#they simply are prince lovers. end of story!!!!!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

igwb · 1 month ago

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Fate, Fortune and Jungkook's Misfortune.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: strangers to lovers au, fluff + slice of life + comedy

summary: hopelessly romantic, jungkook believed in all kinds of things—but mostly in fate. so when he stumbled upon what he thought was a sign from the universe, he took it seriously. maybe too seriously. but one way or another, he was determined to make her believe in fate too.

word count: 20K (one shot)

warnings: fem!reader, mentions of; astrology talk, fluff, fluff & fluff, and jungkook being jungkook (cute) ♡

playlist: sally when the wine runs out, goodnight n go, fallingforyou & you are the traffic

Jeon Jungkook had heard plenty of things about himself over the years, but three remarks seemed to follow him everywhere.

The first was that he was dramatic—sometimes a little too much. Jungkook wasn’t the kind of person who simply told a story; he performed it.

His hands would move wildly, his voice rising and falling with exaggerated emotion, as if every minor event in his life were a grand cinematic moment. It didn’t matter if he was recounting a near-death experience (which, in reality, was just him almost tripping on a sidewalk) or the time he spotted an unusually fluffy cat on the street—his excitement was all-consuming. His big, expressive doe eyes would widen as he spoke, drawing people in, making them listen, even if they had no idea why finding a cute cat had him this worked up.

And the worst part? His enthusiasm was contagious. No matter how absurd the topic, his friends always found themselves leaning in, hanging onto every word, caught up in the sheer energy of his storytelling.

The second thing was that Jungkook was persistent—relentless, even. When he set his mind on something, there was no stopping him. Once an idea lodged itself in his brain, he would pursue it with single-minded determination, as if failure wasn’t an option. And by determination, that meant everything was fair game.

Like the time his high school held a massive sports tournament. Most people saw it as a casual event, something to participate in for fun. Not Jungkook. He trained for months, pushing himself like he was preparing for the Olympics. In the end, he placed first—not necessarily because he was the most skilled, but because everyone else simply didn’t care enough to try that hard. But to Jungkook, a win was a win, and he would take it, no matter what.

And then, there was the last thing—perhaps the one that defined him the most. Jungkook was a hopeless romantic. Not just the kind who believed in love, but the kind who believed in fate. In soulmates. In every ridiculous, unrealistic notion that most people would roll their eyes at. Horoscopes? He checked them more often than the weather. MBTI? Not only did he know his own personality type by heart, but he had memorized everyone else’s, convinced that compatibility was written in the stars.

He believed in love at first sight, in grand gestures, in the idea that somewhere, out there, was the one meant just for him.

And if he ever found her?

Well, knowing Jungkook, he would do everything in his power to make her believe in fate too.

Jungkook had always enjoyed taking Yeontan for walks. The little Pomeranian technically belonged to Taehyung—his best friend—but Jungkook might as well have been his honorary second owner. Taehyung was overprotective when it came to his beloved dog, rarely trusting anyone else to handle him. But Jungkook? He was the exception.

And today, Jungkook had never been happier to be out walking the tiny ball of fluff. The sun was shining, the air was crisp, and Yeontan—small but ridiculously stubborn—was leading him rather than the other way around. Jungkook barely had a say in where they went, not that he minded. Yeontan had a mind of his own, and considering Taehyung had raised him like a pampered little prince, he was more than a little spoiled.

So when Yeontan suddenly yanked him toward a small, unfamiliar café, Jungkook let himself be dragged along, more amused than anything. He had never been here before, but the place looked exactly like something out of one of his guilty-pleasure romance novels—warm lighting, large windows fogged slightly from the temperature difference, plants hanging from the ceiling, and the faint scent of coffee and vanilla drifting through the air.

It was cozy. Inviting. The kind of café where love stories began.

And Jungkook, hopeless romantic that he was, couldn’t help but wonder—was fate trying to tell him something today?

Jungkook immediately pulled out his phone, completely oblivious to the fact that he was standing right in front of the café’s entrance, probably blocking customers from coming and going. But he didn’t care. There were priorities in life, and checking his horoscope at a potentially fated moment like this was one of them.

His browser was already open to his favorite astrology site—it always was—so all he had to do was scroll down to his sign. Virgo. He barely had time to process the words before—

Yank.

His eyes widened as the leash suddenly tugged forward, nearly making him stumble. Before he could react, Yeontan had already charged straight into the café.

“Yah—Tannie!” Jungkook yelled, frantically shoving his phone into his back pocket as he took off after the tiny troublemaker. He pushed through the doorway, eyes darting around in search of the little fluff ball. Yeontan was small but fast, and knowing him, he was already causing chaos somewhere between the tables.

Jungkook weaved past a few customers, muttering rushed apologies, his head swiveling as he searched. “I swear, if you embarrassed me in front of strangers again—”

And then he saw him.

Or rather, he saw her.

Because Yeontan wasn’t just causing trouble—he was happily sitting at the feet of a girl Jungkook had never seen before. A girl who, at that moment, was peering down at the fluffy little traitor with an amused look, one hand resting on her coffee cup, the other scratching behind his ears like she had all the time in the world.

Jungkook came to an abrupt stop. His brain short-circuited for a second, and suddenly, he remembered something very, very important.

His horoscope.

He scrambled to pull his phone out again, nearly dropping it in the process. His eyes scanned the words quickly, his heart rate picking up as he found what he was looking for.

Virgo: Today, fate will lead you to an unexpected encounter. Pay attention—this person might change everything.

Jungkook swallowed hard, gaze flickering back to the girl.

No way.

Jungkook walked toward the table with slow, measured steps, unsure of how to proceed. The girl was so engrossed in petting Yeontan that she didn’t even notice him approach. She had a laptop in front of her, a large coffee cup beside it, and a soft smile on her face as she looked down at the dog. Yeontan, for once, was happily soaking up the attention, his little tail wagging furiously.

And Jungkook?

He never wanted more to be a dog than in that exact moment. At least then, he’d have her full, undivided attention.

A few more seconds passed before she finally glanced up, eyes briefly meeting his, before they flicked back down to Yeontan. She didn’t even seem phased by the random guy suddenly appearing at her table. Instead, she offered a soft, almost amused smile, glancing at him only for a moment.

“He’s so cute,” she commented, her voice light and warm.

“He may look like an angel, but he’s far from it.” Jungkook crouched down to Yeontan’s level, gently tugging the leash back into his hands, hoping the dog would finally acknowledge him for once. Now that they were at the same height, he couldn’t help but hope that she would finally look at him too, not just at the dog.

Yeontan, as expected, didn’t seem to care about Jungkook’s presence, too busy enjoying the scratch behind his ears. Jungkook shot the dog a glare, as if silently scolding him. Seriously, dude?

When her eyes finally flicked back to him, the smile she gave wasn’t judgmental, just amused.

“I can tell,” she said, her tone teasing, “He definitely looks like he’s got a little mischief in him.”

“I don’t know if ‘mischief’ is enough to describe his personality. He’s chaotic,” Jungkook replied, a small laugh escaping as he ruffled the dog’s fur. “But yeah, he’s definitely not as innocent as he looks.”

For a moment, there was a comfortable silence as both of them watched Yeontan enjoy his little moment of fame. Jungkook was still crouched down, hands resting on the leash, his heart racing.

She pulled her hand back from Yeontan, her fingers lingering for just a second before retreating to her lap. Then, she glanced around the café, her eyes briefly scanning the space. It was such a small, insignificant movement, but Jungkook was completely entranced.

The soft glow of the café’s warm lighting reflected off her glasses, her round, chocolate-brown eyes peering through the lenses with quiet curiosity. Strands of hair had fallen loose from the bun on top of her head, perfectly framing her delicate features. Her lips—plump and pink—were slightly parted, like she was lost in thought.

Jungkook was so busy memorizing her face that he almost didn’t notice when she turned back to him.

Panic.

He shot up from his crouch so fast that he almost lost his balance, awkwardly straightening his posture as if that would somehow make up for the fact that he had very obviously been staring.

And then she smiled. Not a flirty smile, not even an encouraging one—just a small, polite curve of her lips that almost felt like she was expecting him to leave now. Like the moment had run its course, and she was giving him an easy out.

Jungkook’s heart dropped.

“Oh—uh, I’m sorry,” he blurted out, looking down at Yeontan as if the dog could somehow save him from his embarrassment. His cheeks burned, and he hated that he was so bad at this. He didn’t want the moment to end, but he also didn’t want to overstay his welcome.

But then his horoscope flashed in his mind again.

Virgo: Today, fate will lead you to an unexpected encounter. Pay attention—this person might change everything.

His fingers tightened around Yeontan’s leash.

No. If this was fate—and Jungkook knew it was—then he had to do something.

“Uh…” He forced himself to look up at her again, ignoring the heat in his face. “Are you familiar with this place?”

She raised an eyebrow, a small hmm leaving her lips as if urging him to go on.

Jungkook swallowed. “Which drink is the best?”

For a second, she just blinked at him, like she wasn’t sure if he was serious or not. Then, slowly, a small, knowing smirk appeared on her lips.

“You’re just asking that to keep talking to me, aren’t you?”

Jungkook’s breath hitched.

Oh, she’s dangerous.

“I—” He cleared his throat, scrambling to regain his composure. “I mean… maybe?”

She chuckled, shaking her head slightly as she leaned back in her chair, tilting her head at him in amusement. “Alright, I’ll bite.”

Jungkook held his breath.

“The best drink here? Definitely the caramel macchiato,” she finally said, voice smooth, teasing. “Sweet, a little strong, and pretty addictive.”

Jungkook grinned, his confidence returning in an instant. “That does sound like my type.”

She raised a brow. “The drink?”

Jungkook met her gaze, the corner of his lips quirking up. “Maybe.”

For the first time since he’d walked in, she actually looked surprised. Just for a second—just a flicker of something in her expression before she composed herself again.

Yeontan was getting impatient. The tiny fluff ball kept tugging on his leash, huffing dramatically, clearly annoyed that he was no longer the center of attention. His little paws shuffled against the café floor, his determination unshaken.

Jungkook sighed. Okay, maybe walking the dog wasn’t fun anymore.

Each time Yeontan yanked harder, Jungkook’s arm jerked forward, nearly throwing him off balance. He knew it was time to leave—there was no point in fighting when Yeontan had already decided he wasn’t going to lose.

Jungkook let out a small laugh, looking back at the girl, reluctant to let the moment end.

“You heard the brat,” he said, nodding toward the demanding Pomeranian. “Guess that’s my cue.”

She smiled, watching the little dog’s antics with amusement.

“Thanks for the recommendation,” Jungkook added, dragging out his words just slightly, lingering for a response. A name. Anything to keep this from being just another fleeting interaction.

For a second, she hesitated, lips pressing together like she was debating something. But then—

She said it.

Her name.

And oh, Jungkook was not prepared.

It rolled off her tongue so effortlessly, so naturally, and yet it felt like it echoed in his mind, settling into a permanent place inside of him. It was pretty—too pretty. Almost unfair.

For a split second, he nearly lost his composure, his grip tightening on Yeontan’s leash as he processed the way it sounded.

He forced himself to keep his cool, offering a grin that (hopefully) didn’t expose just how much he was freaking out inside.

“Pretty name,” he said casually, though inside, his brain was already in overdrive.

Because tonight—without a doubt—he was going to a name compatibility site, typing her name next to his, and testing their fate.

The day had been horrible. No amount of Hoseok’s usual sunshine-like energy, nor the comforting sight of his signature heart-shaped smile, could do anything to lift your mood. It was just one of those days—the kind where everything felt ten times heavier than it should.

The lecture was dragging on endlessly, your professor droning about legal cases and justice articles in a tone so monotonous that it almost felt like a personal attack. You fought to keep your eyes open, blinking rapidly every few minutes in a desperate attempt to stay focused.

Sometimes, you genuinely questioned your decision to pursue law. Why had you willingly subjected yourself to this? You could have been anywhere else—on a beach, running away to the mountains, maybe even opening a tiny coffee shop where you wouldn’t have to read through endless legal texts every night.

And yet…

No matter how often the thought of quitting crossed your mind, it never truly stuck. Because deep down, as exhausting as it was, as frustrating as some days could be, you had always loved it. The way logic, facts, and concrete evidence could build a path toward justice. It felt structured—rational. There was a process, a way to piece everything together, then the truth would always reveal itself. It wasn’t always easy, but at least it made sense.

That was more than you could say for Hoseok’s field of study.

You never quite understood how he could immerse himself so deeply in literature and poetry—worlds filled with metaphors, abstract emotions, and meanings that changed depending on who was reading them. Everything in his world felt so… out of place, detached from reality. There were no clear answers, no right or wrong, just endless interpretations.

While he found meaning in verses and prose, you found it in arguments and evidence.

And you were perfectly fine with that.

The moment you stepped into the small coffee shop, you let out a quiet sigh of relief. This place had always been your little escape. Today, it was a bit more crowded than usual, but you didn’t mind. You could wait.

Shuffling into place in the line, you let your thoughts drift to your usual order. Iced coffee. Large. No second-guessing. Caffeine had practically become your lifeline at this point, the only thing keeping you awake during long nights buried under case studies and legal articles.

The line moved painfully slow. You tapped your fingers lightly against your arm, eyes flicking toward the counter. The customer in front of you took forever, hesitating over their order like they were making a life-altering decision.

By the time they finally stepped aside to wait for their drink, you swore an entire hour had passed.

Suppressing a groan, you took a step forward, ready to place your order—when a voice beside you made you pause.

“Oh, what a funny coincidence! Didn’t know you were familiar with this place. It must be destiny.”

And there he was.

The boy from the other day, standing next to you with wide boba-like eyes, filled with excitement like he’d just stumbled upon something life-changing. His dark hair was messy, parted in the middle, and strands of it fell over his forehead like he had run here without a care. His thin lips curled around the straw of his drink, cheeks puffing slightly as he sipped.

You scoffed, shaking your head just as the barista handed you your iced coffee. “I knew this place before you,” you reminded him, fingers wrapping around your cup. “I was the one giving you a recommendation.”

You turned on your heels, making your way to your usual booth. You’d been looking forward to sitting alone, letting the familiar hum of the café settle your mind as you worked through another exhausting day.

But apparently, he had other plans.

He followed right behind you, still sipping on his drink, the straw stuck between his lips as he trailed after you like a lost puppy.

“Oh yeah, right,” he chuckled, sliding into the seat across from you without asking.

You stopped mid-motion, blinking at him. He had just�� invited himself?

You always sat alone. That was the whole point of coming here. It was your time to work in peace.

“I forgot,” Jungkook continued casually, settling into the booth like he belonged there. “It’s been such a long time since I last saw you.”

“One week,” you corrected, raising an eyebrow as you took a sip from your coffee.

Jungkook grinned, unbothered. “One week too long.”

He placed his drink on the table, leaning forward so his mouth hovered just above the straw, refusing to use his hands as he took another sip.

You glanced under the table, half-expecting to see a familiar ball of fluff staring back at you. Instead, all you found were a pair of worn-out dark Converse, one foot lazily crossed over the other.

Your lips pursed slightly in disappointment before you looked back up. “Where’s the cute dog?”

As you spoke, you pulled your laptop from your bag, subtly hoping the boy would get the message—you had work to do.

“Oh, he’s got a hairstyle appointment,” he said, shrugging like this was a completely normal thing.

You blinked. “A what?”

He chuckled at your reaction before elaborating. “His owner treats him like a total brat, so he has to go to the groomer every month. Haircuts, fancy shampoo, the whole celebrity dog experience.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. Honestly, it made so much sense. From what you had seen, the dog had more attitude than most people you knew.

“So he’s not your dog?” you mused, arching an eyebrow.

“Hopefully not,” he scoffed, leaning back in his seat. “I love bigger dogs. Ones that don’t act like princesses.”

“What’s his name?” you asked absentmindedly, turning on your laptop.

You were trying to focus—you really were. But it was proving impossible when the person sitting across from you was sipping his drink obnoxiously loud, making a whole production out of it.

Though, if you were being honest, the real distraction was the way his big, boba-like eyes peeked at you from over your screen, watching you with far too much amusement.

Jungkook smirked. “You know, I’m a bit offended that you asked for the dog’s name before mine.”

You glanced up, unimpressed, as he leaned back in his chair, seemingly forgetting about his drink entirely now that he had a new source of entertainment.

“My name is Jungkook, by the way,” he added, like he was offering the most valuable piece of information in the world.

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your lips betrayed you, curling into the beginnings of a grin.

“I didn’t ask for yours, did I?” you shot back, shutting your laptop halfway and placing it beside you, clearly accepting the fact that you weren’t getting any work done anytime soon.

Jungkook gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like you had personally wounded him. “Wow. That hurts.”

And just like that, you had a feeling you weren’t getting rid of Jungkook anytime soon.

And you were right.

Because every time you stepped into the coffee shop, he was already there.

Somehow, Jungkook always managed to arrive before you, sitting comfortably in your usual booth like he owned the place. And as if that wasn’t enough, he had the audacity to have your favorite drink already waiting on the table, like he had perfectly timed your arrival.

He’d wave at you the moment you walked in—enthusiastically, unashamed, completely oblivious to the way people turned to stare at you because of it. Your face would heat up every single time, a mix of embarrassment and exasperation, but Jungkook never seemed to care. If anything, he loved making a scene.

But, despite everything, you still made your way over to the table. Because, well—it was your table first. And Jungkook wasn’t about to scare you away from your favorite spot.

(Okay, and maybe because he was kind of nice. Just a little.)

Over time, you learned quite a few things about him. Mostly because Jungkook never shut up, and even if you hadn’t wanted to know, he would have told you anyway.

Like how he was obsessed—his words—with toe socks because he hated regular ones. Or how he was a hardcore astrology fan (again, his words).

That one, in particular, made you roll your eyes. And instead of working like you had planned, you found yourself in a full-blown debate with him about how horoscopes were absolute nonsense, a way for people to trick themselves into believing fate controlled their lives instead of taking responsibility for their own choices.

Jungkook had gasped, genuinely offended, and spent the next twenty minutes passionately explaining why he believed in them, rattling off birth charts and compatibility readings like he was reciting holy scripture.

And then, of course, there was this.

“What a coincidence,” Jungkook mused, voice dripping with fake innocence as he leaned back in his seat. His hands flew to his head in mock shock. “You coming here while your favorite drink is already on your favorite table? Fate really wants us together.”

You shot him a deadpan look, crossing your arms.

“I already told you,” you huffed, “fate is bullshit—a lazy excuse for naïve people who don’t want to take responsibility for their own choices.”

Jungkook grinned. “Exactly. And I’m choosing to sit here, waiting for you, every time. So really, it’s the same thing.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “That is not—”

But Jungkook was already sipping his drink again, looking far too smug for his own good.

And, annoyingly, you had no idea how to argue with that.

Jungkook cleared his throat, straightening in his chair with the kind of exaggerated seriousness that only he could pull off.

You sighed, already knowing what was coming as he pulled out his phone. Still, you sat down anyway, setting your laptop in front of you, pretending—really pretending—that you weren’t listening.

Jungkook, of course, wasn’t fazed.

He called your name, deepening his voice dramatically as he read aloud, “Today, your horoscope is telling you to take a deep breath, look at the grass, and let your heart talk while your mind relaxes.”

You raised an eyebrow, meeting his mischievous gaze over the top of your laptop screen. “Does it really?”

Jungkook grinned, nodding, but you weren’t convinced.

“What if you’re just bullshitting already bullshit facts?” you mused. “That would be defamation, and you could—”

Before you could get into any legal technicalities, Jungkook clicked his tongue, cutting you off. He wasn’t about to let logic ruin his fun.

He slid his phone across the table toward you. “It’s real, and I’m pleading non-guilty.” He lifted his hands in mock surrender.

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously before glancing at his phone, scanning the text quickly. To your surprise—and mild annoyance—he was actually telling the truth.

But then, your eyes landed on a line he had conveniently skipped.

“Oh, look,” you drawled, smirking as you pointed at the screen. “It also says I should be careful with who I’m interacting with today.”

Jungkook gasped, clutching his chest like you had stabbed him. “Are you implying I’m the bad influence here?”

You took a slow sip of your coffee. “I mean, if the stars say so…”

Jungkook scoffed, shaking his head as he dramatically took back his phone. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, typing something quickly before flashing the screen back at you. “Well, guess what? My horoscope says, ‘Don’t give up on people who challenge you—they may be the greatest blessing in disguise.’”

Your lips parted slightly at that, but before you could respond, Jungkook leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand as he smirked.

“So really,” he teased, “we’re the perfect balance.”

You rolled your eyes—but you didn’t argue.

Jungkook was absolutely ecstatic.

If he could, and if people wouldn’t look at him like he was a total weirdo, he would have definitely started dancing right there on the streets. With papers and colorful pens in hand, his movements would have been free and wild, just like his energy.

But instead, he grinned like an excited puppy as he made his way toward the coffee shop. And there you were, sitting in your usual booth, brows furrowed in intense concentration, typing away like a madman in the middle of a frenzy.

He couldn’t help but smile wider, his heart swelling with an odd kind of pride and joy.

He set his papers and pens on the table with a loud sigh, purposely making the sound dramatic as if to announce his grand entrance.

“It’s time for a break,” he declared, flopping down next to you with the flair of someone who was about to deliver the most important news of the century. “With the one and only Jeon Jungkook.”

You barely spared him a glance at first, but then you sighed, closing your laptop halfway with a sharp exhale. Your eyes were drawn to the chaos now sprawled on your table: a mess of papers, pens, and bright markers.

“Are you planning a drawing contest?” you asked, clearly unimpressed by the mess, already feeling the overwhelming urge to organize everything into neat piles. You hated working in a disorganized space. “Something the stars told you last night—something about you sucking at coloring?”

Jungkook scoffed loudly, leaning back in his chair like he was some kind of rebellious artist. He slid a sheet of paper toward you, the kind you’d get during an exam—multiple pages stuck together with nothing but your name scrawled on the front.

“It’s something I made,” he said, his voice oddly soft now, despite his playful tone. He quickly placed his hands over yours to stop you from reading it immediately. “For you.”

You blinked at him, confused. “You want me to take a break while doing something that looks like work?”

Jungkook shifted slightly, adjusting himself so that he was facing you more directly, his eyes wide with enthusiasm as he began explaining.

“It’s called an MBTI test,” he said, his voice bright with excitement, as if he were unveiling the secret to the universe itself. “It’s to see what your personality type is.”

You glanced at him skeptically, still unsure of where this was going. His face was utterly serious as he continued, the intensity in his eyes almost comical. “You have to answer the questions with what feels right to you—don’t overthink it, just go with your gut.”

You blinked at the stack of papers on the table, the colorful pens scattered around, and then back to him. The way he spoke—so intent, so dead serious—made it seem like he was about to launch into a criminal law exam or a high-stakes courtroom drama. But instead, it was… an MBTI test? Something Jungkook had created on a whim last night and printed out like it was some kind of official document?

It was absolutely ridiculous, and you couldn’t help but hide a grin. This was so Jungkook.

He was practically on the edge of his seat, as if waiting for a massive breakthrough in your psychological evolution. He tapped the paper a couple of times, as if he were an expert ready to reveal some deep, profound truth about you.

You stared at him, amused, eyes half-lidded, realizing that this was not the high-minded academic discussion you were expecting today. This was Jungkook at his finest. You tried not to laugh out loud, but his earnestness was too much.

“Right…” you drawled slowly, clearly entertained by how seriously he was treating this. “So this is like… a personality analysis? Just like that?”

“Exactly! This will tell you everything you need to know about who you really are.”

And there it was—another perfect example of Jungkook’s chaos, his unapologetic belief that everything, no matter how ridiculous, was important enough to be taken seriously. You shook your head in disbelief, but couldn’t help but feel entertained.

“Alright,” you finally said, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “What type are you then, Mr. Expert?”

Jungkook sat up a little straighter, tapping his chin thoughtfully before dramatically proclaiming, “I’m an ENFP. The campaigner—enthusiastic, creative, and full of ideas!”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course you are.”

He grinned proudly, unfazed by your skepticism, before nudging the test closer to you. “Now, your turn. Answer honestly!”

You sighed, knowing this was going to be a lot more entertaining than you had planned for your break.

You hated how focused you were on the test. Reading each question carefully as if it were one of the most important exams of your life, when, in reality, you should’ve been studying for something much more significant. But Jungkook had a way of pulling you into whatever chaos he created, and before you knew it, you were marking your answers like they actually mattered.

The only sound in the air was Jungkook’s rhythmic slurping through his straw, interrupted only by the occasional dramatic sigh that escaped his lips. He would never comment on your answers—probably terrified that if he did, it would somehow influence your responses and ruin the results of his serious experiment.

It took you almost twenty minutes to finish the entire thing. You handed him the test with a slight feeling of disbelief that you had actually gotten sucked into this. “Verdict, Mr. Jeon?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, half-tempted to make fun of him but curious at the same time.

Jungkook took the test from your hands and began reading your answers with the utmost seriousness. His brow furrowed deeply, as though he were an experienced psychologist analyzing a patient’s deepest fears and desires. He nodded at the answers with a distracted expression, as if processing your choices was a very complex task.

“Hmmm…” He nodded again, this time a little more dramatically, as if everything was starting to make sense. “Interesting… Very interesting…”

You waited for the reveal, feeling both a sense of dread and amusement as Jungkook continued his mock analysis, clearly savoring the moment. He rubbed his chin like an old-timey detective piecing together the clues.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he dropped the paper back on the table and leaned back in his chair with a confident smirk.

“Well,” Jungkook said, drawing out the word like he was preparing to make the grandest announcement of his life. “You, my dear friend, are… an INTP!” He paused dramatically for effect, before adding in a whisper, “The Thinker.”

You blinked at him, waiting for the punchline, but he just grinned, clearly satisfied with himself.

“INTP?” you repeated, not entirely sure whether to laugh or question his methods. “The Thinker? Really? That sounds like a terrible description.”

Jungkook shrugged with mock seriousness, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s the best one! It’s all about being logical, analytical, and deeply curious. It says you tend to overthink everything and live in your own head—oh, and you’re probably the type to avoid emotional decisions, too.”

You stared at him, not sure whether to be offended or impressed by how well he seemed to have pegged you. “That sounds… vaguely accurate.”

“See? I told you this was legit.” Jungkook leaned forward, his excitement palpable. “I’ve been studying this stuff for weeks!”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at Jungkook’s theatrics. He was truly relentless. When he pulled out another sheet of paper from the mess and lowered his voice.

“And guess what,” he said, his voice dipping into a conspiratorial tone as that annoyingly adorable bunny smile appeared on his face. “INTP and ENFP are very, very much compatible.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, shaking your head as you pushed your foot against his ankle lightly, your patience starting to wear thin. “I should’ve known it would turn out like that.” You reached for your laptop, already preparing to tune him out.

Jungkook wasn’t deterred, of course. He was practically pouting now, his bottom lip sticking out in that way that always seemed to make his charm even more potent. “Everything is telling us to do something about that match the stars have made!” he whined loudly, his hands flailing dramatically in the air. “Come on, you can’t fake that!”

You gave him a long look, almost unimpressed but definitely entertained by his determination. “You really think just because the stars said so, we should… what, embrace the fate of this ‘match’?”

“Yes!” Jungkook’s eyes lit up like he’d just won the lottery. “I mean, come on—do you really want to deny the stars? The universe is practically begging us to be in sync!”

But you weren’t going to let him win that easily. “I don’t know, Jungkook. It sounds like a whole lot of nonsense to me.”

Jungkook pouted again, leaning toward you with his chin propped up on his hand. “Well, maybe you’re just too rational for this,” he said, teasingly. “Maybe you just need to believe a little bit more in… magic.”

You glanced at him, the corner of your lips tugging upward despite yourself. “I’ll believe in magic when you start acting like an actual gentleman,” you shot back with a playful smirk.

Jungkook raised his eyebrows dramatically. “I’m already a gentleman, thank you very much,” he said, half-mockingly, half-seriously. He leaned forward again, fixing you with a teasing gaze. “But if it’ll convince you to give this whole ‘fate’ thing a chance, I’ll do anything.”

“Oh, really?” you asked, eyes narrowing as you folded your arms on the table. “Anything, huh?”

“Anything,” he said, with complete sincerity. The way he said it almost made you believe he meant it, and that’s when you realized… Jungkook was a lot more convincing than he had any right to be.

But you weren’t going to let him off the hook that easily. Not this time.

“Alright then, Mr. Gentleman,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “First, get me a refill of my coffee. I’ll need it to survive this… soulmate talk.”

Jungkook’s face lit up immediately. “Anything! I’ll be back in a second!” he said, already jumping up from his seat like he had just been given the best mission of his life.

As you watched him rush to the counter, you couldn’t help but shake your head. Maybe you did secretly enjoy Jungkook’s chaotic, persistent antics more than you’d admit…

When Jungkook promised he would do anything, you should have been more cautious.

You knew it came from a guy who believed in every whimsical, far-fetched thing under the sun and, more importantly, he was determined to get you to believe in it too. And maybe, just maybe, he was succeeding—just a little bit.

It was another ordinary day as you left your lecture, walking alongside Hoseok, who was happily recounting the poems he had just studied. He was going on and on about the beauty of love as described in each verse, the words almost spilling from him as you tried to tune him out, but as usual, his enthusiasm was contagious—still, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his idealistic notions of love.

You had no idea that the moment you stepped outside the lecture hall, your day would take yet another wild turn. The campus, full of people, should have made it impossible for you to spot someone. But there, amid the crowd, you saw him—the one and only Jeon Jungkook.

And no, it wasn’t because you’d gotten used to recognizing his face, his messy dark hair, his trademark bunny smile, or those absurdly bright boba-like eyes.

It wasn’t only you who noticed him, either. Hoseok, ever the curious one, immediately turned to you with a puzzled expression, clearly caught off guard by the spectacle in front of him.

“Why is there a guy holding a giant sign with your name written on it, standing next to a cute dog?” he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and amusement.

You were frozen, your feet rooted to the spot, unable to fully process what was happening. There he was, Jungkook, right in front of you, with a massive banner bearing your name in bold letters and Yeontan by his side. The crowd around him parted like the sea, but it was clear: Jungkook was waiting for you.

And you? You were speechless. You couldn’t move, couldn’t form a coherent thought. You were stuck there, watching him scan the crowd, eyes darting back and forth, until they locked on you, his expression lighting up.

Jungkook practically sprinted toward you, but his momentum was cut short when Yeontan decided he had no intention of moving. The tiny dog sat stubbornly in place, tail flicking like he was some kind of royalty, completely unbothered by the fact that his leash was still in Jungkook’s grip.

Jungkook let out a dramatic sigh, tapping his foot impatiently. “Stupid dog, just stand up,” he muttered under his breath. When Yeontan remained firmly seated, looking up at him with a level of indifference that only Taehyung’s dog could master, Jungkook resorted to threats. “If you don’t, I swear I’ll tell Taehyung to make you sleep on the floor tonight.”

