this to you. 

Hearing the back door open, you both separated, Aelin with a particularly feline grin. 

-

It was Terrasen’s first time hosting, and Aelin was glad to see everyone gathering under different circumstances. Several people who’d been in Orynth during the battle were coming. Dorian, Manon, Chaol, Yrene, Ansel, Sartaq and Nesryn, a few of Rowan's cousins, and more. 

The entourages from Adarlan, and the Witch Kingdom arrived first. 

In the end, they had to tell Ceri Manon was coming, likely with Abraxos, and coached her several times on what not to say. For example; ‘Rowan tells me bedtime stories about you.’

Gods, part of Aelin hoped Ceri did say it - if only to see Manon’s reaction. 

Still, her mind wandered to you. To that night. She’d only had that brief time alone with you, that moment when your eyes met hers, and she saw lust start to glaze over. The feeling of your tongue against her skin, the sound of your heart pounding, she wanted more. You were quickly becoming a sweet addiction. 

-

They weren’t announcing you were Rowan’s ex-lover, but anyone with two brain cells would put the pieces together. Instead, you were an advisor to their Court, and Ceri’s mother. 

It was probably one of the last things on everyone else's minds, but it was circling around in yours enough to cause a headache. Several headaches. 

“I can do this,” you muttered, in front of the mirror. There wasn’t any other option. 

“Do what?” Ceri asked, and you spun around to see her, lurking just outside of the door. She waited for you to answer. 

“Meet all of these new people,” you answered honestly. 

“I’m excited,” she grabbed your hand, tugging you away. “I’ll get to meet Manon,” she peered up at you, “do you think she’ll let me see Abraxos?” 

“You’ll have to ask nicely,” you squeezed her hand. “And maybe wait until you know her a bit better, Wyverns aren’t pets.” 

Ceri agreed, and you headed out. All you had to do was make it through dinner, and then you could overthink everything alone. 

-

She’d been to Terrasen before - since the battle, but visiting with several others would be interesting. From the air, she’d spotted the memorial to her … to her thirteen. Although she didn’t come here often, each time she did it almost felt like she could feel their presence - could hear Asterin; “Live, Manon. Live.” With some difficulty, she let the memory slip from her mind. It never got easier with time. 

Manon didn’t know what to make of Rowan’s child. The girl was perfectly polite, but kept sending her looks throughout the entire meal. Nothing rude, more like curious. 

She didn’t seem afraid of anyone. Her mother, on the other hand … you’d been introduced at the beginning as an advisor to their court. A few others seemed to vaguely recognize your name.  

“The child's mother,” she asked Dorian later on - keeping an ear open for anyone crawling around. “Who is she?” 

“A specialist.”

Manon scowled, at the small smirk growing on his face. He was enjoying knowing something she didn’t. The King didn’t say anything further, waiting for her to keep asking. 

“A specialist in what?” She hissed. 

Shrugging his shoulder, he only responded when she shot him another glare. “Wards, enchanted objects, those types of things.” Mildly interesting, and she noted it for later. “Ceri couldn’t stop looking at you,” he commented. 

“I’m aware.” 

Manon couldn’t tell from where, but she felt eyes on her. Launching to her feet, she began to search around the room, and felt Dorian’s magic doing the same. 

Then - soft paws, and a meow. An orange cat, bright yellow eyes, was staring at her. Not a shifter, and her body relaxed somewhat. 

“Where did you come from?” she crouched down, holding her hand palm up. It, Manon tilted her head, she trotted over, her head rubbing against her hand. Too well taken care of to be a stray, but she supposed there were always mice to find. 

She scented them first, then three knocks on the door. Dorian called them to come in, and Chaol, Yrene, and a good portion of Terrasen’s court followed. 

Aelin stopped as she saw the cat, eyes widening in surprise. 

“Halle,” she called, and the creature looked up. 

“You have a cat?” Dorian asked, “how does Fleetfoot feel?”

“Fleetfoot loves her,” Aelin huffed, “and she’s not my cat.” 

Sure enough, the cat spotted Yrene and bounded towards her - like greeting an old friend. “Or my cat,” Yrene said, but still bent down to scratch between its ears. “How did you end up all the way out here?” Another meow, and a purr.

“Yrene,” Chaol cleared his throat. 

She glanced up at him, to find most of the room staring at her. “She’s part Baast cat, I didn’t know any lived outside of the Torre. “Or that they mixed with other kinds.” 

“It’s almost like she knows you,” Aelin looked between them. 

“Well, they’re certainly not normal cats. To offend one is to insult them all, it's best to stay on their good side.” 

“She’s y/n’s cat,” Rowan finally said. With a swish of a fluffy tail, the creature trotted off through the still open door. Ceri’s mother is getting more interesting. “I should warn you,” he fixed his gaze on her, “Ceri’s recently -” 

“It’s not recent,” Aelin interjected - and she ignored him, 

“Become obsessed with Wyverns - and dragons.” 

“And?” Manon pushed. 

Aelin stalked over, and flopped down on the couch next to her. “We’re apologizing, in advance, for when she tries to badger you with questions.” 

“I’m surprised she hasn’t already,” Lysandra added, taking a seat across from them. 

The subject changed after that, and a bottle of wine was brought. Manon supposed if she was stuck talking to anyone, this group wasn’t the worst option.  

-

They couldn’t force you to, but had offered for you to come meet their friends, aware you’d probably decline. Aelin might consider them friends, but to you - you’d see rulers of different countries, a lot of which most people in Terrasen would never be in the same room as. 

As expected, you turned down the offer and although she understood, Aelin couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed, even as she tried to imagine herself in your situation. Rowan came up with the idea to warn Manon, instead of having Ceri catch her off guard. It was a smart decision, but it would’ve been nice to see the Witch Queen surprised. 

Gods, Aelin wanted you here - even felt like you’d belong. Aelin was waiting to see if you would be brought up, if someone would ask questions. 

“Your friend,” Yrene asked carefully - not sure who to address, “y/n, she’s from Antica?” 

“She lived there for a while,” Rowan answered. 

“I thought she looked familiar.” 

“Familiar?”

Yrene paused, her mouth tightening for the briefest moment - debating what to say. “Antica is busy - but I still remember faces.” Chaol’s hand covered her own, her friend smiling. 

You didn’t come up again for the rest of the night. 

-

Mind whirling, you tapped your foot incessantly against the carpet. Ceri was nearly asleep, Rowan finishing up a story. Likely, he had somewhere to be after this, and with a touch of luck he’d say a quick goodnight and walk right out the door. 

Instead, he stopped, eyes tracking your movements. Your foot stilled. 

“Nervous?” He asked, and took a seat next to you, still a healthy distance away. Shields of wind went up around the room, keeping nosy ears from listening. 

“A bit,” you admitted - fixing your eyes on the wall. It wasn’t nearly as nice to look at as the male next to you. 

“Look at me,” Rowan said rather gently. 

You couldn’t. A few seconds passed. 

“Look at me.” His words were more forceful, more demanding this time. “For fucks sake,” you heard him mutter, and his fingers closed around your jaw, turning your head. The grip didn’t hurt, but it was firm. He almost looked … worried. 

“Rowan, I'm fine.” 

