#they can have their own tags too i might drawn them again

[lordsooga]

There was a meme going around on twitter that reminded me of my beloved Yiga Twins that I made for a rp

Their names are Kohl and Rabi

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Eleven

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Graphic depiction of domestic violence. This fic contains mature themes. Mention of pregnancy. Nurse!reader, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies. Bun is in pain, goes to a doctor. Dissociation. Lots of despair, fear, anxiety. The 141 reunites. Nightmares. Comfort. Tenderness. Angst. Welcome home.

“Knock knock.”

“Bunny.” Johnny murmurs, lifting an arm, urging you close, a moon to a tide.

“Hi.” You bend, moving into the hug, pressing your face to his neck for a quick second before straightening.

“I miss ye.” You survey him, glancing at the monitor, the brace on his leg and hip, the disconnected fluid line. He’s doing well. You’re so relieved to see it with your own eyes, ribs rattling with a long exhale. Satisfied, you smile, tension bleeding from your spine. 

“Simon says you’re terrorizing your night nurse.”

“Am not. She’s jus’ not gentle, or quiet. Wakes me up.”

“That’s her job.” He scoffs, waving you off. You settle in the chair at his side, and he takes your hand in his, lifting it to his lips, dotting kisses across your knuckles. His affection is freeing, sweet and easy, a warm breeze on a spring day. It overflows your heart with warmth until you think it might spill over, and you go with it, following his lead, even though your better judgement, the girl in the mirror, wails.

“Ye look good. Better. Swellin’ gone down?” He cradles your chin, turning your face from left to right, inspecting with a crystal-clear sapphire gleam.

“Yeah, my shoulder is still sore but… yeah. I feel better.”

“’m glad. Simon keepin’ ye off yer feet all day then?”

“Oh my god.” You laugh. “He keeps telling me to lay down. Or asking if I want to take a nap.” Johnny chuckles.

“Sounds right. He’s a bit o’ a mother hen, that one. He cares though, we both do.”

“I know.” You squeeze his hand. “And I missed you too.”

“He said ye an’ him had a nice chat the other night?” Your cheeks burn. Oh god. Did he… “I’m a wee bit jealous.” He complains, turning his nose up and away in a mock pout, and you roll your eyes.

You laid in bed all night and thought about these moments. Thought about Simon’s mouth on yours, his hand on your ass, squeezing and stroking. You thought about how he tasted, how he smelled, the way he looked at you, like you were a part of their world, a piece of them.

And you thought about Johnny. Johnny alone here, Johnny trapped in the hospital, healing, unable to leave or even get out of bed. How anxious he must be, being separated from his family, how frustrating it is to spend so long trying to get better.

You wanted to give him something. Wanted to make him feel better, see him smile.

Here goes nothing. 

Leaning, standing, you dip into his orbit, lightly bumping your noses together. It takes no time until his good hand is around the back of your neck, crashing your mouth into his, and he breathes you in, holding you steady, tongue and teeth and lips swirling together in a ubiquitous, overwhelming haze. He tastes like summer rain, the feeling in the air before a giant storm, electric and blazing, brilliant glow transferring between the two of you, lightning striking a mountaintop. He nips your bottom lip, heat flooding your stomach, and you pull away slowly, his eyes jeweled and shimmering, brilliantly blue.

“Bunny,” You try to swallow a quiet giggle and fail. “I’ll have to tell ye I’m jealous more often.”

“Don’t take advantage.” You playfully scold.

“Me? Take advantage?” He pretends to be outraged, voice piquing higher, and you laugh again. “How can I take advantage when ‘m the one stuck here in this bed while ye two are at home, playin’ house, takin’ couch naps and gettin’ butt rubs. No one cares about Johnny, no-“

“Shhh.” You press your lips to his, silencing him, remaining in the kiss that’s long and soft and saccharine. He sneaks his tongue back between your teeth, mischievous and wild, every bit the man you’re drawn to, an attraction you can’t fight.

“Well.” Simon clears his throat from the doorway, brows raised, mask snug. “Hope I’m not interrupting.” You don’t know why, but you fly backwards, nearly stumbling, cheeks on fire. You feel like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t, and that feeling, the pit in the bottom of your stomach, is all too reminiscent.

It frightens you.

“Whoa, hey.” Johnny tries to snag a finger around your wrist, but you step out of the way.

“It’s alright.” Simon moves inside fully, clicking the door shut behind him. “You’re not in trouble. Nothing is wrong, I was just kidding. That’s my fault.” You shake your head.

He’s not mad. Johnny is fine. Everything is fine. 

You’re overreacting. You’re making a mess of this. 

You shouldn’t even be doing this in the first place. What’re you doing? Who are you kidding? 

“I’m s-sorry.” You stammer, hands wringing together anxiously.

“Ye dinnae have anything to be sorry about.” Johnny protests, still trying to reach for you.

Get it together. You have to get it together. 

You close your eyes.

Deep breath. In and out. You can do it. Just breathe. 

It works. You’re steadier, and you meet their watchful gazes as your eyes open.  

“You okay?” Simon murmurs, moving very slowly to the other side of the bed where you’re standing, like he’s approaching a spooked, scared, wild animal.

“Yeah. Sorry. Just… had a moment. I’m fine.” Not entirely true, but that’s alright. You feel a little unsteady, a little unnerved, and Johnny frowns.

“Ye should sit.”

“I’m fine.”

“Bunny, please. For me?” He bats his eyelashes, and you want to groan.

But you lower yourself in the chair all the same.

Quiet falls over the room. It’s awkward and stiff, and you curse yourself for ruining the moment.

“Hey.” Simon soothes, reading your mind. “Hey, you’re alright. Everything is fine.” You nod, unsettled. He squeezes your good shoulder and dips past you, leaning to press a gentle kiss to Johnny’s brow, before dotting his nose and pushing their lips together. Their kiss is long, languid touch melting away to expose their connection, trust and love on full display. Delicate and rare, their affection makes your heart flutter, pulchritudinous whispers given to one another as Simon holds Johnny’s hand, stroking a familiar pattern into his skin, something similar to the way he touches you. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Wish they’d let me out of this bloody bed.” Johnny grumbles. You clear your throat.

“They’re waiting on your wrist. Once your wrist can support your weight on crutches, then you’ll be able to start PT and be released.”

“Ach. I know.” He’s frustrated, it’s clear. You know it’s not easy, being here, being separated, stuck in a hospital.

“It won’t be too long.” You try to reassure him, and he nods, still a little forlorn. “Here,” you stand with a burst of confidence, knocking his arm with the back of your hand as a direction, “scooch over.”

His eyes light. Simon laughs.

You fold yourself onto the edge of the bed, turned on your side, curled along where he’s the least banged up, careful of the sensitive graft lurking beneath his hospital gown.

“There. That better?” His good arm wraps around you carefully, settling on your ribs, a thumb tracing the wrinkle of your shirt.

“Aye, much better.” Your knees are bent, and cool air ghosts over your lower back, where your shirt has ridden up and exposed your skin. You shiver.

“Cold?” Simon murmurs, and you nod. He’s close, hovering, pulling a blanket up from the end of the bed to cover both you and Johnny. He tucks it around the two of you carefully and leans forward, pulling his mask down again to brush his lips across Johnny’s brow.

You watch in a daze. They don’t speak, but there’s something happening between them, something being said in their eyes as Simon holds his face briefly, and Johnny nods.

They both look to you, your bottom lip caught between teeth.

“Want one too?” Simon hums, cupping the back of your head. “Here.” He kisses you, lingering in it, heat of his naked mouth still a shock to your system.

Johnny is beaming, and cuddles you as close as possible, cheek resting atop your forehead.

They make you dizzy. All of it feels like some kind of dream, a world impossible, a fantasy suddenly turned real life. You’re on the verge of spinning out of control inside it, losing yourself.

It doesn’t help that everything you’ve done over these last few years, this identity, this life, the work that went into hiding and planning and saving and scraping, trying to stay unseen and unnoticed-

Was all for nothing.

“Bunny?” Johnny whispers, bringing you back to them. Simon is settled in the recliner, the same one from the ICU room, but his arm is stretched past your head, fingers playing idly in Johnny’s very long mohawk.

“Sorry. I’m here.”

“Where did ye go?” He tightens his hold, and you snuggle in closer, hiding away from everything bearing down on you, the pain and the panic and the doubt. You hide your face from it, refuse to acknowledge it, desperately trying to stay in this moment, hoping to just be… be here with them. In the sun.

“Nowhere.”  

A day passes. Then another, and another, and another. Your face nearly looks normal, puffiness and swelling practically gone, and your neck aches less and less with each passing day.

Your shoulder, on the other hand, is a problem.

It never stops hurting. You struggle to get your arm through your shirts, can barely lift it, can't pick anything up, and it’s so sore, tender, and stiff, like it’s been dislocated or worse, broken. You’re worried, worried about going back to work without a full range of motion, worried about being in pain.

Worried about being even more permanently damaged than you already are.

Just another tally mark. Just another thing you must live with now, a permanent remnant of him, a forever reminder of just how foolish you really are.

You’re weak. You’re stupid. You’re damaged. 

The pain breaks you down. It prevents you from sleeping, keeps you twisting and turning through a roil of dark dreams. It depresses you, sinks its teeth into your flesh and gnaws on the pieces touched by the sun, the parts of your heart still beating, somehow.

It reminds you of everything you’re desperate to forget.

It all comes crashing down one morning. The despair. The helpless feeling brewing in your stomach. The loneliness. It keeps you there, in bed, in agony, past breakfast.

It keeps you there, until you hear the creak of the stairs, a firm knock.

“I’m coming in.” Simon advises, trying the door, cracking it enough to stick his head through.

You’re crumpled in the middle of the mattress, pillows strewn about from trying to find a comfortable position, tears already dried. Your shoulder hurts so bad, and you don’t know why, don’t know why it’s not getting better, not healing.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” He sits at your side, hand resting on your hip, inspecting the worry lines, the frown tugging at your lips. “What’s going on?” Guilt swamps you.

“It’s nothing, my shoulder just kept me up, so I’m a little tired. That’s all.” You paste on your work smile, forced and believable, but he only shakes his head.

“Don’t do that.” He thumbs your brow. “I think you should see a doctor.”

“N-no.” You can’t. He doesn’t understand. They’ll want to take x-rays. X-rays lead to questions. 

He never takes you at face value. Always pushing. Always digging, looking you over. “Why not?”

“It’s… it’s not necessary. I’m fine, it’s probably just a deep bruise.”

“You’d be experiencing less pain if that was the case.” You raise an eyebrow. He shrugs. “I know a little bit. We all have basic medic training, and I’ve been reading up, for when Johnny gets home.” He pats your hip. “Let’s make you an appointment.” You shake your head.

“No!” It’s too sharp, too insistent, and he freezes. You wince. “I’m sorry. It’s just-“

“You can’t go to a doctor.” He finishes, like he knows. “Tell me why, sweetheart.” You take a shaky breath.

You can’t. You shouldn’t. 

Sunlight taps against the iron that’s encrusted around your heart. It knocks, wanting to be let in. It searches for weakness, places of opportunity, slivers of space where it can find its way.

Your mouth starts moving before you give it permission, like it knows this is where you’re headed, no matter how hard you fight, no matter how deeply the survivor’s logic is ingrained in your brain.

“It… it’s not safe.”

“It creates a trail.” He surmises, and you nod. For a wild moment, you wonder if he’s a plant. If they’re a trap, designed to get you to lower your guard, fabricated to encourage you to trust, to love, just so the jaws of Philip’s cruelty can close around you at the most opportune moment.

They wouldn’t. They’re not. You’re being ridiculous. You’re paranoid. 

“We’ll make it under my name. Our primary is service member focused, and very discreet. You’ll be safe.” He makes it hard to argue, even though you want to. You should.

“I- I don’t know.”

“I can’t stand to see you in pain like this.” He rebukes, and then smiles softly, eyes lighting up. “Besides, I’m going to need your help. Johnny’s coming home on Friday.”

“He is?” You push upward. “Really?”

“Really.” He’s beaming, radiant sunshine spilling from his lips, and it makes you emotional, seeing him so happy, so weightless. “He passed a strength test on his wrist this morning. He needs a few days of PT in hospital, and then he can do it outpatient. His care team has signed off, and he’s ready.”

“Oh my god, that’s great!”

“It is. But I want both of you on the mend, not just one. Please.” It doesn’t take much more for you to concede, unable to find an excuse or a good enough reason, one he’s not able to combat.

“Alright, I guess.”

“Simon. Good to see you.” The doctor extends his hand and Simon shakes it readily, keeping his body positioned between you and the physician, one hand still on your knee.

He’s had a hand on you for the last half hour. You’ve been rattling on the exam table, shifting and fretful, disquieted energy spilling forth since he coaxed you into the car this morning.

“Dr. Fitch.”

“This is my patient?” He motions to you, and Simon stands to the side, concentrating, eyes focused above the mask. You give your name, and the provider repeats it with a warm smile.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Fitch.” You raise your good arm to shake his hand, and he pulls the rolling stool underneath him, taking a seat opposite Simon at your knee.

A warm palm flexes at your lower back. It’s soothing, comforting.  

I’m here, it says. You’re safe.

“Simon says you’ve been having some shoulder pain?”

“Yeah, I had… I had an injury. Thought there was some soft tissue damage, maybe some minor bruising, but the pain is too persistent.”

“Mind if I take a look?” He points to the side you’re clearly favoring.

“Sure.” It’s not comfortable, to have another man’s hands on you outside of your job. There’s no trust there, no familiarity like there is with Simon and Johnny, and your body knows it, practically vibrating as he walks his fingers up your scapula. Simon stays close, still with a hand at your back, watching intently.

Dr Fitch holds your elbow, and slowly lifts your arm until you’re telling him to stop, pins and needles radiating through your shoulder and up your neck.

“I think we need an x-ray so we can really see what’s going on.” Your fingers curl, nails digging into your palm. 

Fuck.  

“I… I think I just need a sling, or an immobilizer for a few weeks. Give it some time to heal.” You try to protest, but he shakes his head.

“I can’t be sure of any of that, without an x-ray.” Oh god. You think you might throw up.

He’s right, though. You know he’s right. You know no good provider in their right mind would sign off on a treatment plan without knowing the extent of an injury. He’s not going to let you dictate what you need.

“Bun.” Simon murmurs, and you blow out a rough breath.

“Okay, fine.”

Dr. Fitch is grim when he reappears almost an hour later, throwing the films up for both you and Simon to see.

You spot what’s soured him immediately, and there’s a sharp intake of breath behind you, the tell-tale sign of Simon noticing it too.

“This side of your body has seen a lot of trauma.” The doctor says gently. He’s not unkind, but still clinical. The kind of provider you’d like you work with, you think. “These old injuries, your clavicle, acromion, even this break in your ulna, make your scapula a very delicate part of your body. I think an MRI would show a fair amount of cartilage damage in these areas.” He motions around your joint, and you close your eyes.

You can’t do this. 

If Dr. Fitch sees your unease or panic, he pushes past it. “You have a rotator cuff tear. The good news is, it’s not surgical. I recommend physical therapy for injuries like these, along with activity modification and lots of rest. I want to do a corticosteroid injection for your pain as well. Today, if you’d like. You’ll need to rest your arm for twenty-four hours afterwards, make sure you’re not lifting anything or moving it…” He continues, but you lose track, lose focus, staring at the vinyl tile, weird grey and pink and green patterns all worked together to make some of the ugliest floor you’ve ever seen.

You zone out. Lose yourself. The films mock you, their ugly, horrific images hanging you out to dry, showcasing the truth, the reminders you’ll never be able to escape.

The pieces of you, changed permanently.

It’s hard to look at. Hard to think of.

You’d rather be considering survival. Counting your cash and researching new places to live. New communities to disappear inside, a new life to assume.

It’s easier to run.

You can’t look at Simon. Can't bear the shame. Can't believe he's seeing this, your nightmares on display. 

You keep your eyes fixed on the wall.

The girl in the mirror is falling apart. She despises being confronted with your failings, your weakness, the results of your stupidity.

It’s far less common now, these mistakes. These slip ups.

But before… before… they indulged Philip in a beautiful game of cat and mouse. You made it fun, made it exciting. A wolf with his prey. Playing with his food before he eats. Before he strings it up and breaks its collarbone because he likes to hear it scream.

Simon is talking to the provider, asking questions, receiving answers. You can barely hear him. You’re underwater.

The only thing that tethers you to the earth is the hand on your back, the warm, gentle, broad, grounding pressure.

There’s more conversation, and then Dr. Fitch is vacating the room.

Is it time to go? 

You try to stand on autopilot, but Simon holds you steady.

“We’re going to do the steroid, for your pain.” He drifts into your line of sight, pulling the mask down. “Bunny, look at me.”

When you can’t, he follows your gaze.

The films come off the wall within the next second, ripped down by the long reach of his arm.

Gone. 

“I have to go.” You whisper.

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to get this injection, and then I’m going to take you home and put you to bed.”

He doesn’t understand your meaning. 

Or maybe he does. 

Home. The word rings in your ears like a punch. It’s like you’ve been hit with it, burned with it.

Home. 

He’s not forceful, but you still feel the pressure, the insistence. You expect to rail against him. To cower.

Instead, you slip inside it. Allow him to tell you what to do, to make the decision. You fall easily into him, and he holds your hand through it all, while the injection site is swabbed, when the needle goes in. He holds your hand out to the car, holds your hand as he buckles you in. He holds your hand as he tucks you into a bed larger and softer than the one you've been sleeping in. It smells like him and Johnny, soft sheets and pillows piled around you like a wall, false sense of security building every time you twitch, testing where is he is, if he’s left yet.

The last thing you feel before you drift off to sleep is your hand, still in his.

You don't know how long you sleep. You sail in the darkness, navigating turbulent seas, waking every now and then, sometimes alone... sometimes not. 

The baby monitor blinks pale green, little circle fuzzy on the edge of your vision, appearing and disappearing throughout the day. 

Sometimes the bed is warm. Sometimes it's not. 

When it is, you seek him out on instinct, trying to crawl inside his ribs, frantic with your effort to hide, to run. He holds you through it, rocks you gently, tells you you're safe, says you don't have to be afraid anymore, he's here now. He'll take care of you. 

There's a rope around your ankle, tied too tight, tethered to the ocean floor. It drags you down, rips you away from him, fills your lungs and silences you. 

You didn't make it. 

All you can see behind closed lids is those films. All you can feel is the phantom ache in your limbs, the remnants of a shadow, still living and breathing inside of you. 

The girl in the mirror is silent. Nothing to say for once in her life, she weeps like her chest is being carved open, sobs and screams pouring out in a flood. 

I know you'll be here when I get back, won't you?

The house is vibrant today.

Lou has been here, stocking the fridge, precooking some meals, and her husband is helping Simon rearrange the living room, moving pieces of the couch to be more accessible, laughing back and forth quietly. Occasionally, he stops into the kitchen where you’re seated next to Pen in her highchair, checking in, but never encroaching.

He doesn’t get too close, right now. You’re still underwater somewhere, lost in a current. You’re here, but not really, silently drifting like a ghost, watching and waiting for something or someone to shake you out of it.

Simon hasn’t yet, but he’s watching. Always.

He’s intentionally careful, loud. Announcing himself everywhere he goes in the house, telling you everything he’s doing.

You didn’t understand why at first. Didn’t realize you hadn’t spoken in eight hours, and then ten, then twelve.

Trapped in a tomb of yourself, locked away with the girl in the mirror.

Guilt burns like a wildfire.

This should be a happy time. A wonderful time. 

But all you’re doing is making a mess of their life.  

Lou, thankfully, doesn’t push you either. She’s content to let you sit there, next to Pen. She keeps an eye out, glancing over at you occasionally, but your placating smiles seem to satisfy her.

Simon steps in front of the counter, ducking his head down to catch your eyes. “I’m going to pick Johnny up.” Somewhere, in the pits of hell, excitement blooms. Happiness tries to sprout. “Do you want to come?” Definitely not. They’ll certainly clap him out, and there’s no way you can be there for that. 

“No, I’m… okay.”

“Okay. Penny is coming with me, but John and Lou are staying here. Kyle is coming by. If Johnny’s feeling up to it, I’m hoping to do dinner all together.” Acid is tossed around, tempestuous in your stomach. Lou smiles around his side.

“Want to watch something while we wait?”

“Sure.” She disappears down the hall, saying something to John, and Simon slowly pulls Pen from her chair, kissing her cheek and nose before cradling her to his chest. She’s not a small baby, but in his hold, she’s tiny, soft and delicate, content in her dad’s arms, still a little sleepy from her afternoon nap. 

“We’ll be back soon.” He whispers, turning to go.

Your hand whips forward instinctively, out of control.

It latches onto his.

“Simon. I’m… I’m sorry.” You’re sorry you’re ruining everything. You’re sorry you’re fucked up beyond belief, you’re sorry he had to see all that in the doctor’s office, you’re sorry, you’re sorry, you’re sorry. 

He squeezes. “Shhh, hey. There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He shifts, still holding Penny, but stooping down to crouch at your knees, his own popping with effort. “It’s okay, if you have to go somewhere else for a little while up there, as long as you're not lost in it.” He motions to your head. “Nothing has changed. We’re still right here, everything is alright. Huh, Penny girl?” He bounces her, and she shrieks out a giggle, reaching for his face. He kisses her hands like he’s trying to eat them, rumble in his voice making her squeal, and he catches your faint smile. “There she is.” He kisses your forehead. “We’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

You hear Johnny before you see him.

There’s a scrape of crutches, his voice animated, talking to his baby, Penny giggling wildly outside on the walk. Lou and John exchange a comfortable smile, and she manages to get the door open before Simon can get his key in the lock.

“Welcome home!” She exclaims, and Penny squeaks, clapping excitedly. She’s wriggly, wanting to get down immediately upon crossing the threshold, but Simon holds her firm, turned around so Lou can snap their picture.

“Ach, Price, can ye do somethin’-“ Johnny laments, but the captain only laughs and looks on.

“Hey! Come on, you’ll want this, later. I promise. Look over here.” They’re picture perfect, Penny cradled between them, Johnny’s hair moved out of his face, his posture a little slouched because of his hip and leg. His head rests on Simon’s shoulder, an arm stretched across his middle, right under Penny, who glows from her perch, the center of attention.

An ache unfurls in the middle of your chest, a sore spot, growing, spreading through your body.

They’re so lovely, it hurts. This moment is beautiful, a homecoming, a story of survival and perseverance. Johnny’s strength and determination. Doing something you know a lot of people initially doubted.  

The dark spot of pain passes, fleeting.

Johnny’s eyes find yours. “Ye goin’ make me hobble all the way over there?” He teases, and you shake your head.

The two of you can only give half hugs, but you make it work, holding onto him, fingers fisted in the back of his shirt.

“Welcome home.” You whisper in his ear, and he pulls away, notching his forehead against yours. His eyes glitter, heavy, trembling breath filtering through his nose, and he kisses you slowly, so painfully slowly it’s like you’re the only one in the entire house, in the whole world.

“You too, bunny.”

Dinner is lively. Kyle arrives shortly before it’s time to sit down, greetings and warm wishes passed around as everyone gets settled, Penny positioned in highchair between the guys with mashed potatoes and peas already scooped onto her tray. Johnny’s on your left, with Lou on your right, and Simon sits at the head of the table, across from who you realize now, is his old, or kind of still, boss. 

He looks perfect there, half turned towards Pen and Johnny, radiantly smiling at his partner and daughter, trying again and again to catch your eye. Johnny's knee stays steady against yours, fingertips occasionally brushing your thigh, and the two of them try to draw you in, pull you towards them, over and over. 

Conversation flows easily. They’re all talking, laughing, swapping stories, poking at one another. Kyle tells you about a time he fell out of a helicopter, and they all tease Johnny about nearly dying this time, or a different time, you can’t be too sure.

“Ye jus’ wish ye had the natural ability I do.” He sniffs, and Kyle chortles, struggling to swallow his food.

“I’d probably be dead, mate.”

“’Cause ye cannae handle it!” He retorts, and Simon laughs, causing Penny to giggle too, and then the entire table erupts in it, attention redirected, cooing at the adorable girl with mashed potatoes smeared on her face. Johnny and Simon fuss over her, a perfect family in unison. 

There’s a whining, buzzing noise in the back of your head. It’s an off-key tenor, annoying and coarse, like the snag of rough skin texture against a soft sweater.

What are you doing here? 

The world, this room, these people, spin and spiral around you. Talking, laughing, loving. Making connections with each other, feeling the warmth of love and friendship, of happiness.

The buzzing gets louder.

You’re vaguely in it now, still seated but not here, not anywhere. You’re drifting, falling away, slipping behind walls and layers, hiding.

The girl in the mirror approves.

What makes you think you have any right to be here? What makes you think you could ever possibly belong here? With them? With their friends? Their family? 

You’re an intruder. 

You’re risking their safety. You’re making a mistake. 

Lou boasts a sharp laugh, and you nearly flinch.

You don’t belong here. You’re supposed to be alone. It was supposed to be okay, to be alone.