Yeontan, predictably, didn’t budge. Worse, he let out a small, high-pitched bark—almost as if he was mocking Jungkook.

You couldn’t hold back your laugh. “Can’t handle a tiny dog, Jungkook? How do you expect to handle a bigger one, then?” you teased, stepping closer and standing on your tiptoes to peek over his shoulder. Your eyes lit up as you turned your attention to the spoiled little dog. “Yeontan, hi!”

And just like that, as if he had only been waiting for the right person to acknowledge him, Yeontan immediately stood up and strutted toward you, his fluffy body practically wiggling with excitement.

Jungkook let out an exaggerated groan, rolling his eyes as he watched you crouch down to greet the dog like he was the most important being on earth. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.

“Maybe he was just angry,” he said after a beat, crouching down beside you, watching as Yeontan happily accepted your affection. “He doesn’t like seeing men. Yeontan hates guys who aren’t me or Taehyung.”

You scoffed, turning your gaze from the dog to Jungkook, who was wearing the smuggest grin imaginable. “Oh, really?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Yeontan or Jungkook?”

“Both,” he admitted without an ounce of shame.

Jungkook shot a glare at Hoseok as he walked off, a little annoyed at how casually he had brushed past him, clearly unfazed by Jungkook’s grand gesture. He was about to ask who he was when you spoke again, your voice teasing.

“So, what’s with the ridiculously large sign?”

Jungkook straightened up, feeling the weight of the oversized cardboard sign hanging awkwardly from his hands. “I needed to make sure you would see me,” he said with a sheepish grin.

You tilted your head, smirking. “Fate couldn’t do it for me?”

Jungkook chuckled, lifting the sign a little higher as if to prove a point. “Sometimes you need to take matters into your own hands.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small grin tugged at the corners of your lips. Without saying anything further, you stood up, stretching a bit, and started walking beside him. Neither of you had said where you were headed, but for once, it didn’t matter.

It was Tuesday, and usually, you would’ve been heading home by now—because it was 7 PM, and you had your usual routine of getting some rest and preparing for the next day. But tonight, for reasons you couldn’t quite pinpoint, you found yourself letting your feet carry you wherever Jungkook was going. Something about his presence had a way of making you forget about your usual need for structure, leaving you open to the idea of spontaneity.

You walked in silence for a while, the evening air crisp, but there was a sense of comfort in it. Something that felt easy. Even though it wasn’t part of your plan, you didn’t mind.

Jungkook beamed, motioning toward the arcade entrance as if it were some grand discovery. “Look where fate has brought us,” he said, excitement lacing his voice.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you watched Yeontan enthusiastically tug at his leash, barking at the door as if demanding to be let inside. “So, fate is Yeontan now?” you teased, shaking your head with a small smile.

Jungkook followed your gaze to the tiny dog at his feet, and though he hated to admit it, maybe—just maybe—the little troublemaker had actually led them here. But there was no way he was going to let Yeontan think he was in charge.

“Are you up for some arcade games?” he asked instead, his voice casual, but there was a hopeful glint in his eyes.

You hesitated. You had an early start tomorrow. A long, exhausting day filled with classes, readings, and responsibilities you couldn’t afford to neglect. And you knew yourself well—without at least eight hours of sleep, you’d be miserable.

But then you looked at Jungkook. His wide, expectant eyes darting everywhere except at you, as if afraid of your answer. The way he fidgeted slightly, like he was already bracing for rejection. And then there was Yeontan, tongue out, tail wagging, practically vibrating with anticipation.

And somehow, against all logic, you found yourself sighing in defeat.

“Fine,” you muttered, already regretting it and yet… not really.

Jungkook’s face instantly lit up, as if you’d just agreed to something life-changing. “Really?”

You rolled your eyes, already stepping toward the entrance. “Don’t make me change my mind, Jeon.”

And just like that, you let yourself be pulled into another one of his ridiculous, impulsive adventures.

“Alright, buddy. Stay with the nice man, okay? And please—please—don’t make a scene.”

Jungkook crouched down to Yeontan’s level, placing both hands on his tiny, fluffy face as he spoke in a hushed but serious tone.

Jungkook sighed, reluctantly handing the leash to the bodyguard stationed at the entrance. The man arched a brow, clearly questioning why he was suddenly assigned dog-sitting duties, but before he could refuse, Jungkook flashed him a bright, pleading smile—eyes wide, all innocence and desperation.

And just like that, the bodyguard gave in with a resigned sigh. No one could say no to Jeon Jungkook’s puppy eyes.

“Good choice, sir,” Jungkook said with a dramatic bow before turning on his heel and striding into the arcade, Yeontan’s protests ringing behind him.

“You are literally the worst dogsitter,” you said, shaking your head as you followed. “You just abandoned him with a total stranger for some arcade games.”

Jungkook glanced over his shoulder at the entrance, watching as the bodyguard—who initially looked reluctant—was now gently scratching Yeontan’s head, looking far too soft for his intimidating size.

“He’ll be fine,” Jungkook shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Honestly, it’s better this way. If Yeontan could talk, I’d be dead. Taehyung would bury me alive for this betrayal.”

You rolled your eyes. “And yet, you’re still so proud of yourself.”

“Of course I am,” he said, grinning as he came to a stop in front of the claw machine. He rubbed his hands together, cracking his knuckles as if preparing for battle. “Because—I’m about to win you a plushie.”

Jungkook bounced on the balls of his feet, rolling his shoulders like an athlete preparing for a high-stakes match. His fingers flexed in anticipation before gripping the joystick with the confidence of someone who had spent far too many hours mastering the art of claw machines.

“Alright, tell me—which one’s coming home with you?” he asked, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

You scanned the collection of plushies crammed inside the machine, your gaze immediately settling on one in particular.

“The bunny,” you said without hesitation.

Jungkook followed your line of sight, nodding in approval. The plushie was soft-looking, slightly lopsided, with tiny front teeth peeking out in a way that made it seem both mischievous and endearing. Unknowingly, a small smile tugged at your lips—it reminded you of someone.

Jungkook didn’t miss the way your expression softened, but instead of commenting, he shot you a wink, his usual playful confidence dialed up to maximum.

“Consider it yours,” he declared, cracking his knuckles dramatically before gripping the joystick like he was about to defuse a bomb.

“You do know that claw machines are scams, right?” you say, crossing your arms as you lean over the machine.

“Nothing is a scam if you’re skilled enough,”

You roll your eyes. “Right. And let me guess—fate is on your side?”

Jungkook grins. “Fate, skill, and pure determination.” He pushes the button.

The claw descends. Grabs the bunny. Lifts it.

And then—drops it right before the prize slot.

Jungkook’s jaw drops. His hands go to his head like he’s just witnessed the betrayal of a lifetime. “No way,” he whispers.

You snort. “I told you. Scams.”

But Jungkook isn’t one to admit defeat. Oh no. He pulls out more coins, inserting them like a man with a mission. “I will not lose to a machine,” he declares.

Attempt #2—fail.

Attempt #3—even worse.

Attempt #7—Jungkook is full-on yelling at the machine now. “You're rigged. Just admit it!”

By now, a small crowd has gathered to witness the absolute tragedy of Jeon Jungkook vs. the Claw Machine.

You sigh, shaking your head. “Let me try.”

Jungkook, looking utterly defeated, steps aside with a pout. “Fine. But if you win on your first try, I might actually cry.”

You take his spot, glance at the plushie you want, and move the claw with ease. One button press later, the claw grabs onto a cute little bunny plushie, lifts it, and—

Drops it perfectly into the prize slot.

Jungkook screams. “No way. No. Way.”

You bend down, grab the plushie, and hand it to him with a smirk. “For you, since you clearly can’t win one yourself.”

Jungkook clutches the plushie to his chest, looking at you with something close to awe. “I think I might be in love with you.”

You snort. “Shut up.”

You tugged at Jungkook’s sleeve, pulling him along with a surprising sense of urgency. You had a goal in mind, and there was no way you were going to let him chicken out. The moment you spotted it, the shooter laser game stood out like a beacon—something you used to love as a kid. Your dad used to take you there, and you’d always win, no matter how many times you played.

You hadn’t planned on telling Jungkook that, though. You wanted to see how determined he would be first, how seriously he would take this. It wasn’t just about winning—it was about making it fun, and seeing if he could keep up with your competitive side.

“Let’s do that,” you said, pointing at the brightly lit, futuristic shooter zone. Jungkook barely hesitated before his eyes lit up with excitement.

“Ready for some action?” he asked, almost too eager, as he handed his plushie bunny to the girl at the counter, his grin never fading. He slid on the neon vest with practiced ease, strapping the plastic gun around his waist with an exaggerated flourish.

“Okay, let me protect you,” he teased with a wink, stepping in front of you and walking toward the entrance of the game area, shoulders straight, as if he was about to face down a villain in a movie.

The mission was clear—this was going to be your game, and Jungkook was about to find out what it meant to face off against a determined opponent.

The moment the game started, you immediately fell into the zone, your eyes locked on your targets, fingers steady as you aimed and shot. But then, there was Jungkook, totally living his own action-movie fantasy. As you focused on picking off other players, he started yelling, “Cover me!” and then, with no hesitation, he dropped to the floor and did a full-on combat roll—completely unnecessary, but so Jungkook.

While you were racking up points, carefully picking off your targets, Jungkook seemed determined to make this game a one-man mission. He wasn’t playing it safe like the others, crouching behind barriers and taking strategic shots. Instead, he would rush directly into the fray, charging at his opponents with a reckless abandon, all while you watched in disbelief as he kept getting shot down, over and over again. It was like he was playing a completely different game.

The arena was dimly lit, the flashing lights of the game casting shadows and colors everywhere. But every time you caught sight of Jungkook, your attention was momentarily pulled away from the game. His face would light up with an almost childlike joy, his eyes locked in concentration, and his lips pressed tightly in a determined grimace as he aimed, his brow furrowed. Despite the madness of it all, you couldn’t help but grin at his antics.

As you watched him get shot again you leaned closer and whispered, “You’re not doing it right.” You quickly reached out, guiding his hands to hold the gun correctly, adjusting his stance so he’d be able to actually aim and shoot properly.

“It was right,” he muttered, a stubborn edge to his voice, but he didn’t protest as he immediately followed your correction, the gun now resting more naturally in his grip.

“You keep dying,” you pointed out, trying not to get distracted by the ridiculousness of the situation. “And you’re losing points because—”

Suddenly, he spun around, eyes wide as he shouted, “Behind you!” into your ear, as he shot at an enemy who had snuck up on you. His face lit up as he made the shot, turning back to you with a cheeky grin. “Call me if you need help,” he winked, clearly pleased with himself, and then, with zero regard for the other players, he dropped to the floor and started crawling across the arena like it was some kind of military operation.

You blinked, stunned for a moment. Literally no one else was crawling on the floor like him. But Jungkook? He was on his hands and knees, dragging himself across the ground as if there were some kind of tactical advantage to it. You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing, shaking your head at how ridiculously serious he was taking it all.

As the final seconds of the game ticked down, you caught sight of Jungkook once more. He had, once again, gotten himself shot for what felt like the thousandth time. He was lying dramatically on the floor, his body limp and still, as if he had been mortally wounded. But then, just as you were about to walk past, he reached out, grabbing your shoulder for support, and whispered in a voice that was way too serious for the situation.

“You must go on without me,” he said, gripping your hand with exaggerated intensity, his voice shaking as if he were facing his last moments.

He fell back dramatically, playing up his ‘dying’ act. But you weren’t about to fall for it.

You rolled your eyes, barely able to hide your smirk as you shoved him off. “You’re so annoying.”

And when the final scores flashed across the screen, your name was on top with a higher score than his. You couldn’t resist the small, victorious smirk that tugged at your lips. “Guess I don’t need your protection after all.”

Despite his over-the-top drama, he still grinned, following you like a lost puppy, not missing a beat. “Alright, alright, you may have won this round,” he said with a playful huff. “But the night is young. Let’s see who comes out on top in the next game.”

Jungkook knew he had to play this one smart. He had strategized this moment down to the last detail, carefully guiding you toward the dance battle game. This was his domain. If there was one game he could dominate, it was this one.

So, with all the confidence in the world, he turned to you and declared, “Fate says if I win, you owe me a wish.”

You scoffed, arms crossed. “When did fate ever say that?”

Jungkook waved a hand dismissively. “Just now. She whispered it to me.”

You rolled your eyes but stepped onto the dance pad anyway, letting him have his moment.

The game started, and that’s when you realized you were in trouble. Jungkook wasn’t just playing—he was performing. He was jumping, spinning, and moving like he was on a concert stage, while you were desperately trying to keep up with the arrows flashing across the screen. It was clear within seconds that he wasn’t holding back.

And then, as if he needed to rub it in, he ended the routine with a dramatic knee slide, stopping just in front of you. With a cocky smirk, he pointed at you like he had just finished a world tour concert.

“You must grant my wish now,” he said, completely out of breath but grinning like he had just won the lottery.

You, still panting, narrowed your eyes. “And what exactly is this wish?”

Jungkook didn’t hesitate. He leaned in slightly, eyes twinkling with mischief. “A date.”

Your breath hitched. You scoffed, trying to play it cool even as you felt warmth creeping up your neck. “You just embarrassed yourself in front of a bunch of strangers for a date?”

Jungkook only grinned wider. “I’d embarrass myself anywhere if it gets me one with you.”

Yeah. That shut you up real quick.

That night, sleep was impossible. You tossed and turned, flipping your pillow to the cooler side, only to sigh in frustration when it didn’t help. At some point, you kicked off your sheets, but even the newfound freedom didn’t stop the restlessness creeping through your body.

And then there was the bunny plushie. Sitting there. Staring at you.

It was ridiculous how something so small could feel so significant. But it wasn’t just any plushie—it was the one you had won and gave to Jungkook, the one you had picked without really thinking, the one he had insisted you keep.

“You won it. You chose this one for a reason.”

His words played in your mind, looping like a song you couldn’t turn off. And what irritated you the most was that he wasn’t wrong. You had picked it instinctively, drawn to its slightly reckless charm—the little front teeth peeking out, the way its ears flopped in different directions. It reminded you of something. Of someone.

But that was the part you hated. Because you couldn’t explain it. There was no rational reason, no evidence, no logical conclusion to why this plushie—why he—was suddenly taking up so much space in your thoughts. It was an unsolved case, an unfinished puzzle, and that alone should have been enough to frustrate you.

And yet… somehow, it felt right.

And that? That was the most confusing part of all.

The first thing Jungkook did when he woke up was check his messages, his heart momentarily freezing in his chest before he sighed in relief.

Taehyung had only sent him a picture—an ugly close-up of himself mid-yawn, Yeontan happily licking his cheek. That was it. Nothing unusual. Nothing suspicious. Which meant… he didn’t know about his betrayal.

Shaking off the thought, he did what he always did—instinctively opened his favorite astrology website, scrolling straight to his sign.

Virgo: Don’t let yourself get down because of your poor love life!

Jungkook nearly threw his phone across the room.

He bolted upright, staring at the screen like it had personally offended him.

“Poor love life?!” he scoffed, running a hand through his messy hair.

He read it again. And again. As if, by some miracle, the words might shift and correct themselves.

“My love life isn’t poor,” he muttered defensively, brows furrowed. “It’s… just slow. A slow burn. Romantic. Building suspense.”

But then his expression faltered.

Three days.

It had been three whole days since that night at the arcade. Since he walked you home. Since you laughed at his dumb jokes and promised to text him.

And yet, his phone remained silent.

At first, he told himself you were just busy. No big deal. Then, by the second day, he convinced himself you were doing it on purpose, making him wait—a power move. But now? Now, as the third day stretched on, he was starting to wonder if… if maybe the website was right.

Maybe his love life wasn’t just slow.

Maybe it was dead on arrival.

With a dramatic groan, he flopped onto his back again, phone resting on his chest. His mind was racing, spiraling into increasingly dramatic scenarios.

Was this karma? Was this because he let Yeontan stay with a stranger at the arcade?

Jungkook sat up, eyes wide with realization.

It was the dog. It had to be.

He gasped, sitting up. “Shit. Is the universe punishing me?!”

Panic surged through him as he hovered over your contact.

(not) my crush.

His fingers twitched, itching to type something—anything. But what was he even supposed to say?

hey, did u forget about me? No, too desperate.

hey, are you mad at me? No, too pathetic.

hey, my horoscope just wrecked my entire self-esteem, please respond so I can prove it wrong? …Okay, maybe that one was the closest to the truth.

But instead of texting, he groaned and shoved a pillow over his face, muffling his frustration.

He was losing his mind.

And the worst part?

He was starting to think the stupid website was right.

Jungkook grabbed his phone with newfound determination, scrolling down urgently until he found your horoscope. If there was anything in this world that could give him an answer, it was this.

His eyes darted over the words, his heart pounding as he read: Today, you may feel a little more anxious than usual… maybe it’s time to open your heart?

Jungkook exhaled, a slow breath of relief washing over him.

Finally. Something to work with.

If you were feeling anxious, he could fix that. If you needed comfort, he could be there. And if there was even the smallest chance that you were truly considering opening your heart—like the blog suggested—then he would make damn sure that heart was opening for him.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

Jungkook barely took the time to breathe as he rushed through his morning routine.

Shirt—on. Shoes—on. Teeth—brushed, face—washed. Hair? A mess. But he didn’t care. He had bigger things to focus on.

Your horoscope had given him an opening, a chance—an actual sign from the universe. And if there was one thing Jungkook believed in, it was signs.

As he ran, Jungkook quickly glanced at his phone. Saturday, 10 AM. Which meant you were probably at the coffee shop by now.

He could already picture it perfectly—your usual spot by the window, an oversized cup of iced coffee sitting beside you. You once told him you liked it because you could leave it untouched for hours and it would still be the same temperature. He had laughed at the logic, but the way your eyes had lit up when you explained it had made it seem like the most brilliant thing in the world.

Then there was your laptop, decorated with colorful stickers—each one telling a small story. Jungkook loved those stickers. Loved watching you focus so intensely on your screen, completely lost in thought, before he inevitably interrupted with a question about one of them. You’d roll your eyes, sighing in mock annoyance.

“You’re distracting me,” you would say, but you’d always answer anyway. The thought made him grin.

Yeah. You were definitely at the café.

And Jungkook was going to be there too.

By the time Jungkook reached the café, he was out of breath. He couldn’t remember the last time he had run this fast—maybe during the high school tournament when he had spent months training for the final match.

He slowed his pace as he reached the front of the café, his eyes scanning the window. And there you were. Your face was pressed against the table, looking exhausted or maybe just lost in your own thoughts. Your usual large iced coffee was nowhere to be seen—replaced by a small cup, barely touched. But your laptop, with all its little stickers, was still there. You were still there.

Jungkook felt a rush of relief, but also a tightening in his chest. Something was off, and it was clear now. His horoscope had said you were feeling anxious, and everything about the way you were sitting, slumped over your table, told him his hunch was right. You weren’t just having a bad day; it seemed like something more. And he wasn’t going to let that slide.

With one last deep breath, Jungkook pushed open the door to the café, his focus sharp. He wasn’t here for some grand gesture today. No, this time, his mission was clear: he had to make your day feel better. Because if your horoscope was even half right, you needed someone to help. Someone to show up.

And that someone, he decided, would be him.

“Weather’s good, the sky’s blue, and I think we should go for a little bit of a run,” Jungkook said with a smile, his voice light but full of purpose as he approached your table. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his joggers, giving you an amused look.

Your head jerked up at the sound of his voice, and before you could even process it, you found yourself screaming, your face flushing bright red. The sound was involuntary, escaping you before you could stop it. In a panic, you slammed your laptop shut, suddenly feeling self-conscious, though you couldn’t even pinpoint why.

“Why? Am I that ugly?” he muttered under his breath. But it wasn’t that at all—it was the opposite. Jungkook stood there in front of you, and suddenly, you couldn’t breathe right.

For the past three days, it had been hard to even focus on anything other than him. Ever since the arcade, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. Your mind was constantly drawn back to the things he did, the things he said, his mannerisms, and the way he made you feel. There was something about him—something undeniable and confusing that stirred your emotions.

It wasn’t love, you were sure of that… but it wasn’t just attraction either. It was something in between, something you couldn’t wrap your head around. And that only made it worse. You hated not being able to define what you were feeling. You were used to rational thoughts, to clear explanations, and this? This wasn’t it. And that made you anxious.

He stood there, dressed in a full oversized Nike tracksuit that was beige and blue. His hair was messier than usual, like he hadn’t bothered to fix it before rushing out the door. It seemed to have grown a bit longer since the last time you saw him, though you couldn’t even believe it had only been three days. He looked out of breath, cheeks flushed from his little sprint to the café, and somehow, that only made him more irresistible.

“So, how about that run?” he asked, voice light, but his gaze never leaving yours. It was almost like he was waiting for you to say something—anything—that would break the tension.

“You know I can’t go running, Jungkook. My finals are in two weeks, and—”

Before you can finish, he flops down onto the couch beside you. Not just beside you—right beside you. Close enough that you can see the curve of his eyelashes, the way his round eyes widen with innocent pleading. Close enough to notice a faint scar on his cheek, one you’ve never noticed before.

“Please?” He blinks up at you, fluttering his lashes in an exaggerated attempt to be cute.

You narrow your eyes. “That’s not gonna work on me.”

“Okay, fine,” he huffs, crossing his arms. “Then let’s talk logic. You owe me a date. I won the dance battle, fair and square.” He frowns, eyebrows scrunching like he’s personally offended that you’d forget such an important event.

“You seriously want our date to be… running?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Jungkook beams, but you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to your hands—how you’re already packing your stuff despite your protests. “It’s not what I originally had in mind,” he admits, standing up and—without hesitation—grabbing your backpack for you. “But if it’s the only way to get you to spend time with me, then sure. Let’s make it a date.”

“You really can’t take no for an answer, can you?”

At that, he simply shrugs, tilting his head in a way that makes him look entirely too smug. “Maybe I should become a lawyer too. I clearly know how to argue my way to a win.”

You roll your eyes, following him out of the café as he leads the way toward your apartment, two blocks away.

“Yeah, well, cases can’t be solved with astrology or whatever,” you tease, nudging his shoulder playfully.

Jungkook gasps, dramatically clutching his chest. “Excuse me? Are you suggesting the stars don’t have all the answers?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m implying that the stars didn’t predict you annoying me into a run today.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Oh, but they did,” he says, reaching for his phone. “Your horoscope literally said you should open your heart today. And what better way to open your heart than a little bit of cardio?”

“You have a serious problem,” you mumble, but you don’t stop walking beside him.

He grins, triumphant. “And yet, here you are, willingly going on our first official date. Running,” he emphasizes, like it’s the most romantic thing in the world.

“You really think this is a date?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Jungkook stops in his tracks, turning to face you with the biggest, most innocent puppy-eyed look you’ve ever seen. “Of course it is,” he says, completely serious. “Spending time together, getting our hearts racing, maybe even falling dramatically into each other’s arms if one of us trips—”

“That’s just you being clumsy.”

“—And afterward, we get smoothies, because every date needs a cute ending,” he finishes, ignoring your interruption.

After making a quick stop at your apartment to change into something more comfortable, you step outside to find Jungkook already waiting for you. He’s stretching, his arms reaching up toward the sky, head tilted back slightly as he loosens his muscles. The sight is almost too much—like he walked straight out of a Nike ad.

“You know, I’m very competitive,” he warns, rolling his shoulders as you step beside him. “So you’d better be ready to keep up.”

Without hesitation, you mirror his movements, stretching your arms as well. “Please,” you scoff. “I was in track when I was thirteen. You should be the one worried.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh? Guess we’ll see about that.”

And just like that, the two of you are standing there in the middle of the street, stretching like absolute idiots. But somehow, you don’t care. Because at least you’re two idiots together.

And you should have known—Jungkook was a fitness guy. The kind of person who could run for hours, barely breaking a sweat, and still have enough energy to challenge you to a push-up contest afterward. His stamina was unreal, almost unfair.

You had always been pretty confident in yours, but something about this run was different. Maybe it was the way he decided to casually shrug off his jacket, leaving him in just a fitted white shirt that clung to him way too well. Or maybe it was the way your breath hitched—not just from running, but from realizing you were definitely staring.

Jungkook was always ahead, glancing back every now and then with that ridiculously bright smile of his, teasing you, daring you to catch up. And when you did—because, of course, he slowed down just enough to let you—he only grinned wider, as if this was exactly where he wanted you to be.

And for the first time today, you weren’t thinking about finals. Or stress. Or anything else weighing you down.

Because that’s the thing about Jungkook. He’s this endless ball of energy, always smiling, always pulling you into moments that feel lighter, better—like today. And maybe that’s exactly why you—wait, like! Like. That’s why you like Jungkook.

You wonder how he knew today was a terrible day. Maybe his horoscope nonsense wasn’t so much nonsense after all. The thought makes you laugh—only to immediately regret it when you realize laughing while running is a terrible idea.

Your breath catches, and within seconds, you’re doubling over, coughing like an idiot. Great.

Jungkook stops instantly, his teasing grin replaced with concern as he jogs back to you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice softer now as he gently pats your back. You barely manage to throw a thumbs-up between coughs, and he sighs in relief.

“Let’s take a break, okay? You’re doing so well.”

And just like that, your heart does something weird. Because suddenly, it’s not the run making it race—it’s him. His voice, his touch, his stupidly sweet encouragement.

Honestly? You think you could run for another hour now. Maybe even two.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, watching as other joggers pass by, their rhythmic footsteps blending into the sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

“It’s so pretty,” Jungkook murmurs, his voice softer than usual, his eyes fixed on the river. “I love running.”

For once, there’s no teasing lilt in his voice, no mischievous glint in his doe eyes. Just quiet admiration. Peace. Relief.

It’s a side of him you haven’t seen before. A side you—unknowingly, unconsciously—want to know more about.

“You know,” you say after a moment, your breath finally evening out, “I don’t actually know anything about you.”

Jungkook turns to you, his usual grin creeping back onto his face. “You know my name is Jungkook,” he starts, tilting his head slightly. “I have a best friend named Taehyung, who has a terrible dog.”

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head as he continues.

“You also know I’m a Virgo. And an ENFP.” He lifts a finger, as if he’s listing off important facts. “You know I’m a dance machine, and a—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you interrupt, rolling your eyes before he can spiral into one of his dramatic monologues.

Jungkook just chuckles, nudging your knee with his. And as you sit there, catching your breath beside him, you realize something—maybe knowing Jungkook isn’t about the big things. Maybe it’s about the small moments like this.

Jungkook exhales slowly, his gaze dropping to his feet. “I just don’t feel like there’s a lot to know about me,” he finally admits, voice quieter than before. “I’m not doing anything prestigious like law school. Or, well… anything at all.” He lets out a small scoff, but you can hear it—that vulnerability laced beneath his usual playfulness.

You frown slightly. “You don’t have to do something like that to be worthy.”

He doesn’t look up, just keeps staring at his shoes. His toes wiggle inside them, like some kind of nervous habit, and he lets out a small chuckle—but you know it’s not real.

“You probably think I’m an idiot for believing in stupid stuff like this,” he mutters, scratching at the back of his neck. “I mean, you’re a law student. You obviously like solid facts. Things that aren’t based on some random website.”

You don’t say anything, just let him keep talking.

“Today, my horoscope said I was gonna have a bad day,” he continues, exhaling sharply through his nose. “And every time I read something like that, I do everything in my power to prove it wrong.”

For the first time, you really listen. You’ve always thought horoscopes were just an excuse—something people used to justify things happening to them instead of taking control of their own lives.

But maybe Jungkook sees it differently. Maybe, for him, it’s not about letting the universe decide his fate. Maybe it’s about fighting against it—choosing to seek out the good, even when the bad feels inevitable.

And maybe… that’s not so stupid after all.

After what felt like a long minute of silence—a silence that, surprisingly, wasn’t uncomfortable at all—you both finally start walking home. Conversation with Jungkook is always effortless, flowing like a river with no real destination, just moving naturally from one topic to another. He never lets the quiet stretch too long before filling it with something, whether it’s an observation, a joke, or a random thought that pops into his head.

And you love that.

By the time you arrive in front of your apartment, smoothies in hand just like he promised, you almost wish you could go for another round—just to spend more time with him.

You hesitate for a moment, watching as he sips on his drink, seemingly in no rush to leave either.

Then, just as you turn to head inside, you stop. “By the way—”

Jungkook instantly turns around at the sound of your voice, eyes wide, like he’s afraid he missed something important.

“I’m still waiting for the real date,” you say with a teasing smile, tilting your head slightly.

And before he can respond, before you can see whatever stunned expression is on his face, you finally step inside.

Jungkook stares at your closed door for a long second, then looks down at his smoothie, shaking his head with a laugh.

Yeah. He’s never been happier than right now.

If Jungkook had to describe what he was feeling right now in one word, it would be: terrible.

He was a walking disaster, pacing around his room, running a frustrated hand through his already-messy hair as he stared at the absolute war zone that was now his bed. Clothes were scattered everywhere—shirts he had tried on and tossed aside, jeans that didn’t feel quite right, shoes lined up in pairs as if they were about to be judged in a runway competition.

And still, nothing felt good enough.

The worst part? He had to swallow his pride and FaceTime Taehyung for advice. And that was truly, truly humiliating.

Because now, instead of being helpful, Taehyung was leaning into the camera, squinting like he was examining a piece of evidence.

“Bro,” Taehyung finally said, exasperated, “you look good in everything. Just wear clothes and leave the house.”

Jungkook groaned, rubbing his face. That should have been reassuring, but it wasn’t.

Still, after much internal debate (and Taehyung threatening to hang up if he didn’t stop whining), Jungkook finally decided: he just had to be himself.

And if that meant showing up in his usual slightly-effortless-but-still-cool style, then so be it.

Honestly? You weren’t doing any better.

Jungkook hadn’t even told you what the plan was. Instead, he had sent a series of texts that were so Jungkook that you almost regretted asking for clarification in the first place.

jk sexy virgo boy [4:32 PM] :

at least have something on u!

not that i would mind if not!!! :00

ewwww no!!! i know i shouldnt ask fucking taehyung for advice when it comes to that

you know what? just put on sneakers

oh and something you don’t mind really

…Yeah. That helped absolutely nothing.

You stared at your wardrobe for a moment, trying to make a decision that wouldn’t be too much, but also wouldn’t look like you were just casually hanging out with him as if you were old friends. You considered a dress, but it felt like overkill. Jeans were too laid back, too easygoing.

You finally decided on a pair of pants that were comfortable, but not too casual, and paired them with a simple t-shirt. You hoped that, by whatever weird cosmic force Jungkook believed in—maybe fate, or whatever the universe was trying to tell him—he would see that you weren’t trying to look good, but maybe just trying to survive this. You just hoped he wouldn’t see it as you dressing to impress. After all, you were definitely worried about looking like complete shit.