Two fingers tapped together, he caught it. “Don’t lie to me.” 

Shrugging out of his grip, you stood, one hand through your hair. “Fine. I’m a fucking wreck, is that better?” Squeezing your eyes shut, you forced the memories out, back into the past - where they needed to stay. 

Grabbing your arm, he tugged you back down to sit. “Stay at the castle after.” 

It wasn’t a question, and something you’d already agreed to do. The look in his eyes … as if he was saying it for his own reassurance. 

Your throat bobbed, “I will.” 

Rowan’s hand slid down your arm, stopping to squeeze your hand. “Good.” 

-

The next morning, over breakfast, Ceri finally cracked. 

“I’ve heard all about you,” she told Manon. In the rush of everyone getting seated, they hadn’t noticed she was directly across from the Witch. 

Rowan braced himself. 

“Really?” Manon paused, putting her fork back down and giving her full attention. Aelin may have killed all of the Gods, but he still prayed. 

She hummed, “I want to be a Wyvern-rider,” he could tell she was holding her tongue - avoiding saying and a witch. She’d been very upset when they had to tell her Witches were born, not made. 

“I can take you on Abraxos.” The entire table went silent. 

“Absolutely -” Aelin started, he was still in shock that she'd even offered. He glanced at you, on Ceri’s right. Your shoulders had tensed, but you weren’t protesting. 

“Yes please, that would be amazing,” eyes identical to his own lit up in pure joy and excitement. 

Manon’s mouth briefly curled up at one corner, “then it’s settled.” 

His eyes slid to you, again, at how your mouth had tightened. Rowan watched as Manon met your gaze, and you held her stare for a few moments, before nodding almost imperceptibly, before nudging your head towards him.

Wanting him to agree as well. Very briefly, you looked at him.

Ceri had tracked the silent conversation, and now stared at him with pleading eyes. Shit. 

He looked at Manon instead - more like glowered, enough Aelin stomped on his foot. 

A silent stare said; anything happens to her and I'll destroy you.

Manon rolled her eyes, but her mouth indented at the corner. Was he really about to trust her to take her daughter on a wyvern? 

With you already agreeing, and Ceri likely to throw a fit if he disagreed, the decision was already made for him. 

-

The next morning, at dawn, a small crowd gathered as Ceri trailed Manon, approaching Abraxos. You were on edge, and this was insane, but a dream came true for your daughter. Maybe it wasn’t entirely fair you left the final decision on Rowan, but in your defense Manon looked at you first. 

You’d always been good at reading people, and animals, and this was the safest way possible. Plus, a hawk would be trailing them - wind prepared to slow her down if anything happened. 

Abraxos seemed to like her, and Manon explained everything, answering all of her questions. Honestly it seemed to surprise everyone around you as well. It was all she’d talked about last night, and it took some convincing to get her to actually go to sleep. 

You could’ve sworn little screams of joy were heard over the city as they did a loop around the castle and surrounding areas, a white tailed hawk trailing after them. 

Ten minutes, but possibly the longest ten minutes of your life. 

-

You fidgeted with your gown. Gold and elegant, Lya had really outdone herself. It was nothing like the last one, and you were grateful for it. Even then, part of you still wished your parents were here with you. 

“There’s going to be several guards watching over Ceri, all night,” Fenrys said, appearing behind you in the mirror. He’d told you this before - probably dozens of times by now, like he needed to beat it into your head that you were allowed to enjoy yourself. Still, you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to tell another person about the last ball you went to.

“Aren’t you supposed to be down there?” 

“I have a few minutes,” he glanced at the clock. “Don’t forget you have to be there too.” 

“You won’t let me.” 

After unnecessarily moving a pin around in your hair, you let Fenrys loop his arm through yours. “Remember to have fun. Remember you don’t belong to anyone.” 

“Obviously,” you nudged him. “What are you trying to say?” 

Voices started filling the hall, and he shot you a sly grin before merging both of you into the crowd. 

-

Ceri glowed. She wasn’t introduced as a ‘princess,’ but a member of the royal household. You were well aware that several parts of the world still shunned children born out of wedlock - especially in Royal families, and seeing her up there made you proud. Proud of how high she held her head, of the confidence radiating from her. 

Although her existence was already known, murmurs still rose in the crowd - just from a few people. A few sharp looks from Terrasen’s court and the Witches, cut those right off. 

The ball was beautiful. Joy, laughter, feasting, and dancing. Gods, just after a few hours you thought your feet might fall off. But as Aelin and Rowan swept across the dance floor, it brought a strange feeling. It wasn’t jealousy sneaking into you, but a realization.

There would never be a place for you there, with them, not with how perfectly they fit together. As far as you were concerned, whatever that night was - physical attraction drove it. Nothing more. It couldn’t be more, even if you wanted it to. Giving in to that same desire … it wouldn’t end well. If you grew attached like that, it would rip your heart out once they realized you didn’t fit, and that would come eventually. 

You can’t speak for them, a little voice whispered in your mind. Likely part of you  trying to convince yourself it could work. But, it wasn’t like you to wait around in denial. 

‘You don’t belong to anyone,’ 

When a witch strode up to you with confidence, asking if you wanted to dance, you said yes without a second thought, sore feet forgotten. When she asked if you’d like to get some fresh air, you agreed. 

In a private corner of a garden, her hand slid around your waist, the other sliding into your hair, you let yourself lean into the moment and forget. 

-

The light hit your dress at all of the right moments, drawing his attention to you. Gold. He knew Aelin must’ve been behind it. You were absolutely beautiful, and each person you danced with seemed charmed. He hadn’t made his way over to you, but he planned on it at some point throughout the night.

Just as he thought he had an opportunity, your last dance finished, Rowan saw you smile at her, watched the witch lead you from the ballroom, and couldn’t do a damn thing.  

taglist: @holb32 @fussel9913 @moonlightttfae @cassianswh0reeee, @reidishh

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Promising love in flames

Daeron Targaryen (son of Viserys I) x wife!reader

warning : emotional, character death, kissing, hurt/comfort, daeron is the only one of his brothers who is normal and doesn't suck in the fic, no use of y/n

Summary : Daeron the only heir to the green throne before his niece Jaehaera was the last hope that the throne could still be held. Even after the many defeats, his older brother sat crippled but still alive by the iron swords. But the second battle at Tumbleton was imminent and it seemed that Daeron and his wife would only be able to see each other one more time before death appears.

info : It's a shame Daeron isn't in the series i like him even though his death is such a mystery and like everyone i just feel sorry for everyone during the war. I inflicted myself with emotional damage sadly. I hope it doesn't hurt too much to read this, have fun anyway :)

masterlist

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

The war was raging over Westeros and especially in King's Landing and the surrounding villages and towns at its worst. Houses had already been wiped out, more people died every day than from the plagues of disease it was miserable everywhere.

People were starving, and if they didn't starve they died of the pharynx, and if the fire didn't cure them it was the sword of a saw or a rope around the throat.

They all died in one way or another. The blacks behind Queen Rhaenyra had already lost the poor princes and thus the queen's children as well as the rough prince doc nevertheless they did not give in they still had reserves and the Nord who still played a role gave everything he had in men and resources under Cregan Stark. Every dragon seed was used for the remaining dragons or other positions.