You’re selfish.

Simon reaches for Johnny’s hand, stretching across Penny’s spot, eyes heavy with love. There’s so much in his expression alone, dedication, devotion, borderline obsession bleeding through, and he holds Johnny like he’s holding his lifeline.

You’ll never be loved like that, known like that, cherished and protected… like that. 

And why should you be? 

You’re standing before you announce it, trying to hold yourself together. Both guys look to you, Simon’s expression changing from amusement and love to worry and concern, while Johnny mirrors it, and tries to grab your hand.

“Ye alright?”

“Bun?”

“I’m fine, just… uh. My stomach.” You lie, motioning away from the table, like it makes any sense. You excuse yourself quickly, apologizing, and practically run up the stairs.

The guest bathroom door locks, and you slide down against the tub, slumping over to rest your cheek on cold tile. “Fuck.” You whisper, rubbing at your cheeks. What is wrong with you?

You lay there long enough that your shoulder starts to hurt. Everything aches, your heart too, and wipe your cheeks over and over, trying to regain control of a sinking ship.

God, you really, really hope they aren’t mad you bailed. 

The bed is your only option, your only salvation, and you sink into without fuss, burying yourself beneath a pile of blankets, hiding yourself away from the world.

At least when you sleep, you can’t think.

At least when you sleep, you can’t feel.

“Philip, please.” 

“You made a fucking fool of me tonight.” He grips your upper arm so tight it feels like he’s cutting into your flesh, branding you, burning you down to the bone. 

“No, I- I wasn’t trying to, I swear.” 

“I think you were, spitfire. I think you wanted to see me sweat, didn’t you? Wanted to play a little game, huh?” 

“No!” you’re crying, chest heaving with giant sobs, and his fist tightens in your hair, dragging you down to the ground. “No, Philip, stop. Stop!” 

“Shut up.” You’re crawling on your knees, trying to keep pace, trying to stay in stride with him as he tugs, practically pulling you down the hallway to the bedroom. 

Once he gets there, he jerks you upwards. 

The hardwood floor is the next thing you see as your face crashes into it. 

“S-stop.” You’re barely audible, buried in sobs. He mocks you. 

“Stoooop, babe. Stop please.” Your arms cover your head, trying to protect your delicate bones there, your skull, your nose, your cheeks. 

His foot rears back. 

The world goes cold. 

“NO!” you jerk your knees up to your chest, rolling away. “No! I’m pregnant!” 

You think he’ll be happy. You think he’ll be pleased. 

Instead, it’s raw, concentrated fury you see lining his face, lightning and thunder gathering in his eyes. 

“You’re what?”

You come to trembling, coated in a cold sweat.

It’s okay. He’s not here. He’s not. You’re safe. 

You clasp a hand over your mouth to ward off the volume of the sob, nausea rising until you’re almost gagging.

It’s okay. 

You can do this. Get it together. 

Time ticks away, but the agony of your memory, your nightmare, doesn’t fade. It settles in your bones like a sickness, infecting your mind and heart, keeping you from closing your eyes.

You can’t go back there. Not in real life. Not in your dreams. Not ever.

You would die before that happened.

Johnny and Simon sleep down the hall. You wonder if they’re wrapped up together, if Johnny is comfortable, if their room is cozy and homey, bed heavenly and full of love.

You could… 

No. 

The clock on your phone reads three in the morning. You feel like you haven’t slept at all, but every time you try to close your eyes, dread spreads, tenebrous and sticky, clinging to every synapse in your logical brain.

You eye the door.

You could… 

Should you? Would they be mad? Would they welcome you? Would they even answer?

You don’t know how you convince yourself to do it, to drag your weak will down the hall and knock on their door, but you do. You’re a child the whole way, padding up to a parent’s room in the middle of the night, looking for salvation and sanctuary, desperate for comfort.

It takes almost no time after your timid little rap for the door to swing wide, Simon standing behind it, little lamp flicked on where Johnny is half sitting up, mostly still asleep, rubbing his eyes.

“Hi.” You whisper, distracted by Simon’s naked chest. He’s wearing sweatpants, but they’re slung low on his hips, soft tummy with wispy light brown hair peeking out above the drawstring. You think you’re staring, and you force a blink, trying to appear normal.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing, I just… I had a nightmare and…I… I can’t…” the rest doesn’t come out, laying heavy on your tongue, trying to organize itself so it doesn’t seem so intrusive, or weak.

He doesn’t make you feel bad. Or guilty. He doesn’t even ask, he just steps aside, motioning to bed, clicking the door shut behind him.

“Take the middle.” He whispers, and you crawl across the expanse, timidly smiling at Johnny, who’s still yawning. He’s got his bad leg and hip set up on a bunch of pillows, and the spot next to him is still warm.

“Hey pretty girl.”

“Hi.” He pats the empty space, shoving the blankets down to the best of his ability to let you get underneath them.

“Bad dream?” He drawls, slow and sleepy.

“Yeah.”

“C’mere.” He tries to tug you closer, but Simon scolds him softly.

“Johnny, easy. Your graft.” He turns, sliding, encouraging you to settle on your side, with him at your back. “There we go. That’s better, hm?” It is better. So much better. Warm and safe. Blocked in on either side by them, your hand resting on Johnny’s sternum, grounding yourself with the rise and fall of his breathing, Simon nestling you into his chest, heavy arm slung across your ribs to hold Johnny’s hand.

It's so nice, tucked between them like you belong there, things start to spiral a little bit, doubt and worry fueling a cycle of second guessing. You shift restlessly, and Simon rubs your hip, soothing whatever he senses amiss back to neutral, lips humming just above your ear. “Close your eyes, little bunny. We’re here. You’re safe.”

[syoddeye]

consequence

price x f!reader | 1069 words nice tags: loser x loser, john price having a sliver of game, but it works a/n: continuation of this shortie. played myself here. 💀

“orange?”

“green.”

“what?”

“sorry, are we not naming colors?”

he's simultaneously wounded and amused that she doesn’t even look up to lash him with her tongue. suppose his attempts are ten a penny—she gets chatted up every day; he’s seen it firsthand.

ever since he tracked her to the shop a little over three weeks ago, he’s become a regular. he goes out of his way to visit and watch her handle interested parties like a professional. from the vantage of his usual table, he pretends to read or scroll on his phone, listening in on how she rebuffs them. his own politeness is rewarded with a gradual drop in her guard.

see, from his observations, he’s deduced what other prospects lack: persistence. something he has in spades.

he moves down the counter with her. it’s always slower in the afternoon, affording the time to talk. her good-for-nothing coworker is on another break.

“your cast.” he gestures. “brand new?”

she fumbles the tamper and bites out a quick, “yep.” 

“no signatures.” her last one—bright blue—was nearly black with names and drawings just yesterday.

“got it this morning before i clocked in.”

“your boss still made you come in after that?”

“yeah, well, some of us have to work—shit.” she drops the tamper and portafilter, both thunking onto the rubber mat at her feet. grounds litter the counter and floor, and her eyelids twitch.

accident prone. unlucky. perhaps both.

john considers jumping the bar. a glance at the staff door says her coworker isn’t rushing to help, but he can’t push the line he’s drawn. in pencil. with a light hand.

after all, it wasn’t too long ago that she was jilted in love. she might as well wear a handle with care label.

she swears, fetches a hand broom and pan, then ducks.

“can i—?” he starts.

“absolutely not.” she snips, alternating tools in her good hand, piling the spilled grounds.

john lets a brief silence stretch, listening to the broom swish and other customers typing on laptops. he leans far enough to cast a shadow over her, and his mind wanders off.

“i didn’t mean to snap. or insinuate you’re, uh, underemployed.”

his focus splinters, his daydreams burst. god help a lech like him. sees a pretty girl on her knees and he’s fifteen years younger. christ. he distracts himself with the mess on the counter.

“takes more than a smart remark to hurt me.”

“yeah? well, watch out for scooters. that’s all it took to hurt me.” she smirks with eyes downcast, sweeping the pile into the pan.

if you’d just popped to the door, love. fessed up. i’d’ve taken care of you.

“mm, you’re resilient though. you got back up.”

she stands, shrugging. “like i said. had to. girl’s gotta eat. bills don’t pay themselves.”

“truer words.” john offers his share of collected grounds and a smile.

she murmurs thanks as she disposes of the coffee and moves to restart his drink until he raises a hand.

“give it a rest.”

“you paid for it.” she squints, disbelieving he’s passing on his coffee. her lips press together, and the small scar from the crash punctuates her uncertainty.

“i want somethin’ else.” his true intentions must bleed through his eyes because the corners of her mouth then pull down. he swiftly adds, “let me sign it.”

she nearly drops everything a second time. “you want to sign it. my cast?” 

“do you have somethin’ else i could sign?” 

her nostrils flare when she’s surprised. embarrassed? it’s cute. he wants to see it again.

“fine. here.” she dumps the pan, sets it aside, and hands him the marker she keeps clipped to her apron.  

he’s careful when he leans closer, concentrating, ignoring the ding of the bell above the cafe’s door. the warmth of her skin seeps through where he holds her arm steady. his chin dips, relishing the strong scent of espresso and how nice and still she’s standing. it’s impulsive, deciding to smudge the line he’d drawn.

she only notices as he writes the last digit next to ‘john’.

“are you—is that your phone number?” 

the bell rings again, and a cluster of voices follow.

“it is.” john confirms with a satisfied grin, glancing at his uniform scrawl. he caps her pen and slides it into the top pocket of her apron. time’s run out with the arrival of the mid-afternoon rush. clockwork. “good chat.” he winks, savors the finer details of her sweet, bewildered expression, and weaves around the small crowd of office workers in for a pick-me-up.

he’s pure confidence on the trip home, imagining what she’ll say when she calls or texts. how he’ll surprise her with his car on the first date. what? why’re you staring like that? how does it look familiar? he cracks himself up, thinking of how he’ll pry a confession out of her, then lean into it. what a coincidence. must be fate, visiting your shop.

his phone remains on the table as he goes about the rest of the day, half-heartedly doing what needs to be done while home. she works until seventeen-hundred, so he doesn’t expect immediacy. it doesn’t stop him from finding excuses to hover nearby or snatching up the device when it pings ten minutes after closing.

>> if this is a plot to get free drinks, i only get one a shift and it’s for me

> It’s a ploy to buy you a drink, if you’d like.

three dots appear and disappear rapidly.

>> i’m not drinking right now >> considering how i got the cast

> then what are your plans for tomorrow?

persistence.

>> supermarket

> Wonderful. Send your address. I’ll pick you up.

>> oh you’re one of those guys >> self invitation type >> you don’t need to come???

> Are you going to carry them yourself?

another round of dots. 

>> good point >> fine, be my muscle

> Gladly. 

she sends her address, which he promptly inputs into a search engine. decent area, expensive rent. clicks his tongue as he clicks through the photos from an old listing. hopefully, the pathetic-looking deadbolt’s been updated.

he suggests a time.

>> works for me

> Good. See you tomorrow. 

>> yeah yeah, night john x

his eyes hitch to the ‘x’, and his chest tightens. he exits the rental site and glances around his flat. yeah, she’ll fit in quite nicely.

[ghostgirl101]

Hi!! Loved your post about Oliver Quick being obsessed. How about Farleigh being obsessed with you 👁️👁️👁️

Dating Farleigh Start Would Be Like This...

A/N: Pffft his face here is a whole mood 😭 I got a similar request for Felix too, so he's next 🙃 Dating headcanons coming right up, with a side order of freaking obsessive, naturally:

⚜️• I don't know what to say about this guy that isn't already shown in the pic 😏 he's a cocky, rude, arrogant flirtatious player who takes every opportunity and advantage to use to his best. Once something's caught his attention, it'll play on his mind and he'll get to it in his own way, because that's the Farleigh Start we know and love.

⚜️• You'll meet him at Oxford, maybe hanging out around his friends with Felix and the rest, maybe not. I think he'd be very much drawn to someone who's not like the girls he sees always running after Felix or trying to make him jealous when they don't have his attention. You be you, and when he uses a very bold and seemingly smooth line on you, give him a look of amusement and slight confusion, and he'll be stunned that you didn't fall all over him for his charms like he's used to.

⚜️• Farleigh just watches you leave for a solid minute in bewilderment and intrigue because the guy got kicked out of every school because of how he is, but apparently, you're not that easy? This is new...?

⚜️• Don't think Farleigh's just some rich prick playboy who has to pick on the smarter kids to stay in college though, because he's surprisingly smart, which wouldn't be a first guess based on the way he acts around people and mocks anyone who isn't anywhere in his circle of friends and social class with Felix. If you saw him reviewing essays and stuff with Oliver and the teacher near the beginning of the movie, you can see he knows his terminology and how to study to get good enough grades in class. The only reason he kept getting kicked out of schools was for messing around with the teachers. It's not like Farleigh's stupid, not at all, but there's no way he's going to work harder than he has to... which isn't that hard at all.

⚜️• So when he saunters over to you yet again with his familiar arrogant smirk and charm, offering you a drink while his eyes unsubtly trail up and down your figure in intrigue, and you smile in amusement and casually turn him down... 😑😐 (his face) and then realises that okay, he might have to work harder than he usually does, because there's something about you that's made him curious, Farleigh has to rethink for a second before trying to get you to tag along with him and his friends more often.

⚜️• If Felix doesn't ask you over to Saltburn for the holidays, Farligh will nag at him to do it, with seemingly no other reason than "you're hot" and "why not have a new face?" and whatever else he thinks up on the spot that's half earnest and true, and also because a big manor out in the country with private gardens is just the perfect place to take this person he's been mildly obsessing over for the past while to draw them in... Felix, say yes now, because boy won't take no for an answer.

⚜️• During the course of your stay and hanging out around Farleigh, you'll come to realise that he's actually not a total jackass and snob that fools around with any girl he thinks is hot enough. His ties with the Cattons are pretty fragile and complex, and there's a lot more to him than he'll ever really show. There's a lot of pressure in fitting in and matching Saltburn's aesthetic and definition, but if you're someone who's not completely used to all the wealth and standards and makes him feel more relaxed and accepted without a facade everyone seems to wear, you'll see more and more of what makes Farleigh, Farleigh.

⚜️• So well done to him for discovering that there's more to an aspiring relationship than just the sex and passion, there's communication and actually getting to know each other too 👏

⚜️• As you get properly closer, you'll see that the dude gets ridiculously jealous when any other guy or girl shows an interest in you that goes past platonic in his eyes. He's started arguments and fights before about lesser things, so don't think he won't tense up and his eyes won't narrow into an annoyed glare at whoever it is that's taking up too much of your time. Farleigh will probably finish it off by humiliating them in some way, smirking in amusement from his seat as he watches his efforts pay off, and shrug with a faux innocent look when you call him out on it.

⚜️• If Oliver Quick happens to be Felix's guest at Saltburn too, Farleigh's jealousy levels and possessiveness will spike too, along with a hint of protectiveness. Since he basically thought right from the beginning that there was something weird about Oliver - maybe not to the realistic point that's revealed, but enough to not have one friendly or lighthearted word for him - Oliver going to you for friendship or most likely something more will only motivate Farleigh to exclude him as much as he can from the rest of the group.

⚜️• I feel like Farleigh would grow to quickly love what it means to be in a committed and official relationship, when before he turned his nose up at the idea of being restrained to only one person instead of a fling, and not having to worry about telling each other things that go too deep. It seems to all come naturally with you, and he loves it; being a loud and gleefully obnoxious supporter when you're doing whatever club or sport or anything at all with half a crowd watching from the sidelines. Proud, smug boyfriend right in the front row taking an unnecessary amount of photos to put up on a wall in his room.

⚜️• Farleigh makes simping look good. 😎

⚜️• He'll take advantage of the money he gets to buy you as expensive things as he can get, smirking proudly when he remembers you talking about something you like to get you. Farleigh can absolutely be romantic if he tries, mostly when you're alone and he makes sure he's the first one to tell you he loves you, it'll be surprisingly heartfelt and sweet and vulnerable, and then you've officially, one hundred per cent, seen Farleigh Start for everything he really is, which isn't all bad at all.

⚜️• Big-time pda, and if you're not into that, tell him now, right now, because he's fairly shameless and won't think twice before showing off to his friends by making out with you at uncalled moments, or being more subtle and sweet by having his arm naturally around your shoulders when you're watching a movie or at some social event. Big handholder as well; walking to and from class, alone, in public, doesn't make a difference to him.

⚜️• His jealousy factors into his affection outside sometimes, not that he doesn't trust you, but Farleigh definitely isn't the only player around, and when you're at Saltburn with Felix, he might find himself being frustratedly insecure that you'll be drawn to him because... well, it's Felix, and everyone loves Felix. So when you show that you're not interested at all and it's Farleigh you're dating, duh, he'll chill out a bit after being clingy for a day or two.

⚜️• I will say that even though I don't write smut, it's gotta be obvious that you'll have more than enough going on behind closed doors, because it's Farleigh, and he likes you a lot, so... yeah, brace yourself 😏

⚜️• All I'm gonna say, though, is watch out for Oliver Quick, who's most likely watching it all with that familiar longing and envy of having such a close and strong relationship with someone beautiful and unique, who seems to fit in with the rest of the family just by being you. He's going to. want it, really want it, and whether he gets it or not is a matter of luck and dark fate.

[jetii]

the cross fic made me realize there's not enough tech angsty fanfics

how about a groveling tech trying to get femreader back like they were an item before order 66 tech broke things off, they reunite with the batch later but reader became a very sad person after all that time

an i lied because i thought you deserved better so i pushed you away situation ?

sorry if it's a long ask 😅 first timer here

I like your writing 💕

No worries! I love a detailed prompt.

Writing angst for Tech was harder than I thought it would be tbh. I think his direct communication style and self confidence make it especially difficult, so I took a slight detour here that I feel is more true to his character.

Piece by Piece

Pairing: Tech x fem!Reader

Words: 5,630

Tags/Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, allusions to torture, PTSD

Summary: Pushing you away was the logical decision. It was the right choice. But Tech never expected it to hurt so much, nor did he expect to reunite with you months after the rise of the Empire, broken and haunted by your time spent in Imperial custody. Now, he's determined to make things right.

Being in the same room as you is exceedingly difficult in a way Tech didn’t expect.

It’s been weeks since you returned, appearing like a vision from the Force to them, alive, and he still can’t quite believe it. His hands shake slightly when you look at him, his mouth goes dry. He still wants to reach out to you, hold you tight and never let you go, and it is agony to resist, to stand by your side and not be able to touch you.

You were the one who asked for space, time to readjust to being around them again. And he has respected that, despite the desperate, possessive urge to pull you back, to keep you close so you never leave his side again.

It makes it hard to concentrate. Hard to be of any use at all, really.

Tech knows this isn't healthy, the way his mind and body and emotions are behaving, but he is finding it difficult to control. He has a lot of feelings that he isn’t sure what to do with, a lot of emotions that he doesn't understand. Tech isn't one for emotional outbursts, for being ruled by his heart and not his mind. He is rational, logical, always thinking of the most efficient solution to a problem, the most practical way of doing things.

It’s what lead him to break it off with you, after all. He couldn’t afford to have his head in the clouds when so much is on the line, couldn't afford to be distracted by thoughts of you when they could be used against him.

But then you were gone, and Tech was left alone with only the cold reality of his own decisions.

He thought he had made the right choice. Thought he had been logical and sensible, thought it would hurt you less in the long run, if he pulled away. But Tech doesn't feel very sensible now, and it doesn't seem very logical that the best way to protect you would be to push you away.

You have been hurt more than enough. And even if you don't want him in your life anymore, even if you want nothing to do with him, he will never forgive himself for not trying to help.

The fact is, Tech isn’t sure what you want, but he is determined to make amends, to help in any way that he can. It might hurt, might cause him to feel pain at the distance between you, but he is willing to accept that, to live with it if that is what you need.

What he isn’t willing to live with is seeing you unhappy. And you are unhappy.

Your eyes are dark, hollow. Your face is drawn and gaunt, cheeks too thin, and when he sees you, your shoulders are slumped as though under an impossible weight. You barely eat, you barely sleep. Tech watches as you push food around your plate and drink only water. He notices how you keep to yourself, avoid talking and laughing and joking like you used to, and he hates that you have changed so much, that the Empire has taken that joy from you.

And that, more than anything, is what hurts him the most. The Empire took your light, the thing that makes you, you. They ripped your spark away and left a shell behind, and he is struggling to reconcile that with the bright and lively woman he knew, the woman who had such a profound effect on him.

"On all of us," Echo points out one night, as the rest of them watch you sitting alone.

Echo has become increasingly vocal about his feelings, something Tech is glad for. It gives him a chance to understand better, to gain perspective, and Echo has been the one to notice what Tech can't admit, the thing he isn't willing to think about, the thing that hurts the most.

You're suffering, and you're pushing them away.

At first, it seemed reasonable. You were gone a long time, and they hadn’t seen you. It made sense that you needed space.

But time has passed, and you're still not yourself.

Tech thinks back to your first night, how you flinched away from his touch, and realises how foolish he has been. He sees now how much he was hurting you, how much damage his words and actions were causing, and his heart breaks a little more.

It was never about protecting you. Not really.

Tech wanted you. He wanted you for so long, and when he finally had you, he was terrified of losing you. So, he pulled away. He cut ties, and told himself it was for the best.

Except now he has no ties to cut, no bonds left to sever. You're here, but not, and his chest aches as he watches you.

This isn't the way it should be.

Tech should be holding you, and you should be smiling. He should be telling you how much he loves you, how happy he is to have you back. He should be making sure you're comfortable and safe, ensuring that you have everything you need, everything you deserve.

Instead, he stands in the corner of the room, watching silently as his brothers try to coax you into eating, or drinking, or just saying something. Omega is the only one who is successful, who manages to make you smile.

Tech can't understand it. He tries his hardest, he does his best, and you always turn away.

And the more he tries, the more he feels the ache inside him grow, the more his feelings change, twisting and turning and growing, and he can't keep track of what's happening to him. All he knows is that the idea of losing you is the worst thing he can imagine, and the idea of being without you is becoming unbearable.

He doesn't know how much more he can take.

You've been avoiding him.

No, not avoiding. You've been staying away.

Or maybe, you've been ignoring him.

“She's not talking to me,” Tech admits one evening.

He's curled up in the corner of the cockpit, legs pulled up, head buried in his arms. The rest of the Batch have dispersed, going off to their own bunks to rest or to tinker or to read. Tech is usually the last to retire, but not tonight.

Tonight, his shoulders are slumped and his goggles are pushed up onto his head. He's been scrubbing at his face with the heels of his palms for the past few minutes, trying to work through the thoughts and emotions swirling in his mind.

You're not talking to him.

And yes, maybe it's because you're not talking to any of them, but it still feels personal.

You're not talking, not laughing, not doing anything, really. You’re just there, a shadow of your former self, a ghost.

Tech misses the woman who used to laugh and tease him, the one who could always bring a smile to his face and a blush to his cheeks. The woman who was a whirlwind of color and life, the one who lit up his world and made him see things differently. Who kissed him so deeply and passionately that it felt like his entire world was reduced down to the feel of her lips. He misses her warmth, her kindness, the way she touched him, looked at him.

He misses the way he felt around her.

He misses you.

Tech doesn't know what to do. He can't stop thinking about you, can't stop thinking about what he's done, what he could have done.

What he should have done.

Maybe if he'd tried harder. Maybe if he hadn't given up, hadn't let go. Maybe if he had listened to Hunter, had heard Echo. Maybe if he'd told you the truth, he could have stopped this.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

He sighs, rubbing at his face. He feels miserable, and it's his own damn fault. He's the one who ended things, who pushed you away. And he can't blame you for that, not when it was him who decided that you weren't worth it.

That isn't to say that he didn't care. Of course, he cared. He cares now. So much it hurts.

You are the person he was in love with, the only one. But it didn't seem fair to ask you to share his life, his world, when he couldn't promise that it would always be safe, that it would always be stable. He couldn't give you a future, couldn't provide for you the way a proper partner should, the way you deserve.

He could give you the present, but he couldn't offer you anything else.

And yet, as Tech sits here, head in his hands, he can't help but think that he should have at least tried. If he'd told you how he felt, maybe things would have turned out differently.

“I only ever wanted you,” you had told him once, and Tech can't believe how stupid he was to let you slip through his fingers.

Tech isn't used to feeling helpless. He's used to knowing exactly what he's doing, to being in control. But when it comes to you, it's as if he's floundering. He doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to act, doesn't know what you want.

He’s tried everything, he's done everything he can, and still, you push him away.

You don't want his comfort. You don't want his love.

He doesn't understand it. You've always seemed happy around him, like his presence brings you some peace. But now, whenever he gets close, you move away. When he tries to talk, you turn your back. When he offers help, you shut him down.

Tech isn't sure why you won't accept his assistance, or why you won't talk to him. It doesn't make sense.

He can't understand, can't rationalize. And he's never felt so lost.

Tech groans, burying his face in his arms. He's being ridiculous, he knows, but he can't help the way he feels.

He misses you.