Jungkook was still a mess by the time he pulled up in front of your building.

Today was supposed to be his chance to impress you, so he had taken Taehyung’s advice—again—and took his car. Apparently, girls liked cars. Especially sleek, black ones like his. Jungkook had been skeptical at first, but Taehyung had said it with such confidence that he figured, why not?

Now? He deeply regretted listening to him.

At first, he had done his best to look smooth—one hand confidently gripping the steering wheel, the other resting lazily on the passenger seat like he was starring in some kind of car commercial. But the moment he actually arrived, all that supposed confidence vanished.

Because now, there was no avoiding it. In just a few minutes, he’d see you again.

His pulse picked up, thoughts racing faster than they should. It wasn’t even a big deal—just a date. A casual date. A hangout, even. So why did it feel like his brain was short-circuiting? Why did his palms feel clammy against the leather of the wheel?

And why, for the love of everything holy, had he decided this was the perfect time to struggle with parallel parking?

Five minutes. That’s how long he had been at this. Five whole minutes of inching forward, reversing, adjusting, reversing again, somehow making it worse every time. There were other parking spots, easier ones, but he had stubbornly chosen this one—the one closest to your front door. It made sense. It would make things smoother when you got in the car.

Except nothing about this was smooth.

He exhaled sharply, gripping the wheel. Alright. One more time. Just a few small movements, and—

A sudden knock on his window made him jump.

A noise—something between a squeak and a gasp—escaped him before he could stop it. His heart slammed against his ribs as he turned his head in pure panic, only to find you standing outside, arms crossed, amusement dancing in your eyes.

Jungkook froze. His mind blanked.

For a second, all he could do was stare at you, caught like a deer in headlights. Then, in a desperate attempt to salvage his dignity, he quickly shifted—one arm thrown back over the seat, posture adjusting into what he hoped was a nonchalant pose. With exaggerated ease, he rolled down the window, schooling his expression into something cool.

“Hey,” he said, voice only slightly strained. “What’s up?”

You raise an eyebrow, arms crossed as you peer down at him through the open window. “Having some trouble there, Fast & Furious?” your voice is light, teasing—but not unkind.

Jungkook visibly tenses, his grip on the steering wheel tightening for a split second before he clears his throat. “Uh, yeah… just, you know, making sure I’m not blocking anyone.” He runs a hand through his already-messy hair, a nervous habit you’ve started to pick up on. “Gotta be considerate of others.”

Your eyes flick toward his car—angled awkwardly, one wheel nearly kissing the curb while the other juts out into the street in a way that is definitely not considerate of anyone. You raise an eyebrow, amused.

“Right,” you drawl, nodding slowly. “Super considerate. I’m sure the other drivers will really appreciate the creative use of space.”

At that, Jungkook groans dramatically and throws his head back against the seat. “Okay, fine, I suck at parking. Happy?”

You laugh, leaning against the door. “A little.”

His head snaps toward you, scandalized. “Wow. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I don’t remember signing up for that.”

Jungkook narrows his eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. He’s fighting a smile, the tension in his shoulders finally loosening. With a sigh, he shifts the car into reverse. “Alright, one more time. If I don’t get it this time, we’re Ubering.”

You smirk. “Deal.”

Jungkook straightens up, hands gripping the wheel with newfound determination. You step back, watching with amusement as he very slowly attempts to correct his angle, his bottom lip caught between his teeth in deep concentration.

And, to his credit—he does manage to park properly on the next try.

You make a show of clapping as he steps out of the car, locking it behind him. “Wow. Look at you. A functional adult.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning now, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he falls into step beside you. “Ha ha. Let’s just go before you hurt my ego even more.”

Still smiling, you nudge him playfully. “No promises.”

Jungkook, ever the gentleman (when he wants to be), holds the passenger door open for you before settling into his own seat. He’s still keeping up this air of mystery, refusing to spill any details about where exactly he’s taking you. It’s your date—still such a weird thing to call it—but apparently, you’re not allowed to know a single thing about it.

You try everything. Nudging his shoulder lightly, poking at his arm, even giving him your best puppy eyes. But all you get in response is a dramatic sigh and a warning.

“If you keep that up, I swear I’m gonna crash this car,” he mutters, gripping the wheel like it personally offended him.

“You’re so dramatic,” you huff, leaning back into your seat with an exaggerated whine when it becomes obvious he won’t budge. “At least give me a hint.”

“Nope.”

“You could literally be kidnapping me right now.” You glance out the window, as if hoping that alone will make him talk. “Hoseok asked me to send my location, by the way.”

Jungkook scoffs, barely sparing you a glance as he switches lanes. “Well, tell that Hoseok guy that tonight, you won’t be giving him any updates. You’ll be way too busy with me.” He grins proudly, wiggling his eyebrows like he just said something outrageously smooth.

You give him a long, unimpressed look before deadpanning, “You sure are taking my time. Five minutes to park? Yeah.”

His smile immediately drops. “Oh my God, let it go!”

“Never.”

You were glad you hadn’t pressed Jungkook for more details because, as soon as you saw where he had taken you, excitement bubbled up in your chest so fast you practically bounced in your seat.

“Karaoke?” you exclaimed, eyes lighting up as you took in the neon sign above the entrance.

Before Jungkook even had the chance to step out and open the door for you like he had originally planned—because he was, in fact, on his best gentleman behavior tonight—you were already scrambling out of the car, clapping your hands together like a little kid who just got the biggest candy bar in the store.

Jungkook, now standing on the other side of the car, stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers, willing himself to stay cool and collected. But inside? He was screaming. You loved the idea just as much as he had hoped, and that was enough to make his heart do a full-on gymnastics routine.

Still, he played it off like it was no big deal. Running a hand through his hair, he shrugged, forcing a casual expression onto his face. “Yeah,” he said, voice dripping with feigned nonchalance. “I think it’s time for you to witness my legendary singing skills.” His tone was cocky, the kind that made you roll your eyes and laugh at the same time.

“Oh, legendary, huh?” You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “I hope you know I take karaoke very seriously.”

Jungkook only smirked, stepping ahead of you as he pulled open the door. “Then you better bring your A-game, because I don’t lose.”

As you both made your way toward the entrance, Jungkook suddenly picked up his pace, clearly determined to be the first one inside. But you weren’t about to let him win that easily. You mirrored his steps, speeding up just as fast, the two of you now locked in a completely unnecessary—and yet highly competitive—race to the door.

Unsurprisingly, Jungkook reached the counter first, flashing a triumphant smirk as he leaned against it, effortlessly slipping into his “bad boy” act. He gave his name to the staff with an air of cool indifference, as if he hadn’t just practically sprinted to get there first. You rolled your eyes at his theatrics but followed along as the employee led you both toward the private booth he had booked.

The moment you stepped inside, the dimly lit karaoke room came to life with glowing neon lights, casting streaks of pink and blue across the walls. Jungkook took one look around, nodding in satisfaction before turning to you with a cocky grin.

“Alright,” he announced, completely serious. “This is the place where you’ll fall in love with me.”

The words left his lips so casually, so matter-of-fact, that it took you a second to process them. When you did, you let out a scoff, but no sarcastic remark came to mind—because the truth was, you had already fallen.

And if you let yourself think about it any longer, you knew you’d realize something even worse.

That no matter how much you fought it, no matter how ridiculous he could be… you were probably going to fall even more.

It was nearly impossible not to laugh at Jungkook’s antics. The way he threw himself into every song—whether it was an intense rock performance, complete with dramatic jumps and exaggerated guitar riffs made with his mouth, or a heartbreaking ballad where he closed his eyes and poured his entire soul into each lyric—was something out of a fever dream. He wasn’t just a good singer, he was a great one. And beyond that, he was a performer. Every move, every exaggerated gesture, was so unapologetically him that you couldn’t even think about taking the mic away.

By the time he finished his latest emotional masterpiece, a song so devastating that you half-expected him to drop to his knees in despair, he turned to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Come on,” he said, slightly out of breath but grinning. “I’ll show you how good we work together.”

Before you could protest, he grabbed your hand, effortlessly pulling you up from the couch. The warmth of his touch sent an embarrassing flutter through your stomach, and as he handed you a microphone, you caught sight of the song selection. A duet.

“Seriously, Jungkook?” You groaned, but the smile on your face betrayed you.

He didn’t even answer, too busy scrolling through the lyrics like he was preparing for the most important performance of his life. And when the music started, he went all in—grabbing your hand and twirling you in place before you could even sing a single note.

You tried to be serious. Really, you did. But how could you when Jungkook was dramatically belting out the lyrics, jumping around like a five-year-old who’d had too much sugar? It was ridiculous, and absolutely unfair, because the moment he pulled you close and started singing like you were the only person in the world, you completely lost it.

Laughter bubbled out of you, your voice cracking as you tried—and failed—to get through your lines. “Jungkook, I can’t—” you gasped between giggles, clutching your stomach as he twirled you again, this time nearly making you stumble.

“Oh, come on,” he teased, his own laughter mixing with yours as he tightened his grip on your hand. “At least try to keep up!”

You didn’t stand a chance. By the time the song ended, you were breathless—not from singing, but from laughing so much. And as Jungkook stood there, hands on his hips, chest heaving like he’d just finished a full-blown concert, you realized something.

This was the most fun you’d had in a long, long time.

“How was I?” Jungkook asked, his bunny smile stretching wide across his face, eyes gleaming with excitement. He was practically bouncing on his feet, ready to soak in every compliment you had to offer.

You opened your mouth, ready to tease him, but the way he looked at you—so expectant, so earnest—made you pause. His eyes were shining, round and full of innocent anticipation, like he truly needed to hear what you thought.

You smiled softly, tilting your head. “I think that not even the stars could have predicted how happy I am right now.”

Jungkook’s breath hitched. He hadn’t expected that. His confidence wavered for half a second before he let out a choked laugh, quickly turning his head away. “Aish, what is that?” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck as a faint pink dusted his cheeks.

But you saw the way his fingers curled slightly, the way he ducked his head just enough to try and hide his flustered expression. And you knew, without a doubt, that it was the best answer he could have possibly hoped for.

Jungkook continued to sing, each performance just as energetic as the last. It was almost exhausting just watching him, yet somehow, he never seemed to run out of energy. His voice never wavered, his movements never slowed—he was a force of nature, completely in his element.

You leaned back against the couch, watching in amusement as he jumped onto the small table in the middle of the room, using it as a makeshift stage. The neon lights reflected in his eyes as he belted out the chorus, dramatically pointing at you like he was dedicating the song to you and only you.

It was refreshing, really. How someone could be so alive, so unapologetically himself. While you often felt drained and stressed, weighed down by responsibilities and expectations, Jungkook was the complete opposite. He carried an energy so contagious that it made you forget about everything else—your finals, your worries, the anxiety that had settled in your chest all day.

Jungkook had a way of making the world feel a little lighter. And tonight, you let yourself enjoy that feeling, completely and without hesitation.

Just like every morning, Jungkook checked his horoscope the moment he woke up. It had become a ritual at this point—his little way of preparing for the day ahead. He checked yours too.

So, still half-asleep, he grabbed his phone, scrolling through the daily horoscope predictions. Everything seemed fine at first, but then… an idea struck him.

What if he checked your full zodiac chart?

It was stupid, probably. But Jungkook never did things halfway. If he was going to believe in astrology, he was going to do it right. So he sat up in bed, grabbed his laptop, and started searching. He input your birth details, cross-checking them with what little information he had gathered from your conversations. He even went down a rabbit hole of different astrology sites, just to be sure.

Jungkook stared at the screen, completely frozen. His heart, which had been doing happy little flips since last night, suddenly felt like it had plummeted straight into his stomach.

INCOMPATIBLE.

A big, glaring red warning taunted him from the astrology website, as if the universe itself was shaking him by the shoulders, screaming ABORT MISSION. His hand twitched toward the laptop, fingers hovering over the trackpad like he was contemplating slamming it shut and pretending he had never seen this. Maybe if he refreshed the page, the result would change. Maybe the website was wrong.

But no. There it was. The hard, cold truth.

Your rising sign? Disastrous.

Your moon placements? A ticking time bomb.

Your Venus signs? Literally the worst possible match.

Jungkook let out a strangled noise of distress, running his hands through his already-messy hair. This was bad. So bad.

He had been so sure—so sure—that the stars had aligned perfectly when he met you. But now? Now it felt like the universe was playing some kind of cruel joke on him. What if this meant something? What if this was a sign that things would go wrong?

He groaned, rolling onto his stomach to scream into his pillow.

And so, in true Jungkook fashion, he did the only logical thing: he decided to avoid you.

Just for a little while. Just until he could figure out what to do. Because what if he was leading you both into disaster? What if, despite how good everything felt, you were destined for heartbreak? He wasn’t ready to test fate like that.

He already missed you.

It didn’t help that the first thing Jungkook saw when he checked his phone was a message from you.

(not) my crush [9:54 AM] :

i went to the same website as you and my horoscope told me i would have really bad news!!! can u believe that? ahahaha!!!

Jungkook stared at the text, his brain short-circuiting.

Oh.

Without thinking, he flipped his phone face-down on the bed as if it had personally offended him. Then, after exactly three seconds of trying to process what he’d just read, he groaned dramatically and kicked his feet against the mattress, his frustration spilling out in the most childish way possible.

Why hadn’t he thought to check that sooner?!

Here he was, spiraling into an identity crisis, convinced the universe had doomed him to a tragic love story before it even began.

You hated it. Hated how Jungkook still hadn’t answered your text, even though it had been almost two hours.

Two whole hours.

It wasn’t like him. Jungkook always answered, even if it was just to send a ridiculous meme or a dramatic voice note about whatever chaos he’d gotten himself into. But now? Nothing.

You found yourself checking your phone every two minutes, staring at your last message, hoping—praying—that he’d at least open it. But he didn’t.

No read receipt. No typing bubble.

The more you thought about it, the worse it got. You couldn’t even focus on your lecture anymore, your professor’s words fading into white noise as your mind spiraled. Had you done something wrong last night? Had you said something that made him want to avoid you? You replayed every interaction, every joke, every single moment—but nothing stood out.

And yet, the silence felt like an answer in itself.

You didn’t want to be this kind of person. The kind who overanalyzed a single text, who let a tiny thing ruin their entire morning. But Jungkook’s weird antics had apparently rubbed off on you, because before you even realized what you were doing, your fingers were already typing into his favorite horoscope website.

Maybe, if Jungkook wouldn’t give you an answer, his precious astrology nonsense would.

The second the page loaded, you groaned, already hating yourself. How had it come to this? How had Jungkook managed to pull you into his ridiculous superstitions? You swore you weren’t like this. You swore you didn’t believe in this stuff. And yet, here you were, scrolling through planetary alignments like they held the key to your entire existence.

Just as you were about to give up, a familiar voice interrupted your crisis.

“Since when do you check horoscopes?”

You nearly jumped out of your seat as Hoseok dropped into the chair across from you, cracking open a can of Sprite. His brows were raised, eyes filled with pure amusement. “You always make fun of me for this,” he added, taking a sip.

Before you could even attempt to defend yourself, he leaned forward and glanced at your phone screen. His eyes widened.

“…You’re not even a Virgo.”

You tried desperately to hide your screen, quickly swiping the phone away from Hoseok’s curious gaze. “I’m trying to find answers,” you muttered, feeling the shame creep up your neck as you admitted the ridiculousness of what you were doing.

Hoseok raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “I didn’t think you were the type to believe in that stuff. You always said it was stupid.”

And you still thought it was stupid.

Virgo: It’s a wonderful day for you! You will feel happier than ever.

You couldn’t contain the scoff that escaped your lips. Happier than ever? Yeah, sure. If ignoring your texts and leaving you hanging was his version of a “wonderful day.”

Frustration bubbled up in your chest, and you quickly locked your phone, trying to push the whole situation out of your mind.

“And I still think it’s bullshit,” you muttered, half to yourself, half to Hoseok.

The hours dragged on as you sat at the coffee shop, staring out the window and occasionally glancing at your phone, hoping for some sign, some message, or at least a glimpse of Jungkook’s bright smile. But nothing.

The words from the horoscope kept playing in your head, an incessant loop. And all you could imagine was Jungkook, carefree and happy, doing exactly what he wanted, while you sat there, feeling like an idiot waiting for a message that wasn’t coming. It was infuriating.

You hated this feeling—the irritation, the frustration that bubbled up in your chest every time you thought about how he could be living his best day while you were left waiting, wondering what went wrong.

You had always admired Jungkook’s happiness. It was contagious, that energy of his. But today, for some reason, it felt like he was hiding it from you. You wanted to see it, feel it, share it with him. Why couldn’t he just reach out?

The sun began to set, casting long shadows across the coffee shop, but there was still no sign of him. The usual excitement in your chest slowly faded, replaced with a gnawing emptiness. He wasn’t coming.

As you walked home, the weight of your frustration grew heavier with every step. Your fingers hovered over your phone, unsure, but the pull to send something—to send anything—was too strong to ignore. You didn’t know if you were really that type of girl, the one who couldn’t handle being ignored, the one who overthought every message or lack thereof. But the truth was, you couldn’t be cool about it. You couldn’t just let it slide. The silence, the waiting, the unanswered texts—it was eating away at you, minute by minute, as if every second without a reply was slowly driving you insane.

You knew you should probably wait longer. You knew you should probably play it cool, pretend you were unaffected. But you couldn't.

So you did it. You sent the message.

You stared at the screen after sending it, the nerve-racking weight of regret hitting you. Was it dramatic? Yes. Was it over the top? Absolutely. But it felt like the only way to break through the silence, the only way to make your presence known in this strange waiting game you were playing.

As soon as Jungkook received your text, his heart skipped a beat. His phone had been sitting in front of him all day, and he had been checking it every few minutes, hoping for something from you. So when he saw your message light up the screen, he reached for it almost instantly, nearly leaping off the couch.

His eyes scanned the words, and then it hit him:

(not) my crush [7:03 PM] :

the stars have spoken, and they predict that if i dont get a reply from u soon, i will accidentally manifest a series of very very very weird, unexplainable events in your life this week!!! hope ur ready for it jeon. </3333

He froze. The audacity. The way you used his own horoscope—his stars—as a weapon against him had him laughing and groaning at the same time. He couldn’t help it. You were threatening him, but in the most playful, ridiculous way.

His heart was racing, but he immediately turned off his phone, swiping the screen as if that would somehow protect him from the impending doom of your horoscope wrath.

He slumped back into the couch, shaking his head. “Why did I even get into this?” he mumbled to himself, feeling both entertained and somewhat panicked.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realized: He didn’t really mind at all.

Turns out it was much harder than Jungkook had anticipated to ignore you.

First of all, his heart was screaming at him to see you. It had been four days without any interaction, and it felt like an eternity. He missed you more than he was willing to admit.

And second, you seemed to be everywhere. Or maybe it was just him. Jungkook swore that wherever he went, there you were. Walking down the same aisles at the grocery store, standing in line at the coffee shop, laughing with friends just a few feet away. It was like the universe was playing a prank on him, throwing you in his path at the most inconvenient times.

Like right now, for instance.

He’d been casually strolling through the grocery store, his mind distracted by the mundane task of picking out produce. When he turned a corner, he froze. There you were, casually walking through the aisle, completely oblivious to him standing just a few feet away. He blinked, his heart racing, not prepared for this sudden encounter.

He cursed under his breath, looking for a quick escape. His eyes darted around the store, and in the split second that followed, he spotted a shelf of canned beans directly behind him. Without thinking, he quickly ducked behind it, crouching down and trying to steady his breath. What the hell is wrong with me?

From behind the shelf, he peeked over the top, trying to gauge whether you had seen him. But you were still strolling along, picking out items, completely unaware of the mess he was making of himself. Jungkook felt both relieved and utterly embarrassed. He let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, shaking his head at his own ridiculousness.

Jungkook cautiously peered around the corner, his heart pounding as he tried to check if you were still nearby. His plan was simple—sneak out of the store without you noticing. Without thinking twice, he started to move swiftly toward the exit, hoping to escape unnoticed.

But fate, as usual, had other plans.

As he rushed past one of the aisles, a shopping cart suddenly came out of nowhere, rolling in his direction. Jungkook, not expecting it, collided with the cart full force. It sent him sprawling across the smooth floor, his feet flying out from under him and sending him into an awkward slide, his arms flailing like a windmill trying to regain some kind of balance.

“Oof,” he groaned, but before he could even recover from the fall, he heard a familiar voice, smooth and teasing.

“Oops,” you said, barely trying to hold back a laugh as you casually strolled by with your shopping cart in tow. The mischievous grin on your face made it clear that you were enjoying the sight of him on the floor more than you probably should have.

Jungkook watched you walk away, his heart sinking as you didn’t even spare him a glance. He had wanted to explain everything—about the horoscope, about his stupid overthinking, about how he’d been going crazy trying to figure things out in his head—but now it was too late. You were already too far away, leaving him standing there in the same spot on the floor.

The next few days were a blur for him. He couldn’t focus on anything. It didn’t help that he couldn’t stay away from you. No matter how much he tried to distract himself, his thoughts always circled back to you. He found himself at the coffee shop, the one he knew you frequented, even though he had no real reason to be there.

He threw on his black bucket hat, sunglasses, and a big, oversized hoodie, trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible. It was hot as hell, but he didn’t care. He was desperate to catch a glimpse of you, just a fleeting moment to see if you were okay.

As he hid behind the tree, peeking out just enough to watch you, Jungkook’s heart ached. There you were, sitting in your usual spot with your laptop in front of you, a steaming cup of coffee by your side. You looked so peaceful, so engrossed in whatever you were doing, and it only made him miss you more. He had been a fool, hadn’t he? He should’ve never let things get this weird, should’ve never let his insecurities get in the way.

He stayed there, trying not to make a scene, wishing he could just walk up to you and fix everything. But no, he was too scared to make the first move. So, he remained in the shadows, watching from afar, longing for a chance to make things right.

Jungkook’s heart skipped a beat when a voice suddenly snapped him out of his nervous thoughts.

“What are you doing, you freak?” The words hit him like a bucket of cold water, and he nearly jumped out of his skin as he spun around to face the source. A man stood a few feet away, eyebrow raised in confusion, a can of Sprite casually dangling from his hand. The stranger’s gaze flicked between Jungkook and the tree, clearly puzzled by the odd sight of someone trying to hide behind it.

“You should probably leave before I call the cops for stalking,” the man added, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Jungkook’s face flushed a deep shade of red. He didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or to just make a run for it. He quickly reached up and pulled off his sunglasses, hoping to defuse the situation.

“I swear it’s not like that! I’m not a freak, I—” Jungkook stammered, his nerves now in overdrive.

The guy squinted at him, his expression shifting from confusion to realization. “Wait, you’re the guy with the cute dog, right?” He pointed at Jungkook, then made a show of lifting his finger to Jungkook’s bucket hat as if trying to get a better look. The recognition hit Jungkook like a ton of bricks. Of all the people in the world to see him in this ridiculous state, it had to be your friend.

“Seriously, man?” the guy called out again, clearly still amused, but not pressing the issue further. “You’re just gonna hide behind a tree like a creep?”

Jungkook winced, wishing the earth would swallow him whole. He could already feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment, and the last thing he wanted was for you to turn around and see him there, looking like a complete idiot. He couldn’t even face the guy properly, so he just mumbled something inaudible, turning around quickly and starting to back away.

“Alright, alright,” the man muttered, taking a sip of his Sprite. “But, hey, next time, try not to stalk people in broad daylight.”

As soon as Hoseok came to your table, he couldn’t hold back the grin on his face as he told you about Jungkook’s little hide-and-seek stunt behind the tree. You couldn’t help it. The sound of his description hit you like a wave, and you burst into laughter, the kind of laugh that makes your stomach hurt.

“He really hid behind a tree?” you asked, still chuckling as you wiped tears from the corners of your eyes. “That’s a new level of awkward.”

You weren’t angry at him anymore, not after hearing that. In fact, you were kind of amused. It seemed like Jungkook had finally realized how ridiculous his avoidance had been.

Still, you couldn’t let your guard down too much. Your chest ached with how much you missed him. The silence between the two of you had become unbearable, but your pride kept you from reaching out first. You needed him to make the first move, to come to you and explain why he had been acting so distant.

And just as you were starting to feel like maybe he’d never reach out, your phone buzzed with a message.

jk sexy virgo boy [4:37 PM] :

i failed the mission. meet me at the park pls pls pls? :(

It was like a breath of fresh air after holding your breath for days. The urge to jump out of your seat and run to the park was overwhelming. You didn’t even think twice. Your ego might have tried to hold you back, but the excitement in your chest was stronger. You were already putting on your shoes before your mind even caught up with what was happening.

You couldn’t say no. Not when he sounded so… genuine. Plus, how could you resist seeing him again, after all this time?

As you walked into the park, you couldn’t help but feel a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you saw him. Jungkook was sitting on a bench, his gaze fixed on the river. There was something oddly calming about seeing him like that, lost in thought, but it only made you more aware of how much you missed him.

His hair was longer than you remembered, the strands falling gently over his forehead. He looked even more beautiful than before—if that was even possible. Maybe it was the time and distance, but you found him even more striking now. He was still the same boba-eyed boy, the one you’d been both frustrated with and drawn to. It was hard to be mad at him when everything about him still made your heart race, even though you’d spent the past few days fuming over his silence.

What caught your eye, though, was the little fluffball sitting next to him. Yeontan was there too, his tiny tail wagging excitedly at your arrival.

“Hi, Yeontan,” you said, your voice soft as you crouched down to greet the dog. You purposely ignored Jungkook for the moment, focusing your attention on the little puppy as you gave him a gentle pat. Yeontan, ever the social one, eagerly licked your hand, wagging his tail even faster as if he knew he was the bridge between you and Jungkook.

Jungkook sighed, his voice low but tinged with a playful frustration as he watched you focus entirely on Yeontan. “The little brat always gets more attention than me whenever he’s around,” he muttered, tugging gently on the leash, trying to get you to turn your attention back to him.

You feigned confusion, looking around dramatically. “Who is speaking? Can you hear that, Yeontan?” you teased, purposefully ignoring him. You had told yourself you’d eventually listen, but that didn’t mean you were going to make it easy for him. You were enjoying the moment a little too much, watching him squirm just a bit.

Jungkook let out a soft sigh, shoulders slumping. “Guess I deserve that,” he muttered, but he didn’t let the silence linger for too long. Reaching behind him, he pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it over to you.

“Here,” he said, a little nervous now.

You raised an eyebrow, inspecting the piece of paper as you took it. “What is this? Is this a picture of me you took while hiding behind the tree?” you teased, your voice dripping with amusement. Jungkook’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of red as he stammered.

“It wasn’t like that, I swear. Don’t make it worse than it was!” he quickly protested, reaching for your hand to pull you up beside him on the bench.

You snickered, shaking your head as you glanced at the sheets in your hand. “You had a bucket hat and sunglasses, Hoseok told me everything,” you said, practically bursting with laughter. “What was the plan? Hide from me like a secret agent?”

Jungkook groaned, sinking his head into his hands. “It wasn’t that bad,” he mumbled, but his voice was laced with embarrassment.

You finally looked down at the sheets in your hands, the title at the top reading: Reason Why Jeon Jungkook Was Ignoring You And Why You Should Forgive Him.

“Oh wow,” you said, your voice laced with mock intrigue. “Okay, this is gonna be interesting.” You began flipping through the pages, smirking to yourself as you saw the first point listed:

1. You know how I always trust the universe’s timing, right? Well, I checked our zodiac compatibility, and it was a red flag—like, flashing neon lights red. I had to listen to the stars, or else the consequences would have been disastrous. It’s really not personal, I swear.

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter, your eyes scanning the screenshots that Jungkook had sent you, his so-called proof of why he had been avoiding you. Your complete zodiac chart, one that you didn’t even know existed, was now paired with his, glaring back at you with all its astrological implications.

“Really?” you said, still chuckling. “You’re basing all of this on a website and the stars?”

Jungkook bit his cheek, clearly trying to hold back a smile but failing miserably. “It’s not funny. I had multiple mental breakdowns because of that,” he insisted, his voice barely hiding the frustration. But the way his eyes flicked back to the screen made it clear he was invested in this whole thing far more than he was letting on.

You continued reading, curious about the next part of his dramatic saga. When you got to the second reason, your laughter intensified. You could barely keep it together as you read:

2. Yeontan gave me some tough love advice. He said, ‘Jungkook, the stars have spoken, and sometimes love can be as confusing as a game of fetch.’ I think he’s onto something, but I’m still unsure whether it’s me or the cosmos making me do this.

“Jungkook, are you for real?” You couldn’t stop laughing now, your hand pressed to your mouth to stifle the sound of your amusement.

Jungkook looked at you, his face serious despite the ridiculousness of the situation. “Yeontan gives great advice,” he said earnestly, his voice filled with mock sincerity.

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeontan, huh? You mean the same Yeontan who doesn’t have the ability to speak?”

“Well, yeah,” Jungkook started, then hesitated. “It’s actually Taehyung who told me that, but… you know what, let’s just say it was Yeontan.” He gave you a sheepish grin, clearly trying to make up for the fact that the whole story was a bit far-fetched.

You shook your head, still smiling despite yourself. “A little lie to make me forgive you, huh?”

“Exactly.” He nodded seriously, though you could see the glint of amusement in his eyes. “A little white lie can’t hurt, right? Especially when it involves the world’s wisest dog.”

“Fine,” you said with a dramatic sigh, though you couldn’t suppress your smile. “But next time, just ask Yeontan for relationship advice before we end up in a cosmic catastrophe.”

Jungkook’s hand wrapped around your wrist, his grip firm but trembling slightly. His wide eyes locked onto yours, a mix of fear and urgency swimming in them. He looked terrified—like he had just thrown himself off a cliff and was bracing for the fall.

“Wait. Please,” he pleaded, voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “Read the next page.”

Something about the way he said it made your breath catch. His fingers didn’t loosen around you, like he was afraid you’d let go before you saw what he needed you to see.

With a small, reassuring smile, you finally lowered your gaze to the page in your hands.

It was a mess. Words were scribbled over, sentences scratched out so violently they nearly tore through the paper. His handwriting, usually neat and precise, looked frantic—like he had rewritten the same thought a hundred times, fighting with himself over the words before finally settling on the one line that remained untouched.

3. I decided I didn’t care about all of that because I love you, and I don’t think zodiac charts (as terrible as they look) can change what I feel for you.

Your fingers tightened around the edges of the paper as your heart did something strange—something impossible to ignore.

Slowly, you lifted your eyes back to him.

Jungkook was watching you like his entire world depended on what you’d say next. His jaw was tight, his chest rising and falling a little too quickly, his free hand clenching into the fabric of his jeans.

Your heart was pounding. You swallowed, trying to find the right words, but your mind was blank. He loved you. Jungkook loved you.