But similarly, each house tried their best to help the now injured and crippled King Aeon the Second and protect his last child, his daughter, but their hopes lay with the former Queen Alicent's youngest child after the moon was killed by his uncle.

Daeron Targaryen third son of Viserys the first the youngest of his siblings a young man of sixteen years but with the courage and determination to unseat his stepsister and continue to hold the throne. But this was also the only dragon the greens had left after the collision of the dragon pit by the people.

Tessarion and his rider Daeron were the last hope for the greens, his mother, his brother, his niece, the people and above all the young prince was the hope and light of his wife.

Shortly before the outbreak of war, the marriage had been arranged with the first daughter of Lord Peake, a girl of his age, not only politically, because of the countries and the men's discrimination, it seemed as if there was a certain tragedy behind it.

It was a chilly morning in the sept of King's Landing when the royal lady arrived with Lord Unwin Peake. A daughter in a dark dress of her family was already standing at the entrance next to her father, a man who was proudly dressed.

His daughter was bound to the prince of the realm, the winning side, and that meant favor and respect for a good marriage from the point of view of the players.

She remembered the fear she had that he would not like her, that she would not like him as she walked the path to Atlar past the royal family to which she would soon belong. But her husband, the prince of the kingdom of Daeron stood there a cloak green with gold the clothes decorated with dragons which met her bronze with the towers. ,,My lady, I am delighted to see you," he had murmured to her, taking her hand gently, it was his softness that set him apart from his brothers and his dreamy sister. It seemed that Daeron was the good coin of the Targaryen.

It was then, in the few moons they had together found peace, that they truly took a liking to each other. He was always willing to prove to his brothers that he was just as strong as them, just because his dragoness was the smallest of the adults.

But it was always like this as soon as he came back to her and he became soft, poetic and above all loving. His kisses were always gentle never hard and harsh like a dragon he was just the picture of a good prince.

She had a loving dragon with a sense of duty and who fought for his family and took them on flights into the sky and to uncharted cities with his dragoness Tessarion. ,,Only you surpass the sky in your beauty my lady" were just a few of the compliments he paid her. He was soft, showed her things that only a prince and princess couple could do, let her tinker with things and she let him listen to old stories from valyria while he held her in flight.

It was a marriage that was childless at that young age but it was a marriage that was politically correct and they both got to know each other better. Until the time they were called to the council and the news of the war came, ,,I will do my duty brother my life is dedicated to the crown" he had said first without hesitation and she held his hand.

It was his loyalty and duty to which his brothers were committed and always needed. He looked into the violet eyes of determination as they were sent off to Oldtwon that very evening.

He served his kinsman Lord Hightower and always reassured her that everything would be all right, ,,I'll protect you with my life, my love," he murmured over and over when he found her weeping bitterly.

She was afraid of losing her family, afraid of losing her Daeron…but by that point her husband had earned the title of Daeron the Daring and won the first victory in Tumbleton.

It was a victory that was celebrated, a victory she looked forward to with a pounding heart as she waited in his tent, which was guarded. She ran longingly into his army and he held her again.

He always held her even now in the year one hundred and thirty after aegon's conquest when the second battle of tumbleton took place and the attackers took her by surprise. it was a knowing that it was over.

They just had to listen outside, ,,Yet this day was so beautiful," she heard him murmur as the prince rose from his chair by the battle plan, the simple golden crown on his head removed. His eyes were violet with disappointment, love and relief.

His wife got up from the two-seater and put down her wine. In her dress she always looked like a beautiful queen to him. ,,Tessarion seemed so free," she admitted and looked outside, the tent flap fluttered every now and then and they knew what was going on outside. They could not withstand such an attack.

He nodded yes, his Tessarion seemed very happy on their morning ride together, spitting beautiful blue flames, circling calmly and cuddling her rider and his wife. ,,She loves flying like we do," he said and held out a hand to his wife, who accepted it.

His violet eyes looked at her despite their young age, they seemed to have aged. Daeron's hair slightly tousled and still with soot damaged here and there by the fires, his beloved's dress beautiful and yet with splashes of blood as she too had seized crossbow and sword to defend herself until Tessarion killed the attacker.

Her eyes showed her youth but her body was tired of it, ,,Duty my daring prince you were too good for this damned bloodshed" she said and laid her head against his chest.

His heartbeat, though relatively fast, was not full of fear, his hands trembling slightly around her. His lips kissed her forehead and his fingers made her look at him.

Tears had gathered in her eyes as the screams grew louder and she felt the warmth above the tent. The tent where they had spent the last days and weeks. A beautiful tent where they shared love, kisses and emotions.

But he wiped away the falling tears, kissing her cheeks gently as he always did, ,,I love you from the day I saw you. I couldn't be more grateful and proud," he told her with a soft smile that made her lips evenfalsl into a smile. Her sniffles mingled with silent tears of pride as he heard the cry of his dragoness she heard the words in Valyrian he commanded his beloved dragoness to fight one last time and fulfill her duty.

It was Vermithor and Seasmoke in the sky when they heard Tessarion rise with a scream and flames engulfed the tent only moments later. The heat slowly increased the blood increased the death increased. Their end came closer. ,,You were a good being, loyal and daring…thank you Tessarion," she heard him say as the blue flames of his dragons engulfed the tent and the prince seemed unafraid of the flames of his family, even if his own eyes watered. His favorite memories slowly burst into flames around them, a nice contrast to the beauty of his wife.

She liked the flames of Tessarion, the blue was pretty, the dragoness was beautiful and Daeron was gentle, it seemed almost soothing to die in his arms surrounded by the warmth of the pretty color of the cobalt blue, the violet of her dear Daeron's eyes and his light hair. ,,Will it hurt?" she asked nevertheless as the flames began to engulf the furniture and wooden beams and it grew closer and more inescapable.

A question they both knew would only do so for a moment before they would die in each other's arms. ,,Just for a moment, my love, but I'm with you," he promised, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear and joining their hands together.

They were still beautiful and in love, they were everything majestic there was in this hellhole. They were eternal in the stages of history and each other's hearts and that was what mattered.

Blue flames crawled across the ground slowly touching their clothes and Daeron's cloak the dragons on his cloak began to burn their towers began to glow. It was getting hot just below the surface, but all only for a moment it seemed to go away.

They sang to each other, ,,I love you so infinitely with my heart that we may be together again in the endless journey," tears of fear and love flowed down the cheeks of the young royal couple as they joined for one last kiss.

Before the blue dragon fire flames ignited their bodies the love burned but the couple smiled softly into the kiss. Received death with love and courage and should be written in the history books of the masters yet to be read.

Prince Daeron died in his wife's arms and she died in his arms, sharing one last kiss before the flames of Tessarion's loyalty put an end to them. It was the most beautiful and tragic image the Dance of the Dragons produced, but it was a love for eternity. The love between a true prince and his lady wife. Together forever beyond the mortal world, bound by the love in their hearts.

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

[jjunieworld]

─ 𖥻TXT MASTERLIST! ` ˖

key: fluff (☁️), angst (🌪️), smut (🥛), smau (📲), written series (📖), one shot (📓), drabble (📄), other (💬), ongoing (🎬), completed (📨), hiatus (📪), discontinued (🗑️)

note: for my works, i consider drabbles to be under 2k words.