Tech misses the way your hand fits perfectly in his. He misses the smell of your hair, the softness of your skin, the sweetness of your lips. He misses the way your smile makes him feel like his heart is full, like he can take on the world, like he can conquer anything.

Tech misses the way your body feels against his. The way your fingers feel on his skin. The way your breath catches when he touches you, the way your heartbeat picks up, the way your pupils dilate.

Tech misses the way you made him feel alive.

Tech knows that he isn't worthy of your affection. He knows that he doesn't deserve your love. He's not a good man, not a good partner, not a good friend. He's not the kind of person who should have someone like you, and yet, somehow, you chose him.

But not anymore.

“I only ever wanted you.”

You said those words to him before, and they haunt him. You told him you didn't care about the risks, the dangers, the fact that he couldn't give you the future you deserve. All you cared about was him.

And he threw it away.

Tech isn't sure how long he sits there, wallowing in his misery. He doesn't move, doesn't speak. He just sits, and broods.

“Maybe she just needs time,” Echo says, though his voice sounds doubtful.

Tech shakes his head before pressing the heel of his palm into his forehead.

“She has made it clear that she doesn't wish to speak to me, or see me, or have anything to do with me."

The words sting as he speaks them. His throat is tight, and he swallows hard, trying to hold back the emotion.

"I doubt a little more time will change her mind."

There's a long silence.

Echo leans against the wall beside Tech, his arms folded. He's watching Tech carefully, his gaze piercing. Tech feels uncomfortable, and shifts, ducking his head. He doesn't like being scrutinized, doesn't like being vulnerable. He prefers to keep his emotions in check, his feelings close to his chest.

But he's finding it hard to hide them now, and his pain is obvious, even to himself.

“But she does,” Echo says finally.

Tech glances up, frowning. "Elaborate."

"She does want you," Echo clarifies, his voice gentle. "She loves you. She wouldn't have come back if she didn't.”

Tech doesn't want to admit it, but Echo has a point. If you didn't want anything to do with him, then you wouldn't have bothered to find him. You would have left, disappeared again, and never come back.

You wouldn't have risked your life for him.

Tech isn't sure if that makes him feel better, or worse.

Because it means that you do care, but it also means that you might be willing to sacrifice yourself, and Tech can't have that. He can't let you throw away your life, not for him.

Tech groans, burying his face in his hands. He's being selfish, and he knows it. You're the one who was captured, the one who suffered, the one who nearly died. And yet, all he can think about is how much it hurts.

He's been thinking about how much it hurts him. He hasn't been thinking about what you need.

"What should I do?" Tech asks, his voice small and defeated.

"Apologize," Echo replies simply.

"I have tried," Tech protests, lifting his head. "I have apologized countless times, and she does not want to listen. She doesn't want to speak to me."

"No," Echo corrects. "You've apologized for the wrong things."

"Wrong things?" Tech echoes, frowning.

"Yes, the wrong things," Echo repeats.

Tech isn't sure what Echo means by that, but his brother looks confident, sure of himself. Tech wants to believe him, but he doesn't know how. He's spent so long trying to convince himself that he did the right thing, that he did the only thing, that he can't help but doubt.

"How do I fix it?" he asks, voice quiet.

"That, I can't tell you," Echo replies. "But Tech, the first step is admitting that you were wrong."

Tech nods, letting his shoulders sag. He doesn't feel particularly good about the situation, but he's willing to try. It's not easy, admitting he was wrong. He's so used to being right, to having the answer, to knowing what's best. But when it comes to you, he has never felt so lost.

Tech thinks of the pain in your eyes, the way you flinched from him, the way you turned away.

He has to do better. He has to be better.

He has to earn your forgiveness.

"I was wrong," Tech says, his voice steady and sure. "And I'm going to make it right."

You're standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by medical supplies and overturned cots. Your face is pale, eyes wide and fearful, and Tech isn't sure what to do.

The voice of his brothers and Omega inside his head tell him you need space, but they also remind him that you need someone to look after you. That you need help. That you can't be alone.

Tech hesitates. He isn't used to this, the uncertainty, the not knowing what's best. He's never been particularly good at reading people, and even worse at knowing what they need.

He has never been more unsure than he is now.

He wants to help. He wants to take care of you, to make you feel safe, to give you what you need. But he's terrified of getting it wrong. Especially when you're standing in front of him looking like a startled animal.

You're shaking, and your breathing is fast and shallow. Your eyes are darting around the room, as if searching for something. Tech isn't sure what it is, or if it even exists. You look terrified, and Tech knows you have reason to be. The last time you were in a place like this, the Empire was holding you captive, and he can't blame you for feeling uncomfortable.

Tech has to suppress a shudder as he remembers the footage, the recordings they managed to get from the base. The screams, the cries. They haunted his dreams, and Tech can't even imagine what they did to you.

Tech wants nothing more than to run to you, to take you in his arms and promise that he will protect you. But he can't, not without permission.

Not when he isn't sure you'd even want him to.

So, instead, he stands there, watching. He keeps his distance, gives you the space you need. He's trying his best, but it isn't easy.

She just needs time, he tries to remind himself, but Tech isn't so sure.

He isn't sure if time is enough. He isn't sure if anything will ever be enough.

He watches as you stand there, your hands clenched into fists, your eyes still scanning the room. He watches as your breathing speeds up, your chest rising and falling rapidly. He watches as the panic spreads over your face, your lips pressed together, jaw tight.

You look scared, vulnerable, and Tech's heart breaks a little more.

“Cyare,” he calls out, as quiet and soothing as he can manage. You stiffen, and Tech curses himself for causing you discomfort.

He should have stayed quiet.

But then you turn, and your eyes meet his, and something inside him seems to settle.

You look so sad, so lost, and he can't help it. He walks over to you, careful and slow, making sure not to startle you. When he reaches you, he holds out his hand, palm up. He wants you to know that he is there for you, that he will not hurt you.

He will never hurt you again.

He waits, holding his breath. He's afraid that if he moves, if he speaks, you will run. So, he stands, motionless, watching as you stare at his hand.

Slowly, slowly, you reach out, your fingertips brushing his. The touch is gentle, tentative, and Tech is afraid to breathe.

Then, your hand closes around his, and he exhales.

Tech knows he's taking a risk, touching you, but he can't resist. He can't stand the thought of leaving you alone, the thought of not being able to help. He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you. He doesn't know what else to do. He wants to hold you, to keep you safe.

He never wants to let you go.

You're shaking, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You're trembling, and Tech knows that this is a big step, that you're taking a chance. So, he holds you, and he waits.

Your body is tense, and Tech is worried that he's overstepped, that he's pushed you too far. But then, slowly, you relax. Your arms wrap around him, your head resting on his shoulder, and he can't help but sigh in relief.

The others are nearby, finishing a sweep of the facility. He should be helping, but he doesn't want to leave your side. Not when you're finally letting him be close to you.

So, he holds you, and he strokes your hair. He whispers quiet reassurances in your ear, tells you that everything will be alright, that he's got you, that you're safe.

He's not sure if you believe him, but he has to try.

He can't lose you again.

Tech is trying.

He's trying his best, but he feels like he's failing.

Every day, every hour, every minute, his mind is filled with thoughts of you.

He thinks about how you're doing, whether or not you're eating, sleeping. He thinks about the nightmares you have, the way your body shakes as you wake, pale and trembling, gasping for air.

He thinks about how his brothers can't seem to calm you, how only Omega is successful, her soft voice and gentle touch somehow bringing you some measure of peace.

Tech can't help but feel that it should be him. It should be him comforting you, not Omega. It should be him easing your pain, not his little sister.

It should be him.

He isn't sure why he can't seem to do anything right. After they left the facility, after you finally started letting him hold you, Tech thought things would get easier.

But they haven't.

You still seem so distant, so far away. You still refuse to eat, to sleep, to talk. And Tech isn't sure how much longer he can handle this.

He's frustrated. Frustrated at himself, at the Empire, at the galaxy. Most of all, he's frustrated at you. Not that he would ever admit it aloud.

You've been through a lot. More than anyone should have to go through. Tech understands that. But he can't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, if you'd been willing to accept his help earlier, things would have been different.

Tech doesn't mean it, not really. He doesn't think that it's your fault. He's just tired, and angry, and frustrated. 

And, if he's being honest, he's a little jealous.

You trust Omega. You open up to her. But you won't even talk to him.

It hurts.

Tech has spent the past few weeks trying to make things right, to show you that he’s changed. But you seem unwilling to let him in, to let him help.

It's infuriating.

Tech knows he shouldn't feel this way, but he can't help it. You were his girlfriend, his partner, his lover. And now, you won't even look at him.

He's trying, but he feels like he's getting nowhere. He wants to help, wants to be there for you. But he can't do anything if you won't let him.

“I’m not sure if this is a good idea,” Omega says, her voice uncertain. Her feet swing over the edge of the bunk across from him, and her brow furrows. “Won’t she be mad?”

Tech sighs, running a hand over his face. He knows that Omega is worried, but he can't sit around any longer. He has to do something.

"She is already upset. I'm not sure anything else could make things worse."

Tech tries to sound convincing, but the truth is, he isn't sure what the consequences will be. He isn't sure what will happen, isn't sure if this is a good idea. But he has to try.

“If you’re sure,” Omega replies slowly.

Tech nods, trying his best to look confident.

"I'm sure."

He isn't.

"Okay."

Omega pulls out her datapad and types the message. Tech watches as she hits send, then lets out a shaky breath. She slides off the edge of the bunk and hurries down the ramp, leaving him alone.

Tech waits, his nerves growing with each passing second.

You are going to hate him for this, he's sure.

But he has to do it. He has to try.

"Tech?"

Your voice is quiet, uncertain. You're standing in the doorway, arms wrapped around yourself, and Tech feels his chest ache at the sight.

You're here.

You're actually here.

"Hello," he says quietly.

“Where’s Omega?” you ask, your voice sharp. You step forward, and the light catches your face. Tech can see the bags under your eyes, the paleness of your skin. You look tired, worn down, and he hates it.

Tech winces. "She's not here."

"Where is she?"

You sound panicked, and Tech doesn't blame you. The last thing he wants is to make you more stressed. But he needs to talk to you, and this is the only way.

"She is fine," Tech says, trying to sound reassuring. "I asked her to leave."

You narrow your eyes, taking another step toward him. You're still clutching your arms, as if you're trying to hold yourself together. Tech wants to reach out, to take your hands, but he knows you'll pull away.

“What do you want, Tech?” Your voice is harsh, but Tech doesn't mind. You're speaking to him, which is more than he's gotten out of you in days.

"I, ah, I wanted to talk," Tech replies, his tone hesitant.

"About what?"

Tech swallows, his throat suddenly dry. "About us."

You frown, folding your arms across your chest. "There is no 'us', Tech. There hasn't been for a long time. You made sure of that."

Your words are sharp, cutting, and Tech can't help but flinch. He deserves them, he knows. But it doesn't make the sting any less. He takes a deep breath, trying to find the words.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was wrong. I shouldn't have ended things."

You stare at him, eyes wide. Tech isn't sure if you're surprised, or just angry. He can't read you, not anymore. He isn't sure if he ever could. He's always felt a little bit of awe, a little bit of fear when it came to you. And now, more than ever, he feels completely lost.

"So why did you?" you ask, your voice tight.

Tech sighs, adjusting his goggles nervously. He's not sure how to answer that. He isn't sure if he even has an answer.

"I was... afraid," he admits, his voice low.

"Afraid of what?"

Tech shrugs, looking away. "Everything. The future, the war, losing you."

You don’t say anything, and Tech takes a deep breath, forcing himself to continue.

“I ran an exhaustive cost benefit analysis, and I had determined that the risks far outweighed the benefits. I could not continue our relationship knowing that I would most likely hurt you. In my mind, I needed to end things before they went any further. Before you were able to become attached.”

"I was already attached," you whisper, your voice cracking. "I was already in love with you."

Tech's heart stutters.

"You were?" he asks, his voice quiet.

You nod, biting your lip. Tech feels his stomach twist, a mixture of guilt and hope rising in him. You were in love with him. You are in love with him. And he has hurt you more than he ever thought possible.

"I was a coward," Tech says quietly. "I knew if we had gone any further, and I were to hurt you, it would have caused me immense emotional pain. And, in the process, I would have risked my ability to perform at optimal efficiency, and that would have resulted in harm to the rest of the squad."

Tech looks up, meeting your gaze. "I didn't want to hurt you, and I didn't want to put the squad at risk. But in the end, I failed at both."

You frown, and Tech can tell that you're trying to understand.

"So, let me get this straight," you begin, your voice strained. "You broke up with me, because you thought it was the best option for everyone involved."

Tech nods, his expression pained.

“That’s not for you to decide, Tech. I can make my own decisions. And, I decided to be with you. But instead, you made the decision for both of us, and you didn't even bother to ask my opinion."

“I knew that if I had discussed it with you, you would have tried to convince me otherwise,” Tech explains, his voice soft. “And I wasn't certain I would be able to resist your arguments."

You shake your head, an incredulous look on your face. "So, basically, you dumped me because you couldn't trust yourself to make a logical decision?"

Tech's shoulders slump, and he nods, his head bowed.

"That is correct. It is also…” He looks at his hands, his expression pained. “For all of my unique modifications, I am still a clone. I am still expendable. But you, you are not. You are more important. You are special." He hesitates, swallowing hard. "You are irreplaceable."

Tech can see tears gathering in your eyes, and he feels a fresh wave of guilt wash over him. He never meant to hurt you, but it seems he has managed to do just that. And now, he doesn't know how to fix it.

"Tech, no." You shake your head. "You're not expendable. None of you are."

"That may be the case," Tech concedes. “But at the time I could not see a future in which the two of us could have a happy life together. Not with the way things were, not with the risk we faced. So, I chose the safest option."

"But we could have figured it out, Tech. We could have found a way."

Tech shakes his head, his expression weary.

"I was not willing to take the risk. I was not willing to gamble with your safety, with your happiness. It was a decision I had to make. For all of our sakes."

You are quiet for a moment, your expression thoughtful. Tech can see the pain in your eyes, the hurt and betrayal, and he wishes he could take it all away. He wishes he could erase his mistakes, undo his actions.

"You made the wrong choice," you say at last, your voice low.

"Yes, I did," Tech admits, his voice quiet. "I was wrong. About a great many things."

He looks up, his gaze meeting yours.

"But I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to prove to you that I'm serious, that I want to fix things."

"Why?"

"Because I love you," Tech says, his voice breaking.

Your eyes widen, and you suck in a breath. Tech can see the surprise in your expression, the shock. He knows you didn't expect him to say it, to admit it. But it's the truth. And Tech can't hide it any longer. He can't pretend.

He has to be honest. Even if it means losing you.

"I love you," he repeats, his voice stronger this time. "I always have. I've never stopped. I didn't think I was capable of loving anyone, not like this. But, you changed that." He pauses, swallowing hard. "I don't want to lose you, cyare. Not again. Not ever."

"Tech."

You say his name softly, your voice cracking. Tech can see the tears welling in your eyes, and his chest aches. He wants to take you in his arms, wants to kiss away the pain, but he knows he can't. He knows he has to let you decide. He has to let you choose.

You step forward, and his breath hitches in his chest. You're so close, so near, and Tech wants nothing more than to hold you. But he doesn't. He stays where he is, waiting.

You reach out, your hand cupping his cheek, and Tech leans into the touch, savoring the warmth of your skin. You're looking at him, your eyes searching his, and Tech hopes that you can see the truth in them, the sincerity. He hopes that you can feel how much he loves you, how much he needs you.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice breaking.

You nod, and he can see the tears streaming down your cheeks. Tech wants to wipe them away, but he doesn't move. He stays where he is, watching you, waiting. You're still staring at him, and Tech feels a flicker of hope bloom in his chest.

"I'm sorry, too," you whisper, your voice raw. "I'm sorry I shut you out. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I'm sorry for everything."

You pause, biting your lip. "I love you, Tech. I never stopped. And, I don't want to lose you, either."

Tech's heart swells, and he can't stop the tears that come, or the smile that spreads across his face. You're looking at him with such tenderness, with such love, that he can't help but reach for you, pulling you close, wrapping his arms around you, holding you tight. You melt into his embrace, your arms winding around his waist, your face buried in his chest. 

Tech can feel your tears, wet against his skin, and he runs a hand through your hair, trying to soothe you. You cling to him, your grip almost desperate, and Tech feels his heart break a little more.

You've been through so much, endured so much pain, and he was part of it. He was responsible for it. And he doesn't know how to make it better. He doesn't know how to take away the hurt, the betrayal, the fear. All he can do is hold you, and promise to never let you go.

"Cyare," he breathes, his voice choked with emotion. "You will never lose me. I am yours. Always."

And then, you lift your head, and his eyes meet yours, and Tech can't stop the surge of emotion that rushes through him. You're so beautiful, so perfect, and he can't believe how lucky he is. 

You're the best thing that has ever happened to him, the only thing that has ever made him feel alive. And now, here you are, in his arms, telling him you love him. It's everything he's ever wanted, everything he's dreamed of. And it's real. You're real. You're here. And you're his.

"I love you," Tech whispers, and then he leans in, capturing your lips with his.

The kiss is soft, gentle, filled with everything he's feeling, everything he can't say. And when you pull away, Tech's heart skips a beat, and he wonders how he ever thought he could live without you.

"I love you," you whisper back, and Tech can't stop the smile that spreads across his face, the tears that sting his eyes. He holds you tight, and the world seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you.

He's never letting you go again.

[xxchumanixx]

Hey can you do one where reader (reader is Nyla rookie) is secretly engaged to Tim and Nyla starts to ask the reader questions about who she’s engaged to because the reader forgot to take her ring off before she got to work, and it’s plain clothes day and reader pulls Tim over on his day off because he was speeding ( he was doing something for his sister) and Nyla doesn’t know that is was Tim in the car until the next day when he comes back to work and Nyla and Angela starts to put two and two together

Elephant in the room

Tim Bradford x fiance!reader

Warnings/Tags: fluff, a little angst

Word count: tba

Authors note: Hello love, thanks for the request! It was really fun to write and I hope you'll like it!

Enjoy!

She just wouldn't stop.

Ever since she saw the glittery and shiny engagement ring on your finger - of course it had to be one, 'cause it was just so shiny - she wouldn't stop asking questions.

Asking questions was an understatement, though - for someone who barely talked about her private life herself, she was really good at squeezing every bit of information out of you.

You had forgotten to take if off before heading to work, not even noticing until it was too late.

It was plain clothes day, she wasn't even supposed to talk, yet Nyla freakin' Harper wouldn't shut up.

Jaw clenched you tried to ignore her, until she threatened to make you fail.

"Wait what?" you almost screeched, parking at a sidewalk to turn towards her in your seat. She was smirking to herself, a shit eating grin that told you 'I have your future in my hands'.

And damn it, she had.

"I'm engaged." you pressed out through clenched teeth, trying to act nonchalant about it with a shrug of your shoulders.

"Do I know him?" she pressed further, and you bit your cheek.

She in fact did know him, but you would never tell her. At least not now, not when you were still her rookie, having promised Grey and Tim not to talk about it, until your training was done.

Which it would be in two weeks.

But the look she was giving you, gave you the sense of feeling that she'd give you a hard time, until you'd finally crack and tell her.

Which you couldn't.

Damn it.

Her brows rose, urging you to answer her question.

"No...?" you answered vaguely, and her head tilted with a pointed look. She didn't believe you for a second.

To be honest, you wouldn't have either.

"Do I?" she questioned, leaning closer. She tried to analyze you, see if you were lying to her.

"I mean, maybe you've met him at a grocery store, who knows?" you tried to shrug it off, heart racing in your chest, threatening to burst out of it any moment, at the look she was giving you.

If she wouldn't have been your TO, she would have made a good friend - whom you might have told, but she wasn't.

Yet, you hoped. She was a great person, and you could only hope to stay on her good side for the rest of your days.

"Mhhmmm..." she made, the sound drawn out, as she leaned back in her seat. "Maybe."

You breathed a sigh of relief inwardly, as someone sped past you on the otherwise quiet street.

Huffing to yourself, you turned on the siren, following the car as you motioned for them to turn over, though thankful for the distraction.

Only then did you notice what car it was - or rather whose.

Cursing under your breath, you had no other choice than to get out of the car now.

Approaching the car you were grateful it was plain clothes day, which meant that Nyla was staying near the shop, not having any sight into the car.

"Hello, do you know why I pulled you over?" you greeted, silently pleading he wouldn't act strange now.

"Driving too fast?" he guessed and you huffed to yourself again, biting your lip to stifle a laugh.

Never would you have thought you'd pull your own fiancé over.

Nodding, you took a step closer, almost crossing the line of getting too close; trying to ignore Nyla's boring gaze for the moment.

"Where are you heading to?" you asked, brows furrowed. "Everything okay?" He nodded at your second question, sending you a reassuring smile.

"I'm fine, baby. Was heading to my sister's, she needs something done in her new house, but she has to work in an hour." he explained, biting his lip.

His sister had just recently moved to LA, after divorcing her now ex-husband.

"Tim, you know you should stick to the speed limit, even if you're late!" you quietly scolded him, brows drawn together. "What about being a good cop and all?"

He sighed, chuckling under his breath at your words and you couldn't help but split a smile as well, before clearing your throat, suddenly aware again, that Nyla was watching you.

"I'll let you go this time, sir, but please try and not drive too fast again." you spoke louder, knowing she'd hear.

He laughed quietly at that, blowing you a kiss.

"I love you." he told you, sending you a smile. "Thank you."

You nodded, smiling back. "Love you too. See you later."

Patting the rolled down window, you bid him goodbye, watching as he drove away.

When you returned, Nyla looked at you suspiciously. She knew the car, it seemed oddly familar, but she just couldn't place where from. Your behavior though, she was able to place.

"That your fiancé?" she shot straight to the point, as you two climbed back into the shop. Swallowing, you took a deep breath, stalling.

"Yep." you then announced, fingers nervously drumming on the steering wheel. She hummed, nodding. "Well then, good you didn't give him a ticket." she mused, brows wiggling. "Who knows, maybe he wouldn't want to marry you anymore if you did?"

Rolling your eyes, you started the shop, shaking your head with a smile.

She really was one of a kind.

_____

"Oh my freakin' sweet Jesus!" Nyla exclaimed quietly, eyes wide as she stared at the car that was parked a few feet away.

It was the same you had pulled over yesterday.

Angela, who was walking beside her, stopped as Nyla did, confusion etched into her features.

"What's up with you?" she wanted to know, stiffling a yawn, not feeling quiet ready for a demanding conversation at this unholy hour in the morning.

"When I was on shift with Y/L/N yesterday, she told me she's engaged. Pulled that car over and guess what: it was the fiancé she refuses to tell me the identity off!"

Angela's eyes widened, nearly dropping her coffee as she stared at Nyla, who's brows knitted together at her look.

"That's Bradford's car!" Angela exclaimed in a hushed whisper, suddenly wide awake. Nyla's eyes could have competed with dinner plates at the size they became at the information.

And realization.

Tim Bradford was your fiancé.

Your fiancé was Tim motherfucking Bradford.

Nyla's mouth opened and closed like a fish's, not quiet grasping the words she was searching for, as her eyes went back to the truck.

No fucking way.

"That little-!" she exclaimed, staring at Angela in shock.

She was as equally as shocked as her friend, though she soon started to grin. "Who would have imagined?" she quipped, taking a sip of her coffee.

Nyla's head shook, still trying to wrap her mind around the information.

Oh, you were definitely in for something.

And you were.

You should have known something was up, when Nyla brought you a coffee, even smiling at you like she did when she was pregnant and couldn't control her hormones, scaring everyone.

You really should have known.

Especially when she offered to drive.

"Had a nice evening yesterday?" she asked with a smile. "After pulling over your own fiancé?"

She chuckled heartily at that, and that's what should have made you jump out of the shop, take your legs in your hands and run for your dear life.

Yet you were dumb enough to step right into her trap.

"Yeah, he wasn't mad, said he was glad I didn't spare him just because he was my fiancé and pulled him over nonetheless."

She hummed to herself in agreement, nodding along to it.

"And what did he say was the reason he was breaking the speed limit?"

Your brows furrowed, but you didn't question her. "Wanted to help his sister fix something over at her new house. She just moved here."

Nyla nodded again, lips pursed.

"Bradford's nice to help his little sister that much."

You stiffened at her words, thoughts crashing to a halt. She caught you - but how?

She smirked to herself, a dangerous one that told you not to lie to her now, or else you would regret it for the rest of your life.

Biting your lip, you sank further into your seat with your cheeks ablaze, praying the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

"I mean I get it." she spoke, eyes fixed on the street. "But lying to your TO? Nuh-uh."

"I'm sorry." you apologized, gaze fixed on your entwined hands, that started to sweat profusely. "But I had to promise Tim and Grey not to tell anyone."

She huffed, chuckling under her breath.

"Well, I'm a detective - and a good one." she told you, sending you a pointed look. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"

That she only did with Angela's help, she didn't mention. She wanted to see you suffer, at least a little bit. That didn't mean she wasn't happy for you, though.