“Jungkook…” You looked up at him, and for the first time, the usual confidence in his gaze wavered.

“I know it’s dumb,” he rushed to say, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I just—I got in my head about it, and then I panicked, and I thought maybe the universe was trying to tell me something, and then I realized—” He took a shaky breath. “I realized I didn’t care. Because none of it matters if it means losing you.”

Your fingers curled around the page, gripping it tightly like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“You… really love me?” The words left your lips softer than you intended, but they hung in the air between you, heavy and real.

Jungkook nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Yeah. I do.” His voice was quiet, but there was no hesitation.

You blinked, feeling the sting of tears you hadn’t expected. And then—because it was Jungkook, and because you had been waiting for this moment without even realizing it—you smiled.

“So… are you saying the stars were wrong?” you teased, holding back a laugh.

Jungkook groaned, dropping his forehead against your shoulder dramatically. “God, don’t start.”

But his arms wrapped around you anyway, pulling you in close, and you could feel the way his heart was racing against yours.

“You know,” you murmured, gently pulling his head away from your shoulder so you could look him in the eyes. “Now more than ever, I think astrology is bullshit.”

Jungkook didn’t argue this time. He just looked at you, his eyes soft, almost embarrassed. Because you were right. He had let some random website tell him you weren’t meant for each other—when everything about you, about this, felt exactly right.

He exhaled a small laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah… I think I might have overreacted a little.”

“A little?” you raised an eyebrow, hands settling firmly on his shoulders. Yeontan whined between you, attempting to wriggle into your lap, but you ignored him. Your focus was solely on Jungkook. “But,” you continued, tilting your head slightly, “I do believe in one thing now.”

Jungkook blinked, leaning in unconsciously. “What’s that?”

“Fate,” you said simply, your fingers moving up to cup his round cheeks, brushing against the warm skin.

His lips parted slightly, his breath fanning against your face as he searched your gaze. “You really think that?” he asked, and when he smiled, it was his bunny one—the one that made your heart ache and your stomach flip all at once.

And oh, how you wanted to kiss him right then and there. But first, you needed to say it.

“Because I met you,” you whispered, your thumbs tracing over his cheekbones, “and I love you.”

Jungkook didn’t let you finish another word. Before you could even blink, his hands had found your face, his lips pressing against yours in a way that stole the breath right out of your lungs.

It wasn’t just an apology, and it wasn’t just relief. It was Jungkook—stubborn, overthinking, hopelessly romantic Jungkook—showing you exactly what he felt without needing any more words.

And as you kissed him back, fingers curling into his hoodie, you knew.

The stars might have been wrong, but this?

This was written in the universe just for you.

#bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook #jungkook imagines #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #bts imagines #jungkook fluff #bts jk #bts #jungkook x oc #jungkook x you #bts x reader #bts imagine #bts fanfiction #bangtan

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flowerandblood · 2 months ago

Text

The Song of Promises [1/3]

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: loss of virginity (both characters), sex content, unprotected sex, oral sex, targcest stuff, smut, angst, abduction, description of eye loss, mourning, child abuse, Aemond being a self-absorbed, vain guy ]

[ description: Aemond's childhood is filled with loneliness and regret until Daemon arrives in the Red Keep with his first-born child, daughter of Rhea Royce. The fact that neither of them has a dragon of their own binds them together with a thread of understanding, and their slowly developing relationship gives birth in the young prince's mind to a plan of which she is a part. Slow burn, childhood companions to lovers, first intimacy, rude, insolent, arrogant Aemond with big ego. ]

This is story that describes the events of what would have happened if Aemond had met Daemon's daughter earlier (i.e. as a child). The characters are exactly the same as in the original The Price of Pride, but still, this is a standalone story that can be read separately: you don't need to know that story to read this one.

I have tried to show how the need for closeness matures in adolescents as they get older until they fully understand what they want and how to achieve it. Decide for yourself what happened between them when and at what age so that you feel comfortable with it (let's agree that the ages from the books and the series do not apply here, because at the end of the chapter we are still before Helaena and Aegon's wedding: everyone is simply older than in the source material, decide for yourself by how many years).

A big inspiration for me to wrtie this story was my relationship with my husband (everything was going very slowly for us and each new base was an achievement and a great event). That said, this story you will read alternately from two perspectives (not the same events tho).

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Aemond

That night he slept exceptionally badly: he wriggled in his bed for a long time, struggling to hold back tears of anger, thinking of what Aegon and his nephews had done to him. His older brother was spiteful by nature, but until now he had believed that they would support each another in the presence of the Strongs.

He was mistaken.

The pig with wings he had been given by them – according to Aegon's assurances, as a consolation prize – was eye-watering proof of the humiliation he had suffered at his hands for years. The way they all laughed out loud while he stood completely petrified with shame and the fact that they considered it amusing made his whole body begin to shake.

He wished the sun would never rise again.

When he woke up the next day, his meal was served as usual: to his delight, his mother, although she did not usually allow it, ordered his favourite sweet cinnamon rolls to be brought to him. While he still felt miserable, eating them made his spirits lighter, as the pleasant thought went through his head that his mother loved him.

During the sparring, Aegon acted as if he had forgotten what he had done to him the day before: he said something to him and laughed, as if he expected him to feel like replying to him after the humiliation he had suffered at his hands.

His silence, unfortunately, was not met with understanding from his brother either.

“Must you always be such a twat?” Aegon asked.

Again he did not answer, pressing his lips into a thin line with rage, and hit one of the targets with all his strength with a wooden sword.

He did not utter words that Aegon or his nephews could use against him.

He thought he would never give them a reason to mock him again.

Silence was safe.

However, he was snapped out of his reverie by the voice of Jace, who had been speaking to Luke during one of their short breaks.

“Mother said they would be arriving today. Daemon and his firstborn daughter. He killed her mother.” His nephew spoke in a whisper, clearly excited, but he stood close enough to understand what he said.

Daemon's firstborn daughter.

It was true that he had heard of her and knew that she existed, however, her person did not particularly concern him: she had no dragon and she was a girl, so she did not threaten him in any way, yet she also had nothing that would make him find the subject of her arrival interesting.

Or at least that's what he tried to tell himself, as he involuntarily strained his hearing, standing with his back to them, pretending to stretch before his next routine, paying no attention to the fact that Criston Cole was shouting something to him and Aegon.

“He killed her mother?” Squealed Luke, and Jace shushed him and tapped him on the head, clearly wanting his little brother to be quiet.

“It's gossip. Mother says we have to be kind to her. She won't have here anyone but us.” Jace explained to him.

Although he kept telling himself that he didn't care about some pathetic little girl without a dragon, the next morning he sat with his face pressed against the window, waiting for them to arrive.

He didn't know what he was actually waiting for: Daemon had always seemed intriguing to him. His uncle was confident and ironic, on top of which there was no one, except perhaps Ser Criston, who could match him in wielding a sword.

Deep down he admired him and the possibility of seeing him again thrilled him.

He twisted in his seat, rising higher on his arms as the gates to the courtyard opened and indeed, he saw his uncle on a white horse and a little girl with long, dark hair sitting before him in the saddle.

He snorted at the thought that, like his nephews, the gods had not bestowed upon her the Targaryen colour that he wore proudly on his head.

However, she was a legitimate child and had certainly inherited the colour of her hair from her mother, so he felt that this was not reason to mock her.

After all, his mother also had dark hair, and he held her in high regard and respect.

Daemon jumped off his mount lightly, then grabbed his daughter under the arms and helped her down, without waiting for the servant to run up to them.

He saw that she had started to look around – he thought that she was certainly enthralled and overwhelmed by the beauty and grandeur of the Red Keep, but when she turned her face towards him he recognised that her facial expression was more one of uncertainty and fear.

She will have no one here but us.

He killed her mother.

For some reason, for a moment, but only a moment, he felt pity for her.

Although she was not a princess or anyone special, news of her arrival and the reason for it had spread through the fortress very quickly; he usually preferred to stay in his chamber or in the library, but on this day he had left his safe places to stroll the corridors and the castle, hoping to see her.

He wanted to judge her carefully in his mind: he had formed an opinion about everyone, and she could not remain an exception.

A sting of disappointment spread across his chest when, to his displeasure, he did not see her until the next day during sparring, in the company of Jace and Luke. They spoke to her, gesturing vividly, apparently showing her everything they could, she, however, simply looked at them with big eyes, terrified, and said nothing, looking where they told her to.

“My Princes. Come over here. Let's begin.” Criston Cole called out towards them, clearly impatient.

He grinned under his breath with satisfaction, feeling a pleasant pride at the thought that Ser Criston preferred them to the Strongs and was clearly showing it.

Jace and Luke stepped closer, and Daemon's daughter approached with them, her eyes wide, her small hands clenched into fists from anxiety.

Looking at her closely, he decided she was not ugly: her face seemed pleasant to him, her eyelashes and eyebrows long and dark, accentuating her skin tone in some interesing way. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, as were her lips: she was a little shorter than Jace, but like them, she was dressed in a training garment.

“Our cousin used to practise archery in Runestone. We thought she could do it here too.” Luke said.

Cole straightened up and sighed, clearly frustrated.

“Consent would have to be given by Prince Daemon himself. I cannot make that decision alone.” He replied matter-of-factly, causing the girl to lower her head, disappointed.

Jace, however, was not giving up.

“Then we'll ask him.” He said with vigour, glancing at his cousin, who shook her head.

“I don't know where he is. I can't find him anywhere.” She muttered.

“Prince Daemon, from the information I have, set off to Essos before dawn. Without his permission, I cannot take responsibility for your safety, my Lady.” Ser Criston explained, already a little softer.

An uncomfortable silence fell around them, one he'd experienced for the first time in his life: it wasn't filled with irritation or rage, but with the fact that it seemed to him that neither of them knew how to act in such a situation.

Usually when Jace or Luke didn't know or couldn't do something, it was a source of pride and mockery for him and Aegon: their nephews reacted similarly to failures on their side.

However, he didn't know what he should feel or think upon hearing that a little girl didn't know that her father was now with his second family.

He looked at her to witness her reaction and felt a strange squeeze in his throat seeing that she obviously did not know about it – her lips were slightly parted in disbelief, her gaze wandering from one person to the next, as if she felt humiliated and abandoned, left alone in a place foreign and frightening to her.

“With your permission, I will return to my chamber.” She mumbled and bowed, only to turn and move towards the cloisters, disappearing into one of the corridors.

“Did you see that? She is crying like a little baby. Would you like to join her, brother? You two fit together.” Said Aegon and patted him on the shoulder, making his cheeks flush scarlet with shame.

“That's enough.” Cole said. “Get back to practising.”

Although he occupied his head with various activities for the rest of the day – mostly reading books on Westeros history – his thoughts kept returning to her face then, when she found out her father was gone.

She wasn't as annoying and provocative as Jace and Luke, of that he was sure – nor had she inherited Daemon's aggressive manner, at least not in the way he'd expected. As much as he wanted to assign her to the Black party, as Daemon had always supported Rhaenyra, he wasn't sure she was even aware of the division between them and that she had to choose.

She was thrown between strange walls and strange people, left alone.

Even for him, it was quite cruel.

But it was not his concern, he consoled himself in spirit, trying to start a chapter concerning Winterfell.

For the first time in a long time, he looked forward to the supper with excitement: he knew that his father-king would surely invite his niece to it and say a few warm words to make her feel at home.

He hoped she would be seated close to them and not next to the Strongs.

She shouldn't spend time with the bastards, but he didn't blame her for doing so – he guessed that she simply didn't know who they really were.

Perhaps I should tell her about it, he told himself in spirit sitting down at the table in his seat, recognising that, in fact, he would be doing her a favour by doing so.

Indeed, there was one more chair placed at the table than usual. His cousin walked into the chamber, accompanied by his mother and sister. Helaena was saying something to her, and Daemon's daughter was smiling, looking down at her feet, apparently trying not to fall over in her long, brown gown.

Once again he felt a sense of pride, for it was his sister and not his nephews who had made their guest feel better.

To his satisfaction, which, however, he did not give expression to, trying to keep a stony face, his cousin took a seat next to his sister, that is, opposite him and Aegon. When she looked in his direction he did not leave her gaze for a moment – however, when she smiled, he turned his face away, feeling embarrassed.

He felt a sense of distinction because she had paid attention to him.

No one ever did that, because he was a second son without a dragon.

But she didn't have a dragon either, he consoled himself in his mind, and for some reason he felt relieved.

They were alike.

As he expected, his father greeted her in the presence of everyone, apparently wanting to give her courage.

“As I'm certain you all know by now, we have a guest. It is my brother's daughter, whom I welcome with great joy and love. From now on, the Red Keep will be her home and I ask you to treat her with kindness and understanding. A strange place, even more so for a little girl, can seem frightening. I trust each of you to care for her as best you can.” He said, then nodded and allowed everyone to begin their meal.

One more interaction occurred between them that evening: when he tried to reach for a pate that was too far away from him, she helped him by handing him a platter. She smiled at him again then, and he reciprocated the gesture awkwardly, feeling that for some reason his palms had started to sweat.

His king had said they should be kind to her, so he simply followed his order as any good son would do, he assured himself in his head.

Then Jace suddenly spoke up.

“My King. Our cousin is an excellent archer and we think she should be able to practice with us in the Red Keep as well. Ser Criston said that without her father's permission this is not possible. Wouldn't the King's order be more significant?” He asked, and all eyes fled towards his father.

“Little girls shouldn't be involved in such things.” Said Queen Alicent, taking a sip of wine, for some reason casting a long look at Rheanyra, sitting across the table.

“Why?” His half-sister asked. “Are all women in this world the same?”

His father decided to put an end to this brief argument by giving his own opinion on the matter.

Viserys decided that she could practise archery during their sparring, if it didn't interfere with their training.

She usually stood on the side and shot her bow at targets standing in a completely different part of the courtyard, so everyone quickly forgot about the dispute and stopped paying attention to her.

Or at least that's what he tried to convince himself.

He often looked at her, because when their gazes met, she usually smiled.

It was a warm smile, devoid of prejudice or malice: he did not usually reciprocate the gesture, fearing that Aegon would see it and find another reason to mock him.

She spoke to Jace and Luke, also occasionally smiling in their presence, but when she did so while looking at him, she looked different.

Perhaps it was just his childhood desire to be special to someone, to be noticed, that made him live in the belief that his cousin wanted to know him better.

He craved it too: confirmation of his suspicions, of the fact that, indeed, he had caught her attention. The reason, after all, could have been any feature of his personality that no one had noticed before: his intelligence, his knowledge, his rhetoric, his calmness and composure, how different he was from his brother and nephews.

His pride, however, prevented him from taking the first step: he knew that if anyone found out he was seeking her company, his brother would again call him a twat and say that he liked to play with girls because he was one himself.

That left him internally torn.

The opportunity fell upon him like a thunderbolt from a clear sky when one afternoon, as always eager to search the library for more reading for the dull, monotonous evenings, he saw Daemon and his daughter sitting at the table, bent over a thick, old volume that he knew intimately.

High Valyrian.

His cousin lifted her head upon hearing someone enter the room and bestowed upon him a broad, soft smile – Daemon's expression was not as friendly and expressed boredom.

To his relief, she spoke up first.

“My father is teaching me the language of our ancestors. Would you like to join us?” She asked, surprising both him and her father.

Daemon sighed, but did not protest, spreading out comfortably in his chair, giving him a look as if challenging him.

On the one hand, he was terrified and just wanted to run away, but on the other, this was his chance to get closer to both of them.

He nodded, embarrassed, feeling his hands involuntarily clench into fists.

The fear of humiliation was greater than the excitement.

“Sit down.” Daemon commanded.

No one had ever spoken to him this way, not even his own father; for some reason, however, it did not frustrate him, but made him feel even more respect for his uncle.

I want to be like you, he thought in the back of his mind.

Confident and fearless.

So he sat down on the other side, in the empty chair next to Daemon, and moved closer to the table – he was ashamed that his legs still didn't reach the ground, but he hoped it wasn't apparent yet.

Just a few more years and he would become a man.

He felt much more confident when he saw that they had just reworked a chapter he had already read before.

“Perzys zaldrīzī ossēnagon daor.” Said Daemon, glancing at his daughter expectantly, apparently wanting her to translate the sentence.

“Fire cannot…” She started, but fell silent, clearly not knowing what one of the words meant.

“Fire cannot kill a dragon.” He spoke up, proud to show his uncle how broad his knowledge was.

“Good.” Daemon said.

He swallowed quietly, glancing at his cousin: her downward gaze and her hunched figure told him that she was sad that he hadn't even given her time to think.

He decided that perhaps he shouldn't come out in front all the time, lest he come across as vain.

“Zaldrīzo ānogar.” Said her father – he stirred in his chair, excited, knowing exactly what it means and that it is a fairly simple, even obvious phrase.

Daemon did it so she could respond too.

“The dragon…” She muttered, incorrectly constructing the sentence syntax.

When she looked at him, his lips uttered quickly the soundless ‘blood of the dragon’. She drew in a loud breath, an expression of relief flashed across her face.

“N-no. Blood. Blood of the dragon.” She quickly changed the order of the words, and Daemon nodded, moving on.

He didn't know why he had helped her then, but he liked the way she looked at him from then on.

With curiosity and gratitude.

In secret from his mother, grandfather and brother, he would sneak off to the library to learn with his uncle and his daughter about what he had been studying with the Maester earlier. He didn't admit that he had a kind of advantage over her, but he would sometimes pretend that he didn't know something in order to give her the opportunity to prove herself to her father.

Daemon seemed to him the embodiment of everything he himself wanted to be. Unlike his father, who did not find the strength or time to teach him about the history of their lineage, his uncle shared it extensively with him and his daughter, seeming indifferent and matter-of-fact at the same time.

Daemon was a demanding teacher, but this made him turn on his natural desire to compete: his cousin, however, did not have as much knowledge as he did because she could not have it, so he did not treat her in the same way as Jace and Luke.

They did not speak with each other outside the library; sometimes she smiled at him, but he only reciprocated this expression when the others could not see it – the corner of his mouth then lifted slightly upwards in an attempt to present some pathetic caricature of cordiality.

He wanted to be liked and admired, but didn't know how to achieve it.

One day, to his surprise, his cousin visited him in his chamber when the sun had long since set – he was already lying in his bed while reading a book.

He didn't like anyone invading his private space, but he couldn't say that the sight of her made him uncomfortable either.

He remained silent, deciding to listen to what she had come to him with.

“Tomorrow I am leaving to Essos. My father wants me to meet my sisters and stepmother.” She muttered, lowering her gaze as she spoke the last sentence.

She didn't want to see her replacement.

He grunted quietly, fiddling with the page of the book he held in his hands, feeling some kind of regret and disappointment.

“I see.” He replied, not knowing what more he could add.

She, however, was still standing in the same place, as if expecting to hear something more from him.

“I want to thank you for... for helping me then. Before lessons with my father, I repeat everything he taught me, but when I sit next to him, I suddenly forget the words. My head is empty.” She choked out finally, making him involuntarily look at her, surprised.

He felt a pleasant wave of pride and self-satisfaction ripple deep into his chest.

He lifted his chin higher, wanting to look more mature and dignified.

“You're welcome.” He hummed, hoping to hear even more praise from her lips.

“Sleep well, cousin.” She said and turned away, leaving him once again with a cold feeling of disappointment.

He realised that he hadn't asked her when they were coming back.

As she and his uncle disappeared, he felt with redoubled intensity how invisible he was to the inhabitants of the Red Keep: or at least that was how he perceived it. Even if he had wanted to, he no longer had anyone to show his intellect and knowledge to, no smile waiting for him when he sat down to supper in the company of his loud nephews and his half-sister, whom he deeply despised.

He was the embodiment of all his father's dreams, he was the reason he opened the womb of his first wife while she was still alive: he was the son he was always waiting for.

But his father could hardly eat on his own, let alone pay attention to him or the other children Queen Alicent had given him.

“Pass me the porridge platter, sweet Aemma.” He said to her once, pointing his blue finger at the dish he was thinking of, causing everyone around him to freeze.

He felt some kind of constriction in his throat when he saw his mother swallow this humiliation with difficulty, reaching for the platter and handing it to her lord-husband without a word.

He lowered his gaze to his plate, trying not to think about it, realising that he would like to see her comforting smile again.

He was beginning to grow impatient.

It had, after all, been several weeks.

As always when something was bothering him, he went to the only person he truly trusted.

“When will uncle Daemon return?” He asked, feigning indifference, fiddling with one of the flacons of expensive oils that had belonged to his mother.

Alicent looked at him, sighing quietly, clearly tired and embittered, probably by what his father had done.

He didn't know how he was supposed to help her, so he remained silent.

“The longer he's gone, the better.” She replied, surprising him.

“Why?” He asked, and she sighed again.

“He's a dangerous, unpredictable man. I pity his daughter. He drags her around all the continents like an object.” She said with a kind of impatience that made him unsure if she really meant what she said.

Adult people often spoke in riddles, which frustrated him constantly.

He preferred it when someone was direct.

The conversation with his mother brought him neither answers nor relief; the only person who showed interest in him was far away, and he was once again learning High Valyrian alone.

That night he prayed to the gods to help him tame a dragon and for his cousin to return quickly to King's Landing, so that she would continue to be kind to him.

The gods listened to his requests, or at least some part of them.

After a few days, Daemon, his daughter from his first marriage, Baela, Rhaena and his wife, lady Laena, reached the Red Keep.

He came to see them because he hoped to see her.

Indeed, when he stepped into the chamber, where his mother, Rhaenyra and Helaena were also present, he spotted her at once, standing behind her father's back. She was looking at Daemon, as if hoping that he would turn his attention to her, but he did not – his uncle was looking at his brother, who was holding Baela hand in his.

His only child who had a dragon.

Although no word was spoken, he understood what had happened.

She had only regained her father for a moment and lost him again.

A pleasant shiver ran through him as she looked around the room, but her gaze stopped on him when she noticed him: he offered her a sad smile of comfort, and she reciprocated the gesture.

Although everyone at supper that evening was loud and chatty, she sat quietly, staring at her plate, immersed in her thoughts. He could see that she had not eaten much; her lips were tightly clenched, her gaze fled again and again to the silhouette of her father, who was talking aloud about the magnificent mansion they lived in Essos and their desire to stay there.

He felt an unpleasant twinge in his stomach at the thought.

“Do you like insects?” He suddenly heard his sister's voice leaning over their cousin.

Her question seemed absurd and out of any context, but Daemon's daughter was clearly trying to focus and answer the question.

“I like butterflies. And bumblebees.” She said after some thought.

Helaena twisted in her seat, delighted, and invited her to come to her chamber later that evening so that she could see through her large collection of dried moths.

He sighed, trying to hide the unpleasant sting of jealousy that an object that raised his self-esteem had just been stolen from him.

He wanted her back for himself, so that she would say nice things to him.

He wanted her to admire him.

He wanted her to love him and cry for him with longing when they were separated.

He would never reciprocate this, of course, because these were tender, feminine concerns, but it would certainly satisfy his vanity.

He noticed, watching them from the sidelines, that a strong, cordial bond developed between her and his sister after that day: otherwise it would surely have caused his irritation, but at some point he began to see it as an opportunity.

The more she became attached to them and to the Red Keep, the more she would desire to stay with them.

To his surprise, Helaena too had begun to care that her new companion remained in King's Landing; she shrewdly tried to address the issue as they set off together to the Great Sept with their mother.

“I have no trusted lady of the court, Mother. I don't like the fact that they put things in different places than I want. They disturb my order and speak too loudly. She is kind. She always asks my opinion first before she touches me or my things. We embroider together and watch insects. I would like her to stay with me.”

Though his mother easily denied him and Aegon, to her only daughter she could not.

To his satisfaction, she turned to her lord-husband, and he convinced his younger brother that his daughter needed stability and a girl her own age as a companion.

Though reluctantly, Daemon agreed.

He couldn't say that everything had gone according to his plan: now his cousin was his sister's lady-in-waiting, spending a lot of time with her. This meant that she couldn't give him as much attention as he would have liked.

However, one day everything changed.

“Helaena said the Maester is teaching you High Valyrian. I was wondering if you could teach me too, as my father is not here anymore.” She mumbled, clearly fearing that her offer would not be attractive for him.

He sighed, pretending that her words made no impression on him.

“What can you give me in return?” He asked defiantly, though he knew he would have agreed even if she had not been able to give him anything.

“...and what would you like?” She answered question for question, staring up at him with her big eyes, playing with her fingers in a nervous reflex.

“You will obey all my orders without complaining.” He replied at last, feeling that satisfaction, not blood, was now flowing through his veins.

His cousin furrowed her brow at his words, clearly worried and concerned.

“What if you make me do something bad? Or something that will bring me disgrace?” She mumbled.

“I won't make you do such a thing. I am a man of honour.” He said proudly.

He blinked, shocked to see that she nodded at his words.

That's it?

“When can we begin?” She asked, and he pressed his lips together, struggling not to smile.

“Come to my chamber tonight. I'll draw you a map so you can get to it through a side entrance. And don't you dare tell anyone about this, or I will kill you with my own hands.”

She was clearly unaffected by his threat, because she smiled broadly, her face beaming with joy.

Indeed, his quarters could be accessed not only through a door, but also from the side of his bed: there was a small tower with stairs leading up to one of the rarely used corridors of the Red Keep.

He was worried, waiting for her, sitting over a mountain of books, whether the journey through the dark alleys of the fortress would prove too difficult for her: for some reason he was relieved when he heard quiet footsteps in the distance, and then saw her in the passage, looking up at him with big eyes.

She smiled broadly at the sight of him, apparently happy that she had managed to find the right way and not get lost; he grunted as she sat down beside him, pulling off the thin grey cloak thrown over her shoulders.

“Where did you and your father finish?” He asked, forcing himself to be indifferent – he swallowed hard, noticing with horror as he reached for one of the volumes that his hand was trembling with excitement.

He had never yet invited anyone to his chamber, much less without the knowledge of his mother and father.

It was their secret.

“On chapter twelve.” She said lightly, moving her chair closer to him so she could better see what they were about to discuss.

He felt relieved at the thought that he and Maester were already on chapter forty.

“Very well.” He hummed, pleased that he would be able to show off his knowledge and proficiency in this area.

His cousin, when her father wasn't around, proved to be a focused and curious student. She would ask him lots of questions and go back to things he had mentioned earlier, giving him proof that she was really listening to him.

He liked the role of teacher very much: he felt that it added to his esteem, while reassuring him that his time spent over the old tomes, contrary to what Aegon had said, was not time wasted.

He didn't know who he was really doing it for: whether for himself or for her. Certainly, in his own mind, he was convincing himself that the fact that he had agreed to teach her in Daemon's absence was an act of his favour, something for which she should be eternally grateful.

In fact, she was grateful to him.

He found it harder and harder to pretend he didn't see her during sparring or supper; some part of him, to his dismay, had come to the conclusion that he was enjoying her presence.

She cared for his older sister and was her faithful companion, but she also found time for him and his perpetually praise-hungry ego.

He was embarrassed by the way she smiled at him when their glances met in the courtyard or at the table: he had the impression that her eyes shone with joy for some reason, the expression on her face gentle and warm.

Kind.

He chastised himself for these thoughts and the strange yet pleasant feeling that filled his chest every time he lowered his head, stopping the corners of his mouth from rising with difficulty.

Then it was revealed that lady Laena was expecting another child, and something in her suddenly faded.

She felt less and less visible in the eyes of her father, who was far away, on another continent, while she was here, all by herself.

Looking at her and his own mother, Queen Alicent, sitting near her, he compared the shades of their hair, their eyes, the shape of their noses, hands and faces.

After thinking about it for a while, he decided that differences between them were not that great, and that if he had forgotten that she was the daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce, his cousin could be the daughter of King Viserys Targaryen and Queen Alicent Hightower.

His sister.

In truth, he was only a month older than her, but that did not change the fact that this would make him her older brother: this, in turn, would mean that since it was Helaena's destiny to marry Aegon, it would be his younger sister's destiny to marry him.

He lowered his gaze at this thought, feeling a burning red blush of embarrassment spread across his pale cheeks at the thought.

His heart thumped harder in his chest when he realised that nothing in that thought had rejected him.

But what if she didn't want it?

If she felt disgusted at the very thought of marrying him?

Rejection was something he couldn't afford.

It was safer to remain silent.

He felt his own blood under his tongue when his teeth involuntarily bit his lower lip at the word that her father wanted to take her to Essos.

“You have been away from home for too long. You should spend more time with your sisters.” He heard Daemon's voice outside her chamber door a few hours after her father had arrived in King's Landing.

Eavesdropping was not in good taste, but for some reason he couldn't help himself.

“What should I say to Helaena? I don't want to leave her.” Mumbled his daughter, clearly trying to come up with something quickly that would allow her to stay in the Red Keep.

“That you will now spend time with your true family.”

Your true family.

He didn't know why, but his jaw clenched in rage when he heard those words, a sharp pain piercing his heart, which beat harder in his chest.

And then Daemon took her away.

The first months without her presence had been the hardest for him, as he'd forgotten she was gone: he'd flipped through the books, wanting to prepare for their lessons, reminding himself angrily after a while that they weren't going to happen after all. Her chair had disappeared from the supper table, and her silhouette was not standing in the courtyard, aiming at a target with a bow.

It was as if she had never been there.

And then word reached King's Landing that lady Laena had died in childbirth.

It was a time of sadness in the Red Keep: previously Rhaenyra had mourned the death of her lover and father of her bastards, Harwin Strong; now, however, someone who was related to them all by blood, a close part of their family, had died.

He was ashamed that during the journey they had taken the whole family on to attend lady Laena's funeral, he had struggled to hold back a smile, feeling excited at the thought that the largest dragon in the world had just been left without a rider.

Although he tried to fool himself, he was enjoying not only the opportunity to claim a dragon, but also to see someone else.

The sea journey he had been forced to make, unlike his siblings, had dragged on mercilessly. When they finally reached the shore, he vomited: however, he quickly pulled himself together, recognising that neither she nor his nephews could see him in such a state.

His family were welcomed into the fortress with honours; he felt his heart pounding hard as he looked around the courtyard, hoping to see her. As he raised his head, he drew in a deep breath, catching sight of her silhouette in one of the open windows.

When their gazes met, she smiled.

Despite the fact that he should be concentrating on grieving, all he did during the funeral was listen for any sounds of the dragon that might be coming from afar and glanced at her, shocked that she seemed slightly taller to him – he also had the impression that her figure had become more girlish, whatever that meant.

When she caught him staring at her, he lifted his head up, embarrassed, pretending to look at the sky.

During the feast, which took place in one of the courtyards situated high above the sea, all he could think about was how to get her to speak to him. He did not want to be the one vying for her attention, running after a woman: this was foolish and, most importantly, unworthy of a man.