NEW MASTERLIST HERE!!!

𓊆ྀི OT5/MULTI 𓊇ྀི

꩜ jjunieworld’s 2024 valentine’s day event

꩜ having another member’s pc in your phone (💬,☁️)

꩜ you called your pet “baby” and not them (💬,☁️)

꩜ txt as mitski lyrics (💬,🌪️,☁️)

𓊆ྀི YEONJUN 𓊇ྀི

꩜ romeo & juliet (📲,☁️,📪)

the hybe theatre club has an unspoken belief, whoever plays romeo and juliet in the annual play each year will end up falling in love with each other. this year, you and the person you hate the most get casted together.

꩜ lip gloss! (📄,🥛,☁️)

while getting ready for your date, yeonjun notices how you kept licking your lips after applying your lip gloss. let’s just say you don’t make it to your date as planned…

𓊆ྀི SOOBIN 𓊇ྀི

꩜ all for a bet (📲,🌪️,📨)

choi soobin has always been the popular kid surrounded by his popular friends. you... not so much. one night, soobin and his friends make bet that soobin can't get you to date him in a month. unfortunately for you, you're a hopeless romantic.

꩜ the great bake off! (📓,☁️)

after getting fired from your job as a pizza delivery driver, you’re in desperate need to find a new job before you get kicked out of your apartment. that’s when you hear about the local bakery looking for employees. thinking, “why not? i’ve worked with dough before!”, you apply and actually get the job. that’s when you and the son of the bakery’s owner decide that it would be fun to compete to see who can make the most baked goods for a prize.

↳ ꩜ spilt milk (📓,🥛)

after a particularly messy competition week in the shop, you and soobin are told to stay after hours to clean the bakery up. with soobin winning the title of the best baker who ever lived, you have an idea of what his prize should be.

꩜ from the start (📓,☁️,🌪️)

you never really understood the saying “you’ll always remember your first love,” but that was before you fell in love with your bestfriend soobin. now all of it makes sense. you notice everything about him, from his dimpled smile to the way he could go on and on about the things he loves. and that just makes you fall for him more. cupid has shot an arrow through your heart and you can’t take keeping your feelings for him inside anymore.

𓊆ྀི BEOMGYU 𓊇ྀི

꩜ “i dare you to kiss the prettiest girl in the room” (📓,☁️)

you and your bestfriend beomgyu decide on going to a new year’s eve party so you’re not bored at the start of the new year. the party goers suggest that you all should play truth or dare. one of beomgyu’s friends decides to dare him to kiss the prettiest girl in the room, knowing you have a crush on him.

꩜ don’t delete the kisses (📓,🌪️,🥛)

two years ago, you admitted to yourself that you were in love with your bestfriend beomgyu. two years ago, you and your bestfriend beomgyu stopped being bestfriends. now he’s an up and coming musician and you see his face and hear his music almost everywhere in your local town; not knowing that the songs he writes are about you.

꩜ more than this? (📓,🥛)

when beomgyu asked you to be fuck buddies, you thought it was risky considering your already growing feelings for him. but, you just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be close to him in any way that you could. now you’re wondering if the two of you will ever be anything more than this.

𓊆ྀི TAEHYUN 𓊇ྀི

꩜ february 14th (📓,🌪️,☁️)

this has to be the worst day of your life. and just your luck, the day keeps repeating. over and over again. and you don’t know why. you get to relive the same day where you finally garner the courage to ask your crush, kang taehyun, out and get to relive the part where he rejects you each time.

꩜ 6:41 a.m. (📄,☁️)

you’re awoken early in the morning from taehyun’s alarm to go to the gym and decide to go with him. you end up distracting him from his routine with your staring and decide to encourage him with kisses to help him.

꩜ meet cute (📄,☁️)

you had a thought and a dream, you were going to be a magician. so you did what one who wants to be a magician does next, you went to a magic store. and what did you do? accidentally knock over a shelf of bang snaps and came face to face with an actual magician.

𓊆ྀི HUENINGKAI 𓊇ྀི

꩜ stupid cupid! (📓,☁️)

hueningkai, better known as cupid, is known for his art in helping people fall in love. shooting his arrows here and there, getting those who are meant to be together. what happens when after he shoots one of his love arrows at you, the other one somehow ends up hitting him?

꩜ spin the bottle (📄,☁️)

you’re what people like to call a “wallflower.” your more extroverted friends have been doing everything in their power to try and break you out of that. so they dragged you along to a party and somehow you’re stuck playing spin the bottle with people you barely know.

꩜ a bed in your shape (📄,🌪️)

for as long as you could remember, you’ve been in love with your bestfriend kai. the only problem is, he never loved you back. yet, you can’t stop imagining your life with him.

↳ ꩜ a life in your eyes (📓,🌪️,🥛)

it’s been almost two years since your childhood bestfriend kai left you in your sacred shared field alone and your friendship ended. now the girl your friendship ended over is out of the picture and you saw him again for the first time since that field. try as you must, you just can’t stop the undeniable pull you’ve always felt towards each other.

NEW MASTERLIST HERE!!!!!

𓊆ྀི THOUGHTS 𓊇ྀི

꩜ academic rival!taehyun (💬,📄,🥛)

꩜ your cat vs. beomgyu (💬,☁️)

[dearestspirit]

a note heard in heaven - 04

mizu x fem!reader | au based on the film the handmaiden | word count: 3,826 | warnings: mdni. this series will contain sexual and dark themes, including: abuse, sex, sexual assault/harrasment, period typical misogyny, murder, allusions to suicide, and period typical stigmas against mental health.

series masterlist | previous part | next part

With a deafening metallic crash, the bell you’ve been ringing falls to the ground, the string snapping. Mizu, still enraged, fumbles with her sheets before rising to her feet. She’s sliding your door open so hard it thwacks against the wall, nearly closing once more. Every bit of her anger crackled within her, a roaring fire yet to be settled. If she shut her eyes for even the briefest moment, all she could see was you in Taigen’s lap. The way you so easily accepted his lips on yours, his fingers slithering up past your underclothes. Approaching your bed, she’s sure you can feel the heat radiating off her. She hopes it burns you. Melts you until you’re ash she can blow out to sea; watch as you mix with the water and then never visit the shore again.

You’re upright on your bed, heart thudding with every heavy step Mizu takes that shakes the floor. “I can feel a nightmare coming.”

“And?” She stares.

You’ve never been scared of her eyes. But her glare is frighteningly cold, devoid of any care for you. You yearn to see her eyes the way you had seen them yesterday; comforting you, cupping your cheeks and telling you those tender words to not feel guilty for being born. You’d hate to hear whatever thoughts were running through her mind right now, if she felt any sense of regret. Her lack of emotion towards you left you bitter.

“You know, it’s hard to do those readings. I would’ve liked it if you were here to help me with my clothes,” You flip the corner of your blankets over, scooting to the left and patting the spot where you sat. “Lay here.”

“Yeah,” Mizu scoffs. “I’m sure you would’ve gotten your clothes off just fine with The Count’s help.”