You were a lucky one with Tim Bradford as your soon to be husband.

"I expect an invitation for the wedding, of course."

Rolling your eyes, you huffed.

"Please, as if you wouldn't have been invited anyways." you retorted, sending her a pointed look.

She smiled at that, failing to hide it.

"Good."

_____

"Harper knows."

"Angela knows."

"Wait, what?" you both made, brows furrowed.

"Oh my, really should have expected it." you sighed, shaking your head. "Somehow, Nyla found out about it. I bet her and Angela did together."

Tim nodded at that, biting his lip. "Figured."

Sighing, you took off your jacket, before hanging it on the clothing rack. You didn't even get to greet him properly, having to get the news off your chest first.

He crossed the distance, wrapping his arms around you as his eyes met yours. "Should have expected that to happen." he said, lips pursed and you nodded.

"Yeah, they're detectives - and they're good at it." you repeated what Nyla had said earlier, causing Tim to chuckle. "Yeah, 'course she said that."

He leaned down and kissed you, tongue brushing yours, as your hands locked behind his neck.

"Not long and we can tell everyone." he promised, forehead leaning against yours. "And I'm glad when they finally know. Hate lying to them."

You nodded in agreement, pecking his lips again. "Me too."

He walked you backwards, lips brushing yours. "I love you." he murmured, blindly navigating you, and you sighed happily. It still felt like the first time, whenever he said it.

"I love you, too."

Tag List

@newobsessionweekly @laheysfilm

@augustvandyne @RookieTrek

@dhunhdchrih @nachofriess

[everythingelseisextra]

David and Goliath

Part Sixteen: Cain (Tommy's POV)

Description: Tommy fucks up. :) Warnings: references to rape, references to suicide, language, minor self harm Word Count: 3490 Tag List: @theshelbyslimited  @ttaechi  @weaponizedvirtue  @Majesticcmey  @Optimisticsandwichgladiator  @zablife  @princesssterek  @mm0thie  @callsignvenus @ay0nha  @mgdixon  @fairytale07 @dreamy-caramel  @ce1iat  @algae-tm @dragonsondragons @trentknd @nothingofsimplicity @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul @notalxx @chaengist

Arrow House sits in silence, only half sane. The ghosts of the Shelby family haunt the entrance, their shouts echoing in your ears. The commotion in the entryway reached you, even as you sat in the master bedroom, and Polly’s cries and Arthur’s yells and John’s indignant roars fill the quiet room. You close your eyes, and you can imagine the police, Moss in their midst, forcing them into the darkened, freezing cells that you yourself sat in only a few days ago. And Tommy at the edge of it, watching his family taken from him as a consequence of his own actions, an unforgivable choice he made. 

You expect him to join you when he’s ready. It tugs on you, the sense that you need to protect him from himself, but you have to trust that his ability to fight his own mind will hold out. You trust that your presence in the house is reason enough for him to keep the gun in its drawer.

You think that this will be another thing he buries so deep that he forgets there’s anything underground. This will be too painful for him to keep in his hands, and it will trickle out between the cracks of his fingers until there is nothing to hold. His family is his core, the glowing ember of warmth that lives next to the heart he likes to pretend is stone. Now, he’s lost them. Now, all he has is you.

It’s some time before he enters the room. He doesn’t look at you, just sweeps past, heading into the bathroom. He closes the door behind him and water runs softly from behind it. You wait in silence, leaning back in your chair and closing your eyes, listening to the impure silence. The water stops, the door creaks open, and his footsteps slowly walk across the room. You open your eyes to find him heading towards the door, eyes set on the wooden floor in front of him. Your eyes narrow. There’s a hesitation to each step he takes, a slight pause, a tilt of his head. You’re waiting for him. He’s waiting for you. 

“Tommy.” You stand and walk over to him, your bare feet cold on the wood. Part of you wants to inject some playfulness into your words, but the rest of you knows that, after something like this, that might be his breaking point. “Hey, come sit. Take a second to talk to me.” 

His gaze stays on the floor, but, almost imperceptibly, he nods. You step back and lead him over to the chair you’d been sitting in, in front of a small desk that you’d claimed as yours the past few days. You sit on the bed, facing him, hands on either side of you. Soft light flows from the window next to you, and the sunrays seem to gentle your gazes on each other, creating a sort of barrier. It’s warm on your face and reflects in his eyes, which refuse to look at you.

“I would give you a pep-talk,” you start, nervousness slowing your words. “I would tell you that you’ve had high highs and low lows, and that the pendulum will swing back up again, but I won’t. I respect you too much for that. You and I both know that life tends to kick you while you’re down. We know that there’s no such thing as rock bottom, it’s always possible to go lower. So, all I’ll say is this; I’m here. I’m not leaving. As complicated as I’m learning your life is, I’d like to try to be simple together. If you want to be alone, that’s okay. If you don’t, I can be with you.”

He leans back in his chair, sighing. Exhaustion tightens his skin over his bones, his face drawn, his eyes a little glassy. “You’re not leaving.”

“No.” You furrow your brow, confused. “Why would I?”

“My family is gone. My boy is back. I’m a new man.” He slides a small metal container from his pocket, opens it, and pulls out a cigarette. “I have no room in my life for a woman who sets no store for a man’s needs.”

You nod slowly, almost incredulous. “You’re telling me that, after all this, you want me to leave because I won’t fuck you.”

He inclines his head, reaching out to offer you a cigarette. Your jaw clenches and you ignore his hand. Your next words are clipped. “My horses are literally in your stables. I’m not sure what kind of crisis move you’re making here, but it feels like one that’ll be… how should I say this in a way you’ll understand? Bad for business.” 

He lights his cigarette and takes a long drag. He speaks on the exhale. “Bad for business is a woman I can’t explain living in my house. You’re not a whore, you’re not my wife, you’re not the mother of my son.” 

You chuckle. “So you’re telling me I either become your whore, marry you, or become a nanny for Charles.” 

“I’m telling you to leave.” 

“And then, months later, hear that you’ve blown your brains out, because no one, including me, would pick up the phone.” 

“Curly will start moving your horses in the morning. I’ve covered the cost of transportation.”

“How kind of you.” 

“In the meantime, you’ll pack. You’ll prepare yourself to leave.” He wiggles his cigarette at you, eyes dull. 

“And what if I say no?” You lean forward, almost mocking. 

“If you say no, then, unfortunately, I may have to get the authorities involved.” 

“‘Yes, hello, I’d like to report that a woman who I said I’d protect and invited to live with me is living in my house. Has she committed a crime? Yes, she won’t fuck me when I want, because I’m a teenaged boy who needs to get off every thirty minutes.” You let anger slide into your voice, let it bite. “Jesus Christ, listen to yourself.” 

He blinks blankly at you, then rises with a soft groan. “There’s work to be done. Please collect your things.”

“Thomas.” You stand, hands curling into fists, then relaxing. “You send me away now, you’re sending me back to the life I used to live. If you understand that, you’re as bad as the men who sold and raped me.” 

His eyebrows raise in an infuriatingly bewildered expression, then he shakes his head. “I am. I apologize if that wasn’t clear from the start.” 

—

Night falls. Fog fills the air around you, rises from the warm bodies of the horses. Unlike your own barn, Tommy’s is lit, and you can see the confused, wide, liquid eyes staring at you from within the stalls. Draco nickers quietly, throwing his head. He’s been your rock, your shoulder to cry on, the only comfort to you on nights where your body felt as battered and broken and abused as it had during those awful years of horror. 

It’s not him you stand with, though. It’s not his mane you bury your tears in, not his warm body you lean against to carry your shivering weight. Iris had one more month of recovery before he would be able to be ridden again, and now, you have to apologize to him. You have to apologize to all of them, in time, for being unable to care for them. For forfeiting the safety you thought you had. For failing. 

You would be brought back to your own property in an hour. Your horses would trickle in after you. You’d feed them, slip back into the routine of caring for them, and the timer on your life would start to count down. You could fight. You would fight. You’d fight tooth and nail, use every bit of strength built up over years of manual labor, shoot straight and fast and confident, and still, you know you’ll lose. 

Iris turns his head to blink at you as you stand by his side, leaning your weight on his shoulder. You wipe your face of tears and draw yourself up, pulling your shoulders back and squaring your legs to your hips like a soldier. You stand strong. Right now, you’re a survivor. Your quiet claim to life is that you fought for it. Like David with Goliath, you stood against a gargantuan opponent and managed to live to tell the tale. And, here you are, with your bags packed, ready to walk yourself back to that Goliath and allow him to smash your skull. You have no slingshot. You have no rock. There is no God on your side. 

Your fingers gently pull through the knots in Iris’ mane. You should be angry. There should be a burning anger in you that threatens to overwhelm. You should feel it in your bones, in your heart and veins, and you should act in some sort of way on it. You should set fire to his garden, release his horses to the wild. 

Truth is, you don’t know how to be angry with someone. All your life, you’ve been taught to stand down, to take whatever comes without question, and to continue despite it all. You’ve been trained to cower, to take each hit without protest. A cornered animal will always bite, but an abused pet will flinch away, fearful, all the teeth beaten out of it. You weren’t meant to fight as hard as you do. 

You close your eyes, and like Tommy said for you to do, you prepare to leave. 

Your body has a master and it is not you, and it is not God. Caged by a twisted form of humanity, you will be an animal at a zoo. You will gawked and stared at, poked and prodded, and, behind the scenes, you will be used for all your worth. This body you were born in ripples with scars from the years of prostitution and mental torture, and it’s a cold sort of hell. So much touch and so little care. You are only worth so much. You know the literal price of your life. You know how much this body of yours sells for. 

When you open your eyes, the world is in black and white. You will not see the blood they rip from your veins. You will not see the color of their bare skin. Your hand moves from Iris’ mane to your upper arm, and you press down on it, your fingernails biting into your skin. There’s an echo of pain somewhere in you, but your skin is so thick that it’s separate, a step away from your consciousness. You will not feel the penetration. You will not feel the hands grabbing at your flesh, you will not feel their bodies pressed against you. A horse calls and the sound bounces away from you, not quite touching you, and you take a deep breath. You will not hear their moans or the heated lies they tell you in the dark. 

This body that is all you have will no longer be yours. It is only a matter of time. 

The rest of the night crawls past you as a blur. You know you are steady. You know that you step with purpose, your head held high, with no connection with what you feel or how you will survive this. You lift your suitcase and walk down the elegant, well-lit stairs, the portraits of Tommy’s late wife staring down at you with a gaze that tells you that you are lesser. You haven’t seen him since he left the master bedroom. There’s a murmur of emotion in you when you think of him, but you brush past it in your mind. There is no room for you in his life. 

A car waits out front for you. You take a deep breath and look up at the stars. When you were younger, before the world turned against you, you thought you would reach out and touch them even if it burned. Now, you know you could, and the fire would eat away at you, and you would feel nothing. You thought you’d been as close to death as you could be without dying, but this emptiness in you, this blurred vision, this hollow chest is proof that you can stand hand in hand and not die. Maybe, you think, maybe you would rather die than become a commodity once again. There is a gun in the kitchen drawer. 

You slip into the back seat of the car, and, at least, it is warm. The driver glances back at you in the mirror. He says something that washes over you and away, and you turn to look out the window, then twist to look back at Arrow House. A single light shines from the drawing room, the curtain pulled back, and you know he is watching. Despicable and traitorous, he watches you crawl back to a life you said you would never live again. 

You turn back as the car begins to move out of the driveway. You close your eyes and a tear rolls out. You sit in the darkness and shrink into your mind, sitting in the back of it, watching through as your body breathes and shifts and lives apart from you, without you. You wipe the tear and, eyes still closed, you melt into the atmosphere and become nothing. 

The car jerks to a stop and you open your eyes. The driver lets out a slow breath and glances back at you, then looks back through the windshield. 

Lit by the headlights in sharp relief, Tommy stands, breathing hard as if he’d run to stop you. You watch him, expectation in his eyes, and you see a spoiled little boy who enjoys playing games. 

“Keep driving,” you say, voice hoarse.

“Ma’am, I can’t. He’s—”

“Go around.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Hesitantly, the driver inches the car forward, turning to move around Tommy, who’s eyes widen slightly. 

He reaches underneath his coat and pulls out his gun, pointing it at the driver. 

“Ma’am, I—” Panic fills the driver’s voice. “I’m sorry, this isn’t—”

“It’s okay. Stop the car.” 

He does as you say, and, slowly, you open the door and step out into the night. 

You stay where you are in the darkness, letting Tommy stay in the light. You wait for him to speak first. 

“You forgot something.” His voice carries over the sound of the engine. 

You cross your arms, trying to warm yourself from the cold. “Oh, did I? Please, enlighten me.” 

“Come into the light, and I’ll show you.” 

“No.” 

He looks up at the black sky, then steps out into the darkness, coming within a few feet of you. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small square box, rounded corners, velvet wrapped. Your heart goes cold. He opens it and holds it out. A sleek, silver ring glints in the light from the headlights, golden highlights sparking. You shiver and look up at him. 

“Not a whore, not a mother.” He smiles faintly. “Yet.”

You slap him. Not hard, but enough to make your point. Then, without a word, you turn and walk down the long driveway back to the house. In your periphery, you watch him reach up and touch his cheek where you hit him, then slowly close the box and place it back in his pocket. 

—

He waits an hour before he seeks you out. You’re curled in the fetal position, lying in one of the spare bedrooms. You stare blankly at the wall across from you. There’s no color to your vision. The pillow has long since dried from your tears. 

He knocks on the door, waits a full minute for a response. When he doesn’t get one, he quietly lets himself in. His footsteps are bare and light. He sits on the opposite side of the bed, sighing, and you close your eyes again. You’re not sure you want to hear what he has to say. 

“I’m not a good man.” His voice is quiet, almost shameful, and he speaks to the ground, faint to you. “I’ve made that clear tonight. You never heard about me cause you were never in Birmingham. If you had, you’d know, I’m not a good man.”

You clench your jaw and stay quiet, wait for him to say what he thinks will make up for the pain and terror he’s caused. 

He clicks his tongue, almost wincing. “Lost my family today. Decided that meant I needed a fresh start. Needed to move away from all this— this Peaky Blinders shit and focus on more gentlemanly matters. I felt possessed to get away from it all. From any reminder of it. That included you.” He takes a slow breath, sighing it out. “You reminded me, as you should have, that a better man would never send you away. I would be sending you and your horses to death or worse. It took me far too long to remember that, and for that, I am sorry.” 

You open your eyes, blinking hard, trying to stop tears from rolling out once more. 

“You saved my life. I can’t return the favor, not in the same way, but I can preserve yours. That I will do. I won’t try to send you away again. I understand now how misguided that was.” You feel his gaze on your back and you try to smooth out your breathing, steady yourself so he can’t see that you’re human, that you’re affected by him. 

He’s quiet for a moment, then, voice weak and childish, he manages two words you never truly expected him to say. “I’m sorry.” 

You sniffle and croak out a short, shaky sentence. “Am I worth anything to you?” 

“Yes.” His response comes immediately. “You are.”

“Then why don’t you act like it?” 

“I told you that first night. Something in me has been broken since the war. Maybe since my mum. I don’t have the words for it. You’ve seen it, now. You’ve seen it.” 

You nod shakily. “You were ready to watch me drive off to my death.” 

“I would never have let you leave the driveway.” 

“But you let me think you would.” A tear leaks out and you angrily wipe it away. “You let me think that you cared so little about me that you would watch me go back to a life I couldn’t survive.”

“You know what I think?” He shifts towards you, turning his body so he faces your back.. “I think that you’re the first person to see the fucking rotten part of me and still stay in this house.”

“I have nowhere else to go, Tom.” Your voice breaks. “You realize that. I have nowhere else to go, and you can’t decide whether you want me or not, and I’m worthless unless I sleep with you or marry you.” 

His voice drops to a mere murmur. “I want you.” 

“You didn’t an hour ago.” 

“I told you I was sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t enough!” You sit up, fully crying now, and face him. “You fucked up, and I don’t know where there is to go from here.” 

“I do. I know where to go.” He reaches back into his pocket and pulls out the ring box. “I—”

“Stop! Stop with the fucking ring! I don’t want to belong to you, I don’t want—”

“Listen. You can say no. Just fucking listen.” His hand shakes slightly as he holds it in his lap. “I’m not a good man. I try to be, but I’m not. But you— you make me think I can be if I try. That’s a rare fucking thing. You will never belong to me. You will never belong to anyone. It’s a shot in the fucking dark, and things like this come and go as they please, but if I can, if I could, I’d like to be that shot in the dark. If it’s up to me, it’ll be us in the end. I’m not a good man, but I promise, I will be good to you and for you. Love is far, far away, but it gets closer when I’m with you. So, I’m asking you, because I need you with me, to look past the way I hurt you and see that I do care for you. I do think you’re worth something.” He reaches out and gently wipes a tear from your cheek, hand trembling. “I’m asking for a selfish thing. I’m asking for you to see the blood on my hands and love me anyway. I’m asking you to marry me.” 

He is broken promises and shaking fists, and you know, he did not mean to be cruel, but that doesn’t mean he was kind to you. So, you take a breath, trying to stay steady, and you open your mouth to reply.

[kckt88]

Wings of Departure.

Summary:

'I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone' - J. R R Tolkien

She simultaneously loved him and hated him in equal measure, but in the deep recesses of her mind, Vaena wondered if she could truly stand by and allow her husband to die, to stand there and watch as he was executed or worse to face him in the skies and fight to the death on dragon back.

It made her feel sick to her stomach-

But sooner or later she knew that she would have to make a choice.

Warning(s): Angst, Swearing, Family Drama, O.C Is Sick of Her Mother's B.S, Mild Violence, Referenced Character Deaths, Plots, Eavesdropping, Alicent Selling Out Her Own Sons, Dragons, Uncle/Niece Incest, Smut, Kissing, Oral Sex (M & F Recieving), P in V.

AEMOND x O.C

Word Count: 11K

A.N - Aemond and O.C say FUCK THIS SHIT!!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9

Princess Vaena Targaryen stood by the Painted Table on Dragonstone, her fingers tracing the intricate details of the carved map.

The ancient table, depicting the entirety of Westeros, seemed to throb with a life of its own under the flickering torchlight. Beside her stood brother Jacaerys, his youthful face set in a determined scowl as he leaned forward, his hands planted firmly on the table's edge.

Their mother, Queen Rhaenyra, stood with her advisors in deep discussion. The room was thick with the weight of recent losses and grim prospects. Princess Rhaenys, the Queen Who Never Was, had fallen at Rook's Rest, her dragon Meleys dead alongside her.

The greens had suffered too; as Aegon lay grievously injured, and his dragon Sunfyre was unlikely to survive. Yet, the cost to Rhaenyra’s own cause had been steep, and the morale within Dragonstone had been shaken.

Jacaerys broke away from the table, his voice clear and insistent as he addressed their mother. "We must press our advantage now. Vhagar is no doubt injured from her fight with Meleys. She is vulnerable. We should take Cannibal, Syrax, and Vermax and descend on the hoary old bitch. She might be the largest dragon in the world, but not even she could withstand a combined attack from three dragons. Without Vhagar, the greens’ position would be greatly weakened."

Rhaenyra, her face pale and drawn, shook her head slowly. Her eyes, filled with sorrow and fatigue, met her son’s fiery gaze. "No, Jace. I do not wish to unleash the dragons on King's Landing. I do not wish to rule over ash and bone”

Vaena watched the exchange, feeling the tension in the room rise. The thought of further destruction, of turning King's Landing into a charred ruin, filled her with dread. Yet, she could see the logic in Jacaerys’ words.

"Mother-" Vaena said softly, stepping closer to Rhaenyra. "Jace has a point. Vhagar is a significant threat, and if we could neutralize her, it would tip the scales in our favour. We don't have to attack King's Landing directly. We can find Vhagar while she is weak and take her down."

“Vaena-” muttered Rhaenyra, her fingers moving across the edge of the painted table.

"Mother, your inaction is only going to end with more losses. You should have listened to Daemon when the greens first usurped the throne, but you chose not to act."

Rhaenyra's face tightened with a mix of sorrow and fatigue, but before she could respond, Vaena pressed on. "Look what's happened because of it! Luke is dead, Daemon is lost to Harrenhal, Rhaenys is dead, and we've lost Duskendale and Rook’s Rest to the greens. And now, when we have a chance to strike at Vhagar while she's vulnerable, you refuse to act again!"

The Queen’s eyes filled with pain, but she maintained her composure. "I do not wish to rule over ash and bone, Vaena. The cost of this war has already been too high."

Vaena's eyes flashed with anger and frustration. "And it will only get higher if you continue to hesitate”.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I understand your frustration, Vaena. However, since the claiming of Seasmoke-I am considering a plan to have anyone with Valyrian blood attempt to claim the riderless dragons that currently reside in the dragon mount”

“To what end?” asked Vaena pursing her lips.

“I’m hoping that having more dragons on my side may act as a deterrent-”

"-That’s ludicrous!" Vaena shouted. "How can you consider letting just anyone try to claim a dragon? It’s dangerous! Loyalty is fickle, and people can be easily swayed. We cannot risk the dragons falling into the wrong hands."

Rhaenyra's voice was firm but tinged with desperation. "I have no other option available to me”

“Surely my Cannibal is enough”

“As fearsome as your dragon is, Cannibal is but one dragon, we stand a better chance with Vermithor, Grey Ghost and Silver-” replied Rhaenyra.

Vaena's face flushed with anger, her fists clenched at her sides. "-You promised that when Aerion was old enough, he would be given the chance to claim Silverwing”

Rhaenyra's expression softened, but she did not waver. "I have not forgotten my promise. But we are in desperate times, and desperate measures are required”

Vaena’s anger surged, her amethyst eyes blazing with fury as she faced her mother. "You promised me that Aerion would have a chance to claim Silverwing when he was old enough. Now, you’re going back on your word. You say you mourn our losses, but I don’t believe you. You seem more bothered by Daemon’s involvement in the assassination of Jaehaerys than by the death of your own son”.

Rhaenyra's face darkened, her own anger flaring. "-It was your own husband that killed  Luke!"

The words hung in the air, sharp and painful. Vaena’s face flushed with rage, and she stepped closer to her mother, the anger and frustration boiling to the surface.

"All of this is your fault. Maybe if you had remained in King’s Landing and actually spent time solidifying your position as heir to the Iron Throne, then it wouldn’t have been so easy to usurp you. Maybe if you had bonded with your siblings instead of scorning them, our family be so divided. And maybe if you had made Luke apologize for slashing out Aemond’s eye, he might still be alive."

Rhaenyra’s eyes blazed with fury, but there was also a flicker of hurt in them. "You dare challenge my authority? Everything I’ve done has been for the sake of our family, for the Targaryen legacy. I have lost as much as you, Vaena. Do not presume to understand the burdens I carry."

Vaena’s voice was raw with emotion. "I do understand, Mother. I understand that your inaction has cost us dearly. I understand that your decisions—or lack thereof—have led to the deaths of our loved ones. And I understand that if we continue down this path, more will die."

Rhaenyra’s expression hardened, and she took a step back, her eyes narrowing. "You think you could do better? You think you could make the decisions that need to be made? This war is not as simple as you believe."

Vaena’s eyes met her mother’s, unyielding. "Maybe I could. Maybe someone needs to. Because right now, all I see is a Queen too afraid to act, and a realm falling apart because of it."

Rhaenyra's eyes blazed with fury, her voice sharp and commanding. "How dare you speak to me in such a manner? I am not only your mother, but your Queen!"

Vaena laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and mocking. "Daemon had the right idea—get as far away from you as possible."

Rhaenyra's face contorted with rage, her voice rising to a shout. "Get out of my sight! NOW!"

Vaena's eyes flashed with defiance as she turned on her heel. "Gladly”

She stormed towards the door, her steps quick and angry. Jace moved to intercept her, his face pleading. "Vaena, wait! Please, don't go-”

Vaena shook her head, her voice cold. "-If things carry on as they are, we’re all going to die."

With that, she pushed past him, and left the room, the echoes of her footsteps fading down the corridor.

Vaena stormed down the dimly lit corridors of Dragonstone, her mind a whirlwind of anger and frustration. She reached her chambers and pushed the door open with more force than she intended, startling the maid who was attending to her three-year-old son, Aerion.

"Leave us," Vaena said curtly, and the maid, sensing her mood, quickly curtsied and exited the room without a word.

As soon as the door shut, Vaena's gaze softened, shifting to Aerion, who was sitting on the floor surrounded by his toys. The little boy looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes. "Mummy sad," he said, his voice filled with concern.

Vaena managed a slight nod, her heart aching at the purity of his concern. She moved to sit on the floor beside him, trying to push the tumultuous argument with her mother from her mind.

Aerion reached out with one of his toys, a small wooden dragon, and offered it to her. "Mummy play," he said, his face lighting up with a hopeful smile.

Vaena's lips curved into a tender smile as she took the toy from him. "Thank you, my sweet boy."

Aerion giggled, his joy infectious, and for a moment, Vaena felt the heavy weight of her anger and sorrow lift.