A man was supposed to be strong and proud, cold if necessary, but never weak.

Nevertheless, he longed to spend time with her, though she did not know it: she watched from the sidelines her half-sisters, embraced tightly by their grandparents, drenched in tears. Daemon and Rheanyra had disappeared somewhere, and she was left alone, not knowing what to do with herself.

After a while, their gazes met again – this time, though with difficulty, he did not look away. They continued like this for a while, until she made a slight movement with her head, as if pointing to the stone steps that led behind the wall, and then walked down them.

She wanted him to follow her.

He swallowed hard and glanced at his bored brother, who held a refilled wine cup in his hand.

“I'm going to take a walk. I have no desire to stay with these people.” He said to him dispassionately.

Aegon shrugged his shoulders.

“Do what you want.” His brother replied, looking intensely at one of the servants in the distance.

He sighed silently and moved ahead, feeling his heart in his throat.

What if someone sees them?

Was this a good idea?

Maybe he should turn back?

Hundreds of thoughts beat against each other in his head, but his legs led him to the stone stairs anyway, and then down to where no one could see them.

His cousin stood by the wall, looking beyond it to the sea; her long hair was partly tied back with a blue ribbon, the rest of it was blown by the wind. When she heard his footsteps, she looked up at him and smiled in a way he knew very well.

She was glad to see him.

“I'm glad to see you, cousin.” She said softly when he stopped in front of her, as if she was reading his mind.

He nodded, embarrassed, feeling for some reason that despite the cool sea breeze around them, he was hot.

“My condolences.” He muttered, reminding himself that his mother had ordered him to say it to everyone he met.

His cousin lowered her gaze and nodded, accepting his words.

“Thank you.”

They both fell silent, looking out at the sea, simply standing side by side. He was afraid that he should say something and was thinking hard about what neutral topic he could raise, when he suddenly heard her voice beside him.

“She was a good woman. She never tried to replace my mother, but she did everything she could to make me feel that she cared about me. I regret that I never thanked her for it.” She muttered, her voice breaking more and more with each sentence.

He looked at her uncertainly out of the corner of his eye, fearing that she would cry.

He wasn't good at consoling, so he remained silent.

“But I couldn't love her. Nor my sisters. I couldn't form a bond with them. My stepmother died, and I don't feel anything.” She said in a breaking voice, tear after tear ran down her cheeks red from the cold.

“If you don't feel anything, why are you crying?” He asked, looking ahead, straight at the setting sun hiding behind the horizon of the sea.

“Because I'm ashamed.” She confessed, making him feel a squeeze in his chest for some reason.

“You don't have to. She was not your mother, and they are not your sisters. You don't owe them anything.” He replied matter-of-factly, feeling that this was exactly what he believed.

Contrary to what Daemon had told her, they were not her true family.

They only pretended to be one.

“Who then is my family, if not my own father, his wife and daughters?” She mumbled with difficulty, as if his words frightened her even more.

He pressed his lips into a thin line, wondering if he should say it.

“Unlike my nephews, you are a true blood of the dragon. You can decide for yourself who you will love and who you will despise.” He replied with emphasis on the last words, involuntarily glancing in her direction.

She looked at him in disbelief, her dark eyes larger than ever, as if what he was saying shocked her.

“We don't control who we love.” She said, looking him straight in the face.

“We don't control. We choose.” He finally stated and drew in the air loudly, folding his hands behind his back. “You also have to choose. If you wish, I will take you with me back to where you belong. To King's Landing.”

Her lower lip twiched at his words, as if he had stabbed a dagger straight into her heart.

“I don't believe you.”

He wanted to answer her, but he flinched when he realised that he had heard the screech of a dragon in the distance – he raised his head and followed with his eyes the small, dark silhouette flying between the clouds.

Then he made his decision.

“I will take you to the Red Keep on the back of my dragon.”

She did not understand what he meant, however, he preferred not to initiate her into his plan: she had promised to obey him, so when he commanded her to go to sleep and worry about nothing, she did so reluctantly.

He, on the other hand, set out under cover of darkness to meet his destiny.

The trip through hills full of sand and stones was difficult and exhausting, but what he saw was sufficient compensation for his efforts. Vhagar was frighteningly beautiful: she was big, magnificent, and she evidently saw in him what none but his mother and cousin could, for although she opened her maw to burn him, when he spoke to her in High Valyrian, she hesitated.

Climbing onto her back, his palms were sweaty from nerves and terror, his body trembling as he tried with great effort to reach her saddle. When he finally succeeded and lifted into the skies with her, he realised that the gods had given him a sign, revealing to him his fate.

He had made Vhagar his dragon, and in the future he would make his cousin his wife.

In that moment, as he screamed with happiness, flying between the clouds, it made perfect sense to him. He didn't see this idea as something to do with physicality, but rather the conviction that since they both held affection and respect for each other, someday they would surely be able to beget offspring together, to create a lineage they would both be proud of.

In that one moment, he felt like he was holding his destiny in his hands, only for the gods to flip a coin again.

As soon as he landed back on the ground his nephews were already waiting for him and gave him another gift, this time one he was never to forget.

If he had to explain to someone what the pain of his eye being pulled out of his eye socket was, he wouldn't be able to describe it: it seemed to him that not only he was screaming, but his whole body as well, that his fingernails would pierce the frame of the bed he was lying on, that he was about to die and would never wake up.

He feared death.

“Mother, don't let me die.” He mumbled out, choking on his tears, his hands clenched into fists on the sheets.

His mother squeezed his arm harder, giving him courage.

“You will not die, my brave son. One day we will have our vengeance.”

Though Luke had taken his honour and his face, he had gained something more: a dragon.

A dragon that no one could challenge.

He knew that what happened after he returned from Vhagar's liege had nothing to do with Daemon's daughter: he had ordered her to stay in her chamber until he came for her, and so she did.

When he walked into her quarters, she rose from her seat, her face flooded with tears.

Daemon had already told her what had happened.

“I –” She began, but he would not let her finish.

“Fly with me or stay. I won't give you a second chance to choose.” He said coldly.

He was a man of honour and he kept his word.

He was sure she would refuse.

He was sure she was a coward.

But she nodded her head.

Neither of them knew how furious Daemon had been when he and his daughter had taken to the skies without his knowledge: when, in his eyes, he had abducted her as it was in the tradition of Old Valyria for centuries, to one day make her his wife.

Lady Royce

Her father punished her escape with his silence: the very thing he knew would hurt her most. He didn't answer her letters or explanations, and for months, then years, he didn't visit the Red Keep even at the invitation of his brother-king.

She knew that he considered what she had done a betrayal, and she suffered greatly because of it.

Nevertheless, she could not lie to herself and pretend that returning to King's Landing did not bring her relief. Between her half-sisters, she felt invisible, her father's person crushed her, and now she was free again.

At least in theory.

Queen Alicent was enraged when she saw her in the company of her son as soon as they returned to the Red Keep: she considered it their act of disobedience and a reason for Daemon to take revenge on her and her children. Her husband, however, was not so harsh about their misdeeds.

“They are just children, my love. My niece can stay here as long as she wishes. My brother and his daughters are in mourning. Let her not surround herself with sorrow and death.”

Although, in fact, King Viserys was partly right, her father was not really focused on mourning, but on marrying another woman as soon as possible.

Rhaenyra.

Only then did she feel as if someone had drawn a clear red line between one part of her family and another: the one that supported Queen Alicent and the one that supported Princess Rheanyra.

She herself wasn't sure she supported anyone: all she cared about was keeping Helaena safe. She was unable to bond with Baela and Rhaena, but she treated the king's daughter like her true sister.

She was calm, quiet and kind, full of warmth that gave her a sense of safety.

“I'm worried about Aemond.” She said one day, bent over her beautiful embroidery depicting a spider. “I feel that he is retreating more and more into the darkness of his mind.”

She lowered her gaze at her words, understanding perfectly what she meant: she answered nothing, however, as her cousin forbade her to speak of anything they discussed or did behind the closed door of his chamber.

He had kissed her for the first time when they were thirteen; he was respectful and gentle when his hands cupped her soft, pink cheeks during one of their lessons in his quarters, his caress slow and warm.

He was clearly nervous and excited, his breath heavy as their skin pressed together in a wet, sticky act she had only heard about from girls older than her.

She was convinced that this gesture was not a proof of his affection for her, but jealousy that Aegon had more experience with women than he did.

Nevertheless, since then, there had been a change in him that she had not expected: he had apparently regarded that incident as a turning point of some sort.

He began to speak not of his lineage but of their lineage, not of his heritage but of their heritage.

“From now on, I will be to you like an older brother,” he communicated to her proudly, looking down at her, having long been much taller than her, “I will protect you and surround you with the care a man should bestow on a woman.”

She accepted his words with joyful disbelief, feeling her heart flutter like a bird in her chest.

On more than one occasion, she had witnessed Aegon encouraging him to join him in a brothel – according to his older brother, only intercourse with the body of a mature, experienced woman could make him a real man.

It seemed to her that her cousin was inwardly torn listening to these words – some part of him clearly wanted to prove to Aegon that he could be as good a lover as he was, but on the other hand he dismissed him, saying that he was interested in the arts of war and sword, not old courtesans.

Occasionally he would glance at her out of the corner of his eye, as if the fact that she was listening to this exchange of words made him uncomfortable; then, for a moment, the thought would cross her mind that perhaps she was the reason he was refusing him.

She realised then that there was some kind of plan in his head, a vision of which she was also a part.

She craved it and was terrified of it at the same time.

She was not a mature woman, let alone an experienced one.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw with sadness that, compared to the other ladies of the court, she still looked like a child; the delicate outline of her breasts under her gown could not compare with the full, plump shapes of the other women's chests, as much as with their wide hips and coquettish smiles.

She didn't know what to do to make the change inside her happen faster, until one day she found out that transforming into a woman wasn't as pleasant and beautiful as it might seem.

“You are bleeding, my love,” Queen Alicent told her, trying to reassure her after she woke up, all sticky from the blood leaking from between her thighs, “your flower has blossomed. It means you are fertile and can become a mother. It's natural, although unpleasant.”

“When will it end?” She muttered, twisting in her seat, already dressed in clean smallclothes, filled inside with materials that were apparently meant to stop the bleeding.

“In a few days. But it will happen again in a month. It will continue to happen for years, as long as you and your future husband do not conceive a child.” The queen explained to her.

“For years?” She squirmed, feeling that something in that thought had broken her.

She did not know why she had cried that day, lying in her bed. She resented her father that neither he nor his second wife had warned her what the woman's fate was.

She did not know that she would feel painful spasms in her lower abdomen, she did not know that the warm, disgusting liquid would flow out of her again and again, making her uncomfortable.

She felt that there was no glory in it, no reason to be proud – on the contrary, for some reason she felt an overwhelming, deep shame.

She shuddered and covered herself more tightly with a fur when she heard the door to her chamber open – her cousin stepped inside without a word, striding towards her with his hands folded behind his back.

It was the first time he had come to her, rather than she to him.

“My congratulations.” He said, stopping beside her bed, looking at her with some kind of curiosity and satisfaction.

“I don't follow.” She mumbled, surprised by his choice of words.

“Fertility is a reason for every woman to be proud.” He stated, cocking his head to the side.

She lowered her gaze, realising that he knew what was happening to her.

“I didn't know it would be so painful.” She finally confessed, wondering if he would scold her for self-pity.

He, however, was silent for a long moment before speaking again.

“That's because you're not carrying a child inside you. When you become my wife, I will see to it that you no longer suffer.” He replied at last, struggling to remain calm – she had known him long enough, however, to know that he feared her reaction.

She looked at him with big eyes, feeling her heart pounding like mad.

What?

“What do you mean?” She muttered without thinking, even though she understood perfectly well what he was implying.

She just couldn't believe he'd said it out loud.

She saw that he swallowed hard, struggling to keep a stony face.

“Do you wish to marry someone else?” He asked, a hint of frustration in his voice that sent a cold shiver down her spine.

She shook her head quickly, horrified at his suggestion and the direction their conversation was going.

“N-no.” She mumbled.

“Good.” He said and turned away without another word, leaving her alone with his suggestion of what he truly desired.

Despite his words, he didn't try to kiss her for a second time; apparently his pride wouldn't allow him to ask again for something that, in his mind, was no more than a naïve female fantasy.

That he was incapable of expressing and showing his feelings openly, she had known for a long time; anything that might make him be seen as weak or naive was an unnecessary risk for him.

His older brother watched him closely, mocking and commenting aloud on any behaviour he found amusing and worthy of his attention.

To her cousin, the thought that he was constantly being watched, and thus could not afford to make a mistake, was completely petrifying.

This was the reason he avoided using words; it frightened him how many undertones and misunderstandings they involved, how easily he could destroy his reputation in the eyes of others with one ill-considered sentence.

She was then left with no choice but to use her intuition, carefully observing his subtlest gestures and glances to understand what he was trying to convey to her wordlessly. It was a difficult process, because he too often did not know what his needs really were and what they stemmed from.

“I don't want to strain you. We can discuss this chapter another time.” She said uncertainly, seeing that ever since she had crossed the threshold of his chamber his figure had tensed and his face expressed cold displeasure.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye in a way from which she felt a squeeze in her throat.

“If you want to leave, then do so.” He replied, making her blink in astonishment.

“I just want you to rest properly.” She muttered, playing with her fingers in a nervous gesture.

She felt around him like she was with her father, never knowing what would satisfy him.

“Are you afraid of me?” He asked at last, forcing the words out with some strange difficulty, as if this thought had been weighing on his heart for a long time.

She swallowed hard, completely surprised by his question.

“No. I just… I just find it hard to comprehend what could possibly please you.” She choked out with difficulty, feeling ashamed at hearing how pathetic that sounded.

She thought he would laugh mockingly at her words, but his face was completely grave.

“Your kiss will please me.” He said with some kind of regret, as if he was suffering from having to ask her for it.

It hit her that he simply wanted reciprocation when, at the same time, she was afraid that if she offered it herself, he would consider it undignified behaviour on her part.

She sighed, trying to calm herself down and moved closer to him – she saw that he drew in air loudly through his nose, as if he was trying to mentally prepare himself for what was about to happen.

He shuddered as she took his face in her hands, exactly as he did then – her thumbs stroked his cheeks and he closed his eyelid for a moment, as if he felt relieved. She took advantage of the fact that he wasn't looking and leaned in, letting their lips join in a moist, soft kiss – he surprised her when he parted his mouth and gently deepened the caress, making his warm breath fill her throat.

She closed her eyes, for some reason not wanting to pull away from him – she let his fingers run through her long, loose hair, let his hands roam tentatively over the back of her head and neck, while their lips brushed and teased each other with the quiet, sticky clicks of their saliva.

Eventually they ran out of breath, so they broke the kiss, however, their foreheads remained pressed together.

“Leave, if you want to.” He whispered, clearly indicating that he had no intention of taking advantage of her in any way.

“I don't want to leave,” she mumbled, embarrassed by her own words, “I want to fall asleep by your side.”

“My mother would kill me.” He mumbled out, as if he was fighting the strenuous urge to succumb to her.

“Then I will leave. I don't want to be the reason for you two to disagree.” She said, stroking his cheek with her palm, trying to comfort him.

“No,” he breathed out, his fingers digging harder into the fabric of her robe at her back, “stay.”

So she stayed.

There was something naïve about the way they lay far apart on his bed, the way his hand grasped hers and squeezed it, as if he wanted to find out if it was really happening.

“Don't tell anyone.” He asked, a sort of childish desire in his eye, from which her heart filled with warmth.

“I won't.”

That night it seemed to her that he didn't fall asleep even for a moment – she felt his hand run over her fingers, over her shoulder, and when he was sure she was immersed in a dream, he smoothed her cheek with his thumb.

What surprised her was that every time he did this a warm, pleasant shiver ran through her body – she wished he would never stop, because this was the first time in her life she had felt so comforted by someone.

This event had changed him; clearly the realisation that she reciprocated his affection had emboldened him in some way.

When they finished their lessons, they often lay on his bed facing each other and talked, touching each other's hands, faces and hair at the same time. Her heart pounded like crazy as his fingers combed through her curls, as his hand closed around the back of her neck, massaging it gently.

“I like the way you smell,” he said once out of nowhere, surprising her completely, “and the fact that your skin is so pleasantly soft.”

She realised he was trying to offer her a compliment – the thought of the two of them taking a walk through the royal gardens or showing interest in each other in public filled him with embarrassment, however, he had clearly found that in the privacy of his chamber he was willing to give her something he was not offering anyone else.

His words.

She smiled broadly at his confession, feeling a pleasant warmth in her lower abdomen spilling over her insides like a wave.

“And I like your big hands,” she replied shyly, stroking the skin of his wrist with her fingers, “and your beautiful white hair.”

She saw that he swallowed loudly, and his lips tightened in an involuntary attempt to stop himself from showing any reaction to her words; nevertheless, his eye betrayed him – it grew large and full of something she understood perfectly.

He needed to hear that something of value could be seen in him too, including physically.

That he wasn't a cripple in her eyes.

The way he slowly leaned towards her, his lips that barely brushed hers in a gesture full of invitation, their hands that clasped in their hair seemed as natural to her as breathing – the caress of their lips was hotter and more intimate than they had ever been before, deep, filled with something she was yet to discover.

Kisses were a form of reward for them, but also some kind of consolation on difficult days; in this way, although they could not speak openly to each other about this subject, they gave each other a sense of mutual care.

Over time, although it carried a high risk of being caught, they took this caress beyond the thresholds of his room; it was enough for him to catch her in one of the less frequented corridors of the Red Keep for their brief – even rough on his side – exchange of words to end with his tongue invading between her plump lips.

He liked it when their tongues met and licked, because he was obviously aroused by how perverse and passionate it was; his healthy eye was closed when his body pressed hers against one of the cold stone walls, while their hot mouths melted together again and again.

It was a warm, wet experience, filled with their loud, raspy breaths, their hands tentatively trailing the silhouettes of their bodies, giving them only the promise of what they both desired.

In that moment, in some strange, chaotic way they were devouring each other.

Her cousin evidently believed that he did not need to explain or confess anything to her; no words of affection, if he had any for her, ever left his lips. On the contrary; as he grew taller and his physique grew stronger, so did his ego, and with it the impression that he could not afford to show what he thought was a mere feminine sentiments.

Perhaps this would have been the reason for her distress, had it not been for the fact that he paid more attention to her than to anyone else anyway; above all, to the despair of the other ladies of the court, she was the only person besides Criston Cole and members of his family with whom he spoke in public of his own free will.

He usually approached her when he had something to say to her and announced it to her as simply and quickly as possible – he would then stand erect in front of her with his hands folded behind his back and look off somewhere into the distance, glancing at her only occasionally, usually driven by mere curiosity.

“A wild dragon has been seen in the Vale regions lately.” He said to her one day, as she happened to be heading to his sister's chamber to help her change before supper. “He is said to be larger than Meleys.”

She blinked, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad – she looked around quickly, wanting to make sure no one had heard what he had said.

“Help me.” She whispered. “Please.”

Her cousin cocked his head and hummed, looking at her with his mouth formed in the shape of an o, as if he wanted to whistle in satisfaction.

He liked it when she begged.

“Hm. How can I be sure you won't use this dragon against me and my family one day?” He asked offhandedly, looking down at her, a kind of challenge in his voice.

She blinked, feeling cold discomfort in her chest at his words.

“I am your family.” She mumbled.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them – she could see in his gaze that he was thinking about something, at the same time unable to deny her words.

“We leave tomorrow, at dawn.” He finally communicated to her in boredom, leaving her bewildered.

“And the Queen and your grandfather? Do they know what you intend to do?” She asked, and he rolled his eye, clearly frustrated by her remark.

“Sheep don't understand the ways of dragons. It's beyond their comprehension.” He recognised with some kind of pride, from which she pressed her lips together to keep from expressing her disbelief.

Clearly something in the expression on her face must have betrayed her, for he looked at her suddenly with a piercing, watchful gaze, his jaw twitching in a reflex she knew well.

“Come to my chamber tonight.”

Just as she had done in their childhood days, to leave her rooms now she had to wait for the watch to change; only then would she slip out and take advantage of the moment to make her way down a dark, rarely used corridor through a side entrance to the prince's quarters.

She had no idea if anyone but her knew about it; presumably if they did, the guards thought the additional door remained locked. However, her cousin had left them open for her, and it was through these that she entered, stepping into his chamber, enveloped in the warm light of the fire.

She spotted his silhouette at once – he was sitting at the top of a long table, on which lay stacks of maps and letters, a thick, old volume in his hands.

When he heard her footsteps, he lifted a glance of his healthy eye to her, and then returned to his reading again, carelessly turning the page over.

She was not bothered by this; he was often in the habit of pretending not to see her at first. From her perspective, it was his attempt to cope with the fact that, although accustomed to solitude, he was hosting someone else in his private quarters.

She untied her cloak, placed it on one of the richly decorated oak chairs and, wearing nothing but her nightgown, took a slow, quiet step towards his bed. She knew she could do it, and that she was certain to stay with him anyway, so she simply lay back on the soft sheet and closed her eyes, listening to the pleasant sound of the sizzling fire.

For a moment, all she could hear was that and the rustle of pages being turned – the smell of him and the parchments pleasantly filled her nose, calming her.

The quiet creak of wood woke her from her half-sleep and she shuddered, opening her sleepy eyes – she spotted his silhouette heading lazily towards her. His hand rose to the belt of his tunic, undoing it with the quiet click of a buckle.

“Tomorrow. You must promise to obey me. Otherwise I will not fly with you.” He said calmly, looking at her with an expression on his face that pretended to show indifference.

“I will.” She said.

“Mm.” He hummed under his breath, finally pulling the leather material off his shoulders.

She made room for him and moved sideways on the bed as he sat on the edge of it and leaned over, pulling his boots off his feet. She watched wordlessly as he did the same a moment later with his eye patch, finally throwing it carelessly onto the stone floor. He sighed and hid his face in his hand, massaging the area around his scarred eye socket in some subconscious reflex.

Stress was causing discomfort to return to the left side of his face.

“You are in pain.” She whispered softly, raising herself up on her elbow.

He didn't reply, just swallowed hard and froze in stillness.

“Let me.” She insisted, and he finally looked at her and nodded.

She raised herself up on her knees and moved towards him, sitting down so that she could see his face. He looked at her silently with some kind of melancholy as her hands gently grasped his face and her thumbs began to massage his temples.

He immediately closed his eye and flinched as her thumbs moved over his brow arches and cheekbones – he twitched when she did it the first time, but relaxed more and more with each subsequent stroke, and his face took on an expression of relief.

“I wouldn't object if you did this to me all night.” He said quietly, his eyelid still closed. She smiled involuntarily at his words, running her fingers over his forehead, nose and cheeks, going back to the beginning – to his temples and brows.

“I can.” She said warmly, but he shook his head.

“We need to rest. Come. I want to sleep.”

She nodded and held out her hand to him, shifting back towards the middle of the bed – he moved obediently to follow her and literally fell into her arms, pressing his nose against the space between her breasts.

She wasn't sure if he was able to breathe in that position, but she could see that his chest was rising and falling, so she didn't comment on it, combing her fingers through his white hair.

She knew that he was hiding from the world now: he wanted to disappear for a while and simply not be, like a small, defenceless child.

The control that he, in his mind, had over his life had a high cost that he did not speak of – it superseded any of his other needs unrelated to survival and victory, whatever that victory would mean.

While it may have seemed complicated, in fact the truth was much simpler: he was tired. It wasn't so much a physical fatigue, however, but rather a spiritual one – the self-imposed compulsion to remain silent when he was still a child was something that kept him safe, but also imprisoned him in his own head.

She mused on this as she watched him in silence, playing with strands of his long hair, feeling his body grow loose in her embrace, the tips of his fingers wandering lazily over her bare arm, his eye remaining closed.

He craved her closeness, but in more ways than one; preferably ones he could see as safe in his mind.

Lying in her embrace was such; he could just lie there and let her stroke him, listening to the slow beat of her heart. He could smell her scent and feel the warmth of her body, hear her breathing, have her to himself and know that she would fall asleep with him.

It calmed him.

In the middle of the night, she was awakened by the touch of a familiar hand – when she opened her eyes, she was in the midst of darkness. Her cousin was still snuggled up against her body, and he was obviously convinced that she was deeply asleep – it was only because of this that he allowed his fingers to travel up to her breast and squeeze it gently, as if checking to see if it was as soft as he imagined.

She couldn't stop the hot shudder that ran through her body or the pulsing she felt deep between her thighs. Other than that, she didn't move; she felt him freeze for a while, but after a moment, when he recognised that she had reacted in her sleep, he went back to stroking her plump bosom with his fingers.

A soft, shaky breath escaped her lips, her hands tightened on his back, holding him close; she felt him flinch and he froze again, taking his hand quickly off her chest.

She heard him swallow hard as she grasped his wrist and, in a gentle, slow motion, placed his hand where it had been – her fingers intertwined with his, allowing him to sink into the softness of her flesh again.

She thought it was a very intimate experience, one from which her whole body grew hot and her cheeks lit up red. She closed her eyes, hearing both of them breathe a little louder, their bodies pressed tighter together, seeking closeness.

Her wordless consent apparently made him feel bold, because he leaned forward, closing his lips around her nipple, clearly visible under the thin material of her nightgown. Something between a moan of surprise and a sigh escaped her throat when she felt him begin to suck as if he were a baby – her fingers clenched on his hair, holding him close.

“– lēkia (big brother) –” She whispered and flinched as she felt something long and hard pulsate in his breeches, pushing against her thigh.

She didn't quite understand the purpose of what he was just doing, but it was pleasant; she thought perhaps it was one of the secrets Aegon had told him about the pleasures of the female body.

She kissed the top of his head as his hand slid down her waist, slipping uncertainly under her linen shirt to finally touch her bare knee.

She felt that something throbbed hard deep inside her, that something sticky ran down her buttock to the sheet beneath their bodies.

They both began to pant as his broad hand went higher up her thigh and then to her hip, squeezing it finally between his fingers.

She shuddered as his wrist slid lower, between her legs, and his hand immediately froze – exactly like her body – when he touched her moist, pulsing womanhood.

“May I?” He asked in a whisper, still snuggled into her chest, not daring to look at her.

“What… what do you want to do?” She answered question for question, unsure of how much she herself was ready for.

She heard him swallow hard, as if he was terrified of having to answer her out loud.

“I want to give you pleasure.”

She felt her heart pounding like mad under his cheek, her fingers gently stroking his head.

She wondered if she should say it.

“I'm afraid.”

He took his hand from between het thighs at her words.

“What are you afraid of? I would never hurt you.” He assured her with a kind of surprise and regret, as if he didn't believe he had to say it.

“It's such a… private place. I…”

“I didn't mean to rush you. Forgive me. Do not be afraid.” He whispered, his voice strangely soothing, as if he understood what she meant.

“I'm sorry.” She mumbled in shame, feeling that she had ruined something that could have changed everything between them.

Her cousin raised himself on his elbow to look at her, but her big, red eyes made him freeze.

“Daor, hāedar (no, little sister). Gaomagon limagon daor (do not cry).” He said in a quiet, melodious tone, his large hand gently cupping her hot cheek.

“It was happening so fast. Your hand…”

She didn't finish as he leaned over her and placed a soft, gentle kiss on her lips. They stayed like that for a while without separating their bodies, her fingers grasping his, holding him close.

When he finally pulled away from her, his gaze was calm.

“I should have prepared you better. Explain what I want to do.” He said with a kind of weariness from which she felt a squeeze in her throat.

It was the first time he had spoken openly.

“Can you explain it to me now? So that I understand?” She asked, and he swallowed loudly, lowering his gaze for a moment.

He began to play with the material of her nightgown between his fingers, apparently struggling to find the right words to describe his desires.

“The source of a woman's pleasure, from what I understood from my brother's babble, is deep between her thighs. It is hidden there and must be found and caressed for a woman to achieve fulfilment.” He choked out finally, looking at her womb and hips, now hidden again under her shirt.

She twisted in her place, intrigued.

“The ladies of the court say that a man's tongue down there can perform wonders. But I don't know what they meant by that.” She said lightly.

She saw that he looked at her in shock, his nostrils twitched in a deep breath.

“You've heard about it too. From whom?” She asked amused.

He grunted and shrugged his shoulders, turning his head in the opposite direction.

“Aegon likes to brag about what he does to his whores and servants.” He muttered, feigning indifference, but his breathing, deep and uneven, betrayed him.

“Would you like to try it? That tongue thing.” He suggested suddenly, glancing in her direction out of the corner of his eye.

She drew in a loud breath, twisting in her place again, feeling her womanhood swell suddenly and pulsate around nothing at the very thought.

His mouth, down there.

“Doesn't it disgust you?” She mumbled in shame.

“You took a bath before you came to me, didn't you?”

“…I did.” She admitted, looking at him with wide eyes.

“So I can try. To satisfy our curiosity.” He proposed, apparently wanting to find any justification for what he wanted to do.

She nodded, feeling her heart in her throat, her stomach no longer filled with fear but with pure, hot excitement.

“If you don't like it, say so. I don't want to force you.” She said in a voice breaking with tension, watching in disbelief as he moved down, kneeling between her legs.

He threw her a meaningful look, in which she saw some kind of mockery.

“As if it's easy to force me to do anything against my will. Who do you think I am?” He asked with a wince, a slow, lazy movement of his hand lifting the material of her nightgown above her hips.

She had never been so exposed to anyone before in her life; she had to turn her gaze away to avoid looking at it and closed her eyes, trying to calm her breathing. Her hands tightened on the pillow on each side of her head when she felt him gently take her thighs in his rough hands and spread them slightly apart.

For a moment nothing happened; she thought he was just looking at her, or rather at what was between her legs. She sighed and flinched, surprised when his thumb ran down the length of her opening, apparently wanting to collect what had managed to leak out of her.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked uncertainly, clearly not understanding if her reaction was due to discomfort or not.

She shook her head quickly, looking up at him only to close her eyes again a moment later, overwhelmed by the helpless position she had just found herself in.

She was at his mercy.

He won't hurt me, she assured herself in spirit.

He promised me that, and he is a man of his word.

This thought calmed her.

Her heart thumped harder in her chest when she heard the bed creak loudly under the weight of his body, and then his hot breath enveloped her throbbing womanhood – a quiet moan of surprise broke from her throat when she felt his slick tongue run over her flesh, causing an aggressive shiver to pass down her spine.

She didn't have time to calm down after that first, shocking sensation, and his tongue again clung to her smooth, dripping cunt, licking it like a cat drinking milk – her hands involuntarily reached into his hair and clenched on it, her hips made a motion forward as if trying to sink into his face.

“– oh – yes –” She breathed out, but it seemed to her that this voice was not her own, its tones squeaky and girlish, full of surprise.