You don’t respond, already on your side and staring at the wall. Away from her.

If she looked close enough, she thought she could see a tremor in your shoulders. That feisty resolve of hers was crumbling, and it didn’t take long for her to slide in next to you. She too faced opposite you, not wanting to look you in the eyes. A few beats of silence pass once she settles under the covers. Closer to you now, she can feel it. Your breaths aren’t the most stable, and your skin emanates a chill that almost worries her.

“The Count… he proposed to me,” You’re whispering so quietly she’s not even sure if you can hear yourself. “Next month, when my fiance leaves for his visit to the family business, we’ll escape and elope.”

She’s plucking at the threads of your blankets, shrugging. “You said yes?”

“I said I wasn’t sure.”

“Why?” Mizu’s tone switches to annoyance. That wasn’t the plan; you were supposed to be elated. Say yes in an instant.

“I’m scared of The Count.”

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” Mizu grits her teeth, as if she’s trying to convince herself of the lie she just told. “He’s a better man for you than your fiance.”

“I can tell he’s not, like an instinct.” You’re sighing, rolling yourself over so that you face Mizu’s back.

Gulping, she finds the courage to do the same. Your breaths, short and shallow, billow across her face. Strands of your hair fall over your cheek. In a moment she doesn’t even think, tracing your cheekbone with her finger to tuck your hair behind you. Like an instinct.

Before she can get too distracted, you lean close to her.

“Mizu,” You mumble, and there’s a tinge of embarrassment on your expression. “I don’t understand men. What they want after marriage… I didn’t have a mother here to teach me. I know first… I’d have to kiss The Count, right?”

She’s dumbfounded, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, you’d have to kiss him. Which you’ve already done, so I don’t know why you’re having a fit.”

“I’m not!” You whine, the noise tugging on Mizu’s heartstrings. Maybe she liked when you were a little bit of a playful brat. “I just don’t know about everything that… comes after.”

“You and The Count will kiss, and then hug. In bed,” She snorts at putting such inappropriate thoughts into innocent euphemisms. “Just say yes. It’ll be fine, you don’t even need to think about it.”

“What if I don’t feel anything?” You mutter, squirming in discomfort.

Mizu groans, head falling. “Look, I’ll show you one thing, then you’ll go to bed, wake up and say yes to The Count. You can figure the rest out yourself.”

She can’t say she didn’t feel bad for you; even though she herself didn’t have a mother for these things either, she had a plethora of friends who would talk about all these crass topics together. Sharing stories of their encounters to pass the time. Yet here you were, all alone with no peer to fool around with. Though she supposed you now had that little tryst with Taigen– she’d been trying to black it out of her mind to avoid the bristles of anger it’d bring her– but she doubts he taught you anything useful out of that. She knew him. He would put his hands on you and take the lead. Touch you where he wanted to touch you. With pinching fingers that’d sting and bruise. Is that what made her so furious? That she’d be complicit in letting someone like you, fragile and delicate, be fed to a wolf like him? She didn’t care if you liked him. It was fine, it was more than fine, it was the plan. She doesn’t like you.

She reaches over you, digging around the drawer next to you to find the candy you liked; the one she had given you in the bath. Popping it in her mouth, she wets it sufficiently, before spreading a thin, sticky layer of sugar on the outside of her lips. If she was going to kiss you, she’d at least make sure you enjoyed it. For your sake. She doesn’t like you.

But then you’re staring at her expectantly, pouting as you wait for her to make any sort of move, make any sort of comment.

“You’re so…” She sounds breathless, the tightness in her chest growing.

One of her thumbs comes up to pass across your bottom lip. Her knuckles brush against your cheek. Hoping her fingerprints can memorize the little imperfections of your skin. Hoping, selfishly, that her touch could stain you, make you hers.

Cute. Is what she wants to tell you.

“Infuriating.” She finishes, and with the most delicate touch she could muster, presses her lips against your own.

It’s swift, as if your body could barely process the feel of her. When your tongue swipes out, you find that the taste of that candy she had once fed you in the bath is sweeter, this time. It doesn’t take her long to chase after you, giving you another chaste peck.

“Mizu,” You murmur into her mouth, opening your eyes. “How’d you learn this?”

“I had friends who told me.” She tells you.

“In words, or…?” You’re asking, unsure if you want the real answer to that.

“Yes,” She huffs, chuckling. She’s pulling away from you, moving back to how she was before you two kissed. “Just words. Let’s get you to bed, okay?”

You’re silent, though she can see the way your eyes have darkened. Yet they’re shining– barely reminiscent of the dull, lonely girl she’s been so used to. It takes her by surprise when you reach for her neck, pulling her lips back to yours fervently. She had kissed you so sweetly, yet your kiss burns her. Ardent with desire, you’re quick to prod your tongue against her mouth. You’re nearly cooing when she opens hers in return, your content exhales satisfying the need she had buried deep within her. Remorse creeps in her bones when she realizes she has to pull away, taking a breath the both of you needed. You’re panting beside her, hand on your chest right over your heart.

“I felt it.” You’re grinning, lips still shining.

Mizu’s smile drops, a cold rush of panic seeping through her when she hears your words. It’s not supposed to be her.

“That’s what you’ll feel for The Count.” She’s rushing to fix the mess she’s made.

“Really?” You’re snuggling yourself closer to her, giggling. “He’ll like bedding me, even with my cold hands and feet?”

You’re playing around, and Mizu wishes she could entertain that. Just for a while, forget all about Taigen. In her mind there’s a world where there is nothing but the two of you; there is no horrible past spent being a criminal, there is no awful fiances, there is no Taigen. There, she can dote on you– and, if she let herself really be vulnerable and admit it to herself– you’d dote on her too. She’d kiss you breathless in the morning, the afternoon, at night. Rest her head on the plush of your thighs while your fingers stroke her hair. Lay her body over yours to keep you warm. Sate your hungers in any way you wished. She’d like bedding you, she wanted to hiss.

“He will.”

“Are you sure?” You’re squinting, still smirking.

“Yes, I’m absolutely-” She’s cut off by the feeling of your hand reaching into her underclothes, the chill of your hand shocking her when it cups her breast. “Oh.”

“Do you like it?” Your head tilts, a devious sparkle in your eye.

She’s gasping when your cold fingers give a faint pinch to her nipple, an intense flush crawling up the back of her neck, her ears, to her cheeks. You bite your lip, thinking just how ethereal she looks; her dark hair framing her face, eyes wide with what you hope is the same lust yours hold, and that pink glow. You wanted, so badly, to sink your teeth into whatever skin of hers you could reach. To taste whatever she’d be willing to give you. You wanted her to give you her touch.

“Show me, Mizu,” You plead, burying your teeth deeper into your lip. “Do it to me.”

She has to get herself together. Her eyes can barely focus on your form in the low light of the room. She kneads at your breast over the fabric of your underclothes, not daring to go further.

“The… The Count will like this, too.” Mizu says with a rasp, barely able to contain herself.

Her hand reaches higher, slipping the sleeve of your robe off your shoulder. Your bare chest now exposed, she watches you shudder as the cold air meets your skin. Her mouth runs dry, making a quick glance back up at your eyes. Taking your upper arm into her hand, she pushes you back so she can hover over you.