Vaena stood on the stone balcony of Dragonstone. Her gaze was fixed on the boats approaching the shore, each one carrying hopeful souls eager for the chance to claim a dragon.

Since the argument, Vaena had not spoken to her mother. They had taken to avoiding each other, a silence that was more painful than any confrontation.

A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. She turned to see Jace entering the room, his presence a welcome distraction. Aerion, who was playing with his toys on the floor, looked up with a bright smile.

"Jace!"

Jace grinned as he ruffled the boy’s silver hair affectionately. "Hello, little one," he said, his voice warm.

“Play dragons-”

“I’m a little busy at the moment-but I’ll play later” replied Jace.

“Ok-look Vhagar” exclaimed Aerion as he held up a wooden dragon figure.

“Very good” replied Jace softly.

“I miss daddy-” muttered Aerion sadly as he moved his dragon figurine through the air.

“I know you do sweet boy” said Vaena as she looked at Jace who ruffled Aerion’s hair again before standing up.

"Are you coming to witness the claiming of Vermithor?" asked Jace.

Vaena shook her head, her expression resolute. "No, I’m not."

Jace nodded, a shadow of understanding crossing his face. "Alright. I’ll see you later then."

As Jace moved towards the door, Vaena's voice stopped him. "It’s wrong. Letting common folk lay claim to the dragons—it weakens the Targaryen legacy."

Jace paused at the threshold, his hand on the door handle. He hesitated, looking back at her with a thoughtful expression. Then, with a nod, he opened the door and stepped out, leaving Vaena alone with Aerion.

A few hours later, the aftermath of the dragon claiming ceremony had left Dragonstone abuzz with a mixture of relief and tension. Vermithor had been claimed by Hugh Hammer, and Grey Ghost had found a new rider in Ulf.

Vaena had watched as Ulf, in his drunken stupor, had taken Grey Ghost on a flight towards King’s Landing.

Her heart had nearly stopped when Vhagar had appeared off the shore of Dragonstone, relentless in her pursuit.

Her husband was no doubt furious over the events that had transpired, the claiming of a dragon was supposed to be sacred, it was supposed to mean something. It was not something to be used at the whim of a drunken lout who didn’t know his arse from his elbow.

Seeing Vhagar and knowing Aemond was only a short distance away made her heart skip a beat, she was so angry with him, she was hurt and felt betrayed but part of her still longed for him.

Longed to hear his voice, to feel the warmth of his skin, the touch of his lips. To lay in the privacy of their chambers and shut the world out, where Aemond would whisper words of love as he sheathed his cock inside her, his grunts and groans of pleasure as he pounded inside her with deep measured thrusts.

But most of all she missed seeing him with Aerion, it was their duty to produce a child and Aemond was rather enthusiastic in that regard, as he would often spill his seed inside her, sometimes more than once a day, so it was no surprise really when she discovered that she was with child.

It was considered normal for men not to frequent the marriage bed once his wife was with child, but Aemond wasn’t most men-in fact seeing her grow round with his child made his sexual appetite grow ravenous.

When he wasn’t attending his regular duties, he was between her thighs endlessly worshipping her body, with his mouth, fingers and cock. Aegon would often tease him, saying that she was already with child, and he didn’t need to keep sticking it in her as often as he did.

But Vaena knew Aemond couldn’t help it, he was especially drawn to her rapidly growing breasts, he would press his face in between them and close his eye as she stroked his hair.

After she birthed their son, his attention to her breasts only increased. Especially when it was declared that she had healed from the birth and was ready to resume their physical intimacy.

Feeding their son often left her breasts swollen and sore and Aemond ever the attentive husband was willing and eager to help sooth her aches and pains, his lips wrapped around her rosy nipples as he suckled from her.

It was an unspoken level of intimacy between man and wife, one they never verbally recognised but knew that it was necessary.

She simultaneously loved him and hated him in equal measure, and in the deep recesses of her mind, Vaena wondered if she could truly stand by and allow her husband to die, to watch as he was executed or worse to face him in the skies and fight to the death on dragon back.

It made her feel sick to her stomach, and as she watched Aemond flee, she let out a relieved sigh, he would not meet the stranger today.

But sooner or later his days would be numbered, and she would have to make a choice.

Despite the discord between her and her mother, Vaena had been summoned to attend a dinner with the new dragon riders, as much as she wanted to refuse, the expectations of duty and the weight of family ties compelled her to attend.

She had dressed herself carefully, donning a gown of deep red, with black dragon scale patterns on the shoulders that shimmered in the low light. Her reflection in the looking glass was a mask of composed elegance, but beneath the surface, her emotions churned.

The dinner was to be held in one of Dragonstone’s grand halls, where the feast would mark the acceptance of the new dragon riders into their fold.

Before leaving, she turned to her young son, Aerion, who was playing quietly with Darna, her lady-in-waiting. The loyal maid had taken on the task of caring for Aerion with gentle efficiency, providing some measure of comfort to both mother and child.

“I’ll be back soon, Aerion,” Vaena said, kneeling to kiss her son’s forehead. “Darna will take good care of you while I’m away.”

Aerion looked up at her with innocent curiosity, his small hand reaching out to touch her cheek. “Mummy go?”

Vaena nodded, forcing a reassuring smile. “Yes, sweetheart. I’ll be back before you know it.”

With one last, lingering look at her son, Vaena straightened and made her way to the hall. The corridors of Dragonstone seemed to stretch endlessly, each step echoing her apprehension.

As she approached the hall, Vaena braced herself for the evening ahead, her mind still swirling with the day’s events and the fractured relationship with her mother.

Vaena entered the grand dining hall, her steps echoing softly against the polished stone. The room was illuminated by flickering candlelight, casting long shadows across the walls and creating a warm, yet tense atmosphere. The long table was set with an array of sumptuous dishes, but the air was thick with unspoken tension.

She approached her mother, who was seated at the head of the table, and offered a slight bow. “Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra looked up, her expression a mix of weariness and strained courtesy. “Vaena, I’m glad you could join us. Allow me to introduce you to our new dragon riders.”

Vaena nodded as her mother gestured to the men seated at the table. “This is Hugh Hammer,” Rhaenyra said.

Hugh Hammer rose from his seat and gave a respectful bow. His presence was imposing, and he offered a curt nod in acknowledgment.

Next, Rhaenyra indicated Addam of Hull, who also rose and bowed graciously. His demeanour was more reserved.

Finally, Rhaenyra introduced Ulf, who was hunched over a plate, stuffing his face with food. He looked up with a surprised expression, hastily wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“Oh, one eye’s wife!” he declared loudly, a smirk playing on his lips.

Vaena's face tightened with anger at the derogatory nickname for her husband, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and fury.

She took her seat next to Jace, who reached under the table to squeeze her hand gently. The small gesture of comfort was a balm to her frayed nerves.

As the meal progressed, the conversation around the table was strained and awkward. Rhaenyra discussed potential plans to attack the Greens’ strongholds, including Old Town and Lannisport. The room buzzed with conflicting opinions.

Baela, her voice firm, questioned the morality of targeting innocent civilians. “Is it right to attack innocent people just to break our enemies' will?”

Jace, his expression resolute, replied, “It is difficult, but it must be done. We have to ensure that our enemies understand the cost of their defiance.”

Rhaenyra nodded in agreement. “We must break their will. Only then will we secure our future.”

“What of Aemond, he will not sit idle as you attack Oldtown” asked Vaena.

Ulf, who had been quietly eating, suddenly interrupted with a poorly timed joke. “You needn’t worry about one eye, too busy in the brothels he is”

Vaena's face turned a deep red with rage as she looked at Ulf “W-What?”

Ulf, oblivious to the weight of his words, leaned forward with a smirk, his hand grasping at her wrist  “I heard he was caught in a brothel on the streets of Silk, discovered by his own brother, naked in the madam’s arms.”

The room fell silent, the comment hanging like a heavy shroud. Vaena's anger erupted; she snatched her hand away from Ulf, her voice trembling with fury. “Do not presume to touch me again! I am not one of your common lickspittles!”

“Apologise Princess-but it’s only fair that you knew what the kinslayer was up too, not sparing you a single thought as he sought out the madam, it’s an insult-betraying you in such a manner”

“You-” snarled Vaena as she seized a handful of Ulf’s grey hair and slammed his head down on the table with a resounding thud.

Ulf, taken aback, tried to recover his composure but found himself struggling against Vaena’s vice-like grip.

“Let him go, Vaena!” Rhaenyra commanded, her voice laced with a mix of shock and authority.

Vaena’s glare was a storm of betrayal and hurt. She held Ulf’s head down for a moment longer before releasing him. He slumped back into his chair, stunned and humiliated.

Leaning closer, Vaena’s voice was cold and menacing. “You a stain on the Targaryen legacy and if you so much as look in my direction again, I will have you fed to my Cannibal.”

With that, Vaena turned on her heel and stormed out of the dining hall, her heart pounding with a mix of anger and tears. The weight of Ulf’s vile comments about Aemond had struck a raw nerve, and the sting of his words lingered as she fled down the corridor.

Vaena entered her chambers, the heavy door closing behind her with a quiet thud. The room was dimly lit by the flickering light of a few candles, casting long shadows across the walls. She moved with a weary grace to the bedside, where Aerion lay fast asleep.

The sight of him, so peaceful and innocent, offered a fleeting moment of solace amid the chaos.

Darna, who had been tending to Aerion, stood by the door, ready to leave. Vaena gave her a nod. “Thank you, Darna. You may go now.”

The maid curtsied and exited the room, closing the door softly behind her. Vaena stood alone, her gaze drifting to the sleeping form of her son. The room felt suddenly heavy with the weight of her memories and her current turmoil.

Her mind wandered back to the last time she had seen Aemond. The memory was as vivid as if it had happened only yesterday. They had argued fiercely about his decision to support the usurpation of the throne from her mother.

Aemond had been adamant that Aegon was the rightful king, citing his status as the first-born son. “Viserys’ wishes mean nothing,” Aemond had said, his voice cold and resolute. “Aegon is the one who should rule.”

Vaena had countered with equal fervour. “But Mother was named heir by King Viserys himself! He upheld her claim steadfastly. This isn’t about bloodlines; it’s about honour and duty!”

Their argument had escalated, and in a desperate move, Aemond had locked her and Aerion in his chambers, preventing her from intervening in the crowning of Aegon. Vaena remembered the fear and helplessness she felt as the reality of their situation set in.

Luckily, Ser Erryk had managed to aid her and Rhaegar in their escape, but the reprieve was short-lived. Mere days later, Aemond’s actions had culminated in the death of her brother Luke.

Vaena sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes tracing the contours of Aerion’s sleeping face.

In the early days of her marriage to Aemond, their relationship had been marked by awkwardness and uncertainty, his ire towards Luke for the loss of his eye lingered beneath the surface, not for the act itself but the lack of apology, and the fact his father seemed more bothered about insults levied against his favourite child’s sons than his own son who had been permanently maimed.

At first Aemond had been stoic and reserved, his attention to her minimal, even their intimate encounters at first were awkward and stilted.

The emotional distance between them had been palpable, and it had felt as though they were two strangers bound by duty rather than affection.

But slowly, as time passed, they had found common ground. They had bonded over their shared love of Valyrian history, spending hours reading ancient texts and discussing their interpretations.

Their conversations had started to bridge the gap that once separated them. They had taken to flying their dragons together, the freedom of the skies offering a sanctuary from the constraints of their royal lives.

Through these moments of connection, Aemond had begun to lower his mask. Vaena had discovered that beneath his reserved exterior was a man who yearned for love and acceptance. It hadn’t been hard to fall in love with him as he revealed more of himself—his vulnerabilities, his hopes, and his dreams.

The transformation had been even more profound with the birth of Aerion. Fatherhood had softened Aemond, revealing a side of him that was determined to be a better father than his own.

He had become attentive and loving, singing Valyrian lullabies to their son and whispering words of affection in the quiet of the night. Those moments of tenderness had forged a bond between them, a connection that was now a painful reminder of what they had lost.

Vaena’s heart raced as she summoned the courage to confront her mother. The weight of her conflicted feelings about Aemond and the looming possibility of battle were pressing heavily upon her.

She knew she needed to speak with her mother about her hesitancy in facing Aemond, even if their relationship was strained. With resolve, she pulled on a robe and ventured out of her chambers.

The night air was crisp, filled with the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore and the distant roars of dragons resting within Dragon mount. She approached her mother’s chambers and knocked gently on the door.

When there was no immediate response, Vaena hesitated, then slowly opened the door. To her surprise, the room was empty. She was about to turn away when she heard muffled voices coming from the corridor below. Curiosity and concern drove her to descend the steps quietly, her footsteps barely making a sound on the stone.

As she reached the lower level, she caught sight of her mother and Alicent Hightower engaged in a heated conversation. Vaena's heart sank as she ducked behind a large bookcase to listen discreetly. She covered her mouth to stifle a gasp of shock at the gravity of their discussion.

Alicent was speaking urgently. “I cannot bear the thought of losing Helaena and Jaehaera. I’m willing to offer Kings Landing to you-Aemond will soon leave for Harrenhal, in three days’ time you will come to Kings Landing, and I will have the guards throw down their weapons and you can take the Iron Throne without bloodshed”

Vaena’s breath caught in her throat. Alicent was negotiating her daughter’s and granddaughter’s lives, but not her sons.

Rhaenyra’s voice was cold and calculating. “What of Aegon? Does he not matter?”

Alicent’s voice trembled with emotion. “Aegon is broken beyond recognition. He lies in the dark, writhing in pain and terror. He is no longer fit to rule. If you want, I can make him bend the knee-”

Rhaenyra’s response was sharp. “-If I am to take the throne, then I must put an end to the opposition. I cannot afford to show mercy to him or Aemond. Their death’s must be public, I must take their heads for all to see. You must choose, Alicent. Will you remain on this course, or will you sacrifice your sons for the greater good?”

The room fell into a tense silence. Vaena’s heart pounded as she listened, horrified, to the weight of the decision being made. Alicent’s response was a reluctant acceptance. “I-I will m-make the sacrifice”

Vaena’s shock and revulsion were overwhelming. She could hardly believe what she had just heard. Her knees felt weak as she quietly retraced her steps, retreating from the scene.

The cold air of the night seemed to close in around her as she made her way back to her chambers, her mind reeling from the betrayal and the cruel choices being made.

Vaena was in a state of disbelief as she replayed the disturbing conversation she had just overheard. It was all wrong, a web of madness and betrayal that she could scarcely comprehend, a mother willingly sacrificing her own sons.

Then there was her own mother, again desperately clinging to her friendship with Alicent, a friendship that should no longer hold any meaning or significance.

They were on the precipice of war and these two were meeting up like lovers in the cover of darkness. Her mother was blind when it came to Alicent, and surely it would be their undoing.

Fire and Blood was sure to reign and still her mother stays her hand because her childhood companion pleads tearfully and whispers words of surrender.

They were all going to die, and Vaena would not subject her son to such horrors. No matter the cost, she had to protect him; there was no other choice. They had to leave, and they had to leave immediately.

After she had changed into her riding leathers she moved quickly, her heart pounding as she packed a small bag with essentials. The urgency of the situation pushed her to be efficient but thorough.

As she fastened the bag closed, she glanced at Aerion, still sound asleep in his bed. With a heavy heart, she gently woke him, pressing soft kisses to his forehead to soothe him from his slumber.

"We’re going flying, sweetheart," she whispered softly, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and determination. Aerion, barely awake, clung to her instinctively as she lifted him into her arms, his little face pressing into her neck for comfort.

Vaena carefully opened the door to her chambers and peeked into the corridor. It was clear. She moved swiftly through the castle, her steps as quiet as possible, and descended into the Dragon mount.

As she passed the entrance to Silverwing’s cavern, she hesitated.

After the successfully claims of Vermithor and Grey Ghost, she knew her mother still intended to have others try and claim Silverwing but given that Vermithor had killed the majority of the people who came to try their luck, it was unknown as to when anymore hopefuls would arrive, but Vaena didn’t want to take the chance.

The thought of seeing Silverwing being claimed by someone else was unbearable. So, she held Aerion close, took a deep breath and entered the cavern.

Silverwing, the majestic dragon once belonging to the revered Queen Alysanne, lay curled beside a newly laid clutch of eggs. The dragon’s enormous eyes opened slowly at the sound of her approach.

Vaena, speaking in a soothing tone, said, “Lykirī!” (Calm).

Silverwing’s gentle nature shone through as she moved forward and nuzzled Vaena, her massive snout sniffing at Aerion with curiosity.

Aerion looked at the dragon with wide, amethyst eyes full of wonder.

“Dokimarvose Silverwing” Vaena urged softly (Focus).

Aerion placed his small hand on Silverwing’s snout, and the dragon responded with an affectionate coo.

“īlon issi naejot Sōvegon” Vaena said firmly, her voice carrying the weight of her resolve. (We are to fly).

Silverwing tilted her head to the side as she listened.

“Nyke gaomagon daor jaelagon naejot henujagon ao” She looked at Silverwing with a plea in her eyes. (I do not wish to leave you).

The gentle dragon moved forward and nudged Vaena slightly, expelling warm air from her nostrils.

“Māzigon rūsīr issa hāedar” (Come with me, girl).

Silverwing rumbled softly in response, her attention divided between Vaena and her eggs.

Vaena carefully lowered Aerion to the ground and moved toward the dragon’s nest. She picked up a sharp rock and used it to break open the hardened, gelatinous sack encasing three precious eggs.

One by one, she wrapped each egg in a piece of clothing and carefully placed them into her bag.

Aerion held out his hand to Silverwing, who nuzzled it tenderly. “Kostilus māzigon, gēlenka” whispered Aerion (Please come, Silver).

Silverwing cooed in acceptance, sensing the urgency, as the beginnings of a bond began to form between the dragon and the child.

Vaena lifted Aerion back into her arms, her voice resolute “Gūrogon naejot se jēdar īlon jāhor sōvegon hēnkirī” (Take to the sky; we will fly together).

She watched as Silverwing lumbered forward and left the cavern, the dragon’s powerful wings spreading in preparation for flight. Vaena’s heart raced with a mixture of relief and apprehension.

The last step in her plan was to reach her Cannibal.

Vaena took a deep breath as she entered the cavern that housed Cannibal. The immense space was cloaked in shadow, the air thick with the scent of ash and sulphur.

Aerion, clinging tightly to her hand, looked up with wide, apprehensive eyes as Vaena called out, "Naejot Māzīs Cannibal" (Come forward).

The ground beneath her feet trembled as Cannibal’s massive scarred black form emerged from the darkness. His low, rumbling growls of recognition echoed through the cavern, creating a rhythm of sound that seemed both ominous and reassuring.

Vaena approached her dragon with a mixture of awe and relief, placing her head on Cannibal’s scaled flank. His presence, despite the gravity of their situation, was a calming balm for her troubled heart.

Holding Aerion close, Vaena climbed the rope ladder that was affixed to Cannibal’s saddle. The dragon had never been particularly fond of being saddled. In the early days, his dislike had been so fierce that several dragon keepers had met grim fates.

But time had tempered his hostility, and though he still displayed his displeasure, he now accepted the saddle as a necessary part of his existence.

Once she and Aerion were securely fastened into the saddle, Vaena paused.

Where could they possibly go? They had no money, just three dragon eggs, two dragons, and a bag of clothes mostly belonging to Aerion.

Harrenhal was not an option, given her anger towards her father for his role in Jaehaerys' death. And seeking refuge with her mother's allies was equally out of the question, as her mother would undoubtedly pursue them and demand her return.

The only viable destination was one she knew she shouldn’t consider, but with few options remaining, it was her only choice. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what lay ahead.

With a determined resolve, she gave Cannibal the command to fly. The massive dragon lumbered out of his cavern, his powerful wings unfurling with a great rustle of scales.

Cannibal’s roar was thunderous as he ascended into the night sky, his presence casting a large shadow over the landscape.

As they soared upward, Silverwing, flying alongside them, approached with caution. Known for his fearsome nature, Cannibal was not a common companion in the skies, and Silverwing, despite her gentleness, remained wary.

Vaena spoke softly to her dragon. "Lykirī" (Be calm).

Cannibal responded with a rumbling purr, and then propelled himself forward, Vaena wrapped her cloak tighter around Aerion, to keep him warm as the air became colder.

As Dragonstone began to fade into the distance, Vaena steeled herself. She knew that their destination was fraught with its own risks and complications, but it was the only option left.

"To Kings Landing."

Aemond sat in his chambers, the weight of his decisions pressing heavily upon him.

He yearned for his wife and the comfort of her embrace, he missed his son and his sweet little voice.

They were lost to him now, because of what he’d done.

It was his own fault, all his wife had ever done was love him, and he only caused her pain in return.

His own mother had turned on him, his brother was broken and burnt and now his sweet sister refused to look at him.

Manhandling her had been wrong, he knew that now. But he was just so desperate. Their lives were in peril, and he was the only one fighting to save them.

He didn’t know what to do, not anymore.

Then the quiet of the evening was interrupted by the sudden entrance of a guard, who rushed in, his expression one of urgency.

"Your Grace, two large dragons have been spotted flying towards King's Landing!"

Aemond stood abruptly, striding over to the balcony with quick, determined steps.

"Shall we arm the scorpions?" the guard asked, his voice tight with concern.

"No. Stand down," Aemond commanded firmly. His sharp gaze scanned the horizon, and his heart skipped a beat as he recognized the familiar silhouette of Cannibal.

He would not have his wife's dragon shot out of the sky. "Send a number of guards to meet my wife and escort her to my chambers immediately."

The guard bowed deeply before hurrying off to carry out his orders. Aemond's eye remained fixed on the sky, watching as Cannibal and Silverwing circled the Red Keep, their roars echoing through the air before they descended to land where Vhagar was resting.

Aemond's mind raced with questions and emotions. Why had Vaena chosen to return and would Aerion be with her?

The last time they had seen each other, the memory of her angry, tear-streaked face haunted him. She had begged him not to go through with usurping the throne, struggling against him as he locked her and Aerion in his chambers.

Since her escape, Aemond had written countless letters, each one a blend of anger, desperation, and declarations of love, none of which he had the courage to send. Those letters now lay forgotten, stuffed in his desk drawer, mere relics of his turmoil.

As he waited for Vaena, Aemond began pacing his chambers, he was more nervous now than he had been on their wedding day and even the bedding.

But a lot had changed since then.

The sound of approaching footsteps and a knock on his door pulled Aemond from his reverie.

"Enter," he said, straightening up, his arms hanging by his sides.

The door opened, and Aemond was greeted with the sweetest of sounds. "Daddy!"

Aerion’s small figure rushed into the room; his little arms outstretched. Aemond caught his son in a tight embrace, lifting him up and holding him close.

"Aerion," Aemond whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he buried his face in his son's hair. The boy's familiar scent brought a rush of warmth and sorrow.

Vaena entered the room behind her son, her presence both a comfort and a reminder of the chasm that had grown between them. Aemond met her eyes, his heart aching with unspoken words.

"You've come back."

Vaena's eyes were wary, her expression a mix of relief and guardedness. "I had no other choice," she replied, her voice steady but laced with tension.

After a few precious moments of holding Aerion close, Aemond reluctantly pulled away. He summoned one of the maids, who appeared promptly at his door.

"Take care of him," Aemond instructed, his voice gentle yet firm. "Ensure that guards are posted inside the room and at the door to protect him."

Aerion looked up at his father, his small hand clutching Aemond's sleeve. "Do I have to go, Daddy?"

Aemond knelt down to his son's level, brushing a strand of silver hair from his face. "I promise, it won’t be for long-I just need to talk to your mother"

Aerion smiled, his reluctance easing. He allowed the maid to take his hand, and she led him into the room across from Aemond's chambers.

Aemond watched until the door shut behind them, his heart heavy.

Turning back to Vaena, he barely had time to register her movement before her fist collided with his nose.

He reeled backward, his hand instinctively going to his face to stem the flow of blood. "That was for Luke," she spat, her eyes blazing with fury.

Before he could recover, she punched him again, this time in the stomach.

Aemond doubled over, dropping to the floor as he wheezed in pain. "-And that was for Rhaenys," she declared, her voice cold and determined.

As he struggled to catch his breath, Vaena knelt in front of him, her expression softening. She took his face in her hands, her touch both tender and firm.

"This is for me," she whispered, before pressing her lips to his in a fierce, desperate kiss.

Aemond's mind swirled with the intensity of her actions, the pain of her blows mixing with the undeniable longing in her kiss. He responded, his hands reaching up to hold her, afraid she might slip away.

The kiss was a collision of anger, love, and regret, a tumultuous expression of the emotions that had built up between them.

When they finally pulled apart, Aemond looked into her eyes, his voice raw with emotion. "Vaena, I-" He struggled to find the words, the weight of his actions pressing heavily on his shoulders.

"Don't," she interrupted, her voice trembling. "Not yet-" tears glistened in her eyes.

Vaena helped Aemond to his feet, guiding him gently to sit on the bed. She inspected his nose with care, her touch both tender and clinical. "It's not broken," she declared, "but it will be sore for a while."