She thought her body was on fire, arching as it rocked to the rhythm of his caresses – she heard him sigh, obviously feeling her wetness begin to run down her buttocks. His lips closed gently around the sweet spot she felt most strongly and began to suck, making her cry out loudly, throwing her head back.

“– Aemond –” She whined out pleadingly, though she didn't know what she was really asking for – all she could hear and feel were the wet sounds of slurping and licking, lazy and unhurried, full of a thoroughness that drove her mad.

As she glanced down at him, for some reason wanting to see him now, she noticed that his eyelid was closed and he was completely absorbed in his task – his head was moving back and forth, disappearing again and again deep between her thighs.

It felt like a bolt of lightning pierced her lower abdomen when she felt his tongue burst inside her body and begin to thrust between her fleshy, hot walls.

“– g-gods – gods, oh, fuck, fuck, yes, yes, brother, here, right here, yes –” She begged, completely losing touch with reality, feeling nothing but overwhelming pleasure as again and again the tip of his tongue teased a spot deep inside her, from which the tension in her loins became unbearable.

She felt that some sort of peak was approaching, that if it lasted even a moment longer, her poor womanhood would simply explode.

“– ah! –” She almost screamed out in pleasure as a convulsion shook her body – she threw her head back, feeling a wonderful, overpowering, tickling wave of heat spread across her insides, flowing through her mouth, her breasts, her belly, down to her throbbing, leaking cunt.

She panted for a moment longer, wishing the feeling would never go away, until she froze powerless, breathing heavily with her eyes closed. She only looked up at him when she heard the quiet rustling of fabric, followed by quick, rhythmic, sticky splats – before she could make any sound his mouth was on hers, tasting foreign, salty and sweet at the same time.

She moaned into his throat, surprised when she felt something warm and long rub against her womanhood again and again – at first she was frightened that he craved fulfillment inside her, but contrary to her assumption, he did not try to take her. He caressed himself with his hand, squeezing his manhood at the very root, teasing its smooth tip by running it over her moist, oversensitive slit.

She murmured contentedly, sinking her hands into his long hair, letting it fall lightly against her body. Knowing that he was balancing on one hand and just giving himself pleasure with the other, she decided to help him achieve satisfaction, exactly as he had helped her.

He looked at her with his mouth wide open, breaking the kiss for a moment when he saw her slide her nightgown off her shoulders, revealing the fullness of her breasts to him. He closed his eyes and gave her a quiet little moan as she lifted his shirt up, exposing his chest, and with a gesture of her arms, encouraged him to let their bare skin touch.

“– hāedar – mmm –” He breathed out into her mouth, sliding his tongue deep into her throat, his free hand grasping her breast so that with every movement of his hips her nipple rubbed against his chest.

Her body was all flushed from what she had experienced with him earlier, and his uncontrollable, almost animalistic movements were giving her some strange kind of pleasure. She knew he didn't want to take advantage of her – on the contrary, he no longer knew what to do with the tension he himself felt in his loins and was looking for a way to take her while not depriving her of what should not yet be his.

She didn't know what he thought of it, but she let her hands roam over his bare neck and down his back under his shirt, to his exposed buttocks from which he had slipped his breeches off. His body twitched each time her fingers explored a new region of his skin that no one but himself had ever seen or felt before – the slaps of his hand became faster and harsher, his breath heavy in her throat, the bed on which they lay began to creak loudly under their weight.

And then suddenly he made a sound of strange relief, as if he had sighed deeply and was about to cry – she squealed quietly, surprised to feel something warm and sticky spill over her abdomen and thighs, realising after a moment that it was his seed.

His body fell inertly on top of her, as if what he had done had cost him all the strength he had left, and he drew in deep breath, apparently trying to calm himself. She felt his heart pounding hard in his chest, pressed tightly against hers – his manhood, still twitching and pulsing, now lying between his body and hers, was nestled against her stomach.

She stroked his hair and his back, cuddling her cheek into his temple, trying to calm down with him and comprehend what had really happened: their bodies were hot and wet with sweat, she felt a drop of it run down her spine.

She had never been more exposed, but she had also never felt more safe.

She wasn't sure if she should say anything – she really wanted to, however, she feared that the barrage of words that would flow from her mouth would simply overwhelm him after what had happened.

She suspected that, like her, her cousin was in a state of some sort of shock.

She blinked and shuddered when she suddenly heard his voice near her ear.

“Forgive me.”

She swallowed hard, feeling discomfort at the words, for some reason filled with guilt and resignation.

“What should I forgive you for?” She asked in a whisper, looking uncertainly in his direction.

Their eyes met.

“I was supposed to protect you. I didn't keep my word.” He said finally, startling her completely.

“You can't protect me from lust. You can only make it a pleasurable experience for me, in your strong, safe arms.” She replied with a kind of conviction that evidently impressed him, for he remained silent for a long time, looking at her with wide-open eye.

“You don't resent me?” He muttered, and she shook her head, smiling for some reason.

“No. I am happy that we are discovering these fascinating mysteries together. I could not imagine a more beloved and trusted companion for this journey.” She whispered, and he snorted, but she noticed in the darkness of the chamber that the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

“Let's sleep.”

Aemond

When he woke up, the sun had not yet risen on the horizon – he always got up before dawn. The order of his day was predetermined and he didn't like anything to change his plans. First he would eat his morning meal, preferably one that would give him energy before sparring. Then he would move on to training his body, spending long hours in the courtyard with a sword in hand.

When this was behind him, he would take a nice hot bath in the privacy of his chamber, spending the rest of the day delving into old, thick tomes that smelled of dust. He was not fond of suppers with his family, for they bored him and were a time of mere, even simpering courtesy which he did not understand, he endured them, however, because he could then look at her in peace.

As in their childhood, she was sitting in exactly the same place now – opposite him, at the side of his sister Helaena, at the very end of the table.

To their right sat only Daeron.

Helaena was fond of her, because their cousin understood and respected her barriers. It was something he himself deeply valued in her – the fact that she could watch someone carefully and knew the boundaries she could not cross.

It made him, as well as his sister, enjoy being in her company – they knew they would not be surprised in an unpleasant way or put in a situation that would be uncomfortable for them.

In the case of her and Helaena, a sincere, warm friendship had grown between them over the years; he didn't mind this turn of events because he knew that his cousin didn't gossip about his sister with the other ladies of the court and that she kept her secrets, like his, deep in her heart.

He, of course, was not such a fool as to share his worries or thoughts with her, however, he would be lying if he said that he did not enjoy speaking with her, though he usually tried to give that impression.

“Will you stand to fight in a tournament in honour of our king's Name Day?” She asked him, putting her bow and arrows back in place while he sharpened his dagger, which he always carried with him.

Ever since she managed to tame Sheepstealer she has been more brazen than usual.

“Do you want to annoy me?” He answered dryly with a question to a question, not even looking at her despite his overwhelming desire to do so – her familiar scent reached his nose, making his manhood pulsate softly in his breeches.

His tongue swirling around her hard nipple, his two long fingers thrusting deep into her throbbing, hot cunt, all leaking with desire.

He felt a pleasant shiver run down his spine and he swallowed hard, trying to keep a stony face.

He heard her laugh behind him.

“No, but my wreath will have to fall to someone else. Pity. Perhaps I'll give my blessing to your uncle.” She said lightly, and he struggled to hold back the grimace of displeasure that pressed against his lips.

Gwayne was fond of her, and his affection was reciprocated – when he came to the Red Keep to visit his father and sister, he often chatted with her during supper and teased her in ways that drove him mad.

Usually, however, one sharp look from him over the table in her direction was enough for his cousin to turn to Helaena and pay no further attention to his uncle.

“Do what you want.” He burbled coldly, and she sighed heavily.

“Just don't be surprised.” She said disapprovingly, but before he had time to answer her anything she turned and disappeared into the depths of the castle, leaving him with her words and the discomfort he felt in his heart.

Did she really have to give anyone that fucking wreath?

On the other hand, what would it look like if she refused to give it to anyone?

What would his mother have said?

Whether he wanted to or not, he had to watch the next day as his uncle, proud in his armor, sat on his gray steed, holding aloft his lance, on which his cousin had placed a wreath of field flowers.

He looked ahead as she sat back between him and his sister, pretending not to feel how she pressed her arm against his. His gaze involuntarily fled to the side, to her hand, when he felt her little finger brush over his.

He swallowed hard and crossed his legs, shocked that this public expression of intimacy aroused him.

Did the people sitting behind them see it?

Rumors about the nature of their relationship had been spreading around King's Landing for years anyway.

His fingers involuntarily began to pluck the cuticles around his fingernails in some subconscious, nervous gesture full of excitement, the source of which he did not understand.

That night he took her for the first time.

At the beginning, it was simply a coupling similar to others they had experienced so far, but more fiery and loud, full of his frustrations and her assurances that she was faithful to him.

But then, instead of just rubbing his long manhood against the space between her thighs as usual, he decided to experience the warmth that was hidden deep inside her.

“– now I will receive my wreath – the only one that matters –” He exhaled into her ear, involuntarily pushing the tip of his length, swollen with pain and desire, against her moist, pulsing opening.

She let out a moan full of surprise and effort, her nails digging into the bare skin of his back.

“– Aemond – we can't – we can't –” She mewled and gasped as she felt that with a steady, slow thrusts he began to force his way into her hot, fleshy interior.

“– fuck –” He mouthed, feeling his heart pounding like mad, thinking that he shouldn't be doing this, but he had to, because he couldn't bear it any longer.

“– just let me –” He asked in a breaking voice, and she complied with his request.

She stared at him with her mouth wide open, trying to catch her breath as he began to move inside her, sinking deeper and deeper into her body with each deep push.

He pressed his forehead against hers, panting along with her, and stroked her sweaty cheek, looking at her with desperation, wordlessly asking her for forgiveness.

He expected it to be pleasurable, but didn't know it would be that much – her insides were warm and moist, enveloping his manhood on all sides, while squeezing him so tightly that he had trouble taking a deeper breath.

He had the impression that he was in some kind of trance, and the sounds that left their throats were not their own – their moans were high-pitched, similar to crying, her fingers clenched on his buttocks, her hips seeking rhythm with his thrusts, rocking back and forth.

“– I need this – do you understand? – I need you –” He mumbled in pain, imposing a faster, sharper pace on her, finally filling her completely.

His hips pounded against her buttocks with loud, wet splats, her moist, hot walls throbbing around his manhood, clenching against it in a way from which he felt like howling with pleasure.

“– here – please, here, brother –” She sobbed, arching her back so that the entirety of his manhood brushed against the upper wall inside her hot, spasming cunt.

“– here? – here it feels good? –” He panted with excitement, grabbing her hips in his hands, deliberately teasing the area she had showed him now – she threw her head back, her girlish cries of pleasure had to be enough of an answer for him.

“– yes – g-gods – ah –” She whimpered out, clearly experiencing it as extremely as he was, wriggling under him in pure ecstasy.

He just stared at her as his thumb ran over her swollen, plump lower lip, as her breasts bounced lightly with each of his deep, sharp stabs, until he finally felt what he so craved approaching.

An almost animalistic sound of relief came from his throat as he reached his peak inside her – he heard her sweet sound of pleasure and felt the shudder that shook her whole body, her leaking womanhood squeezing his cock greedily, sucking his seed deep inside her.

He collapsed on top of her and snuggled into her warm, sweaty skin, letting their arms embrace their figures tightly. They were both panting and quivering, feeling each other more than ever, wanting to stay that way.

As one.

He had promised himself, however, that he would never beget a bastard, and having his cousin drink moon tea was not an option for him.

He was not going to kill his own blood, his own heritage, his own child.

Then he decided that the time had come.

“Marry me.”

539 notes · View notes

ceoofglytchell · 5 months ago

Text

Caterpillar (Prequel to “Butterfly”)

| Prequel | Part 1 | Part 2 |

Summary: Before you were Aegon’s cherished little butterfly, you were nothing more than an insect he wished to crush under his shoes. Over the years his feelings grew from hatred, to indifference, to friendship and to the beginning of a young love that was doomed from the very moment he first laid his eyes on you. This is the story of how the young prince and the princess slowly began to fall for each other.

Pairing: Young!Aegon II Targaryen x Strong!Niece!Reader

Word count: 5936 words

Warnings: incest, Reader is described of having Strong features, Reader is Aegon‘s niece and Rhaenyra’s second child, enemies to friends to lovers, young love, brief mention of abuse from Otto and Alicent, fluff, longing, hurt/comfort, bittersweet ending, no mention of Y/N

Notes: I AM BACK! For the lovely anon who requested a prequel to „Butterfly“. This is my first requested fic and I had much fun writing it. Enjoy 💛

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Aegon, second of his name and a proud boy of almost four years, stared with an expression of disgust and disinterest at the small newborn babe in his half-sister's arms, who was still lying exhausted in bed, sweat dripping down her forehead and neck, while you screamed so loud as if there was no tomorrow.

Next to him stood his father the king, staring down at his firstborn daughter with an expression of pride - an expression he had never seen in his eyes whenever he looked at him. His own mother was not here with them and he wondered why. Where was she? Did she not want to meet you?

"Would you like to hold her?" Rhaenyra asked the king exhaustedly, holding out her newborn to him. It was a little girl who was actually only due in a few weeks, but you had apparently decided to come earlier than, for example, your brother or Aegon with his own mother, which is why you were smaller and more delicate. At least that's how the midwives explained your delicacy.

"I would feel honored," said King Viserys the Peaceful with a little laugh and took you in his arms while he gently rocked you back and forth.

Aegon had actually just wanted to play, but he had been sitting in the library with his Septa earlier, who chatted far too much and whom he could hardly listen to properly, which is why it was just right when a guard asked him if he wanted to meet his niece, who had just left the womb at that time. Of course he had ran off immediately, but you were somehow... ugly. Your loud crying and screaming hurt his ears and he had to hold back from making a face.

Suddenly his father leaned down a little so that he could get a better look at you, whereupon his half-sister sat up a little in bed as if she didn't trust him, even though he was only a little boy and didn't know what kind of burden he would one day carry on his shoulders. The king's firstborn son, but he was not the heir to the Iron Throne. He was a prince who inherited nothing. A life without meaning. Of course, he didn't realize that at the time.

"Look... it's your little niece."

Rhaenyra whispered your name once and the young prince nodded and tried to remember it. Another face had seen the light of day and another sound of happy laughter would soon echo through the cold corridors of the Red Keep.

Of all his half-sister's children, you were by far the one he disliked the most. Aegon came to this realization when he was almost ten years old, when, out of boredom, he asked you instead of your older brother Jace if you would like to play with him, but after you tripped and accidentally fell you immediately started crying as if you had been impaled with a lance, and his mother later gave him a slap in the face behind closed doors that he could still feel on his pale cheek days later.

You had simply fallen over the ends of your dress when you were playing a game in which he had to catch you, but hitting your forehead on the hard stone floor of the Red Keep was definitely too much for a delicate thing like you to bear.

But while you, at the age of six, had already stood up for him and assured your mother several times that he had not pushed you on purpose, Queen Alicent forbade her eldest son to play with Rhaenyra's only daughter again, not because she really cared about your wellbeing, but because in her eyes you were nothing more than a bastard who did not deserve to be called a princess.

Instead, the silver-haired prince had taken to annoying his younger brother Aemond and called for the help of his brown-haired nephews, always excluding you and Helaena.

To the world you seemed like a happy girl, always friendly and always carrying a smile on your face, but you too secretly felt lonely. You never really understood Helaena and you were very afraid of everything that crawled and had more legs than four, which is why you avoided the other girl rather than spending the day with her. Aemond was the same age as you and you liked reading books with him in the library, to be engrossed in thick history books with him and your nose being buried deep in a fairy tale, but at least you could talk to the younger Targaryen prince and share some nice moments.

At least until Aegon and your brothers started making fun of you, which had quickly made your only friend leave your side, as he had already heard enough jokes about how he hardly spoke a word or especially about how he did not have a dragon.

Neither did you, but that didn't seem to interest either of them, except maybe sometimes Jace and Luke, who at the end of the day from time to time apologized for their statements and also for Aegon's taunts. The prince, however, never apologized.

The hatred that you believed your uncle had for you was about to change on a cool summer evening on the day of your eighth birthday.

Dressed in a yellow gown that reminded you of the petals of a sunflower and with your brown hair intricately braided, you sat alone in the garden of the castle, leaning against the Weirwood tree that had probably been growing here for centuries. On your lap lay a new book about fables and songs from the distant lands of Essos, which your "father" Laenor had given you.

You were not stupid. Of course you were aware of the fact that Laenor could not be your father, since you looked too different, but your mother had forbidden you to bring up the subject. She hadn't even answered your question about who your real father was and what the deal was with her and Ser Harwin.

Completely lost in thought, you hadn't realized how a person had slowly and quietly approached you from the side, until he suddenly grabbed you by the shoulders and made you scream loudly.

"Aegon!" you shouted angrily, while the boy just held his stomach in laughter, a full cup of wine in his left hand. When had he started taking his drinks with him?

"Oh, come on! It was just a harmless jest, niece," he answered you, giggling, while he collapsed onto the grass a little further in front of you, which was still glistening with dew, the action not looking particularly graceful. He seemed slightly drunk, which made you wonder why no one took the cup away from him if you had noticed it yourself. Why didn't his mother, the Queen, pay attention? Or his grandfather, the Lord Hand?

"Jest or not, you scared me," you grumbled, folding your arms in front of your chest, while a pout formed on your face that even he couldn't miss.

"Hey, don't pout. Today is your name day, remember?"

"Yes. And you have not thought of giving me a gift, Uncle," you noted in a slightly disappointed tone, while your dark eyes searched his.

"Yes, I did," Aegon countered and threw something at you that you were only able to catch so quickly thanks to your reflexes. "Here you go."

"What is this?" you asked him, confused, as you took his gift in your hands and examined it curiously. You had already wondered why he was the only one in the family who hadn't given you a gift when even the queen had entrusted you with a bracelet from her hometown.

In your delicate hands was a small wooden box, which you did not open yet in fear that it might be one of his jokes again and that there would be something disgusting in it. Hopefully it wasn't a spider...

"Open it. The woman I got it from told me girls like that kind of stuff," Aegon said with a shrug, as he brushed his long wavy curls out of his face.

Carefully and with an expression of suspicion, you opened the small wooden box a crack and stared at its contents with wide eyes. Inside was a beautiful golden brooch in the shape of a coiled dragon, whose eye was represented by a fragment of a pearl. It was beautiful...

Aegon looked at you unnoticed as you looked at the brooch he had given you in awe. He had not thought that this little piece would impress you so much. The best thing was that he didn't even have to pay gold for it, since the old woman had just given it to him when she saw his silver hair. He himself didn't wear such junk, but you in your pretty dresses and shimmering earrings and necklaces would certainly appreciate the piece of jewelry and apparently he was right.

With eyes sparkling with joy and a wide grin on your lips, you took the piece of jewelry out of the box and immediately put it on your dress right above your heart and when you looked at him, he needed a moment to come to terms with his thoughts.

It was probably the wine that was clouding his senses, wasn't it?

"And? Does it suit me?" you asked him excitedly in your normally gentle voice.

He swallowed. "Yes... it's pretty. You are pretty.”

For a moment you just stared at him, unable to believe that he-of all people!- had just called you pretty and given you the most wonderful gift of the evening. You liked the dragon brooch even more than the book and also much better than the wood carvings that your brothers had given you.

"I-I think I'd better leave you alone again now," the prince said suddenly and began to stand up, whereupon you quickly shook your head and instinctively reached for his hand in the hope that he would stay and maybe keep you company for a while. He might annoy you sometimes, but you certainly didn't hate him for that.

"Stay! Please..."

You batted your eyelashes and if Aegon had been stronger, he might have been able to resist. But he wasn't.

With a sigh, he let himself fall back into the grass, whereupon his cup tipped over and the dark red liquid soaked the ground next to you, but for some unusual reason he didn't care.

"And what do you think we'll do, princess? I see neither dancing fools nor musicians for our amusement.”

You seemed to think for a moment, then your gaze fell on the book, which was now lying neglected on the ground next to the tree. You picked it up and held it right in front of his nose.

“I could read to you! It is a collection of legends and songs from Essos. Perhaps you will appreciate them more than your brother.”

His shoulders sagged a little and a quiet sigh escaped him, but he nodded his head anyway, because after all, you were the one who had the special day and had turned a year older. Today was your day to make decisions.

“Fine. Read to me then,” said Aegon, leaning against the bark of the old tree that had stood in the courtyard of the Red Keep for generations, a face carved into its center that sometimes seemed to stare at him judgingly. He didn’t like it.

His little niece immediately moved closer to him, almost snuggling into his side, and opened the book to the page she had stopped on before he had interrupted her. Appropriately, it was even a legend from Oldtown, the home of his mother the queen.

Her soft voice immediately enveloped him like a warm blanket as she began to read to him and his initially stiff posture eased as he began to allow himself to relax.

He hated to think about it, but maybe you weren't as bad as he had thought.

The first time he thought about kissing you was on a quiet evening when nothing really special had happened except that you, now a girl of almost eleven, had secretly gone riding with him.

Sitting on your snow-white mare, your long brown curls blowing in the wind, a wide grin on your pretty face, and your arms stretched out to feel the headwind, you looked like a midsummer night's dream. The brooch he had given you a few years ago hung on the fabric of your coat.

It was early in the morning and the two of you had sneaked to the stables before anyone else but you and a few guards had walked through the corridors, but he had managed to get you past the watchful eyes of the King's Guard unnoticed. You had mounted your horses as quickly as you could and ridden together into the King's Wood until you found a clearing that seemed good enough to rest for a while.

You sat on the grass in the shade of a tree and ate cakes that he had secretly stolen from the kitchens before as a surprise for you. You had managed to talk him out of the wine.

Crumbs were lying on your lap and you held your hand over your mouth to hide your laughter after he had been frightened by a bug that had crawled onto his arm, causing him to screech as if he were the girl and not you.

His usually pale cheeks were red with embarrassment - as red as the ripest strawberries you loved to eat for breakfast - and he crossed his arms grumpily in front of his chest, but he couldn't blame you for laughing. After all, he often made fun of you because he loved to see you sulk.

But suddenly your happy laughter froze when you felt something on your head. A small white butterfly had landed on your hair and was slowly flapping its wings up and down. Your laughter disappeared and you looked at him with wide eyes. Aegon's heart skipped a beat.

"Aegon... what is that?" you asked him fearfully, not moving a single muscle.

"Well... it's huge. Horrible. The biggest bug I have ever seen," he lied with a mischievous gleam in his purple eyes, causing you to whimper softly and he could swear tears began to form in your eyes. How sweet.

"Make it go away. Help me." You begged him with a trembling voice. Apparently you had actually believed his lie, which made him feel proud.

Very carefully he slowly moved closer to you until your elbows brushed, which made him feel hot on the inside, and you felt the same, even if you didn't notice it, too afraid of the monster that had settled on your hair. You had no idea what innocent creature had chosen you as its resting place.

The prince stretched out his hand and very carefully approached the butterfly with his fingers. He felt you and the little insect looking at him, and it was then he did notice that you were just as delicate and lovely as the butterfly. Perhaps you had been born into the wrong house? You were not at all a dragon.

The butterfly fluttered its wings and hopped onto his index finger, which he held in front of your nose with a wide, triumphant grin on his lips. A sweet blush immediately spread across your cheeks and your slender shoulders sagged as you realized that you had made a fool of yourself.

In front of him of all people. In front of the boy you had secretly admired for several weeks at this point.

"Oh..." you murmured quietly to yourself and looked down at your lap while the butterfly continued to rest on the tip of his finger.

"Look how small and delicate it is... just like you."

You blinked up at him again and at that very moment the little insect jumped off his finger and fluttered away until it finally disappeared behind a nearby rose bush and you were both alone again, your only company being the birds that flew over your heads or nested in the nearby treetops.

"That was not funny, Uncle," you grumbled quietly to yourself and crossed your arms in front of your chest once again, while a small pout adorned your lips, which he found absolutely adorable.

"I thought so, little butterfly," he replied with the hint of a smile on his face, which was slightly tickled by the warm rays of sunlight that fell through the canopy of leaves - at least his nose was.

"Little butterfly?" you repeated the nickname he gave you with a wrinkle of your nose, because you yourself didn't know whether you should feel flattered or insulted. How did he always manage to make you question your feelings over and over again? It was a phenomenon.

"You heard me."

His smile widened and you couldn't help but try to smack him on the arm as best you could, but he just chuckled at your efforts, because it felt like anything but a punch. In his eyes, you were a butterfly, sweet, pure and innocent, deserving to be protected as far away from the scum of House Targaryen, Hightower and Velaryon as possible. You deserved better than this. At the same time, the thought of you leaving him and living somewhere else made him furious.

He wanted you to be happy, but he also wanted you to stay right where you were and where you were comfortable - with him, your annoying, drunken uncle who couldn't wait to see the girl he was sitting with grow into a mature, beautiful woman he could claim for himself.

And hopefully, when the day came, you would want that too.

Laena Velaryon was dead and House Targaryen had gathered for her funeral on the island of Driftmark to mourn the loss. At least those who knew her, which the young children did not and therefore stood rather bored to the side.

Heleana was talking to a spider, Aemond was standing around alone, and the sons of Rhaenyra stood with the daughters of Daemon. Two, however, had sneaked away from the funeral and sat down on the beach, a jug of wine in one hand and a plate of cake in the other.

Aegon, now sixteen years old and almost a man grown, sat to your left on the white sands of the island. He was dressed head to toe in green - on the orders of his mother and grandfather the Hand - and his hair now fell to his chest, even though he secretly wished it were shorter. He didn't really like the length and the tradition behind it. The expectations.

You sat next to him, now almost thirteen, and you were getting more beautiful by the day. Your brown hair, the proof of your mother's shame, now fell to your elbows and your petite body was wrapped in a purple dress and black cloak, due to the grief you had to pretend to feel, even though you had never known this woman. Your mother had wanted to force you to wear red again, but you had stood up to her and bravely confronted her, telling her that this constant hostility was foolish.

Such disagreements were becoming more and more frequent between your mother, your brothers and you, because you and the eldest prince had become truly inseparable in recent years. The bond that bound you together was strong and apparently unbreakable, because even though he continued to make jokes and antics and you mostly felt insulted and hurt as a result, you still felt this feeling. This warmth around your heart, this tickling in your stomach that felt like little butterflies that were locked inside you like in a chest.

You had learned to love him and without your knowledge he had learned to love you too.

"She told me again today to stay away from you," you told him, staring into the horizon and hoping that fate had other plans for you.

"I know, sweet butterfly. Just don't listen to her. What does she know about us anyway? Nothing. She knows nothing.” Aegon replied, instinctively holding his cup, which was filled to the brim with Dornish wine, tighter in his hand. Actually, he felt no hatred towards his half-sister - your mother - but he disliked the way she told you over and over again that his company was not good for you, that his ways were spoiling you like a worm spoils a ripe apple.

Perhaps his own mother was right and Rhaenyra would seek his life at some point. He would not be surprised, as much as she seemed to despise him. What had he ever done to her? Or was it his very existence that she detested?

You stared down at the cake that was on the plate you held in your hand. You had been hungry a moment ago, but now you were not anymore.

“I don’t understand why we have to be here at all. None of us knew this woman." The prince grumbled, swirling the wine around in his cup, slowly moving it back and forth.

"She was my aunt-"

"But did you know her?"

You shook your head, one of your brown curls falling over your face and hiding half of your features from him like a veil. Sometimes he caught himself imagining a life with you, and lately his thoughts were not so innocent anymore. More and more often he woke up in the morning, desire burning through his veins, and he thought about you, how beautiful you were and how much more beautiful you would become if your curves continued to develop.

Criston had told him such desires were normal for a young man, but if the prince had admitted that you were the one who kept him awake at night, the man who was a second father to him probably wouldn't have understood either.

He carefully reached out his free hand to you and gently tucked the wild strand of hair behind your ear so that he could once again look into your dark eyes, which had always reminded him of a young doe. "What's going through your mind, niece?"

"Nothing. But... won't the others wonder where we are?"

Aegon was about to contradict you and tell you that you had absolutely nothing to fear when he suddenly heard his grandfather's loud, stern voice echo across the beach: "Aegon! Come here. Now."

You watched your friend anxiously as he straightened up and walked with slumped shoulders to the stone steps that would lead from the beach up to the fortress where the funeral was being held. You couldn't see exactly what was happening, but you swore that the old man grabbed his grandson's arm hard. The words he spoke to him did not seem particularly kind or compassionate, as the young prince quickly pulled away from him and disappeared in another direction.

However, he did not come back to you. He left you sitting alone on the beach with nothing but a glass of wine and a piece of cake. Now you had lost your appetite once and for all.

It was evening when you saw him next. The sun had long since disappeared behind the horizon and most people had returned to their chambers for the night or were getting ready for bed.

You did not know where your mother had gone or why there was suddenly no trace of Prince Daemon when he seemed to be in such a good mood at the funeral, even though he had just become a widower, but you were sure that you could not go to sleep without knowing where your friend was and how he was doing.

You found Aegon on the stairs that led to the beach behind. He was leaning drunkenly with his back against the cold, wet stone and his eyes closed. Next to him lay an overturned gold cup from which a small puddle of red liquid was running.

You had never seen him so drunk before.

Had he drunk himself to the point of unconsciousness?

This was the first time. The previous times you had seen him very drunk, he had at most strolled through the corridors slurring his words - or rather stumbled - and you or Aemond usually had to lead him back to his chambers, where he usually immediately fell onto his bed and sank into a deep sleep. But he had never fallen over because of the alcohol. You wondered what his grandfather had said to him that his first reaction was to get so drunk that he simply fell over.

You approached him carefully and knelt next to his sleeping form. Slowly and careful not to startle him, you reached for the now empty wine cup and put it to the side before gently placing a hand on his shoulder in the hope that he would open his amethyst colored eyes again. But he didn't.

"Uncle? Uncle, can you hear me?" you asked him timidly, leaning closer to him, so close that if he were awake he could feel your warm breath on his snow-white skin.

A mumble was all you got in response, but you couldn't understand any of the words or even guess what he was trying to say. Maybe he shouldn't drink so much... That couldn't be good for him in the long run.

When he didn't answer the second time either, you gently shook his shoulder and then finally his eyes fluttered open again and he blinked a few times in a row, as if he didn't understand where he was or why you were sitting so close to him, almost as if he couldn't remember what he had done before.

"What... what happened?" he asked you dazedly and sat up a little, whereupon a small, tortured groan escaped him.

"I was just about to ask you that," you replied with a smile on your soft, rosy lips. "You suddenly disappeared."

The older prince shrugged and stretched out his arm as if he wanted to reach for the wine cup that he assumed was at his side, but he only grabbed for air, as you had fortunately put it away a few seconds ago.

"I wasn't well. Nothing to worry your pretty head about, darling."