“If he sees you like this…” It’s sudden, the way she dips her head down and encloses her mouth around your nipple.

She doesn’t want to hurt you– that much is evident by the way she avoids scraping her teeth against the peak. Instead she laps at it soothingly, relishing in your muffled whimpers. When she sucks, your hand flies to her hair, pulling. The sting as you tug on the strands excites her, causing her to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to the swell of your breast. To the valley between them, following the column of your throat to the bottom of your chin. She can tell your mouth is open in an attempt to speak; teasingly, she circles her thumb around your nipple, wet with her spit. Heavy, stuttered breaths escape you as your mouth opens and closes, trying to gain some footing. Is it wrong of her to say she likes toying with you? Not cruelly, like your fiance would, and not demandingly like Taigen would; but giving you what you want, just never enough. Anything to hear your staggered moans. See the dewdrops of tears shine in the corners of your eyes. And you’ll find that no matter how much she taunts you with just hints of pleasure, that it’s the sweetest touch you’ve ever felt. Ever will feel.

“Will he be this gentle, too?” You ask, voice hoarse.

“How could he not?” Mizu tells you, words tickling your skin. “He’ll do this, too…”

Her fingers dance at the hem of your robe about halfway down your calf, not quite reaching underneath but not entirely innocent, either. She waits until she feels the nod of your head in the crook of her neck, and then she’s diving in. It parts so easily, the thin fabric pooling under you. Your legs squeeze together when you feel her trace up your thighs, so slowly you wonder if it’s torture. Tugging at her sleeves, you try to pull her underclothes past her chest, wanting her bare. When you do, she’s descending down your body, tongue trailing down along with her. Her nails scrape down your sides, not deep enough to scratch but enough to leave red lines in their wake. They’d fade before the sun rose, but you’d cherish them all the same, fingers curving over the way they slightly raise your skin.

“Keep showing me,” You breathe out. “Do it like The Count would.”

She has half the mind to bite deep marks into your thighs– if Taigen ever reached down here, he’d be met with imprints of her teeth. Sucked into your skin until they blossom in every bold shade of red, purple, blue. Maybe then, she thought, he could no longer mindlessly devour you– you can’t, not after you had already been so lovingly tended to. Those memories would stick to every nerve ending of yours. You’d think of her during whatever mediocre sex Taigen would put you through. You’d think of the rush of intimacy you two shared. You’d call out her name. Mizu settles by dragging her tongue up your skin; starting from just above the inside of your knee to near the apex of your thighs.

“The Count will tell you that you’re soft, warm, and…” Her hands grab at the back of your knees, positioning them so they’re raised, your feet flat on the bed. Leaning her head against your knee, she sighs. “Breathtakingly beautiful.”

You’re leaning up on your elbows now, smiling down at her. Her mind is about to short circuit. You were real. Those precious eyes of yours gleaming with unbridled bliss. How badly had she wanted this without even knowing it? To sink down to your cunt, take your waiting clit into her mouth and taste you. To drink every drop of slick her tongue could. She wanted to hear you keen, to feel you grind your hips on her face. Worship the way you’d clench around her fingers– one, two, however many you’d beg for. Do anything for you that Taigen could never dream of doing. After all, Taigen loved you because he could ruin you; she wanted to ruin you because she loved you. The acknowledgement of that terrified her, her once feverish motions slowing to a halt. Her palms caress the backs of your thighs, tongue coming out to wet her lips as she contemplates what she’s doing. You were being so patient even as she hesitated.

“Would The Count be staring like this, too?” You quip, though your hand soothingly cards through her hair.

“Sorry,” She’s sheepish at your observation. “He would.”

When you mewl out as her lips meet your clit in a timid kiss, she knows she’s a goner.

Her ears ring with the sound of your shared moans the next morning, unable to get the angelic sounds to pass from her mind. She’s once again forced to sit in on your painting lessons with Taigen, the sight of the man making her sick to her stomach. Though, there’s also a twinge of pride knowing she had been the one to watch you come undone. You had fallen apart with such a loud, shuddering gasp– it had sent a quiver up the bumps of her spine, electrifying her. Taigen would never have the luxury of hearing it. Never feel the needy rock of your hips against his own, never delight in the deluge of your wetness soaking him. Even if it were only to happen once, she had already etched herself into you. Carved out a place for herself so that your bodies could mold seamlessly. Your fingers interlocked, legs coupled together as the heat of your arousal slotted against hers.

Mizu’s shaken out of her thoughts when she notices Taigen glide a hand up your arm. The discomfort on your face is apparent. Taigen had given her simple instruction, though– sit and be quiet. Even patronizingly gave her a pencil and some loose sheets of paper to follow along with the lesson. There’s just chicken scratch doodles and letters scrawled across it to quell her frustrations. His hands continue their journey over the dips of your hip.

“Stop.” You whisper, cringing away from his touch.

She wants him to leave you alone. Her pencil scratches harder, listening to you snivel while Taigen just chuckles. It’s not until your own pencil clatters to the floor as you yell, “Stop it!” that she stands up, towering over Taigen sitting behind you.

He lets out a cough, raising himself. He fishes around in his pocket for a while, digging out a coin and extending it to Mizu. “Go find some other job to do. You know?”

Taking one glimpse at you, she sees the trepidation in your expression. Your trembles, imperceptible to the naked eye unless trained for it. By now, she knew exactly what you looked like when you felt fear. Always because of your fiance, or Taigen. Tearing her eyes away from you, she takes the coin from his grasp. Your shoulders fall as she approaches the door. Behind her, there’s a hushed, stuttery breath. She knows it's you. Exhaling, she turns on her heel and stands in front of Taigen.

“My only job is to watch over her.” Mizu says, deliberately enunciating her words as she places the coin back into his palm.

She doesn’t miss the way your lip quirks up, the tension in your muscles easing as you let yourself relax.

Mizu’s chasing after Taigen as he follows just one of the dirt paths on the property. He’s kicking rocks, angrily muttering under his breath until he notices her presence. Taigen, with a furious grip, grabs her wrist and pulls her closer to him.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He hisses callously. “I could’ve had her! She’s fully ripe. If you mess this up, we’re fucked!”

She struggles in his grasp, breathing labored from running after him. He doesn’t even give her a chance to respond before he’s continuing on his tirade.

“I have fought way too hard to escape that shitty village,” His skin burns red in exasperation. “I’m not letting you ruin it. Should I tell her what you really are? A lowly thief preying on her, huh?”

“Then I’ll just tell her the same thing about you,” Mizu spits. “The son of a poor farmer from the same poverty stricken village I am.”

“Mizu,” His fingers clasp harder around her arm as he talks calculatedly. “Think of everybody depending on you back home. What would your mother say if she knew you were destroying a golden opportunity such as this?”

Pulling out of his hold, she’s finally able to swat his hand away from her, panting. “Just… don’t go too far. She doesn’t have anyone on this earth, so if you scare her, she’ll never say yes. I’ll… I’ll work on it. And don’t ever fucking touch me again.”

She’s stomping away from him, leaving him behind to stew in his disbelief.