Aemond wrapped his arms around her, pressing his face into her chest and inhaling her familiar scent.

The comfort of her presence washed over him, and he closed his eye, savouring the moment. Vaena stroked his hair gently, but then she abruptly stopped and stepped away.

"Is it true?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Aemond opened his eye, confusion evident. "Is what true?"

Vaena's face contorted with anger and hurt. "Did you visit a brothel on the Streets of Silk?"

Aemond's heart sank. "How do you know about that?" he asked cautiously.

Vaena's eyes filled with tears. "So, it is true? You've bedded another woman? Betrayed our marriage vows?"

Aemond quickly shook his head. "I went to a brothel, yes. I sought comfort from the madam, but I was never intimate with her."

Vaena backed away, shaking her head as tears streamed down her face. Aemond got off the bed and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close despite her resistance.

"Vaena, please," he pleaded. "I never laid with her in that way. After you left with Aerion, after what happened with Luke, I was desperate. My mother was furious with me; she couldn't even look at me. I had no one else to turn to. Going back to Sylvi was wrong, but I couldn't help it. I just wanted to be held by someone who didn't hate me."

Vaena's body trembled in his arms, her tears soaking into his shirt.

Aemond gently cupped Vaena's face, wiping away the remaining tears. "How did you find out?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with concern and curiosity.

Vaena's expression hardened. "Ulf told me."

"Who is Ulf?" Aemond inquired, his brow furrowing.

"He's one of the common folk who claimed Grey Ghost," Vaena replied, her tone dripping with disdain. "He's a wretched cur with no manners, and it disgusts me that my mother has defiled our birthright by allowing commoners to claim dragons."

Aemond's frown deepened. "Who claimed Vermithor?"

"A man named Hugh Hammer," Vaena said, shaking her head in frustration. "My mother was hoping that Silverwing would be claimed too, but Vermithor killed all of the other dragon seeds."

Aemond's eye widened with surprise. "Vermithor killed them?"

Vaena nodded. "Yes, and my mother still wishes for someone to claim Silverwing. But I couldn't allow it. She had promised to let Aerion try to claim her when he was old enough, but she broke that promise."

Aemond's grip tightened on her shoulders, a mixture of anger and determination flickering in his eye. "So, you brought Silverwing with you?"

Vaena nodded again, her expression resolute. "Yes. I convinced Silverwing to come with me to King's Landing. I couldn't let my mother's broken promises endanger Aerion' birthright."

Aemond's gaze softened as he looked at Vaena, a mixture of pride and admiration shining through his concern. "You did the right thing," he said quietly. "You protected our son and our legacy”

Vaena sighed, her tension easing slightly as she leaned into Aemond's embrace. "I just want us to be safe," she whispered. "To find a way to end this madness."

Aemond held her close, his heart swelling with a renewed sense of purpose. "We will find a way," he promised. "Together."

Vaena took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she had to say next. "There's something else I need to tell you," she said, her voice trembling slightly.

Aemond looked at her, his eye narrowing with concern. "What is it?"

"Your mother-she's gone to Dragonstone."

Aemond's expression shifted from concern to anger and shock. "What?"

Vaena continued, her voice steady but filled with tension. "Alicent advocated for the lives of Helaena and Jaehaera in exchange for my mother successfully claiming the Iron Throne without bloodshed. She told her of your plan to travel to Harrenhal to meet Cole and his army. Alicent has arranged for my mother to come to King's Landing in three days. She will command the guards to lay down their weapons and open the gates."

Aemond went ballistic, his fury palpable as he paced the room, clenching and unclenching his fists. "My own mother-betraying us? How could she do this?" He stopped and turned to Vaena, his face twisted with rage. "Did she advocate for anyone else besides Helaena and Jaehaera?"

Vaena shook her head, her eyes filled with sadness. "No. She agreed my mother’s demand to have you and Aegon publicly executed, which will no doubt extend to Daeron as well"

Aemond's face contorted with a mixture of horror and fury. "She has sentenced not just one but all of her sons to death," he spat. "What madness possesses her?"

Vaena stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him. "I don't know, Aemond. I was just as shocked as you when I heard it."

Aemond's eye blazed with anger. "She thinks she can protect Helaena and Jaehaera by sacrificing the rest of us? She's lost her mind."

Aemond's shoulders slumped as the weight of the revelations pressed down on him. "I'm alone," he said quietly, his voice filled with despair. "I thought what I was doing was right. It wasn't about the Iron Throne. It was about saving our lives. But after what I've just heard-what's the point? I give up. If my own mother won't even try, why should I? I've got nothing left."

Vaena stepped closer, placing her hands gently on his face, her eyes filled with love and determination. "You're not alone, Aemond. You have me and Aerion. We're your family, and we need you. We could leave Westeros, fly across the Narrow Sea, and get as far away from this war as possible. We could be happy, just the three of us. We could have more children, live in peace. We could be together."

“What if Rhaenyra comes after us?” asked Aemond.

“Then I will do what I must in order to save your life” replied Vaena.

Aemond looked at her, the hopelessness in his eye beginning to soften. "What of my mother-“

"Your mother has sold you and your brothers out," Vaena interrupted, her voice firm. "If my mother takes the Iron Throne, you will die. I don't want you to die, Aemond."

“I deserve it” muttered Aemond.

Vaena's voice broke, and she began to sob, clutching at him desperately. "Please don't leave me," she cried, her tears soaking his shirt. "I don't want you to die. Please, Aemond"

Aemond felt a pang of guilt and sorrow as he held her trembling form. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and burying his face in her hair. "Vaena, I won’t leave you," he whispered, his own voice choked with emotion.

She looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy from crying. "Then let's leave," she said, her voice trembling. "Let's leave all of this behind. We can find a place where we can be happy, where we can raise Aerion in peace. Please, Aemond. Let's go."

Aemond held Vaena close, his arms wrapped tightly around her as she sobbed against his chest. He hushed her gently, his mind reeling with a sudden, profound realization.

What was the point of everything he had done? He had lost his eye, transformed himself into a capable swordsman and dragon rider, studied relentlessly, and attended to his duties with unwavering dedication.

He had strived to be the perfect son, and yet it was all for nothing. Despite always being told that Rhaenyra was the enemy, his mother was now clinging to her skirts, begging for scraps and bending the knee at the cost of her sons' lives.

Vaena was the only one who had ever seen him for who he truly was. She loved him, blessed him with a son, and yet he had done nothing to earn it. He had killed her brother and her grandmother, attacked his own brother at Rook’s Rest, and burned down Sharp Point, watching from the cliffside as people writhed and screamed in agony.

He had done all that, and yet here she was, crying for him, begging for his life, and offering him everything he had ever wanted—a family.

Aemond took a deep breath and gently took Vaena's face in his hands, lifting her tear-streaked gaze to meet his.

"Let's go," he whispered, his voice steady and filled with a newfound determination. "Let's leave it all behind."

Vaena's eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, she searched his face as if trying to comprehend his words. "You mean it?" she asked, her voice trembling with hope and fear.

Aemond nodded, his grip on her tightening. "Yes, I mean it. We'll leave Westeros. We'll fly across the Narrow Sea and start a new life, just the three of us. We'll find peace and happiness away from this madness."

A sob of relief escaped Vaena's lips, and she threw her arms around his neck, holding him as if she would never let go. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "Thank you, Aemond."

He kissed her forehead tenderly, a sense of calm settling over him. "We'll make it through this," he promised, his voice filled with conviction. "Together."

As they stood there, wrapped in each other's embrace, Aemond felt a weightlifting from his shoulders. The path ahead was uncertain, but for the first time, he felt a glimmer of hope.

They would leave Westeros and all its chaos behind. They would build a new life, far away from the shadows of their past, and they would find happiness together.

"Let's get Aerion-” Vaena said softly, pulling back to look into his eye. "Let's leave tonight."

Aemond nodded, a sense of urgency mingling with his newfound resolve. "Yes, we’ll leave tonight-" he agreed.

As Vaena turned to leave the room, Aemond took hold of her, and pulled her close, kissing her with a fervour that took her breath away

His hands tangled in her hair, and he whispered against her lips, "We will leave but I need you, Vaena. It's been too long since I last felt your touch."

Vaena looked up into his eye, her heart pounding in her chest. "Yes," she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Yes, Aemond."

They began pulling at each other's clothes, their urgency growing with each passing second. Aemond's hands trembled as he undid the ties of her riding leathers, and Vaena's fingers fumbled with the fastenings of his tunic. The material fell away, piece by piece, until they stood before each other, bare and exposed.

Aemond's gaze roamed over her body, drinking in the sight of her. He backed her towards the bed, his hands never leaving her skin. "Gods, I've missed you," he murmured, his voice rough with longing.

Vaena reached up, her fingers brushing the scar over his eye, a reminder of the sacrifices they had both made. "I've missed you too," she replied, her voice thick with emotion.

As they reached the bed, Aemond lowered her onto the soft sheets, his body covering hers. Their mouths met again in a searing kiss,

Vaena smiled slightly as she hooked her fingers around her own small clothes and slowly pulled them down, Aemond could feel himself salivating as he stared at her cunny.

“Come here-” growled Aemond, as he reached out and tugged Vaena back on the bed.

“Let me take care of you” muttered Vaena as she placed kisses along Aemond jaw and then down his neck, making sure to gently nip and suck his skin as she went.

She carried on moving down, pausing as she reached his chest, she grinned as she took one of his nipples into her mouth, her tongue teasing it before she bit down.

“FUCK” moaned Aemond.

“Does issa Jorrāelagon like that?” asked Vaena as she moved across and gave his other nipple the same attention, (My love).

“Oh. Gods” whimpered Aemond as she moved further down his body, her tongue and teeth grazing his pale skin.

When she reached the trail of hair from his belly button down to his cock, she pressed her nose against him and giggled when she felt the hair tickle her skin.

“Kostilus” begged Aemond (Please).

“Ao līs umbagon issa zaldrīzes” replied Vaena (You must wait, my dragon).

Aemond lost his senses the moment Vaena’s warm, wet mouth quickly wrapped around the head of his swollen cock.

Her tongue gently moving around the tip – tracing the ridges and licking off that drops of pre-cum that had started to leak out.

“Fuck, Vaena!” groaned Aemond as he threaded his fingers through his wife’s silver hair.

Vaena ran the flat of her tongue along Aemond’s length, tracing every hard inch of him.

“Your taking me so well. Such a good girl” moaned Aemond.

Aemond knew it would push the limits of his control, but he did not care. He just had to watch his cock disappear into Vaena’s mouth and see it come back out, shining with her spit.

Her head moving back and forth, her perfect pink lips stretched around him.

“I’m not going to last if you carry on” Aemond admitted, though it pained him to do so.

Vaena smiled slightly and began moving faster, also using one of her hands in rhythm with her mouth. 

“It feels so good-that’s it” groaned Aemond.

Vaena responded to his statement by relaxing the back of her throat, and swallowing as much of her husband’s cock as she could, whilst her other hand cupped his stones.

“Shit-Vaena. I’m going to come. Oh, fuck, I’m coming!” shouted Aemond as he exploded.

His wife took every last drop, swallowing his warm seed and licking him clean.

When he recovered, Aemond saw Vaena’s self-satisfied smile.

“Was that to your liking husband?” asked Vaena.

“Y-Yes. Now get up here and ride my face until I’m ready again” gasped Aemond.

“But your nose” whispered Vaena concerned.

“I don’t care-get up here-now” ordered Aemond, his cock already twitching with interest.

Vaena hovered above Aemond’s face; her knees splayed on either side of his head.

“Such a pretty cunny" breathed Aemond as he ran the flat of his tongue along Vaena’s soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Vaena her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it Issa dōna. Let me hear you” (My sweet).

“YES. It feels so good” whimpered Vaena.

“FUCK” growled Aemond.

“Ooooh A-Aemond-just like that” shrieked Vaena.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Vaena, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Vaena "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds.

“Oh" whimpered Vaena; her chest heaving as she began to gently roll her hips against him.

“That’s it, ride my fucking face” groaned Aemond, his cock was so hard that it was boarding on painful.

Vaena was giving off a slew of loud swear words, moans, and pleas, that anyone passing his chambers would surely hear.

 Aemond’s fingers were soaking wet as they continued to pump in and out of her tight heat.

“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you. I don’t want to wait any longer, come for me baby, come for daddy” moaned Aemond.

Finally, he felt Vaena’s inner walls start to flutter around his fingers, squeezing them. Vaena’s back arched taut as a bow and she screamed her release.

Aemond pumped slowly and lapped at his wife’s centre as she came.

After a few minutes, Aemond gently urged his wife to move down, so she was hovering above his cock.

Her hand wrapped around him, running the head of his cock along her warm wet folds.

“Your such a tease” moaned Aemond as his hips jerked involuntarily.

“But it feels so good” replied Vaena as she slowly moved down on his cock, so only the tip of him was inside her.

“P-Please” whimpered Aemond.

“Uh-uh” said Vaena shaking her head from side to side.

After a few minutes Aemond couldn’t take it anymore and seized his wife’s hips, before surging up and ploughing his hard cock into her soaked cunt.

"AEMOND!" screamed Vaena.

"Gods. You feel so good-missed you-" rasped Aemond.

"Fuck me, Aemond" urged Vaena, her tone bordering on desperate as she rolled her hips against his.

Aemond started to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of his wife squeezing his cock.

“P-Please. Husband” whined Vaena as Aemond began teasing her pearl with his thumb.

“That’s it-take all of me”

“OH-MY-“ shrieked Vaena Aemond began to move.

"Faster, please" begged Vaena.

“Like this?” replied Aemond as he gave a quick deep thrust.

“Yes, Aemond, just like that-" panted Vaena.

Her hands ran along his arms, over his shoulders and down his chest, digging her nails into his pale skin.

“Gods, Vaena" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly.

"Fuck me, Aemond" whispered Vaena "Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good inside me, filling me up. Give me what I need. Give me your seed. I want it”.

Aemond knew exactly what Vaena was doing, and he couldn’t help himself.

Vaena wanted faster and he was going much faster now, his feet planted on the bed to give him more leverage and his pace increased with every filthy word that dropped from his wife’s luscious lips as he pounded into her.

“Aemond-I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Vaena; not caring if anyone could hear them.

Vaena always looked amazing when she came. Her head thrown back in pleasure, her amethyst eyes alive with lust, and her pale skin shining with sweat.

Aemond then withdrew, ignoring Vaena’s whimper of protest as he rolled her onto her back and quickly sheathed himself inside her again.

She wrapped her legs around Aemond’s waist, drawing him closer as he began to thrust inside her, his cock reaching deep inside.

“I-I’m going to give you my seed-” moaned Aemond.

“Yes-oh don’t stop-please Aemond” whined Vaena.

“I’m going to put another babe in you-See you full of milk-”

“Y-Yes A-Aemond-I want another. Give it to me” whined Vaena.

That, combined with how glorious Vaena felt, pushed Aemond over the edge, the heat shooting across his abdomen.

“-I love you-love you so fucking much-my wife-don’t leave me again” babbled Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he spilled his seed inside his wife’s wet heat.

After they had got dressed Aemond and Vaena worked quickly, their movements synchronized as they made the necessary preparations to leave. The tension and urgency of their situation lent them a sense of purpose and determination.

As they packed, Vaena presented Aemond with the bag containing Silverwing’s eggs.

“What do you want to do with these?” she asked, her eyes reflecting both the gravity of their situation and the love she had for him.

Aemond took the bag and laughed softly. “You truly are something special,” he murmured, marvelling at her brazenness not only had she absconded with a dragon that wasn’t hers, but three eggs as well “They need to be kept warm and safe.”

Vaena nodded, carefully wrapping the eggs back up. “We’ll protect them,” she promised.

Aemond then mentioned his plan to raid the treasury. “Most of the crown’s wealth has been divided and hidden, but whatever is left should be more than enough for us,” he said.

He left for the treasury, returning a short while later with a sack full of coins, along with some of his mother’s jewellery he had managed to steal, and a necklace that was pressed into his hands by Helaena who bid him farewell, he apologised to her for how he acted, but she simply smiled and told him that the eye of the gods was closed to him now.

He packed his weapons and anything else of value from his chambers.

Their dragons were large enough to carry what they needed, and they prepared Aerion for the journey, making sure he had something to eat and was well wrapped up.

They told him they were going on an adventure, and his face lit up with excitement.

Aemond then left the guards with simple instructions: “Guard the Red Keep until the Dowager Queen returns.”

After gathering all their bags and ensuring the ancient sword Blackfyre was securely attached to his waist, Aemond took Aerion’s hand, and the three of them made their way to the dragons.

Aerion eagerly wanted to fly with his father, and as they strapped themselves into the saddles, Aemond took one last look at the Red Keep, its imposing towers silhouetted against the sky. The only home he’d ever known was now lost to him, instead of sadness he felt a strange sense of relief, that finally for the first time in a long time, he could choose his own path, he could forge his own destiny.

He checked one last time that Aerion was secured safely in front of him and then he took a deep breath.

“Sōvēs” he commanded Vhagar, his voice steady and resolute (Fly).

Vhagar spread her massive wings and ascended into the clouds. Moments later, she was joined by Cannibal and Silverwing. The three dragons soaring together, leaving King’s Landing and everything else behind.

Alicent returned to the Red Keep from her meeting with Rhaenyra, her heart heavy with the weight of her decisions. She felt overwhelmed and heartbroken. The image of Rhaenyra’s cold determination haunted her, and the reality of what she had agreed to gnawed at her soul.

In three days, she would open the gates, command the guards to lower their weapons, and surrender the city to Rhaenyra.

Sacrifices would need to be made to regain peace, but she would be steadfast and see an end to this ceaseless war.

Upon reaching her chambers, Alicent immediately poured herself a cup of wine. She downed its contents in one gulp, hoping the liquid courage would steel her for the days to come.

She needed to appear as she always had done—composed, resolute, unwavering. But the turmoil inside her was relentless.

As the wine settled in her stomach, Alicent allowed herself a brief moment of vulnerability. She sank into a chair, the enormity of her decision washing over her. She had betrayed her own sons for the sake of peace.

Aemond would shortly be leaving for Harrenhal, unaware of the treachery she had committed. Aegon was broken beyond recognition, and both were to be sacrificed for the greater good.

She had chosen the lives of her daughter Helaena and granddaughter Jaehaera over the rest of her family, and the weight of that choice threatened to crush her.

Alicent’s mind raced with thoughts of Aemond. He had always been her strongest, her most determined child. She had seen his ambition and his anger and now she was about to betray him.

The pain of it was almost too much to bear, but she knew she had to. She had to put an end to the bloodshed, to the war that had torn their family and the realm apart.

She stood up, straightening her spine, and took a deep breath. She couldn’t afford to show weakness. She needed to be strong, for the sake of the realm, for the sake of those she loved. She brushed away the tears that threatened to fall and steeled herself for what she must now do.

Alicent walked to the looking glass and assessed her reflection. She adjusted her gown, smoothed her hair, and ensured her expression was one of calm determination.

She could not waver. The realm needed her to be strong, to be the Queen they had always known. With one final deep breath, she turned away and left her chambers, ready to face the consequences of her actions and the role she must play in the days to come.

She would not waver. She could not waver. The future of the realm depended on it.

Alicent approached Aemond's chambers, noticing with a sense of unease that there were no guards stationed outside. The absence was peculiar and unsettling.

She knocked on the door, but there was no answer. For a moment, she considered walking away, but a feeling of urgency pushed her to act. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open, calling out to Aemond.

But only silence greeted her.

Stepping inside, she glanced around the room. The wardrobe door stood ajar, drawing her attention. She walked over to it, intending to close it, but stopped short when she saw that it was empty.

A sinking feeling grew in her stomach as she moved to the drawers, pulling them open one by one, each revealing the same emptiness.

As she stood there, her foot brushed against something small on the floor. Bending down, she picked up a wooden dragon figurine, instantly recognizing it as belonging to her grandson, Aerion.

Just then, a maid entered the room. Alicent turned to her, a mixture of desperation and anger in her eyes.

"Where is the Prince Regent?" she demanded.

The maid looked at her calmly and simply replied, "Gone."

Alicent's heart raced. "What do you mean, gone?"

The maid explained, "The Prince Regent left the Red Keep some time ago in the company of Princess Vaena and their son, Prince Aerion."

Alicent was baffled by the maid’s admission. Instead of questioning her further, she turned and swiftly left the room, her mind reeling. She needed answers, and she knew where to find them.

She hurried to the council chambers, hoping to find someone who could shed light on what was happening. As she entered, she found only Jasper Wylde and Maester Orwyle engaged in quiet discussion.

"Where is Aemond?" she demanded, her voice sharp with anxiety.

Both Jasper and Orwyle looked up, surprised by her sudden entrance.

"Your Grace, we have just received word that the Prince Regent has left the Red Keep. We were about to send for you."

"Left?" Alicent echoed, feeling a mix of relief and fear. "Where has he gone? Why?"

Jasper cleared his throat. "Princess Vaena arrived earlier today and spent several hours with the Prince Regent in his chambers. It seems that after their time together, they departed from the Red Keep with their son”.

“T-To Harrenhal?” asked Alicent.

“No. Your Grace. His dragon was last spotted flying over the Kings Wood”

Alicent's mind raced, trying to piece together the implications. She could have sworn she had seen Vaena lurking on Dragonstone.

Then a  thought struck her like a blow—what if Vaena had overheard her conversation with Rhaenyra and had immediately flown to the Red Keep to warn Aemond?

Without another word, Alicent left the council chambers and hurried to see Helaena. She found her daughter sitting quietly in her room, gazing out of the window.

"Helaena-" Alicent asked urgently, "Have you seen Aemond?"

Slowly Helaena turned to her mother; her expression serene. "He has gone and taken his heart with him"

Alicent felt a pang of despair “He cannot just leave. H-He has d-duties to attend”

“Duties which no longer hold meaning” whispered Helaena, as she held out a scrap of parchment.

“W-What is this”

“He asked me to give it to you” replied Helaena softly.

‘Alicent,

I know of your treachery and your willingness to sacrifice the lives of your sons in favour of the pretender. For years now, I have suffered the indignity of being the second son and have been unwavering in my duty, but it was never good enough for you or Father.

I tried my best to keep us alive, but it seems my efforts are all for nothing. I have abandoned the throne, just as you have abandoned your sons, and I will no longer fight to save the undeserving.

My wife and son are all that matter to me now, and my future lies with them. I hope your efforts to secure the throne for your beloved Rhaenyra are worth it. Maybe now you can mourn me, Mother. I lost you, but I have gained so much more in doing so. At last, I am finally free.

Aemond’

Alicent collapsed into a chair and sat staring into the flames, Aemond's note clutched tightly in her trembling hands. The weight of what she had done settled heavily on her shoulders.

She had made arrangements with Rhaenyra, hoping to secure a fragile peace by offering the lives of her sons.

But now, Aemond had abandoned King's Landing, and her carefully laid plans were in ruins.

What would happen now? Rhaenyra would come, as promised, to take King's Landing. She would discover that Aemond had fled, and would accuse Alicent of aiding in his escape.

Alicent's heart pounded as she considered the consequences. Aemond was responsible for the death of Rhaenyra's son, and there was no way she would allow him to live his life free from the consequences of his actions. Not with her own daughter, Vaena, standing by his side.

Alicent felt a surge of panic. She had underestimated Rhaenyra's resolve and overestimated her ability to control the situation. The absurdity of her plan now struck her with full force.

She had hoped to protect her family by betraying her sons, but in the end, she had driven Aemond away and left herself vulnerable to Rhaenyra's wrath.

She rose from the chair and began pacing the room, her mind racing. She needed to think, to find a way to salvage the situation.

But what could she do? Aemond was gone, Vaena and Aerion with him. She had no leverage, no cards left to play.

Her thoughts turned to Helaena and Jaehaera. She had advocated for their lives, hoping to secure their safety. But now, with Aemond's departure, would Rhaenyra honour that agreement? Or would she see it as another betrayal?

As she pondered her next move, a sense of resignation washed over her. She had fought for so long, schemed and plotted to keep her family safe. But now, she realized, there was no way to win. The game was over, and she had lost.

All she could do now was try to minimize the damage and hope that, somehow, her children would survive the storm that was about to descend upon them.

Epilogue.

[angelltheninth]

Cockpit Confessions

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff. love confessions, doubt, flirting, co-workers, missions

Word count: 0.6k

Ao3

A/N: It's time for some space dad fluff.

Din had been even more distant then normal lately. He's not the man of many words, he never was never the type of person to talk a whole lot after missions but these past few have been incredibly conversation dry. Not only that but he didn't want to celebrate with you anymore, made you wonder if it was something you did.

"You're fine. I just have a lot of things to do, between Grogu and visiting Bo-Katan, I don't have time for chit-chatting." That was a load of shit and you knew it.

"But you have time to run around the galaxy with me at your convenience. And I know its not tough jobs either Din, you could handle those on your own and take the reward for yourself." It was almost laughable, the types of bounty missions you went on. Easy money, but also very easy missions, not something that was dangerous or challenging. "I love partnering up with you but you've been sending me so many mixed signals as of late. Hasn't anyone ever told you its not wise to play with a woman's heart?"