His answer wasn't enough for you, as the memory of Otto Hightower grabbing his arm and whispering angry words to him had not yet left your mind. There was more to it. You knew not what it was, but you suspected that it had something to do with you - or rather your features.

Your mother didn't want to name it, but you knew what you were. A bastard.

"You know that you can always be honest with me, Aegon. You don't have to hide anything from me. I am not your enemy."

At your words, his shoulders sagged and he felt a cold shiver run down his spine, but at the same time a warmth spread through him that he couldn't control and that burned in his eyes like the fire of his young dragon. He would not cry in front of you. He wanted to be strong for you.

"What was it?" you asked him again carefully, stroking his silver curls over his shoulder with one hand so that he would not be able to hide his face from you. You were already well aware of his tricks and you could guess what storm was sweeping through his head and throwing his thoughts into disarray like a hurricane over the sea.

"Did he scare you again? Told you you would be king?"

With every word you spoke, his heart tightened more and more in his chest and he could feel the tears burning hot in his eyes, ready to roll down his cheeks and disappear under the green fabric of his coat. You were too good for him, far too good. You were innocent and pure and he was corrupt and filthy. What had he done to deserve your affection? No one else seemed to think like you.

"Did he tell you to stay away from me?"

Without him being able to stop it, the first tear fell, then the second and suddenly he was sobbing bitterly and you could do nothing but take him in your arms and let him lay his head on your shoulder while you laid your cheek against his hair. He held on to you as if you were the last thing that bound him to life, as if you were the Mother herself who had wrapped her protective arms around him.

"He... he said the future king doesn't bother with the likes of you and that... that I would soon be married anyway and you too..." he sobbed into the fabric of your dress, while his arms wrapped themselves around your slim body and he pressed himself tightly against you, like a plush pillow he could bury his face in.

"That's not true and you know it. Mother would never give me to a man as a bride just yet. She wouldn't do that." You assured him while gently stroking his back. However, you didn't understand why this fact hurt him so much. One day, each of them would be married and bring more heirs into the world. That was the order of things, as the Septa's had taught you.

"But I don't want you to get married. I don't want you to be taken away."

More and more tears fell from his eyes and he couldn't help but tell you all the things that had been going through his head for weeks, months, and maybe even years. All his deepest desires, all the thoughts he hoped would never come to light, he laid at your feet like on a silver platter.

He only hated himself all the more for it.

"Why would they take me away from you? The Red Keep is my home. Mine and yours." You tried to talk to him, keeping your voice calm and collected, but you could feel yourself becoming more and more confused with every second that passed and with every word he whispered. He was falling apart in front of you and yet there was nothing you could do to ease his pain. You felt powerless.

"I don't want to marry just any woman," he murmured, hoping that you would recognize the pleading in his tone and understand what he longed for without him having to say it. He couldn't.

"She will be beautiful, Aegon. Beautiful, kind, smart and witty.”

Your list didn’t make it any better, because in his eyes you embodied all of those things. You were the woman you described, the one he wished he would marry sooner or later, but how would you know? How could you even guess what a bad friend he was to you. He was a bad man, a bad prince, a bad son, a bad brother and now a bad friend as well.

You listed other attributes that you hoped would calm him down, because what prince wouldn’t want a woman like that? Sometimes you wished you could be that one woman for him, the one he would spend his life by and learn to love. One who could call him “husband.” But that would probably never happen. You were just a foolish girl with equally foolish dreams.

“But I don’t want just any woman. I want… I want…” He couldn’t say it. He couldn't bring the words out of his mouth and instead he just clung to you tightly, burying his head even more in your shoulder before he managed to actually whisper those words that would haunt you from now on.

"I want you."

For a second it felt like the world stood still. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore stopped and the cool breeze of the evening wind only felt like a gentle touch, a light pat. There was a chance that you had misunderstood him, but you knew what you had heard. You knew it exactly.

"Uncle..."

"No, no, please listen to me," he begged immediately when he felt your arms, which were wrapped around him, loosen just a little and you tried to wriggle out of his grip. It was very important that you listened to him now.

"My little butterfly, you are the only one who sees me for who I really am and I know that I am not always easy, but you have to understand that you are the most important thing in my life. You mean everything to me."

You leaned back and let your eyes wander over his face, hoping to find a sign that this was just another one of his jokes and that he wasn't actually pouring his heart out to you. It reminded you of the books you loved to read. The poetry and the romance.

He wasn't lying. His eyes were honest and from the way he looked at you, as if you were the most precious thing to him, you knew that your relationship would be even more difficult in the future than it already was. The friendship between you two was not accepted by your family, but love? Like in the stories, this love was also forbidden, but in all the books the couples always had a happy ending with each other. Maybe everything would turn out well for you in the end too?

"My mother... she would never allow it," you muttered, shaking your head. and now you were the one who could feel your heart tightening painfully.

The prince shook his head firmly and he placed his hands on your cheeks, cradling your face in his palms while his thumbs gently stroked your cheeks, which were red from the cold and his words.

"I don't care. I promise you that one day I will marry you. I will take you as my wife, no matter the cost."

Without thinking, you closed your eyes and gently pressed your forehead against his. Your breath mingled and he closed his eyes too, continuing to gently hold your face in his hands. It wasn't a kiss, but for the two of you this moment had about the same meaning. It was the start of something new, something wonderful.

At that point, none of you could have guessed that not far away from you, a young, brave Aemond was approaching Vhagar with the intention of claiming the old dragon for himself. You did not know that he would soon lose his eye at the hands of his brother, nor that a discussion would then take place in the halls of Driftmark that would tear the two sides of your house apart, forever.

You could not have known that the very next day he would see you one last time and that you would then be torn away from him for six long years. How could you have known that beforehand?

But in that moment, in that embrace, everything was fine for you and you imagined together what your future might look like.

It would certainly be different than you had hoped, but your story would also come to a happy end eventually.

The dragons would dance and yet your souls burned to become one with each other.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

#house of the dragon #hotd #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii fanfic #tom glynn carney #ty tennant #hotd fanfic

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trappolia · 2 months ago

Text

── O, BRIDE OF THE UNDERWORLD

thanzagmeg. amongst the dead of the underworld, a reprise of a love story blooms.

Your mother-in-law once called you the beating heart of the Underworld.

It was a startling thing to hear from Persephone — she who had forsaken her mother's name to marry the God of the Underworld; she who the Earth weeps frozen tears for in her absence; she who has made a dark spring bloom here with just her presence.

The Underworld already has a heart of its own. It thrums with a steady, distant pulse, like the distant drum of a song for soldiers fallen in battle. It is in the shadows that move with purpose, and the chill of death of once warm bodies wandering the halls of the House of Hades and engaging in idle conversation about how they died as if they are merely discussing the weather.

The quiet hum of eternity.

You wonder if she simply sees a bit of herself in you. You were once a nymph of the grassy plains above before Death. Now you are a bride of the Underworld, who has founded a home in this realm of ink-black rivers and whispering shades, its gilded halls and blood-red roses, its ceaseless churn of souls. You walk these corridors not as a mere visitor, nor as one damned, but as something precious; as Persephone is.

Or maybe she simply thinks too much of you. Places you against the greater portrait of the Underworld and all its hellish circles. You have always seen yourself as something more minor, though no less significant. The portrait of a lover, rather than something belonging to the whole of the Underworld; Prince Zagreus’s consort, chosen and beloved.

And not only his.

The scent of laurel and iron is familiar when Megaera finds you first. She is leaning against a cold obsidian pillar where you turn a corner in the hall, caught in your daily wandering of the House of Hades. Her whip coils lazily around her hand, and you have felt the touch of those fingers too often to worry about what that hand is capable of against your beloved prince. You know Zagreus well enough to understand that even he takes some pleasure from their semi-daily spats.

Her golden eyes are alight with amusement when she catches you.

“Looking for someone?”

Her voice is smoke and steel, the kind of teasing only she can pull off — sharp enough to wound, sweet enough to make you crave more. It's a delicious rasp, one that pulls you in.

"I thought you were working," you say softly, meek even in your approach. Under Megaera's gaze, you feel like a deer caught in the headlights. It's a delicious feeling, like flames licking at your skin.

"Tisiphone is dealing with your fool of a husband, sweetling," she muses, reaching out to brush your hair out of your face. Her fingers drift, pinching your chin playfully. "Had it been me out there, Zag wouldn't be coming home in time for supper."

Before you can answer, a weight settles against your back, a touch cold as the space between stars. A hand, deathly pale yet soft in its tenderness, trails over your wrist before curling around your fingers. Megaera raises a brow as she lifts her gaze to the newcomer.

Thanatos does not need words. He never does. His presence alone speaks volumes — the weight of inevitability, of endings — pressing into you like the certainty of a final breath. And yet, there is warmth in him, one you have come to know intimately—a paradox of comfort in the arms of Death himself.

“Zagreus is coming,” he murmurs, voice quiet as the rustle of the Fields of Asphodel. “He was waylaid.”

“Waylaid,” Megaera echoes, smirking. “That’s one way to put it.”

You tilt your head up as you feel Thanatos shift, his golden eyes gleaming under the torchlight. He is beautiful in his quietude, just as Megaera is beautiful in her storm.

"Were you helping him again, Than?" you inquire.

It has been a long time since aiding the Prince of the Underworld in his escapades was seen as some form of treason by Hades. Even then, Thanatos still averts his gaze, his grey skin flushing with a dark shade like the murky waters.

"Helping is a generous term, dear," he mumbles.

Megaera snorts.

Their bickering is dry, almost entirely deadpan. There is none of that theatrical flair of Zagreus arguing with his father for eternities, but it is no less entertaining for you to watch. You've learned to take delight in the sharpness of their words, the furrow of their brows. In a way, it is strangely domestic.

You cannot help the little grin that tugs at your lips as you watch them in front of you. The laugh that tumbles out of your mouth is entirely accidental, and you squeak as two pairs of golden eyes snap to you.

"What are you laughing about, little flower?" Thanatos muses, his voice soft and utterly smitten.

"Isn't it obvious? They're laughing at you," Megaera scoffs, though it lacks in her usual malice.

Suddenly, the scent of wine and pomegranate blossoms floods your senses.

It comes before you even see him. You close your eyes, basking in the scent of it as if it were the spring that you have not felt in a lifetime. Beside you, Megaera and Thanatos fall silent.

Then, there he is: breathless, grinning, battered from the inevitable chaos that follows him everywhere, the floors of hell burning under his feet. His underworld-forged armor bears fresh scrapes, his knuckles bruised from the skirmish, but his smile—his smile is for you.

For all of you.

"There is your husband," Megaera drawls.

Zagreus is panting when he reaches you, still dripping in the blood from the River Styx. You have learned to disregard the viscera, delighting only in the way his hands reach—finding yours, Megaera's, brushing against Thanatos's in an unspoken promise.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Zagreus breathes. “Got a little distracted.”

"Distracted, he says," Thanatos deadpans.

Megaera rolls her eyes, but she lets him pull her closer. Thanatos sighs but does not resist the touch.

Death, treachery, rebirth; how odd for a maiden of the Earth to surround themself with. But you have learned like the goddess before you that love tends to find creatures like you in the strangest of places, like a stubborn dandelion blooming through the cracks of a cobblestone path.

You beam, lifting yourself up on your toes to press your lips against your husband's cheek, then your two other lovers. Their hands are cold like the touch of Death and unbearably warm like the flames of Asphodel, and you stand at the very center of it—something that was once warm and breathing and now is not; beloved in your death as you were in life.

"Shall we have our supper together now?" the bride of the Underworld asks.

And like any damned creature in love, the Underworld listens.

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ascendedrhyme · 1 month ago

Text

Just finished romancing Thanatos and Meg in Hades, and I need to put my thoughts down.

What interests me about both relationships is how they tackle different aspects of Zagreus.

You first encounter Megaera as a boss, furious at Zagreus' actions. Their conflict is clear: she is a dutiful character, while Zagreus is throwing away duty for his personal vendetta. Much of the early game, Meg is angry—either at Zagreus for his betrayal or at herself for failing to stop him in Tartarus. Later, we learn that Zagreus and Meg were once together but broke up on bad terms—his fault. This is interesting because, even before attempting to escape, Zagreus was rebellious, yet he was involved with the most loyal character in the game's cast.

As the story progresses, Meg and Zagreus slowly mend their relationship, with the biggest turning point being Persephone’s return. Once Zagreus officially stays and begins working to improve the Underworld—embracing duty—Meg begins to lower her defenses. Their relationship is deeply tied to duty; the fact that they were together before Zagreus’ escape suggests that, deep down, he never truly saw his place anywhere but in the House of Hades. Mending his relationship with Meg is, in a way, him accepting his role and responsibilities once more.

Then there's Thanatos, who enters the story much later—only appearing once you reach Elysium. His introduction is far more complex than Meg’s. He’s angry at Zagreus—not like megara for abandoning his duty but for leaving without even telling him, with thanatos the betrayal is not ideological its personal. Yet, despite his frustration, he is nothing but supportive. He fights alongside him, plays a game with him, grants him extra life if we win. Even his keepsake mechanic revolves around protecting Zag.

Like Meg, Thanatos is dutiful, but his loyalty isn’t as singular. He respects Hades, but just as much, he respects Nyx. And while he won’t say it outright, he sides with Zagreus in his journey. Once Persephone returns and Zagreus makes it clear he isn’t leaving the Underworld, Thanatos quickly lets go of his bitterness, allowing the player to freely romance him.

At first, it seems like a simple friends-to-lovers arc. But then Achilles mentions something interesting: Zagreus is the god of blood and life. He writes this at the end of Thanatos' codex entry, believing their relationship is bound by their very natures—death always chasing life.

Zagreus rejects this idea. As far as he’s concerned, he is the god of nothing—simply an unwanted prince of the Underworld. His reaction isn’t just because of years of being belittled by his father; narratively it’s because, at the start of his journey, he has no identity of his own. He is Hades’ son, but his father lied to him. He is a prince, but he fulfills no duty. His mother isn’t actually his mother, and his real mother is somewhere out there. Even most of his relationships are defined by the status he ran away from.

His relationship with Thanatos, isn't about him being prince—if that were the case, Thanatos, as Hades' vassal, would have tried to bring him back. Actually, they rarely speak of Zagreus status or even Hades together. Instead, their relationship highlights Zagreus as an individual. Just as Zagreus was always the god of blood but never realized it until he left, he only recognizes his feelings for Thanatos after stepping away.

By the time you've fully bonded with both Meg and Thanatos, Zagreus has reconciled both parts of himself—his identity as the Prince of the Underworld, with the duty that entails, and his identity as the god of blood, which was always a part of him. He needs both; neither is more important than the other. By the end of the game, he lives for the well-being of the people of his house while also finding peace in his newfound understanding of himself.

And then there’s Dusa. I think this is why she isn’t a romantic love interest for Zagreus in the end. Their relationship is tied not to identity, but to the home they share. Dusa loves Zagreus because he makes the House feel warmer, kinder. Zagreus loves her because she transforms the place he once found cold and unwelcoming into something he can actually call home. You can’t even max out her bond without going out of your way to make the lounge—the heart of the House—warm, clean, and beautiful.

I just thought that was neat.

#hades spoilers #hades supergiant #zagreus #megaera #thanatos #dusa hades #thanmegzag #romance

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meanbossart · 6 months ago

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I have another intense ask about bhaalist AU drow...

Would drow be “forced” to procreate? And how would Asatrion take that information? If Astarion is his consort, would he be jealous of concubines? Would this also contribute to his overall dissatisfaction during his time trapped at the bhaal temple? Or Would he be happy that his lover has distractions, so he can have time alone - maybe plotting his escape?

I’m overall curious about how drow and Astarion’s relationship falls apart in your AU

I don't think so! Not that I care about biblically following canon or anything like that, but there was nothing throughout the story that made me think procreation was a requirement in Bhaal's plan. If you take the scrapped ending into consideration, it seems to be more of a punishment first and foremost.

Not to say I don't believe it to be a part of the man-made gospel in some form or another. Sarevok seems fairly invested in this idea of generating bhaalspawn that are pure of blood, and this is an agenda that he subtly pushes onto DU drow throughout their years operating the temple: that said, like it often is, Bhaal is silent on the matter.

There seems to be a lot of conflict within the cult about what Bhaal wants and how he wants it, and I choose to interpret his failure to clarify as part of the Murder God's nature, as well as a fun nod at the (dys)functionality of real-life cults where you have several people claiming to have a direct connection to a god.

But back on topic, there IS the heavily implied Dark Urge To Multiply. A few instances where durge or someone around them suggests that, eventually, having children will be an irresistible biological necessity. There are a few ways to interpret this! But I can't help but notice that this theme is absent in a route where you do willingly become Bhaal's chosen - maybe its a failsafe Bhaal cooked into The Dark Urge in case his child became a weenie? To possess them with the need to spread their seed around until SOMEONE down the family tree stepped up to the role?

This definitely turns out to be the case in DU drow's redemned route, where he is plagued with bouts of breeding-related mania and depressive episodes that come and go as a result of a nest remaining empty, But I hadn't really considered this for his Bhaal-embracing self He definitely harbors an obsession with procreating in that AU - but... I'm not sure that's Bhaal's doing anymore. I think he just wants for there to: A) Be more of him around. B) Create a tangible, undeniable connection between himself and Astarion that cannot be severed.

A theme with DU drow is that he is aggressively monogamous. This remains constant in every possible iteration of him and it's a pillar of the character - he is devout to a partner until the end whether they want him or not, and so, Bhaalist DU drow would be violently opposed to the idea of being sexually involved with anyone besides Astarion. If Sceleritas or members of the temple insisted otherwise, he would balk and them push them off into a Chasm. If Bhaal demanded him do it, he would jerk off into a vial and hand it to whoever he deemed pretty enough to mix up with, and then probably kill the child as soon as it was born, anyway - because it's not right.

DU drow (again, in all iterations) almost believes there to be a magical component to true love that affects a person's life beyond just their choice in long-term partners. Just like he once decided that Orin was his forever-mate, he's now decided him and Astarion are intrinsically linked, that they are stronger together than they will ever be apart again. And It is particularly romantic to him (a matter of ironic fate, really) that the Murder Prince's true love would be undead. In DU drow's mind, and SPECIALLY in his Bhaal-embracing version, this is simply the universe's plan for him, and to divert from it in any way (by, for example, procreating with someone else) would be blasphemous.

Now, obviously him and Astarion can't have biological children for a plethora of reasons. But this is fantasy. Bhaalist DU drow would simply not stop until he found the best way to create someone that could be, spiritually and physically, considered their functional blood-offspring. Through Alchemy, magic, ritual, whatever it may be - as long as it works and works according to his high-standards. I suspect he would have specialists shipped in from wherever they may be in the realms to look into the issue, and probably someone who's sole job is to research the matter, though I'm not sure he would ever be satisfied with the results.

I think Astarion would be utterly checked out of the matter.

#ask #bhaalist du drow #du drow and astarion

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det2x-fanfic-dump · 16 days ago

Text

THE BOAT TRADITION

Disclaimer: I haven't read the actual and full Eternal Float story because I'm going to wait for the official EN translation to have that self experience reading so if some of the story is similar, it is a coincidence in my part. I saw the event's TWSTunes that they're on a boat and I felt inspired :3

Tags: Gen fic|| Female Yuu || It's funny, TRUST!

That night when everyone stood at the port for the boat ride, Jade told them an interesting tradition that locals do for couples.

"The mermaid princess and her prince shared a lovely boat ride just like this as their date. They said their romance blooms not because of the lovely music and the atmosphere but rather it's because of the benevolent sea witch and what her two moray eels has done by tilting the boat making them fall in the water."

Jade explained and the others stared what he just said.

"So from that, we made a tradition to turn over the boat during a boat ride to signify a lasting relationship between two people, whether it's romantic or platonic."

"Marvelous! Two lovers falling each other like they fell in water is simply beautiful." Rook commented happily, a tear in his eye.

"What an intriguing tradition." Malleus said calmly with a smile. He looked at Yuu, intrigued. "Prefect, would you join me in this falling into water tradition?"

"Huh? Me?" Yuu blinked, thinking why he asked her specifically. It's not like Malleus is her boyfriend or anything.

"Oh Prefect, after Roi des dragons, can you give me the honor of falling with you in water as well?" Rook chimed in her thoughts.

"I don't see the reason why turning over the boat and fall is considered improving relationships." Riddle commented with a sigh.

"Yeah! Who would like getting wet when you don't wanna?" Grim agreed with Riddle.

"I guess...thinking about it, falling in the water together is kinda funny." Yuu said unsure of their words making Riddle and Grim glare but before Yuu would react, Malleus gently pulled her to ride the boat first.

It's just the two of them sitting together in the boat. They locked gaze for a moment before Malleus turned to Jade with excitement in his eyes but Jade is already waving his hands to the soft beat of the music.

"You just have to look at each other's eyes, relax and wait for the boat to turn you over by our merfolk friends." Jade said humming. "Prefect, I would also like to take a turn falling in water with you, if that's okay, I also want to make our friendship last longer than you and Floyd."

"Ha?"

"Yuu..." Malleus called, voice a bit stern. She stared, looking at Malleus's sharp green eyes. Her heart is pounding, such intimacy and suspense...it's like musical chairs, no one knows when will they drop and there's also the fact she would have to do this again later.

"Is it even okay for a prince to be thrown off to water?" Yuu asked suddenly because heaven forbids if Sebek knew...it would be an earful.

"Of course, while travelling, we must take every opportunity to fully experience such local traditions of different places--"

SPLASH!

It was mere seconds and the boat fall over followed by Malleus' charming laughter that implied that he did enjoyed the experience. Luckily, the merfolk that tilted the boat came to their aid and now Yuu sits at the boat soaking wet waiting for Rook's turn.

"The music is so wonderful isn't it?" Rook said humming along the beat.

Second time, Yuu found themselves with Rook who was sitting crossed-legged and elegant. Yuu squinted, a bit envious seeing the man all dry and warm while they are stuck soaking wet and withholding in the cold.

Yuu watched Rook sway as he hummed, he was radiating with zen energy that made her forget she was even cold.

"Don't worry, prefect, I shall serenade you a lovely tune to warm your heart--"

SPLASH

Rook tried but as soon as he began to even hit a note, the boat turned over.

Third time, It's Jade's turn and Yuu was shivering, her hands holding both ends of the canoe. She was staring at Jade like deer on headlights, staring at his gentlemanly smile as they wait for the boat to turn over.

"My, my prefect...you're shaking like a fish on dry land--"

"JUST TURN IT OVER" Yuu suddenly burst. She just wanted it to be done and have that peaceful boat ride with everyone but Jade wiggled his finger saying no--

SPLASH!

Fourth time, Yuu sat again at her seat in the canoe. Finally it's done as she squeezed out the water of her dress and hair.

"Riddle, won't you take a turn as well?" Jade suggested and Yuu froze, curious what the Heartslabyul housewarden would say.

"No, I think Yuu has been through enough. One more fall and she might get a cold the next day." Riddle said frankly, folding his arms.

"So you don't want to make a lasting relationship with her?" Jade teased a little.

"Caring for her health is more important than some tradition."

But Yuu turned her gaze at him, pointing at Riddle. "Riddle, Get over here and fall with me!" She shouted but immediately flinched, realizing she just burst the invitation. "Please..."

It was in the heat of the moment but Yuu thinks it's unfair if Riddle was the only one that isn't soaking wet. She would see Riddle's face suddenly turned pale.

"You have to do as the lady wants, Roi des roses!" Rook encouraged making Riddle grumbled.

"Fine, I guess it's unfair that I'll be the only one dry after all this." Riddle pouted making his way over slowly and hesitantly. He was sitting at the boat across. "But Grim should join in too!"

"MRAH NO WAY!"

SPLASH! The boat turned over before Riddle can argue back.

Fifth time, Yuu is holding Grim ever so tightly. The boys watched their prefect and her monster cat struggled and resisting each other.

"This hadn't occured to me until now but will Grim be okay being in water?" Malleus asked worriedly but the prefect is too distracted to even answer

"Even if it's a mountain of tuna, you can't make me, human! "Grim threatened but Yuu ignored.

"DO IT!"

SPLASH! The boat turned over the fifth time, when the prefect and Grim emerged from the surface. Grim's fiery ears are extinguished for a second and it comes back again after a little body shake.

"Let's do one more turn over. " she suggested and the boys perked.

This falling into water has become a thrill for the prefect and she's sitting back on her seat now with Grim sitting on her lap. She was smiling at the boys waiting for them to join her. There's no way she would let them fall once when she fell at least five times now.

#twisted wonderland #twst yuu #malleus draconia #rook hunt #riddle rosehearts #jade leech #coral sea event #eternal float event #twst fanfic #general fanfic #my attempt of a fun fic #this was supposed to be in skit form but its fun if its literature instead

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a-fellow-stay · 1 month ago

Text

When the party ends

+☆+━･━･━ + ━･━♬ ┓

Pairing: Royalty!Bangchan x Royalty!Reader

Summary: It was your sister’s wedding with Prince Felix of the Wolf Kingdom, securing the friendship between the two kingdoms. However, on this joyous occasion, as much as you wanted to be cheery, you simply couldn’t, because this could’ve been your happy ending with the love of your life. Barring the responsibilities of being the crown princess, your father couldn’t risk letting you flowing around on love island and forgetting about your duties. Two years of being separated from your lover, you finally meet again when you were accidentally partnered during the dance at the after-party. But for the sake of his safety and to protect your heart from further damage, you made up a choice, hoping it’s the right move. But sometimes, things never go as planned.

Genre: Angst without a happy ending(?), slight fluff

Word count: 2.3k

Warning: Written in 1st person pov, slight cliffhanger, flashbacks, takes place (in my mind) at around medieval periods, NOT proofread (if you find any mistakes pls let me know) *If there’s anything I missed pls lmk as well*

A/n: Yippee my second work, kinda got into a writer’s block, but mentally? I had the ideas but not the words nor the motivation. But I was listening to “When the party ends” by Max Allais and it suddenly triggered a thought and then it became a plot and well I ended up with this. It’s kinda all over the place Cus I just wrote whatever felt right and whatever came to mind. In the middle of writing, I added bits and pieces inspired by “Unfair” by Felix and “Would you fall in love with me again” by Jorge Rivera-Herrans from Epic. Idk why but I thought about it being in a medieval period. Of course, I paired the strong-headed chan with another oldest sibling cus why not. I’m thinking on whether or not I should make a version for Chan’s pov, I also decided to leave this kinda like a cliffhanger. So you can decide whether the story ends here, or if it will continue on. I might plan to write a part 2 with a hea, but that depends on whether I have the motivation to write it. In the meantime, enjoy this weird concoction that’s made up of random ideas I had. Have fun!

___________

‘Dun da-da-dun, dun da-da-dun’ The Organ echos loudly in the church. Far ahead down the aisle, the grand doors open. “Princess f/n of the Miroh kingdom.” Looking elegant as ever, with her mesmerising eyes and perfect curls sitting on top of her head, my sister walks down the aisle with a wide smile on her face. She walks up towards the altar with her train following behind her as she stands next to her soon-to-be husband, prince Felix of the Wolf kingdom. An aching feeling starts to bloom deep inside of my chest. As they were exchanging their vows, a familiar voice reaches my ears. “My apologies but are you alright?” I turn to the source of the voice, an even more familiar face enters my view. I look at him dumbfounded, he chuckles slightly and hands me a handkerchief. “Here, you’re crying. Or did something get in your eyes again.” I look down at the handkerchief handed out towards me, the initials “S.CB” stitched onto it. “Changbin.” I laugh out quietly, feigning annoyance, as I wipe away the tear that fell. “Ah, the crown princess remembers me. It surely is an honour.” He jokes. “How could I forget when you were always in my way getting to the prince, stating that you were doing your job.” I shoot back. He smiles slightly, “Guess crying still doesn’t take away your sass, good to know. Well, um. How, how’ve you been?” I turn my head back towards the couple in front of me as they exchange their rings. “Could be worse.” I reply as the crowd erupts into cheers and applause. I look around, hoping to see the face I’ve been looking for. But before I could even process the people in front of me, I’m grabbed by my father to greet the guests.

At the after-party, I’ve been shoved around greeting guests, thanking blessings, having dances. I was having a dance with Hyunjin, the prince from the Clé kingdom when the music swapped and dance partners were being switched. As I was spun around, a presence I’ve longed for came behind me, the cologne I could never get enough of wrapped around me, the arm that always radiated warmth wrapped around my waist, the familiar head of curls entered my view from the corner of my eye. “Y/n?” The voice of the man whispered as he spun me around to face him. I place my hands on his chest out of habit as I slowly raised my head. “Chan.” I breathed out. He froze, I stilled. And just like that, time seemed to freeze around us as we stepped into a familiar routine of steps. The world seemed to have blurred around me as I was sucked into the past.

‘Clack, clack, clack’ the fire burned in the fireplace in the background, the small ballroom empty of people except for me and the love of my life. Chan, the crown prince of the Wolf kingdom. “May I have the honour of your first dance, m’lady?” He bows with an arm stretched out, his eyebrows slightly raised as he stared as me. I laughed, swatting his arm away. “You wish.” As I spun away from him. He let out a dramatic gasps and he paced towards me with big glides. His arms wrapped around my waist tightly as he caught up with me. “Gotcha little one. Thought you could run away from the wolf huh.” He tightened his grip on me and lay his head gently on my shoulder while I stared back down at him, chuckling slightly at his tactics. “You’re a weird one, mr. big bad wolf.” He laughed loudly, his head tipping back slightly before landing back on my shoulder. “Well, little red riding hood. Let me ask you again. May I have the honour of having the first dance of the crown princess of Miroh?” I pretended to be deep in thought, before I abruptly turned in his grasp and slid my arms around his neck. “You may. In fact, have every one of her dances for the rest of her life.” His breath hitched. “I-“ He pause, his brows raised in disbelief. “Not so mouthy now? Mr. Big Bad Wolf.” I laughed again at his flustered face. “You-you really mean that?” He stared deep into my eyes, as if looking for any signs that this is a joke. His eyes widened when he realised I wasn’t joking around. An audible gasp left his mouth again as one of his hands moved to cover his mouth. “I meant every word, your royal highness. Now, will you keep this princess waiting or should she run away and never to be seen again.” His arms tightened as he pulled me flushed up against his chest, his heart beating wildly under my ears. “Never.”

A sudden tug on my side pulled me back into the moment, I looked back up at Chan. He looked slightly different from the last time I saw him. His hair grew longer, his build bigger, his eyes tired, as if the world weighed heavily on his shoulders. “Y/n, is this really you? Or am I dreaming. Please tell me I’m not dreaming.” He voice wavered slightly, his hold tightened, as if I were to evaporate into thin air if he held me any looser. “How could I not be here, it’s my sister’s wedding with your brother after all. I believe I’m obliged to attend, as much as I wished not to.” It wasn’t that I wasn’t happy for my sister, I knew how much they liked each other. I just wish it was a bit different. I look away, my eyes landing on the happy couple dancing in the middle of the room, having the time of their lives. Chan follows my gaze as I watch them with a heavy heart, he lets out a sigh. “They, they look happy. They sure remind me of..” He trails off, his voice neutral. But I knew better, I could hear the sadness behind his mask. He didn’t have to finish the sentence for the both of us to understand. The scenery in front of us reminded him of us. Of how we used to be. “That would’ve, no. Could’ve been us.” I whispered to no one in particular as the harsh wordings of my father echo in my mind.