You’re sprawled out across the lounge chair in your room, Mizu on her knees at your feet. Her hands massage up the tired muscles of your calves, adoring your sleepy sighs of peace. You’ve got an elbow propped up on the chair’s arm, cheek in palm as you stare down at her.

“Miss,” Mizu breaks the silence. “You know, your nails have been growing longer since The Count got here. You could go far away with him. You’ve barely ever been past the manor’s yard. Wouldn’t that make you happy?”

“My fiance would follow me. My life has always been like this, so,” With a click of your tongue, you shrug. “I wouldn’t mind staying here… if you were here with me. That’d make me happy.”

Mizu gulps, trying to make her expression as neutral as possible. “The Count loves you. He wants to protect you. What could go wrong?”

“I don’t love him.”

“You do.”

You’re pulling your legs away from her, sitting up straight. Palms flat on the cushion under you, you angle yourself down to her eye level. “How can you tell?”

“You… when you look out the window waiting for your painting lessons, or when in your sleep you turn, or… your nails.” She’s mumbling, unable to look you in the eyes. They’re teary, glossed over with an anger she’s never seen from you before.

“What if I said I loved someone else?” You asked, ignoring the lump in your throat. “I don’t have anyone on this earth… would you really still tell me to marry him?”

She’s hesitant, but Mizu takes your calf into her hands again, looking up at you with optimistic eyes and a smile. She can fix this. Make you love Taigen the way you’re supposed to. “You will love him.”

And then you’re hiccuping, a sob escaping you. Those pearls of tears roll down your face with such speed it startles her. You’re pulling her up by her arms, moving her backwards to the door. She didn’t even know you had such strength in you. “Get out,” Your voice warbles, thick with grief. “Get out.”

“Wait, miss!” She’s collapsing backwards, falling onto her ass on top of the bedroll behind her.

The cold flame in your eyes doesn’t dwindle even as you see her chest rise and fall in quick bursts, the way her hands grip the sheet to stabilize herself. That heartless, indifferent demeanor is the last thing she sees before your door slams closed, bellowing footsteps retreating. Hand over her chest, she does her best to calm her hyperventilating. Lowering herself until she hits the floor, she feels something that she hasn’t in a long time– the bite of tears welling up. Outstretching her arms, she clamors around haplessly, searching for something. There, hidden in the corners of her belongings, was a wrapped up candy. The one she had used to kiss you.

If she closed her eyes and focused on the taste, maybe then she could find herself back in the recesses of her thoughts– in that world that was just the two of you.

a/n: part 4!! sorry for the longer update between 3 and 4. this is where the story starts getting like. really non-linear so bear with me as we go through the next parts of the plot sdlkfhsdf also don't worry there's more nsfw parts to come eventually, so even though it got cut off/implied now there will be more later <3

[fandomfablesunleashed]

Misunderstanding

Ace x reader (she/her)

Chapter 9 of And they were roommates - Modern AU series

Had fun with that one 😎

I also decided to create some dividers and headers for my stories. I hope you’ll like them

You had been away for the weekend, visiting your family and catching up with old friends. You had been looking forward to returning home to Ace’s warm embrace and his ever-present, infectious smile. But as you walked in the door, you were greeted by an unexpected sight.

Ace was sitting on the couch, laughing and chatting animatedly with a beautiful woman. She was wearing one of his shirts—an old, slightly oversized thing that you had often stolen from him on chilly nights. The sight made your heart clench with jealousy and hurt. It was all so innocent at first glance, yet it felt like a betrayal that you couldn’t shake.

For a moment, you stood frozen in the doorway, grappling with the sudden whirlwind of emotions. Who was this woman? How did she know Ace so well? Why was she wearing his shirt? They seemed so comfortable together, and the laughter they shared felt like a secret you weren’t privy to. You felt like an intruder in your own home, watching something intimate unfold without your consent.

As the pain in your chest grew, you forced yourself to take a step forward, mustering what little courage you had left. You tried to look as casual as possible as you set your bags down with a thud. “I'm back.”

Both of them looked up, surprise registering on their faces. Ace’s eyes widened, and for a split second, you could see his expression morph from joy to confusion to something more complex—perhaps guilt? “You! You’re back!” he exclaimed, his voice tinged with surprise.

The woman turned toward you, her smile warm and inviting. “Oh, hi!” she said, rising from the couch.

“I'm Koala,” she introduced herself, extending a hand, her voice sweet and friendly. You grasped her hand, feeling warmth from her grip and bitterness rising in your throat. Your mind was spinning, replaying the questions that haunted you: How well did Ace know this woman? Why was she wearing his shirt? And why did they seem so natural together? “Nice to meet you.”

“Ace was just telling me all about you,” Koala continued, still smiling brightly. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

Your heart sank even further. Was this what he did when you were away? Invited beautiful women over and shared stories about you? The thought twisted your stomach into knots, each twist tightening as you studied their interaction.

Ace looked uncomfortable under your gaze, shifting awkwardly on the couch. “Yeah, I was just telling Koala about how we’re roommates,” he said, his voice faltering slightly.

The word “roommates” struck you like a punch to the gut. It was so casual, so impersonal. It felt like a slap in the face, a reminder that while you had envisioned a deeper connection with him, it seemed he viewed your relationship through the lens of convenience.

Koala nodded, still beaming brightly. “Yeah, Ace told me you guys have been living together for a while now.”

You nodded, desperately trying to keep your expression neutral, but inside, a storm of jealousy raged. Your heart ached at the sight of Ace being so comfortable with another woman, the ease of their interaction gnawing at your insides. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to push down the negative emotions swirling within you. You knew you couldn't blame Koala for anything; she hadn't done anything wrong. Still, the sight of Ace with someone else ignited a fire of insecurity.

“Yeah, we’ve been roommates for a while now,” you said, hoping your voice didn’t betray the strain you felt. “It’s been… great.”

“That’s great,” she replied. “Ace told me you guys get along really well.”

Your heart clenched again at the mention of Ace, your mind instantly drifting back to how comfortable he had looked with Koala. You nodded, but it felt like a hollow affirmation. “Yeah, yeah, we do.”

A forced smile crossed your lips, a mask you wore to hide the rush of hurt and jealousy coursing through you. “Well, I’ll leave you guys to it,” you said, attempting to sound casual. “I need to unpack and rest a bit after my trip.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned and walked toward your room, your heart feeling heavier with each step. As you closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but overhear Ace and Koala resume their conversation, their voices a faint backdrop to the chaotic thoughts in your mind.

You tried to ignore the sharp pang in your chest as you began to unpack. This weekend had not gone as you had hoped, and you felt a crushing disappointment settle in. You changed into comfortable clothes, but your mind was still reeling from what you had seen. Why did seeing Ace with Koala hurt so much? You were just roommates, nothing more. You had no right to feel so jealous and bitter.

Sitting on your bed, you felt lost in a sea of conflicting emotions. Part of you wanted to go back out there to see what they were doing, to ensure Ace wasn’t getting too close to Koala. You could picture them laughing together, sharing secrets and inside jokes that you weren’t a part of. The idea filled you with a deep sense of dread.

But the rational part of you knew that was a bad idea. You needed to get a grip, to remember that you had no claim on Ace or what he chose to do. He was free to make his own choices, and jealousy wouldn’t change that.