"Good thing I'm not trying to. You're the one who said you wanted to hang out with me more, isn't that what we've been doing?" Din settled back into his pilot seat and turned to look at you.

You threw your hands in the air, unbelievable, he was unbelievable, "I meant outside of missions. We used to be better friends then this. We used to... be closer."

He was a dad now and that took a lot of his time. You were happy that he was taking the role so seriously, not many in his line of work would. It was a quality of his that you were very much drawn to. But he still made time for you too before, he brought Grogu along. Oh, oh no. Did... did Grogu not like you?

"Grogu loves you a lot actually." Din spoke up and replied to your apparently spoken out loud question, "That's not the problem."

"Then what is Din? Please tell me, what's the problem between us?" You surged forward and pinned the Mandalorian flat into his chair, hands on either side of his head. No escaping you now.

He seemed to shrink back into his chair, a funny sight for such a badass Mandalorian, "I think I'm in love with you and I'm... I'm terrified." His helmet almost blocked out his entire confession with how silent his voice was just then.

"Huh?!" You tried to back away but Din caught your hands. No escape for you either as he pushed them slowly against his helmet, "I-In love with me? Since when?"

"I don't know... exactly. Might have happened when were we trapped together on that ice planet, or on our undercover mission to the Casino. All I know is, its been scary going on missions with you. I know you yourself have a reputation to uphold, but when I'm with you I don't prioritize the mission, I prioritize you." So that's why its been easy pickings lately, he can mess them up even if he's distracted. "I know this isn't what you thought you'd hear but Grogu's been talking me into this for some time now. I promised him I'd try."

Anything for his kid, what a good dad.

"I wish you hadn't told me this now." You heard him grunt and saw his shoulders slack, fully expecting your rejection, "Because I don't think I can focus now either." You planted a quick kiss on his helmet and then an even quicker one on his jaw as you lifted the helmet up just enough. Din whined when your lips came into contact with his skin, "Oh I definitely won't be able to focus now." You teased, letting his adjust his helmet again.

"Kriff you." Din mumbled and you could almost imagine the blush on his face. One day you would see it for yourself, maybe sooner then you thought.

[navstuffs]

A moment forever ago

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

Summary: In an elevator, a moment forever ago, Leon might have found the love of his life. But it was over forever ago.

Warning tags: SONGFIC, PAIN PAIN, ANGST, hurt/some/no comfort, in italics are the song lyrics, happens during an elevator ride, love in first sight

Author's Notes: song fic 100% based on A Moment Forever Ago from the show called Central Park. my recommendation? you should read this fic as you listen to the music that inspired! every time i write angst fanfic i wonder if im going to outdo myself (creep, emptiness, ghost of you, the tragedy of leon s. kennedy) and honestly, i always try to break everyone's heart. you be the judge if i did it worse (or better)!

my leon's masterlist

It is hard to say if love at first sight exists. Some say it is pure bull, a stupid idea, whereas romantics try to find theirs on every street corner of a supermarket aisle. Leon Kennedy is neither of those. He doesn't have time for the whole arrangement of being a couple and ardently in love with someone.

He was probably destined to end it alone, which was a better deal for everyone, especially himself. But life happens to everyone, and even Agent Kennedy isn't immune to that.

"There was a moment forever ago

That keeps me up on quiet nights

And flickers like a pilot light"

It happens during a stupid elevator ride, during which nothing important ever happens. Leon is on the 28th floor of a hotel, returning from another exhausting mission, thinking when it is finally time to give up, change his name, and run away to some forgotten island in the middle of nowhere where no one would ever find him. He could change his name to Lucius Kelly. He would let his hair and beard grow, live peacefully with a farm and tons of chickens and pigs, and never return to the city, instead drinking coconut water and getting tanned the whole day.

The elevator door opens, and Leon finds himself face-to-face with you. You stand in the middle of the elevator, more to the left, not lifting your eyes as he enters. You are too focused on your thoughts, in a distant point of this reality. Leon stands on your other side, trying to give you the privacy not to stare, but he looks at you again with a sudden interest.

Staring at a fixated point in the elevator's doors, not acknowledging his presence. You don't seem the kind who will strike up a conversation or ask about the weather, nothing like that, which generally Leon didn't like. With a blank expression, you stare at the doors, which shouldn't intrigue Leon as much, but it does.

There is just something about you, and he can't quite place it.

The elevator bell dings and Leon's attention is momentarily drawn to a businessman walking in, ignoring both of you and standing near the door, too busy on his phone closing deals. When Leon quickly gives you a look, he glimpses your head, quickly turning to the wall on your side. As if you are caught staring back at him, too.

"A moment forever ago

That makes me wait through memories"

You are probably thinking he is a creep, Leon thinks. Exemplar behavior from a US agent, Mr. Kennedy, goggling at someone like that. But he can't help himself to look again, noticing you playing with the sleeve of your hoodie, a slight movement to someone who isn't paying enough attention. But Leon is. He figures it is a tiny nervous tick you develop to cope with stressful situations. You are enigmatic, ordinary to common eyes, but not to him. Beautiful in your own way. The elevator's door opens again, and a couple walks in, smiling and occupying the space in front of Leon. Leon gives them extra space, bumping his arm against yours. He quickly apologizes, but you don't seem to care, simply looking at your shoes. 

"But when I look back, all that I can find

Is that moment forever ago

Was it over forever ago?"

Elevator rides shouldn't take more than two or three minutes, but this one is surely taking longer than it should. More people enter the elevator (was there a convention of some sort in this place?), causing Leon's body to get closer to yours, his arm touching yours. He no longer apologizes, maintaining his eye on the door, hoping it can open. That's when he feels the light brush on the palm of his hand.

"Now that moment forever ago

Is home to more than one regret

A recurring sad vignette"

Or was it all his imagination? Maybe just a phantom feeling of a warm touch, a deep desire from his chest. It had to be your touch; it had to be because no one else was so close to him right now. Feeling his face burn and acting like his young self, Leon is ready to listen to your apology that never comes. He looks at you sideways, but still no reaction. He can't figure out your expression. It could have been just a figment of his imagination, desperate for human comfort. Jesus, Leon is miserable. Pitiful, an idiot.

It is the 10th floor now, and Leon suddenly sees himself asking for your name. Your phone number. He imagines your voice, the sound of your laugh. What are your hobbies, your passions, your favorite songs? The one you scream so loud from the bottom of your heart, the one who makes you cry like a baby. Leon sees him wanting something for the first time in his miserable life since Raccoon City, something that could change his life, something that only he, Leon Kennedy, could have. Something that could be his and only his.

"And that moment has taught me to know

That I can't let this one slip by me"

The elevator door suddenly dings again, and everyone starts leaving, you and Leon are the last ones. You give him a quick look as he stands his arm, letting you pass, and you exit as he follows right behind you. As Leon directs to the reception, you walk toward the exit, side by side arms brushing each other, a way to prolong this moment as long as you can. When it's finally time to depart, you look at him straight into his eyes. 

"I—" His "I" comes out so soft, so low you could pretend not to hear it.

Silence. No word comes out of your mouth, and no word comes out of his mouth. There is no one around you two. The world stops spinning, just you and him, and he can't bring himself to speak, as do you. A long moment passes, during which Leon waits for you to say something, anything, and you wait for the same. Leon wonders if you are imagining your future with him, as he imagines his with you. And Leon knows you do the same because your eyes are getting wet, and you finally stop playing with your shirt sleeve.

The moment passes, and you turn around, leaving the hotel, not looking back.

Leon doesn't follow you. He watches as you leave; probably the last time he will see you. He knows he shouldn't drag anyone into his life, his mess. Leon sighs. Maybe the romantic idiots aren't such idiots, and love at first sight could exist, who knows? Perhaps he isn't so cursed at all, he realizes with a tiny hint of a smile, walking towards the reception to check out. Because if it happens once, it could happen again, right?

"Or else it's sure to also be

A moment forever ago"

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Who warms your soul

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 21

Prompt: Snow

Rated: M

CW: nudity, sexual innuendo; monsterfucking (implied)

Tags: Fantasy AU; King!Steve; Dragon!Eddie; established relationship; soul bond; bathing together

Notes: Set in the same universe as Hic sunt dracones.

🎶⛄Do you wanna see a snow dragon?🎶⛄ And also Steve in a cozy poncho and gorgeous winter berry crown??? The amazing @house-of-the-moving-image has you covered. Give them some love, I adore them!!!

Winters in the kingdom of Hawkins are harsh - especially around the solstice, when the nights are longest and the sun a pale and weak thing. Whoever can stay inside does, huddling close to the fireplaces. 

Which is why one morning, some five months into his reign as king, Steve is surprised to wake up to voices and laughter wafting up from the castle grounds. His first thought as he pokes his head from the blankets is that it's way too bright outside, and for one panicked moment he thinks he overslept. Then his vision swims into focus and it clicks. 

"Snow!" 

He rushes over to the balcony, but it's covered in a thin white blanket and he flinches back as soon as his naked toes make contact. Down in the courtyard, a small crowd is already gathering, scooping up snowballs. 

Steve whips around, smile wide and giddy.

"Eddie, look, it snowed!" 

Dark eyes glare back at him from under a cocoon of furs and blankets. A black, scaled tail is poking out at the other end, swishing annoyedly. 

"Beautiful," his mate deadpans. "Fantastic, even. Now come back here." 

The laugh that has been building in Steve's chest bubbles out. 

"Aw," he coos, crawls back into the nest and peels the blankets from Eddie’s face. "Is the big, bad dragon scared of a little snow?"

"'m not scared," Eddie reluctantly lets himself be coaxed from the nest with kisses and caresses. "Don't like it. It's just frozen water, what's so great about it? It's cold, wet, sticky, it gets everywhere…"

"Clothes might help with that."

Eddie scowls at him. Steve can feel how their soul bond quivers with his own mirth. Finally, his dragon groans. 

"You really wanna go out there, don't you?" 

Steve is already shrugging into his warmest clothes. 

"Yup. There's always a big snowball fight on the first day of snow. I was never allowed, but this year I'm so in!" 

"Shame your parents are dead," Eddie grumbles as he trails after him into the castle halls. "I feel like killing them all over again, simply for putting me through this." 

*

They've hardly entered the courtyard when the first snowball bursts against the side of Steve’s head. He yelps and laughs while bits of it get stuck in his hair and under his collar. Eddie actually hisses and shrinks back against the wall, where Joyce is watching the mayhem with a fond smile. Steve gapes at him in mock-affront, but whips around when another projectile hits his back. 

"Got him," Dustin cheers from somewhere, then ducks for cover behind the nearest wall.

"Oh, you're dead," Steve growls, grabbing a fistful of snow as he goes. His fingers sting and go numb with it. It feels glorious. Like freedom and being alive.

"Yeah?" Robin pokes her head out from a snow palisade. Her face is flushed, eyes manic with glee. "You'll have to get us first, dingus!" 

The kids shriek and wrestle her back to safety. Her smile is so wide it looks painful, and his heart swells with the knowledge that it matches his own. He loves her, loves all of them so fucking much. He's grateful every day to have them all here. Safe and warm and together. 

Home. 

His gaze flies across the courtyard, guided by the invisible tether that is the bond. Eddie is talking about something or other with Joyce, wings furled tightly around himself, shoulders drawn almost to his ears - but when their gazes lock, his eyes light up and the connection glows with warmth, in spite of the cold.

And then another snowball hits him in the chest and he spends the better part of the morning chasing Robin around the courtyard to get his revenge. 

*

"You want me to what?"

Eddie wrinkles his nose at the steaming water like it's something gross. 

Steve laughs and splashes him with his foot. 

"Come in with me. Nothing like a nice, hot bath after a snowy day. It'll chase the cold right from your bones." 

Eddie bristles. "I'm a dragon, I don't get cold bones. What does that even mean?" 

"You sure?" Steve cocks an eyebrow and stretches, lets the candlelight glisten of wet, flushed skin. Eddie’s eyes flash gold and the bond shivers with desire. "Because right now, you seem more like a disgruntled cat, getting scared of a little-" 

He doesn’t get any further. There's a snarl, and a splash, and then he's faintly aware of water sloshing to the floor as he's crowded against the wall of the tub and kissed breathless. 

They stay like that for a while, trading breath and touch and whispers, and Eddie actually lets himself be wrestled into position for a backrub. Steve grins as he starts to purr softly. He really is like an oversized cat, sometimes.

"'m not." 

Steve chuckles, hands wandering down, to the scar tissue at the base of his dragon's tail. Eddie shudders and melts into the touch.

"Good?"

A blissful huff, bodies slotting together in the hot water. "Always so good to me, my king." 

Steve sighs, rests his forehead against a scaled shoulder. 

“Thank you.” 

For finding me, for saving me. For the sacrifices you make for me. For putting up with the dark and the wet and the cold, all for my sake.

Eddie hums and twists around so that he can pull Steve into his lap.

“You were the one who found me though, my love. And what’s a bit of snow when you get to be with the one who warms your soul?”

Steve is about to protest, but Eddie kisses the bite mark on his shoulder, and his hands slide down, and he forgets what he was going to say.

“And now,” his dragon mumbles over the sound of his first moan, “let’s get you out of this tub and into our nest. I can think of a million other ways to chase the cold from your bones.” 

I've always hc'd dragon Eddie as hating snow. 😅 This is before he re-learns how to fly - in the winters after, he defo snatches Steve off to somewhere warmer for a few days at least. 💕

All my holiday drabbles

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is: @lady-lostmind! lady_lostmind has 84 works in the Stranger Things fandom and 55 of them are in the Steddie tag!

@oh-stars recommends the following works by @lady-lostmind:

This Is The Coin I Had In My Pocket The First Time We Kissed, And I Always Have It.

Transfixed (under your spell)

Fuck

You know what to do, when it gets hold of you.

The Wall

"Mack is one of the best writers in this ship and I am so very lucky to read their work early on. Her Eddie voice is unmatched to me!! Every time I read a new fic of hers, I'm always shocked at how she can outdo herself with creating my next favorite fic. She's fearless in trying new tropes and genres, exploring super serious topics and she has some of the hottest scenes I've read. Every opportunity I have to read or reread her work is an absolute pleasure and I am so honored to get to see her flourish!" -- @oh-stars

Below the cut, @lady-lostmind answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I’ve been reading fanfic since I was a teenager but I never felt the urge to write my own until watching these two together. I think we can all agree there was some undeniable chemistry between the two on screen and they have such a fun dynamic to work with. I’ve always enjoyed creative writing in some shape or form whether it be for a class or writing lyrics for the band I was in, or the half abandoned novel I have in my docs. I decided to give fanfic a shot and then really loved getting to actually be a part of the community instead of lurking on the edges and leaving kudos anonymously like I had for years. But there is something so special about Steddie in particular and I’m especially drawn to writing Eddie in particular. His character has so many layers to explore and different directions to go and I love making him fall in love with his golden retriever of a man over and over again.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I am a sucker for a good slow burn, especially with some hurt/comfort thrown in. Please rip my heart out, stomp on it, pick it back up, and hand it back to me wrapped in a pretty little bow.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Honestly, the same as what I read. As much as I love a good fluffy one shot there’s nothing quite like the sweet torture of dragging your characters through hell before they get their happy ending. It’s so fun trying to navigate what they would do in difficult situations, and how that affects the story overall.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

This is such a hard question. There are so many good fics out there. We’re truly well fed in this community. I think some of my absolute favorites have to be You’re Divine by oonionchiver, and The most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway is that it’s you by greatunironic. Both of them inspired me to do a lot of fanart including a bind and cover art for You’re Divine, and drawing all the album covers in TMRTAYSITDITIY.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I never really know what I’m going to write next until it smacks me in the face. But I’m definitely open to whatever that might be. I will say I’ve never ventured into the omegaverse in my writing but it does seem like a fun one to play around with.

What is your writing process like?

Chaotic. I love writing but have a hard time actually sitting down and focusing on it. I either write a huge chunk all at once, or I write a sentence at a time while watching tv or something. I do really enjoy writing with other people though whether that’s in a sprint or word game.

Do you have any writing quirks?

If I have music on while writing it can’t have any lyrics in it or I get too distracted.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Oh, a schedule is generous, I’d say. But I do prefer posting chapter by chapter. I feel like people engage a little more as they read each one and I love getting the feedback as I go.

Which fic are you most proud of?

And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife. I think my writing grew a lot during that fic and I’m really proud of the work I put into it. AYMFYIABHWABW was also the first thing I ever wrote for an event and was a big step for me to actually put myself out there and talk with other authors and artists. I made some amazing connections through that event and am so glad I pushed through any self consciousness to ask for a beta reader because I found an amazing one in oh-stars and gained a great friendship through that. They introduced me to karadanverss when the two of them were looking for some help modding the Stranger Things Reverse Big Bang and I not only gained another friend, but got to dip my toe into being a mod, something I never would have even considered doing before, but have had so much fun being a part of as we set up other events together. So I think because of all that, AYMFYIABHWABW will always hold a special place in my heart.

How did you get the idea for This Is The Coin I Had In My Pocket The First Time We Kissed, And I Always Have It.?

During a rewatch of New Girl. Nick Miller is honestly such a mash up of Eddie and Steve, and I could not get the idea out of my head to Steddiefy the scene in the hall where Nick says “Not like this.” It screams hopeless romantic Steve to me, and the title is a line Nick says to Jess way later and it never fails to make me cry. So, I started with that. Just wanting to do a similar situation with Steddie, and it morphed into something much bigger than I intended.

When writing You know what to do, when it gets hold of you., what was something you didn’t expect?

I thought I would have a harder time with Steve’s POV in this one than I did. I really wanted to show a side of him that I feel gets overlooked a lot since he’s always throwing himself in front of everyone else when there’s danger. But what happens when that danger isn’t there anymore? What does he do with that? It’s a side I hadn’t explored much before and I was really happy with where that took me. I really liked getting to see where Steve’s mind would go when the group is seemingly safe.

What inspired Transfixed (under your spell)?

Transfixed was written for the Steddie Summer Exchange! So I actually had this prompt: ‘Popstar Steve and rockstar Eddie having a secret relationship whilst the public and their own band mates think they hate each other.’ to go off of for it. This prompt screamed angsty, hurt/comfort so I was really excited I snagged it in claims.

What was your favorite part to write from You know what to do, when it gets hold of you.?

I think it has to be the scene where Steve finally breaks down. When Eddie figures out what has been going on and Steve just lets it all out. If there is one thing Steve Harrington deserves, it’s a good fucking cry.

How do/did you feel writing The Wall?

The Wall was written for Steddie Love Month with the prompt: Love is letting yourself be loved and if that didn’t scream insecure Steve I don’t know what does. I remember feeling very bittersweet while writing The Wall because I know what it’s like to be afraid to let someone in again when you’ve been hurt, and how good it feels when you finally let that wall down and accept that risk because it’s worth it. I tried to capture that feeling as best as I could.

What was the most difficult part of writing Fuck?

Fuck was another Steddie Love Month prompt. The hardest part of writing this one was just trying not to cackle to myself about how ridiculous Eddie was being. This one was a lot of fun to write.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

Oh my. I think it either has to be the first scene I wrote for AYMFYIABHWABW that sparked the entire thing: Steve is staring at him, eyes wide and rocking a little on his heels like he’s so nervous he can’t stay still. Eddie’s stomach drops, his mind spiraling through a million worst case scenarios all at once. “What’s wrong? Is Wayne– Are the kids okay? Is it–” Steve holds his hands out in front of him and shakes his head. “Fuck, no. Sorry. No. It’s not–” Steve sucks in a deep breath, his hands shooting up into his hair before dropping to hovering in the space between the two of them. “Eds. I fucked up. I so massively fucked up. I can’t even begin to–[...] This feels like a fucking fever dream. Like something he’s imagined a million times over. Awake and asleep, In every possible scenario and position. All the times he fucked men in bathroom stalls and or pressed them against a wall in a dirty alley, this is what he wanted. And he was right. None of it even comes close to being this. This is…it’s everything. Fuck– it’s everything." Or this scene from You know what to do, when it gets hold of you where Steve finally gets to breakdown: Steve shakes against him, his tears wetting the shoulder of Eddie’s shirt. “I’m sorry.” Eddie shakes his head. “It’s okay.” He rubs his hand up and down Steve’s back. “Hey, you’re okay. We’re going to figure this out, okay?” Steve sobs, his hands fisting into Eddie’s shirt a broken “Sorry” slipping out of him again. Eddie’s arms tighten around Steve, and he struggles to swallow the lump forming in his throat, tears welling in his eyes. Can’t help the way his heart breaks a little at the sorrow in Steve’s voice. How vulnerable he sounds. Because Steve Harrington isn’t vulnerable. Steve Harrington dives into lakes with portals to another world at the bottom without a second thought. Steve Harrington rips other dimensional beasts apart with his teeth. Steve Harrington marched into battle calmly, and confidently. Steve Harrington carried Eddie out of a hellscape on his fucking back. Steve Harrington is the rock. He is the one everyone leans on. And Eddie knew. He knew something was wrong. He knew something was going on. But it’s one thing to know it, and another to see your hero crack and crumble in your arms.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

The Eddie Munson Big Bang! Definitely keep an eye on our tumblr (@eddiemunsonbigbang) to see all the amazing fics and art that will be coming out. I’m one of the mods over there, and I’m working on a fic for it that I’m really excited about. If this is posed before the end of September…we’re still looking for artists!

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

I’d just really like to thank anyone who has ever taken the time to read my fics, or like any of the fanart I’ve made. I never expected anyone to really see any of it when I first started all this and have really loved finding a community to be a part of. I never had any friends who were really into fandoms or fanfiction, and up until I started engaging in Steddie content no one in my life even knew I read it. Getting to talk to, and make friends in this community gave me the confidence to talk more about what I’m interested in and connect more with the people in my life. So, thank you all for showing me how to be loud about the things I love and that I don’t have to hide parts of myself away!

Thank you to our author, @lady-lostmind, and our nominator, @oh-stars! See more of lady_lostmind's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[toointojoelmiller]

Update: I continue to work on all things! Nothing is abandoned! New chapters will come!

The actual, fun and exciting update: I'm going to start recommending a few AMAZING TLOU fics that you might have missed on my blog every Saturday for the next while.

I hope you find some new great reads to keep you going while we wait for season 2 - our fandom is seriously so freaking talented, and there are SO many incredibly written fics out there that I want to yell about a bunch of them! Please reblog!

These fics will vary re: how closely they stick to canon and what themes they explore, but you can expect them all to be wonderfully written and, obviously, heavily feature Joel Miller.

Some of these, including this weeks, may include mature content - make sure to read and heed the trigger warnings listed on ao3!

I have never really been interested in fan fiction with OCs, so I missed out on this week's recommendation for a long time and I bet a lot of you did too. It's both a wonderfully told Joel love story and a fic that, in my opinion, really honours the world and characters of TLOU.

Go Your Own Way by @chronicallyonlinewriter 232,575 words || 31 chapters rating: mature [see ao3 tags for full content warnings] featuring: post season/game 1 life in Jackson, angst, fluff, action, romance, smut, plenty of protective Joel and parent Joel

You can check out a review from @march-flowerr below, describing some of what makes this story so special: (vague general spoilers re: themes and mature content)

“Go Your Own Way stands, in my mind, as one of the most well written piece of fiction on Archive of Our Own. Nandorluna has such an intimate and authentic take on the existing characters that we know and love (on Joel and Ellie and all the Jackson gang) but it’s her ability to create stunning, well fleshed out original characters that drew me to her story initially. Her main character, Benny, moves across the story in such a visceral and realistic way; her arc spans not just the present canon timeline, but transports us through an entire lifetime: from childhood to outbreak, to first love, to first loss, to heartbreak and grief and then finally, to her heart’s final resting place: Joel Miller.

Zee manages to write about and embrace such difficult topics as assault, pregnancy loss, and grief without ever once making a show of it. She handles each moment with quiet dignity and intense self reflection; she draws beauty from the hollow depth of heart ache and despair without ever once losing the thread of hope that The Last of Us is known for.

At the heart of Go Your Own Way is the love story of Joel and Benny. Zee manages to create a compelling story about brokenness and connection and the raw, rare glory that is finding someone with whom you can begin to fit yourself together with again. It’s a story of family - of people who when left to wander, find their hearts drawn to each other. It’s a story about love - each relationship, from Benny and Alexei’s long friendship, to Ellie and Joel’s turbulent first years, to Benny and Joel’s steadfast devotion for each other, caters to the soul. It’s a story that I’ve found myself returning to, again and again, in all moods and places in life. If I could change anything about it, it would only be that it did have to end after all."

If you read and love this, please please show the author some love and leave a kudos and comment!! Happy fandoming y'all.

[pennyserenade]

The Hollywood Hedonist Method

pairing: dieter bravo x you, dieter bravo x reader rating: explicit (oral sex (female receiving), pinv, unprotected sex, light dirty talk (a little degrading), sex in public place (?), soft dom!reader, soft dom!dieter tags: references to drugs, talk of suicide (not serious), a self pitying dieter bravo word count: 2.9k+ summary: dieter's movie is bad and he looks to you for a quick fix to a long problem. a/n: is this the most inspired piece i ever wrote? probably not but i did have a lot of fun writing it. i wouldn't say this is my usual writing style, but i'm trying something new on here and i hope you like it. if you'd like to be updated on when i post my writing, follow my writing updates blog @belovedinfidels

He fingers you on the black marble countertop, his mess of crushed ambitions transformed suddenly into a hardy joie de vivre as you accept his tongue into your mouth. Salacious stories be damned: this is better than any page six bullshit could cover, his strong body settled between your widened legs, his long fingers curled in the warm comforts of your body. He breathes you in, drinks you up. 

Your whiskey soaked tactlessness is divine tonight. It offers a heady respite from the impending dark cloud of his self doubt. He doesn’t even mind that you don’t realize how gloomy this shit makes him. He feels like one of those goddamn characters in Sunset Boulevard, switching between the dead bloodied man floating in the pool of his own ambition, and the frenzied, forgotten actress with the warm gun of delusion in her hands. He hates that he’s miserable over his fucking shitty movie, and he’s so hard it’s embarrassing, and a little confusing, and you’re beginning to squirm and he wonders if maybe his tongue might make you shake and—-

“Dieter!” 

You dig crescent shaped imprints on the pale, freckled skin of his shoulders. His tongue makes you shout–better than he could’ve ever hoped for. It’s the ego boost he needs. Plus, you’re so goddamn wet that it’s coating his chin and he’s only just got on his knees. That’s nice, too. 

He licks up to your swollen clit, tonguing it until you let out delightful little mewls and writhe beneath him. When you close your legs around his head, he lets out a moan. You taste like the closest thing to penitence he’ll ever get. He could eat your pussy all night if you let him. Really. There’s some things he knows for certain, some things even bad fucking movies and a deflating ego can’t rob him of, and his love for this is one of them. The act of spreading a woman apart and eating her like she’s ripe pickings from the Garden of Eden almost drives him to romanticism sometimes. He is sure he could write poetry about this. He bets your pussy’d look so pretty on a canvas. He’s never drawn a pussy from memory, but he’s gonna try it tomorrow and—

“Are you okay?” you rasp, looking down at him with a frown. 

Well, maybe it can rob me of this, he thinks bitterly. 

Your grip turns more forgiving in his hair, your fingers sympathetically pushing his locks back from his face. He comes up, his slick-glistened lips forming into what you suspect is meant to be a reassuring grin. It looks more like a grimace. You run a thumb affectionately over his cheek and he groans, pushing it off with his shoulder. He positions himself back between your legs. When you pull at his hair again, trying to get him to look at you, he winces sharply. 

“Dammit,” he mutters, dark eyes deep wells of glazed frustration. “If I don’t make you cum I’m going to jump out of the window,” he deadpans. 

You’ve always hated the kind of people who make you wonder what’s a joke and what’s not, because it’s a constant commotion of miscommunication. Life becomes a bad joke, a joke that is in constant need of explaining, and you’ve never liked that. Dieter is the sort that seems to be hanging on the edge of I don’t know, the kind who seems to be supplanting real answers for half funny, half serious ones. The uncertainty he posits is a product of the uncertainty he feels - you can tell already - but you’re not exactly enthused to decipher him for the rest of your life. 

You frown. You’d only met him under strobe lights not even two months ago, shouting over the music to get to know one another. He had tasted of stale cigarettes and early morning remorse, and he’d taken you in the women’s bathroom, pressed you against the bathroom stall, and fucked you with bruising intensity. Then he had written his number on the palm of your hand, and kissed you chastely on the mouth after it was all over. There’s no future here. You won’t be deciphering anything. 

“Sit on my face,” he implores. Dieter delivers the sentence like he’s asking you if he can hold your hand. His fingers grip at your thighs and his breath grazes the inside of your legs. When he presses his lips to the side of your cunt, you close your eyes against the sensation. He tongues the spot, laughing shakily as you ease underneath him. Your hips press forward and he takes it as acceptance. “Or don’t,” he says. His tongue teases at your lips, and you can hear the grin in his tone when he says, “I’ll eat you out like this. That’s just fine, too.” His tongue nudges into your opening and you gasp. Your hand finds his hair again. “But tell me you want it.” 

His lips press to the side of your pussy again. You gush involuntarily at the sound of a husky voice, at the way he hovers over you with the promise of more. 

“Mm.” You look down your body at him, making eye contact as he presses kisses closer and closer to your glistening clit. He nods his head at you, encouraging you as he begins twirling his tongue around the area. “Actors are so goddamn self absorbed,” you say. He nods wordlessly again, smiling against your skin. He doesn’t tongue your clit, though. You want him badly to take it into his mouth. To suck—

“Fuck, please,” you plead. “I want it.” 

His eyes glimmer. You feel his hot breath all over you, and can hardly stand the sensation of it. You want to ride his face, make him bring you to orgasm your own way. You nearly forget his sad, petulant attitude in your impatience. 

He takes your clit in his mouth, sucks eagerly as you stroke your nipple through the thin cotton of your dress. Dieter is greedy even in his giving, taking as much of you as you’ll let him. He enters a finger into you—a finger that goes in with an embarrassing ease—and then another when you moan lewdly into the enclosed air of this someone else’s bathroom. His face moves with your hips, letting you rock against the rhythm his own fingers set. You moan his name and he goes faster, and you feel on the brink of imploding. 

Your eyes close and you focus on his mouth, and the fury with which he works at your swollen clit, and you think of his fingers, and the way your cunt clenches around them, large as they are. As you cum against his mouth with an unapologetically guttural moan, he surprises you with the seriousness of his intent—how he does not look up at you or smirk against you, but works devoutly at building another orgasm up. You grip the edge of the sink and your head thuds against the mirror as it lolls back. The glass reverberates but neither of you care; your ass is gradually rising off the counter and his body is rising up, one of his legs kneeled on the ground and the other one hovering. He makes you cum again in a matter of seconds. 

In between your second and third orgasm, his belt buckle jingles open and he’s risen all the way up. He comes up for air, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and then he kisses you on the mouth. He’s wet with your juices down to his chin and he’s not afraid to spread the taste of you against your tongue. There’s a drop of pre-cum wetting the blue of his tight boxer shorts. You grab onto his jean loops and jostle him closer. He comes without protest. 

“You shouldn’t ask a man how he feels when he’s eating you out,” he tells you. His head is pressed against your chest and he’s looking down at himself, at the way his cock is strained in his boxers. He’s hard as hell. He looks back up at you with intense eyes. “It’s likely he feels pretty fucking good.” 

“Shut up,” you groan. You stuff your hand down the front of his open jeans and his neutrality fades into a smirk. His hips jerk as you palm him and he whimpers, desperate as ever. You fist his hair, driving his neck back so you can kiss along the column of his throat. “The movie wasn’t even that fucking bad,” you tell him. He laughs and you feel his Adam’s apple bob against your lips. You suck at the skin there. If he minds, he doesn’t say. His eye lashes flutter against his cheeks and he happily grinds against your hand. You think you could make him beg, if you wanted. You think maybe he wants to. 

You withdraw your touch suddenly and he whimpers, pupils blown wide with desire. He goes from confused to uncertain. “What?—“ 

“Ground,” you command. He nods curtly. 

He peels off his jeans and underwear on his way down to the cold, sterile tile, making no qualms about being bare ass naked on his employer’s bathroom floor. They are downstairs and they’re partying, and even if they weren’t he wouldn’t give a damn anyway. That’s the appeal of him, isn't it? It’s why the public buys the magazines and watches the movies he’s in. Dieter is a brilliant train wreck and they want to see. 

That movie they put him in was so goddamn commercial and so heartless, and so contrived. He hopes he gets cum on the black shower mat because of what they’ve done to him. 

“I’ve got no condom,” he tells you suddenly, remembering. This had been so spur of the moment. A hand on your knee under the table turned to a hand in your underwear and suddenly you were both up here. His face scrunches up, waiting for rejection. 

He supposes he could make do, maybe just ask you to talk to him while he masturbates this hard-on away. Are you into that sort of thing? He supposes it’s a little exhibitionist, and he knows that’s not everyone’s cup of tea but—

You don’t seem to give a shit. You straddle his hips and look down at him. You’re still a little loopy from your orgasms but confident in your approach-confident that he wants this badly as you think he does and goddamnit if you’re not right. He ought to be responsible and ask you the slew of questions responsible people ask before they bury their cocks into nice women such as yourself. Birth control? Have you fucked anyone else and do you think they might’ve given you something? When’s your birthday? Middle name? But he doesn’t. He breathes steadily beneath you, excited and so fucking worked up he’s afraid the first heavenly push into you might be the last one if you’re not careful with him. 

He doesn’t even know if you won’t tell the paps about this. Maybe you will. Maybe the price of this will be a magazine spread featuring a bad airport photo of him and the headline “DIETER BRAVO OUT OF CONTROL: L.A. FLING TELLS ALL.” And this L.A. fling will know all, will have everything to tell. In a matter of seconds he tries to decide what kind of person you are. He softens a bit, and you notice immediately, and that fresh Hollywood self pity is back and he softens some more.  

Before you can ask if he’s okay again, he heaves a telling sigh. “Too much or not enough drugs,” is his response. It was good while it lasted. What’s the worst that can tell them now? That he eats pussy to make up for his drug induced impotence on bad days? 

You look confused, maybe even a little wounded. No, you are wounded. He squeezes your hip as if to say “You did your best” and this hurt flashes more visibly across your face. Well. 

“Coward,” you tell him. His eyebrows raise to his hairline. 

“Hm?” he answers.  

You lean down, whisper it to him. “You’re a self pitying coward. It’s not the drugs. You’re making yourself miserable.”

“Listen—“ he starts indignantly, but you shake your head. Oddly, he’s getting stiff again. This has been the most embarrassing night of his whole fucking life—and perhaps the most telling. 

You look down between your bodies, pleased. “My theory was right.”

“Please,” he groans, “no more or I’m going to kill myself for real.” 

You laugh and it’s so genuine and that he laughs too, despite himself. You might be laughing at him for all he knows but it doesn’t feel like it. He decides once and for all, looking at you, watching you, that you won’t tell about this or about anything. If you wanted to, you would’ve already. And most importantly, he simply doesn’t want to believe you could be someone like that. He isn’t a coward. Not all the time. He takes a chance on you, here, now. 

“Are you on birth control?” he asks. You nod your head. “Have you been tested lately?” You nod your head again. He smiles. “Do you like me? Check yes or no.” 

You check yes — or at least he thinks. You kiss him tenderly, more tenderly than is good for him, and you both fall back into your hurried, lust riddled motions. You take his growing hard on in your hand and guide him into you. You lean your forehead on his and let him sheath himself inside of you. He goes slowly, wincing against the warmth of you squeezing around him. It feels so fucking good—dangerously good. He forgets about the stupid movie and the bosses down stairs and all that miserable shit about ruining their rugs.  

“Do you like it when I’m mean to you?” you whisper, once he’s fully inside. He looks at you, amused, and shrugs his shoulders. 

“I don’t know. Seems like it.”

“Do you think you’d like if…If I was controlling?”

He hums against your shoulder, bringing your body closer to his. “How so?” he asks. He begins guiding your hips, lifting you gently off his cock and slowly back down. 

“Make you beg,” you say quietly. “Maybe call you names, if you want. Maybe tell you how good you are when I think you’re good.”He twitches inside of you and you smile. He smiles too. 

“Actors are so self absorbed,” he jokes.

“Your movie wasn’t bad,” you assure again, more kindly. He doesn’t respond. He kisses the place between your neck and your shoulder. You quicken the pace that you ride him in and he nods gratefully, sighing softly. His knees draw up and you reposition slightly, feeling him more deeply inside of you as you grind back down into him. 

“Do you want to cum?” you ask him. You drive your hips up, gripping onto the hands he has on your hips, making him move in your slow, teasing pace once again. He bites at his bottom lip and doesn’t respond. You stop moving. He flashes his eyes up at you, annoyed and aroused and vaguely infatuated. “Of course,” he breathes out. 

“Tell me,” you taunt back. You resist when he tries to move you back down and he groans, but you feel him twitch in you again. 

“I know you want me to fuck you too,” he counters. 

“Sure,” you nod, “But remember: I’ve already cum three times and you’ve cum none. I think I can withhold far longer than you.”

He can’t help but smirk. That’s not good enough for you. You want him far gone for you, incoherent practically. You rise off his cock completely and he lurches forward, groaning. “No!” he says. “I want to cum!” he says, pawing at you. “Please!”

You hover over his glistening cock and pout. “Didn’t seem like it,” you taunt, moving your hips over him but not touching. His lips part but no words come out. “I want it to seem like it. You’re a big boy, Bravo and you can use your words, can’t you? I hate a man who can’t use his words—who’s afraid to.” You lean down, close to his ear. “I hate a coward.” 

“I—I can use my words,” he stutters. His fingers brush against your hips. “Please, just climb back on me and keep riding me. I—I need that.”

“Tell me.” 

“Fuck,” he grunts. “I need it so bad.” 

You grab his cock, stroke it lazily. “Again,” you say. His face twists up in what could be either pleasure or pain and he says, “Please. I need it. Need you.” 

He’s as hard and desperate as he was before. You kiss him hard on the mouth and allow him to take over again, guiding you down onto him this time. He flips you over, lays you down against the ground, and drives into you. You gasp and he smiles like he’s won a prize. 

“Can I—“ he fills you to the hilt. “—is it alright if I…Can I cum in you?”

You nod your head. He looks at you and you understand he wants more than just a nod. “Yes,” you answer. 

It doesn’t take much more than that. He gathers up your legs, drives into you with one or two more inspired thrusts, and then he’s growing rigid against your body, hot spurts of his cum filling you. He exhales softly into your neck. You think he might apologize for a moment but he doesn’t. Instead he thanks you. 

“Feel better?” you ask. He nods. 

“Much,” he says. “Hell—I might really be starting to think that the movie wasn’t so bad.” When he looks at you, you can tell he’s kidding. 

“Well,” you joke back, “At least even the bad movies get you fucked, huh?”

[baronessblixen]

Hi ! I have a prompt for you: Mulder and Scully sharing a bed during two nights in The Rain King. After a first awkard night, what happens during the second one after the party ?

Tooth-rotting fluff ahead. And bed-sharing. And kissing. (wc: 1,183)

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2023

Fictober Day 20: Shooting Stars

He’s still humming Somewhere Over The Rainbow in the car on their way back to the hotel. Every once in a while, he glances over at Scully and while she’s quiet, there’s a soft smile playing around her lips that makes him feel giddy. He’s felt giddy ever since he saw Holman and Sheila together, having found their way to each other after all. A happy ending. A beautiful one, too. If only all their cases could end in sunshine and rainbows.

“Mulder, look.” He’s just parked their car when Scully points at the sky. Mulder steps out of the car, lifting his head to the heavens in awe.

“Shooting stars,” he says, grinning. “I think it’s safe to say that Holman scored.”

“Mulder,” Scully scolds him, but she’s giggling. She’s actually giggling. He tears his eyes away from the sky, where white flaming stars continue to rain down on them, to look at Scully. She’s staring at the natural wonder with her mouth open as if she might catch one that way. She looks so young to him right now. Like she did that night on their first case. Before everything that happened to them.

He loses himself in her sight and in her memory. If only he could get that back. For her. That’s his wish. Standing out here, wishing upon a shooting star, he briefly closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he finds Scully staring at him.

“Catch a falling star, Scully” he says to her, pretending to do so, “and put it in your pocket. Save it for a rainy day.”

“I don’t have to,” she says. “Cause you just did.” He watches her walk to their hotel room, her eyes glancing up again and again. Mulder follows her, still wearing a grin.

“Did you wish for anything?” he asks once they’re both inside.

“Maybe,” she admits.

“What did you wish for?”

“You know I can’t tell you. It won’t come true if I do.” With that, she disappears into the bathroom. Mulder quickly undresses and lies down on the bed. Their bed. He glares at the cot in the corner that he was supposed to use but that gave out as soon as he got horizontal last night. They shared the bed as platonically as two FBI partners possibly could. While he doesn’t know what either of them did during the night, they were on their respective sides in the morning. It wasn’t awkward. It didn’t feel strange or wrong at all. So why should tonight be any different?

Scully comes out ten minutes later, wearing her pajamas. Her face is devoid of make-up and he can see her beauty mark. He secretly loves seeing her like this, when all her professional layers are gone. She trusts him enough to let him see her like this. Like Dana. She gets into bed, sighing happily. She smells minty-fresh and like vanilla. His nose is drawn to her; his whole body is. He catches himself before his nose lands in her hair.

“Bathroom is all yours,” she says with a smile and Mulder hops off the bed, getting his own business done. He’s quick in case Scully is tired and falls asleep before he’s back out. But he’s in luck. She’s still awake when he crawls into bed, unable to hide his grin. Scully turns off the light but there’s enough light from outside to not drape them in complete darkness. They’re facing each other and while Mulder can’t be sure, he thinks Scully is smiling at him.

“Interesting night, huh?” he asks.

“Yeah, it was.”

“Are you tired? I don’t want to keep you awake. I’m wired. Who knew someone else’s love life could be so… stimulating.” He hears Scully chuckle and remembers something.

“Hey, about what you said earlier.”

“What did I say? It was a long day, Mulder.”

“Me giving dating advice.”

“Hmm,” she replies.

“Why did you think that was funny?”

“I didn’t think it was funny.”

“Well, you thought it was something.”

“Unless there’s something I’m missing, I don’t think you’ve been on any date since I’ve known you.”

“I have been on dates,” he says, trying to remember one.

“When?” The sheets rustle and Scully sounds more awake now.

“Um.” He’s raking his brain. He must have been on a date in the last couple of years. At least one. He just doesn’t remember. “There was this woman,” he says, stalling.

“In this decade?” Scully asks, teasing him.

“Very funny. It worked out, didn’t it? So I couldn’t have been too far off.”

“Sheila did the final move, Mulder. If anything, I helped them.”

“What did you say to her?” On the other side of the bed, Scully squirms, piquing his interest even more. “Come on, Scully. Teach me something.” Suddenly, he finds himself much closer to her, unaware of how it happened. Has he moved closer? Has she?

“I don’t remember,” she says and Mulder knows it’s a blatant lie. “Just something about how she should give Holman a chance.”

“That’s what you said.”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

“I don’t believe you,” he whispers and she gasps because he’s that close. So close in fact that he’s sure they’re breathing the exact same air. But he doesn’t want to move away. And neither, it seems, does she.

“You can ask Sheila,” Scully says, her voice firm. “But be careful, in case she kisses you again.”

He groans. “You know I didn’t encourage her, right?”

“I know,” she says. “But you don’t need my permission to kiss people, Mulder.”

“I don’t?” he asks in a teasing voice.

“Of course not.”

“What if I wanted to kiss you?”

Scully is silent and he wonders if he’s gone too far. He got swept up in their closeness and the freedom of the darkness that makes him feel invincible. He’s about to apologize when she speaks again.

“Try it,” she says calmly. “Ask me and see what happens.” His heart is hammering so hard in his chest that he’s certain she must hear it, too. It doesn’t matter.

“Scully,” he says, his voice almost failing him. “Do I have permission to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

Before he even takes his next breath, his lips are on hers. Their first kiss is soft and sweet and as surprising as the shooting stars they experienced outside. She claws at him, tugging him closer, and taking the lead. He just follows. And gladly so. They come up for air, their noses touching, and her hand in his hair.

“That was unexpected,” he says, out of breath.

“Did you think I’d say no?”

“I- I don’t know. No. I mean I thought I knew you wouldn’t, but-”

“You think too much,” she says, her lips brushing his.

“So I’ve been told.”

“This is what I wished for,” she says, sounding shy. “When we were standing outside. This is what I wanted.”

“Just this?” he asks.

“Not just this,” she says and tugs at his shirt. He hears her loud and clear. He’s going to shoot for the stars, too.

[merymoonbeam]

Rose bloom in a mud field–Elain–The Middle

Okay listen...I had this theory that elain would be trapped in the prison but what if it is actually the middle?

The reasons are Elain asked Amren about changing her body and if she could have chosen a male body instead. You have to read the first post I tagged to understand it as a whole.

But basically amren says this

Her brows narrowed. “I had to give something up. I had to give me up. To walk out, I had to become something else entirely, something the Prison would not recognize. So I—I bound myself into this body.” (acowar)

And we have the elain scene in acofas asking questions.

Mor opened her mouth, laughter dancing on her face, but Elain asked, “Could you have done it? Decided to take a male form?” The question cut through the laughter, an arrow fired between us. Amren studied my sister, Elain’s cheeks red from our unfiltered talk at the table. “Yes,” she said simply. “Before, in my other form, I was neither. I simply was.” “Then why did you pick this body?” Elain asked, the faelight of the chandelier catching in the ripples of her golden-brown braid. “I was more drawn to the female form,” Amren answered simply. “I thought it was more symmetrical. It pleased me.” Mor frowned down at her own form, ogling her considerable assets. “True.” Cassian snickered. Elain asked, “And once you were in this body, you couldn’t change?” Amren’s eyes narrowed slightly. I straightened, glancing between them. Unusual, yes, for Elain to be so vocal, but she’d been improving. Most days, she was lucid—perhaps quiet and prone to melancholy, but aware. Elain, to my surprise, held Amren’s gaze. Amren said after a moment, “Are you asking out of curiosity for my past, or your own future?” The question left me too stunned to even reprimand Amren. The others, too. Elain’s brow furrowed before I could leap in. “What do you mean?” “There’s no going back to being human, girl,” Amren said, perhaps a tad gently. “Amren,” I warned. Elain’s face reddened further, her back straightening. But she didn’t bolt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I’d never heard Elain’s voice so cold. (acofas)

And as you can see elain is confused when it is asked about going back to human. So what if it is something else. But again pls read the linked post it would make more sense when you read that.

At this point of the story I thought maybe elain would become trapped in the prison...but what if it is actually the middle instead?

We have this in acosf:

“The Middle is full of primal magic. It has its own rules and laws. Hunt the kelpies or lightsingers without provocation and you might find yourself trapped here.” (acosf)

So if you hunt something in there without provocation...you can get trapped. We have lightsinger theory for a certain character...just saying.

And I think hofas gave us a great reason to get back to the middle...fionn'd died there. He was killed there.

My parents often went hunting in the vast slice of land the Daglan had kept for their private game park, where they had crafted terrible monsters to serve as worthy prey. It was there that he met his death. A dark-haired, pale creature that could have been the relative of the nøkk in Jesiba’s gallery dragged a bound and gagged Fionn into the inky depths of the bog, the once-proud king screaming as he went under. Horror rooted Bryce to the spot. Theia and Pelias stood at the water’s edge, faces impassive. Petals began falling from the trees. Leaves with them. Birds took flight. As if sudden winter gripped the bog. As if the land had died with its king.

And we know fionn had the Gwydion and later Truth-Teller when enalius died.

My father had never shown himself to be giving—long had he kept Gwydion and never once offered it to my mother. The dagger that had belonged to his dear friend, slain during the war, hung at his side, unused. But not for long.

Elain is the only female to use Truth-Teller in acotar. So...what if we have to go back there to find an answer to all of it. Sarah loves to use ancient people and their memories as a whole to explain the history(example...silene) so what if we need fionn and his memories?

Also...I cant help but make this connection.

Acowar elain

Devlon let out a grunt at the sight of her. But Elain wrapped her own blue cloak around herself, averting her eyes from all of those towering, muscled warriors, the army camp bustling toward the horizon … She was a rose bloom in a mud field. Filled with galloping horses.

Acosf the middle

Islands of grass dotted the expanse, some so crowded with brambles that he could find no safe place to land. The tangles of thorns were a mockery of what might have been—as if Oorid had ever produced roses. Not a single flower bloomed.

Hofas bog when fionn died

A dark-haired, pale creature that could have been the relative of the nøkk in Jesiba’s gallery dragged a bound and gagged Fionn into the inky depths of the bog, the once-proud king screaming as he went under. Horror rooted Bryce to the spot. Theia and Pelias stood at the water’s edge, faces impassive. Petals began falling from the trees. Leaves with them. Birds took flight. As if sudden winter gripped the bog. As if the land had died with its king.

So elain and the middle???

Also another point is...the avallen island was like the prison island because Helena hid 1/3 of theia's power there and once bryce claimed that power...the island went back to what it was.

Helena had bound the soul of this land in magical chains. No more. No more would Bryce allow the Fae to lay claim over anything. “You’re free,” Bryce whispered to Avallen, to the land and the pure, inherent magic beneath it. “Be free.” And it was.

It was no longer gray and thrashing, but a vibrant, clear turquoise. And rising from the water, just as they had seen on the map Declan had found, were islands, large and small. Lush and green with life. Forests erupted on the island they stood on, soon joined by mountains and rivers.

So what if fionn did the same before he died? What if the middle is the way it is bc before he died...he bound himself to it so the magic of the land was bound?

And we need elain to free the land? As bryce did to avallen?