You tried to distract yourself by unpacking your bags, but it was difficult. Every time you heard Ace’s laughter filtering through the walls, your ears perked up, a bittersweet melody that twisted in your chest.

As you listened more attentively, trying to push down the nagging jealousy, you realized that alongside Ace's and Koala's voices, there was another male voice emanating from the living room. Curiosity piqued; you paused your unpacking. Who else was out there?

Your heart raced as you quickly made your way to the door, opening it slightly so you could hear better. The voices were clearer now, and you recognized the tone of Ace’s brother, Sabo, filling the room. You felt a wave of surprise wash over you, mingled with relief. Sabo being there changed the dynamics of the situation significantly; it felt less intimate, less suspicious. Maybe you had been overreacting, reading into things that weren’t true.

Still, the jealous feeling nestled in your chest refused to dissipate entirely. You remained at the door for a few moments, listening intently to their conversation. They were talking about something mundane—a new video game—nothing that hinted at the scene you had walked in on earlier.

Finally, you decided to go out there. There was no point in hiding in your room like a coward.

They all looked up as you entered, and Sabo greeted you with a broad smile that eased some tension coiling in your chest. “Long time no see!”

You nodded, returning his smile, grateful for the familiar warmth he exuded. “Yeah, good to see you too! How are you?”

“I’m good,” he replied, and then gestured toward Koala. “I see you’ve met Koala?”

You forced a smile, nodding. “Yeah, we met briefly.”

Sabo just grinned, his enthusiasm a balm for your frayed nerves.

“We were just about to order some food,” Ace chimed in, his tone casual and light, as if nothing had happened just moments before. It was surreal, as if the tension you felt had no bearing on his world. “You want in?”

How could he act as if nothing had transpired? The sight of him earlier, so cozy with Koala, had left you reeling, and now he stood there, completely unfazed.

“Sure, sounds good.”

“Great!” Ace replied, pulling out his phone with an easy smile. “The usual for you, right?”

You nodded, the familiarity of the gesture warming your heart a little. The “usual” was a pizza topping you both loved, something you’d shared countless times during lazy weekends spent together.

“Awesome,” he said, already dialing the number. As he spoke to the pizza place, you tried to focus on Sabo and Koala, who were now engaged in light banter about a recent movie release.

Sabo looked between you and Ace, a smirk dancing on his lips. “You two really have this roommate routine down, huh?” he teased.

You felt your cheeks heat up slightly at Sabo’s comment. It was true; you had developed a comfortable rhythm, a well-rehearsed dance of shared responsibilities, and late-night snack runs. But the reminder sent a pang of guilt and jealousy surging to the surface once more, twisting your stomach. Was that all this was? A routine?

Koala looked between the two of you. “It’s nice that you two know each other so well,” she said, her voice laced with sincerity.

You simply nodded, forcing your expression to remain neutral, even as a storm of emotions raged within you. The casualness of the atmosphere was driving you a bit crazy. Were they really pretending that everything was normal? That you hadn’t walked in on what looked like a cozy, intimate scene just moments before?

The conversation continued to flow, mostly between Sabo and Ace, with Koala chiming in occasionally. You attempted to contribute, but your mind was elsewhere. You couldn’t stop thinking about Ace, about the sight of him with Koala, the way she wore his shirt as if it belonged to her. 

Finally, the pizza arrived, and everyone settled around to eat. You tried to focus on the food and the conversation, but your attention kept wandering back to Ace. The way he laughed so easily, while you could barely swallow pieces of your food every time he addressed Koala.

After the pizza was finished and the empty box was tossed away, Sabo stretched and looked at his watch.

“Alright, we’ve got to get going.”

Koala stood up as well, heading towards the door. You were surprised; why were they leaving together?

Sabo said his goodbyes to Ace and you, pulling you both into a warm hug. “Let’s catch up again soon, okay? It’s always good to see you,” he said, his voice genuine and friendly.

After they stepped out, the apartment was suddenly very quiet. The absence of their laughter left a void that felt almost suffocating. It was just you and Ace again.

Ace broke the silence, running a hand through his hair. “Well, that was fun, right?”

The silence hung heavily in the air. You couldn't bear it anymore. You needed to say something, to ask about what you had seen before.

“So… Koala, huh?”

“Yeah,” he replied easily. “You like her?”

You bit back the immediate “no” that nearly escaped your lips. You couldn’t admit that you were jealous and that you despised seeing him with another woman, especially one wearing his shirt. Instead, you just shrugged, trying to sound indifferent. “She seems… nice.” She really did, and it just made you feel even worse for the way you were mad at her.

Ace nodded, leaning back against the chair. “Yeah, she's great.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Great? Why was he praising her so much? It felt like salt in a wound, each compliment building a wall between you and the simple pleasure you found in Ace's company. Ace continued to gush about Koala, describing how fun she was, while your jealousy simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over.

Was he really that attracted to her? You fought the urge to lash out, to demand to know how he could be so oblivious to the tension hanging between you two. But you bit your tongue, choosing instead to keep your feelings locked away, buried deep within.

Then Ace mentioned how Sabo was “totally head over heels” for Koala. The comment caught you off guard, making you pause for a moment. 

“Wait, head over heels for her?”

“Yeah,” Ace chuckled, amusement lighting up his features. “He’s like a puppy following her around. It’s ridiculous.”

You felt a flicker of warmth at the news. So Sabo had a thing for Koala, not Ace. You felt a little silly for being so jealous over nothing.

You tried to hide your relief, but a small smile pulled at the corners of your lips. “He’s got it bad, huh?”

Ace shook his head, still chuckling. “You have no idea. He practically drools every time she’s around. It’s kind of pathetic, actually.”

You joined in his laughter, feeling a weight lift off your chest. You had been so worried that Ace was interested in Koala, but hearing about Sabo’s feelings made everything seem clearer. Maybe you had been reading too much into the situation.

Then, a thought suddenly popped into your mind, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out the question. “Hey, why was Koala wearing your shirt earlier?”

Ace looked at you, a bit surprised by the sudden question. “Oh, that?” he said, scratching the back of his head. “She spilled something on hers, so I gave her one of my shirts to wear.”

You wanted to smack yourself for overreacting while there was such a simple, logical explanation. Of course, there was no reason to think anything suspicious about it.

“That was nice of you.”

“It was no big deal,” Ace replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “She was a guest; I wasn’t going to let her sit in a stained shirt for the rest of the evening. Besides, Sabo kind of forced that on me,” he added with a laugh.

You chuckled at that, feeling a bit silly for how much you had overthought the situation. The explanation sounded so simple and innocent when Ace put it that way, like a small act of kindness rather than something more intimate.

As the conversation continued to flow, shifting to other lighthearted topics, you felt the last remnants of your jealousy and hurt begin to melt away. The earlier image of Ace and Koala, which had burned so vividly in your mind, slowly transformed into a casual, friendly scene that held no deeper meaning.

Once you were in your room, you let out a long, relieved breath, feeling the tension slip away completely. You had been such an idiot, letting jealousy cloud your judgment. With a small smile on your face, you settled into bed, reflecting on how silly you had been for worrying over something that was simply a misunderstanding.

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