“NO. This is final young lady. Where are your manners. Your mother and l taught you better than this.” My father’s voice boomed. “But why father? Why can’t I simply marry Chris. Our kingdoms would still be able to form a friendship and I could be with the man I love! That’s killing two birds with one stone!” I shot back, desperate for my father to understand my point. “Y/F/N, you have responsibilities and duties as the crown princess. The kingdom will fall into your hands one day. I cannot let you go around and marrying you off when you are not mature enough. I cannot let you spend all of your time being lovesick when you do not have the maturity to balance your duties and feelings. I will not repeat myself again. I have already signed a treaty with the king of the Wolf kingdom that states that your sister will be the one marrying into their kingdom with prince Felix in two years time. As she doesn’t have as much duties on her back that needs to be focused on. You’ve had your fun, now it’s time to head back to your duties you’ve abandoned.” I walk towards him, needing to stand my ground. “Father, I’m 21 years old. I’ve spent my entire life learning and preparing to rule the kingdom. How am I still not mature enough? You told me before that l should have someone by my side to rule the kingdom. Someone who will have my back and pull me from the tide when things get rough. Chris can do that. He is more than capable of ruling the kingdom alongside me. Our kingdoms. How is that-“ “ENOUGH! Prince Chris is capable, I’m sure of that. But I also know that you’re his soft spot y/n. But as much as this could be his strength, you could also be his weakness. A fatal one at that. Think about it again y/n. This is for the best as of this moment. Seungmin, take the princess back to her chambers. I’ve said enough.”

“Hey, come back to me. Focus on your breathing love, don’t hold your breath.” Chan says while gently wiping away the tears that have fallen unbeknownst to me with the pad of his thumb. “Come on love, breathe in. Breathe out.” I huff out the breath I didn’t even know I was holding. I buried my face into his chest as to muffle my sobs. “Shh, it’s ok. It will be alright.” He gently patted my head as we continued to sway to the music. He lowered his head, he lips brushing against the crown of my head. But he hesitates for a moment, before gently kissing my forehead. “I-l don’t want this to end. I wish we could just give up this life that we have and run away. Why are our lives so unfair, why can’t we be happy like them.” I sob into his chest as he takes in a deep breath. “We will figure it out. With them bringing our kingdoms even closer, I’m sure we can work this out. We have to.” He whispers the last part to himself, but I still caught on to it. The slight waver of his voice, the slight crack at the end suddenly makes him seem more vulnerable. I can’t help the slight crack of my heart. The once strong-headed, brave man he is was capable of having such a vulnerable side. ‘A weakness’, a voice echoed in my mind. A weakness, I repeated to myself in my mind. A weakness that could cause a hesitation that could possibly lead to his death on the battlefield. My heart shattered. I guess my father was right. I am his weakness, something that could cost his life in a moment of hesitation. I can’t have that. But how could I walk away from him when I’m finally in his arms again, after 2 years of being forced to be separated. After fighting with my inner turmoil, l came to a conclusion.

I have to, as much as it hurts. Because I don’t think I’ll have the heart nor the bravery to be the receiver of the news of his death on the battlefield because I was used as a bait. I take a deep inhale of his cologne before I reluctantly pull myself back from his chest. Hoping to engrave his scent into my memory, hoping to keep this warmth, this closure of being in his arms inside my memories. Because this could very well be the last time I’ll ever be this close with him. If I walk away now, we will become allies only, friends at most. The story of our love will be thrown away, hidden and locked away in a time capsule that holds possibly the happiest years of my life. If I walk away, I’ll just be the crown princess of Miroh, the sister of the wife of prince Felix of the Wolf kingdom. The allied princess in line to the throne alongside with the crown prince of the Wolf kingdom. As opposed to being his and the queen of our kingdoms combined. But even with higher powers than normal, I cannot control everything. Sometimes giving up your love for someone is for the better good, even if it breaks him and shatters you completely. “I-l have to.” I whisper to myself. “Hm? What was that. I’m sorry, I couldn’t catch it. Could you repeat it love?” He says as the symphony slows, the melody turning sorrowful. The irony. “I’m sorry.” “Why are you-“ I look into his eyes and kiss him as hard as I can, to convey the love, the fear, the sadness, everything I felt towards him into the kiss as the music dims and comes to an end. The dance partners separate and take their bows as I pull away. “I’m so sorry.” I sob as I use every strength that’s left in me to pull myself away from him. “What are you-“ I pull out of his grasp and run as fast as I could towards the forming crowd, away from where he stood, hoping to disappear. I could hear him calling my name in the distance, every instinct tells me that I should turn back around and run into his arms instead of away from him. But I keep running harder, I run as fast as I’m able to, rushing towards the door to the garden. I can’t breathe, my throat too tight, my chest hurts, my lungs burn from the lack of oxygen mixed with my sobs. I push open the doors and my knees buckle. I fall to the ground, sobbing, crying, screaming. Hoping that the higher ups could hear my desperation. On a day where the occasion was supposed to be happy, in the silent night where the moon shines brightly over my head. Where there’s bustling energy and soothing orchestral music playing in the ballroom. It feels as if my world ended, but I chose this. I just hope it’s the right choice.

But sometimes, things never go the way we thought it would. It may change for the better or for the worse. And somehow, as I hear the doors behind me open and my name being called by a voice that is unfamiliar yet I feel like I’ve heard it before. Maybe, just maybe, my life will finally take its turn. And that my story continues. But the question is, is it for the best, or for the worst.

-Tbc?-

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Well I sure hope you liked reading this one. If you have feedback or any feelings on this, lmk 🫵🏻 Anyways, hope you have a wonderful day! And maybe stay tuned for more? I’m not so sure. Hehe<3

-Lyn

#bang chan #skz stay #stray kids #bang chan angst #hyunjin #changbin #felix #bangchan x you #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x reader #bang chan stray kids #bang chan fluff #bang chan drabbles #SoundCloud #Spotify

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xiaq · 4 months ago

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Favorite fantasy series: The Folk of the Air. I do NOT understand the hate this series gets on booktok/IG. The world-building is immaculate, the politics are juicy, the writing is engaging, and the romance is a slow burn that’s secondary to the plot and character development. I will read anything that Holly Black writes.

Favorite sci/fi series: The Murderbot Diaries. These are quick, quippy, and satisfying reads. I would die for Murderbot.

Favorite romance series: Not sure if they count as a series since they’re all standalones in the same universe, but Ali Hazelwood’s books ft. Women in STEM having unrealistic romances gets an A+ from me. If you need easy beach reads with happy endings, go for one of these (Also, the first book started as Star Wars fic; neat!).

Favorite graphic novel series: I’ve been following the Heartstopper webcomic for years, but I finally purchased/ re-read the print books this year. If you want sweet, nostalgic writing with diverse queer representation and whimsical art, Heartstopper is for you. If you want a historical/educational story, I highly recommend the Marchseries, which is an autobiographical view of the civil rights movement by John Lewis.

Favorite historical romance: I know I’m not supposed to judge a book by it’s cover, but I put off reading A Lady for a Duke despite rave reviews because I simply did not vibe with the cover. This was a terrible choice. I read this book in one euphoric sitting and then re-read it two additional times this year. The banter! The pining! The drama!

Favorite fantasy: A Taste of Gold and Iron and its follow-up short novella Tadek and the Princess. These books may have changed my brain chemistry. I loved this world and its characters and the novella made me cry like a baby.

Favorite science fiction: The Martian. I’d read this before but I re-read it on a work trip and fell in love all over again. Such an excellent science-y sci/fi book that nonetheless feels very approachable and fun.

Favorite non-fiction: They Were Her Property is the driest book I read this year but the content was fascinating (and horrifying). If you want to interrogate your perception of white women’s role in slavery (and, to a lesser degree, the role of Christianity therin) — take your time, and be ready to adjust your worldview—especially if you think Gone with the Wind was an accurate portrayal of the south. How to Survive a Plague, on the other hand, is less dry—you can tell a journalist wrote it—but it’s very detailed. It’s rare that I don’t finish a book in one or two sittings, but this took me over a month. If you’ve ever wondered about the social history of the AIDS epidemic and how a diagnosis went from a quick death sentence to an easily manageable condition (and how hard grassroots movements had to work to get some fucking help to make that happen), this is for you.

Favorite comic: Infidel. Damn. The art. The narrative. So short but so impactful. This is horror, so be mindful.

Favorite graphic novel: This is a tossup between If You’ll Have Me, a sugary-sweet sapphic romance, and The Prince and the Dressmaker which is an equally adorable story about expressing ones true self regardless of social expectations.

Favorite WTF: Butcher and Blackbird and Bride. I’m still not sure how I feel about B&B but it was certainly an interesting way to spend two hours. Bride is on the list purely because reading the word “knot” on a print page instead of an AO3 tab felt illegal.

Favorite feel-good/comedy: Monstrous Regiment. I’ve read this book so many times and, after the election, I read it again. I doubt any other book will surpass what has become an emotional support story for me.

Favorite YA: Cemetery Boys (Magic! Mystery! Queerness!) She Drives me Crazy(Athletics! Misunderstandings! Enemies to lovers! Queerness!), and A Little Bit Country (Country music! Thinly veiled Dolly Parton references! Queerness!) (Hm. Seems to be a theme here).

Favorite Sports Romance: Icebreaker (the Graziadei one, not the Hannah Grace one). You know how a lot of hockey books (my own included) can be light on the actual hockey? Not the case with Icebreaker. The character development was lovely, but the hockey was divine. Graziadei clearly knows and loves the sport.

Favorite historical fiction: What the Wind Knows (Mystery! Time Traveling! Love! Ireland!) and Kindred (Mystery! Time Traveling! Love! The Antebellum South!).

Favorite Space Odyssey: Gideon + Nona the Ninth. I had to make a special category because neither sci/fi nor fantasy feels appropriate for this yet incomplete series which is as rollicking good fun as it is completely confounding. I still have no idea what’s happening but I can’t wait to read the next one.

Favorite pleasant surprise: A Court of Mist and Fury. I waited so long to read the ACOTAR series because I got such conflicting reports from folks. I took the advice of a reader I trust and powered through the first book. ACOMAF was worth the contextualizing journey. I loved it. I’m still working through the rest of the series but this book was an unexpected joy.

Least favorite book: Lol, no. We don’t play that game here.

#mylife #books #book recs #happy reading!#2024 recap

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ethereacals · 1 year ago

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“Super Boy and the Invisible Girl”

based on; superboy and the invisible girl from next to normal!

summary; fem!potter!reader knows while her parents love her, that james will always be their favorite. leaving her wishing she were invisible… until remus lupin comes along.

warnings; just fluff and angst, reader is a potter, reader x remus lupin, cussing here and there, james being oblivious, sirius black being a prick, reader is a ravenclaw, reader struggles with eating, one use of y/n, (i tried guys 😭)

a/n; came up with this idea on holiday! hope you all enjoy 🥐

not proofread or edited

⚠️OLD⚠️

****************************************************

superboy and the invisible girl

Home for the holidays with the Potters were no joke, bright christmas trees decorated every corner. light tinsel strung across each fireplace. mistletoe hung on the doorways. christmas lights hung on the exterior of the house. but for you, it never felt like “home for the holidays”, it felt more like; solitude for the holidays.

You knew your parents loved you, make so mistake of that. it was just depressing to be able to tell that your parents did indeed have a favorite child. James, The golden child, he could truly do no wrong in their eyes. He was seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, than there was you, who could only stand to the sides. Story of your life, really. You often wondered what it’d be like to be able to magically appear and disappear whenever she pleased. which— she could practically do if she didn’t talk at all at family gatherings. it felt like your entire family preferred James, it was all; “how’s James’ studies?” or “We are just so proud of James, i mean— he’s a seeker for Gryffindor! couldn’t be prouder, really”. it didn’t bother you— most gatherings, but Christmas at home was just… different

Maybe it was the fact whenever you asked your parents if you’re friends could come for a change, but they would always apologize and explain that they had already spoken with James about his friends coming over, typical.

Maybe it was that you really couldn’t stand Sirius or Peter. but something about Remus was calming, not sure what, but he was much sweeter and calmer than the other three.

“James!!” Euphemia squealed as she practically jumped into him. “Hi, Mom” James’ dazzling smile was annoying to you, but absolutely adorable to Effie. She hugged his friends closely, like they were her own children. and then, You walked into your own house, and all you got was: “Hi sweetie, missed you” She pecked your forehead and smiled, before walking off too soon to ask about Quidditch or his grades, leaving you to stand in the doorway and peer at your house as you slowly traveled up the stairs and went to hide in your room. It was nicely decorated, besides— it’s not like you had much help. You flopped down on your bed, finally allowing the melancholy tears roll down your cheeks, not soon before wiping them away.

he’s a hero, a lover, a prince. shes not there.

You heard a quiet knock on your door. “Come in.” You called, hearing the door to your bedroom creak open softly. “Hey… I just came to drop this off.” Remus held his hand out with a small box resting on his palm. “Who’s this for?” You snickered, gently taking the box. “Well… you, of course” He admitted shyly, “Oh…” You seemed surprised, to his confusion. “You look surprised?” He chuckled softly at your puzzled expression. “I’m not. It’s just— people don’t really give me gifts. But I appreciate it. a lot” He simply smiled, and nodded a soft goodbye, retiring to his own room to presumably unpack. You on the other hand, carefully tore open the package he had given to you, placing the ribbon down gently on the side table. The tiny box revealed a small necklace with a small crystal on the end and a note reading;

“Ive noticed you tend to be forgotten, but I finally thought of something to possibly make you smile.

Happy Christmas, Dove.

Remus”

You smiled— obviously. Possibly the sweetest note you had ever received, not that you received many, But it was special nonetheless. You assumed that Euphemia was probably making dinner. You detested eating in public, it scared you. people watching you while you ate? watching how much you were eating? living hell.

You knew you couldn’t get yourself out of this one. Besides, if not Remus, someone would’ve called you out for it, whether it was your oblivious brother or Sirius mocking you for it, someone would. You quickly slid on some “acceptable” clothes and quietly walked down the staircase, before running back up to clip on the necklace Remus had given you.

“Hi, Dad” You mustered up some sort of smile, not really meaning it but attempting it for him. “hm? Oh! y/n. lovely to see you, dear.” Fleamont replied, clearly occupied chattering with Sirius about recent Quidditch strategies. You sighed, sliding into your usual seat, which was luckily next to Remus. What was this connection you felt with him? probably just comfort, atleast— you hoped. James would go ballistic if you and Remus liked eachother, even if he barely paid any mind to you, he’d still care. eventually, Effie served dinner. It was an array of different meats and vegetables and such. Yet you didn’t grab much, “Are you gonna get any more?” Asked Remus, having a worried expression on his scarred face. “I’m not really hungry.” You answered, “Oh.” He shrugged, he didn’t think much of it, just girls being girls. You ate your tiny portion and opted to say at the table rather than leave, maybe your parents would ask how your studies were.

Fleamont cleared his throat. “So, Boys. How’s everything been going at school this semester?” You narrowed your eyes, taking a sip of water so you didn’t spat something out you’d regret. “Good, so far atleast. Slytherins usually get in the way of enjoyment.” Sirius stated, while you felt your blood boil since you were good friends with some Slytherins, including his own brother, Regulus Black. “Well that’s typical. What about Quidditch? Wins for Gryffindor?” He placed some more food in his mouth. “Won every games this season, Slytherin plays bloody dirty, and the Ravenclaws are to busy shoving their heads in books to be any good.” James replied, knowing full well you were a Ravenclaw, but he must’ve just forgotten that you were there. “They should read some books about Quidditch.” Sirius snickered. “Detentions this semester?” Effie added. “No.. Course not.” Peter blatantly lied. “But we have played some bloody brilliant pranks on Slytherin this year.” Sirius added. “Thats how it’s done, boys!” Fleamont laughed.

I wish i could fly, I’d fly far away from here.

You’d felt it coming, the word vomit. after hours of silence from you, you finally spoke up.

“What about me?” You asked, The entire table falling silent.

“What about you?” Sirius snickered, as did James.

“I- I just didn’t hear that anyone wished to know about how my school year went.” You were done with silence. “Why would we? you probably just sat in your dorm, reading.” James snarled, going back to his food. “So it doesn’t matter that I made top marks?” You inquired, “That’s great, love. But your brother has won Gryffindor wins recently and—“ You cut her off quickly. “And you haven’t gotten a chance to hear him brag for 3 months? forgive me.” You started defensively. “I’m sorry, but i’m not going to sit here and listen to you ask James and his friends how they are and how their studies are when nobody bothers to ask me the entire night.” You absolutely knew that you felt angry, it was just your first time speaking out on the matter. “Quit lashing out, you’re being disrespectful.” Fleamont stared daggers into you. “You know, atleast James has the guts to not pretend to actually love me.” You took a sip of your water while everyone else gasped and took glances at eachother. “How dare you!” James started. “I just want to know why you guys only care about James? what did I do?” You asked, with small tears filling your eyes.

“Oh, Honey. You’re not pretty enough to be this stupid.” Sirius spat

slience.

superboy and the invisible girl

he’s the one you wish would appear

he’s your hero, forever your son.

than there’s me.

You sat up and bolted off, real tears filling your eyes this time. How fucking could he? Time had felt like it froze for the solid hour you spent outside your house sobbing, wondering if they regretted anything. You wondered yourself if you regretted you had said, but you didn’t feel guilty, you felt betrayed. You tried so hard to not believe him, yet you did. The rose bushes swallowed you whole as you laid in the soft grass, sobbing quietly as you heard several people walk past you, attempting to find you. until Remus hovered over you, “Dove, your hiding spots are getting all too simple.” He smirked, clearly attempting to lighten the mood. You sniffed, rolling onto your side to continue your crying. “Shh… Dovie, I hate seeing you cry…” He crouched down to your level, wrapping his arms around your midriff and pulling you up to him as you cried. “It’s okay, baby… everything’s okay… nobody’s mad… please…” He whispered sweet nothings into your ears as his warmth eased your crying. “It’s like the minute James is in the room, nobody cares about me anymore.” You were shaking softly. “They love you, Dove. I love you.” Remus kissed the top of your forehead. “You don’t mean that.” You stated, seeming quite sure of yourself. “I do, please.” He sounded so reassuring, like you could trust in at all costs. “I- Is James mad at me?” You asked, unsure of yourself. “Not anymore, I’m pretty sure Effie talked to him, but I came to find you.” He shrugged, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I shouldn’t have lashed out.. it’s just— I cant stand to be forgotten time after time again.” You admitted, blushing softly as he gently pressed you against him. “Everyone understands, Dove. I think they’d like to apologize.” He grinned at her, since her tears had stopped. “You hungry?” He asked, pulling out chocolate from his jacket pocket. “I don’t know if I really need that—“ You started to protest. “Nonsense, eat.” He practically force-fed you the chocolate. “Thank you.” You giggled softly. “And i think you might need this, too.” He pecked your lips, leaving you speechless. “I could never forget you.” He stood up and practically ran off. “Remus Lupin!” You yelled, darting after him

Looks like someone finally remembered you.

end ☁️

#marauders era #remus lupin #sirius black #fem!reader #marauders #james potter #peter pettigrew #reader #remus lupin x reader #angst with a happy ending #superboy and the invisible girl #potter!reader

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flowerandblood · 3 months ago

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The Song of Promises (Sneak Peek)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ a little preview of the story that awaits you in February; it doesn't end my hiatus, but I'm in the process of writing and I see a little light at the end of the tunnel ]

_____

[...]

She spotted his silhouette at once – he was sitting at the top of a long table, on which lay stacks of maps and letters, a thick, old volume in his hands.

When he heard her footsteps, he lifted a glance of his healthy eye to her, and then returned to his reading again, carelessly turning the page over.

For a moment, all she could hear was that and the rustle of pages being turned – the smell of him and the parchments pleasantly filled her nose, calming her.

“Tomorrow. You must promise to obey me. Otherwise I will not fly with you.” He said calmly, looking at her with an expression on his face that pretended to show indifference.

“I will.” She said.

“Mm.” He hummed under his breath, finally pulling the leather material off his shoulders.

Stress was causing discomfort to return to the left side of his face.

“You are in pain.” She whispered softly, raising herself up on her elbow.

He didn't reply, just swallowed hard and froze in stillness.

“Let me.” She insisted, and he finally looked at her and nodded.

“I can.” She said warmly, but he shook his head.

“We need to rest. Come. I want to sleep.”

#aemond targaryen #aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond x oc #hotd aemond #aemond fanfic #aemond x female #aemond

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dark-frosted-heart · 1 year ago

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Go Ahead and Dote on Me - Clavis card story

Story's in His POV

nsfw at the end

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this

[Just a note: people are calling Emma “usagi-chan”]

Spring finally arrived in Rhodolite after the egg hunting contest.

People happily took in the warm winds, admired the flowers that began to bloom following winter, and—

Sweets store owner: Oh, it’s the little rabbit. Are you out with Prince Clavis today?

Emma: Yes. I thought I’d keep an eye on him in case something bad happened.

As we walked through the market together, people called out to Emma everywhere.

It seemed like this would be a springtime tradition this year.

Sweets store owner: You got a lot on your hands, little rabbit. Come, let me give you some baked treats.

Emma: Thank you! By the way, I’ve been hearing “little rabbit” a lot…

Sweets store owner: Yeah, everyone’s been using it. Emma, weren’t you the rabbit in the egg hunt the other day? I think it’s popular because it’s cute. Look, that shopkeep over there’s calling out to you.

Flower store owner: Just in time, little rabbit. I’m currently making a bouquet modeled after you.

Emma: Wow, it’s shaped like a rabbit!

Flower store owner: Yeah. Recently, Rhodolite’s been experiencing an unprecedented rabbit bloom. I guess it’s all thanks you you, little rabbit. Thanks.

Emma: You’re…welcome…?

(Indeed a good trend)

Any direction you look, all of the new spring products displayed in the shops were rabbit-themed.

As a rabbit lover, I couldn’t have been more proud.

Emma: Clavis…do you have something to do with this?

After looking around the market, Emma turned toward me in suspicion.

Clavis: Haha, I don’t have the power to manipulate market trends. I suppose everyone’s become aware of the charm of rabbits. This is how Rhodolite should be.

Emma: Is that a good thing to be happy about…?

Clavis: Naturally. It makes me feel good to see how much everyone likes you. Why not do what the people want and wear those rabbit ears again?

Emma: I don’t want to. It’s embarrassing.

Clavis: I want to see it again. Rather, I always want to see it.

Emma: I’ll consider it when it’s just us alone…

(That’s Emma)

(At any rate, rabbit lovers will spread across the continent)

Emma: Ah…I remembered that Leon won the egg hunting contest.

Clavis: That’s right. He was so strong he almost got banned.

Emma: …Anyway, that means the all-powerful cup that grants any wish is currently in Leon’s hands, right? What exactly does Leon plan to do with that cup?

Clavis: Nothing at all. Since I have the cup on hand right now.

Emma: Huh

Clavis: He wasn’t interested in the prize at all. In exchange, I promised to buy him a drink the next time we went out.

(From the start, I was the one who invited Leon and asked him to win)

(If by chance the hunt failed, then the all-powerful cup would’ve been the target)

(Considering the risks, it couldn’t simply be given to the public)

(But we don’t have to worry about that anymore now)

To make up for a rigged contest, all participants were given a discount coupon that could be used in the market and commemorative Easter eggs.

Hopefully that’ll be enough for forgiveness.

Emma: That all-powerful cup…is in your hands…

Clavis: Hm? What’s with that face?

Emma: Because you’re definitely going to use it for something bad.

Clavis: Such as?

Emma: …

Emma’s face turned red.

It sounded like “bad things” involved doing some wicked deeds to Emma.

She was too cute to handle and I hugged her by the waist.

Clavis: Can you tell me?

Emma: No, I’m trusting your ability as a gentleman.

Clavis: I see, I see. I’ll make a wish on the all-powerful cup when we return home.

Emma: Oh, that’s right! I have a wish that I want the all-powerful cup to grant!

Clavis: You want me to use it to grant your wish and not my wicked one?

I tried not to laugh as Emma vigorously nodded her head.

Clavis: I have no choice but to do as my lovely fiancee asks. What do you wish for?

Emma: Um, well… …

Clavis: If you don’t have one, then I—

Emma: Rabbit!

Clavis: …Rabbit?

Emma: Yes. I know you’re a self-proclaimed rabbit lover, but I can’t be the only rabbit. Wearing the rabbit ears was embarrassing. So I want to see you as a rabbit!

Emma shouted at the top of her lungs, like she had forgotten we were out in public.

Man in market: King Clavis as a rabbit?!

Woman in market: …A rabbit? Is that okay? No restrictions?

(I see…Now I have to live up to expectations)

Clavis: Alright. After all, it’s my lovely fiancee’s wish. Even with the all-powerful cup, I have to make it happen.

Emma: …I’m sorry. I got caught up in the moment when I said that—

When Emma tried to backtrack, I kissed Emma on the lips with a smile to stop her from continuing.

Clavis: Look forward to it, Emma.

In order to fulfill my lovely fiancee’s wish, I had to act quickly.

There wasn’t time to wish on the all-powerful cup and preparations had to be made as soon as possible—

Clavis: Now then my lovely fiancee, here comes Mr. Rabbit.

Emma: Are you actually a rabbit though?!

The next morning, I became a bunny boy and slipped into Emma’s room.

Emma, who was already awake and relaxing in bed, dropped her book in shock.

(However…)

(You’re being surprisingly shy)

I even altered the rabbit outfit, adding a tail to match Emma’s.

Originally I wanted to visit at night with the outfit I prepared overnight, but there’s entertainment in not having made it until morning.

Emma: I didn’t think about it when you disappeared after we came back yesterday, but…it suits you better than I thought it would.

Clavis: Right, right? A handsome man will look good in anything.

Emma: You might be better at being a rabbit than I am.

Clavis: I disagree. I could never be as adorable as you.

Emma: You’re pretty adorable now though?

Clavis: Oh?

(Apparently in Emma’s eyes, I’m a cute rabbit)

(That won’t do)

Clavis: I’m a rabbit today. You can hold me, pet me, love me. Anything you want, okay…?

Emma: Really?

Clavis: Yes, I’m a man of my word. What do you want from me? I’m open to any kinks or perversions.

When I got on the bed and crouched like a rabbit, Emma cleared her throat in embarrassment.

Emma: Th-then…

She hesitantly reached out and placed a hand on top of my head.

She patted my hair gently as if handling a rabbit, tickling me.

Emma: Soft and fluffy. Clavis, your hair’s really nice to touch.

Clavis: …

(I wanted to tease you, but I didn’t expect this kind of play)

(It’s fine when I do it, but when on the receiving end, it’s…difficult)

As I quietly accepted her hand, a small chuckle escaped Emma’s lips.

Emma: Are you feeling a little shy?

Clavis: Haha, how could I?

Emma: But you’re not being as talkative as usual.

Clavis: I was just distracted by how nice your hand feels.

Emma: If you say so.

(...)

As she became more accustomed to it, Emma’s hands got bolder.

I’ve never felt so self-conscious.

(I thought I’d be able to take anything Emma did, but…)

(I’m not cut out for this)

Clavis: Emma, you know this rabbit can do dirtier things, right?

Emma: No, please continue being a cute rabbit.

Clavis: Haha, don’t feel like you have to hold back. For instance—

I push Emma down and boldly hike up the skirt of her nightgown.

When I pushed her legs apart and placed myself between them, Emma started to look flustered.

Emma: What are you doing there?!

Clavis: I’m a rabbit. I’ll go anywhere I want.

I pressed my lips against her thigh under the nightgown and continued up.

Emma: Ah…Don’t…

She tried to stop me with a hand, but faltered when my lips reached her underwear.

Clavis: I’m a cute rabbit, aren’t I? I can be more affectionate if you want?

I shifted her underwear to the side and licked.

The sweet sounds she made were like honey and I almost felt like a spring rabbit in heat.

Emma: Cute rabbits…don’t…Nghaa…

Clavis: Is that so? There’s all sorts of rabbits.

I sucked at her wet spot before appearing out from under her nightgown when her hips bucked up.

When Emma scowled at me in embarrassment with tears in her eyes, I wanted to focus on teasing her more.

(No matter what, you’re cuter than I am)

I removed my vest, undid my tie, and placed the rabbit ears I was wearing on Emma’s head.

Clavis: As expected, it suits you better.

Emma: Really…?

Though she was embarrassed, she didn’t remove the rabbit ears.

She fixed the ears and the sight of her being all shy burned all sense of reason away.

Emma: Nn…Clavis, don’t touch…Aahh

Clavis: Emma…stay as my rabbit for the rest of your life.

(After all, I’m a man that would rather be loved)

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri jp #ikepri translations

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kkongdakz · 1 year ago

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“ WE'RE SO CLICHÉ. ” ft. ot9

in which : i associate love tropes with members.

ot9 x gn!reader, genre : mostly fluff, warning : alcohol consumption in jiwoong's, bullying in hao's, swearing and blood in gunwook's, a little bit of jealousy in yujin's, word count : 3,164

kim jiwoong ♡⃗ exes to lovers

i feel like you and jiwoong had a little love story when you were younger, at the beginning of high school for example

so when you finished your high school studies, you lost touch and kind of.. break up

to meet up again later by chance, through a mutual friend you had and organized a "school memories" party where all former students gathered

and coming face to face with jiwoong brought back old feelings — he still looks the same, but in a more manly and mature way

and your heart suddenly raced, because seeing the love of your youth has made you all things again

and vice versa

just imagine ... ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀« oh y/n ! i'm happy you're here ! » says your childhood friend as she welcomes you into her home with open arms. a smile on your lips, you embraced her, checking on her, recalling fond memories of the past. but as your eyes drifted over the other people in the room, they focused on one particular figure : your ex-boyfriend from highschool. apologizing to her, you walked away to gently approach jiwoong, who in turn laid eyes on you. he was always the same, but taller, more masculine, more mature, but always with the same deep gaze and prince charming smile. grabbing two glasses of champagne, he finally approached you, handing you one with a smirk that caused your heart to miss a beat. « hi y/n, it's been a long time.. » you nodded gently, watching him for a long minute, trying to understand why your heart was suddenly racing so fast. old memories resurfaced in your head as the evening progressed, until it was time to leave, finding the two of you in the entrance to the building. and when he placed a warm kiss on your cheek, innocently slipping a piece of paper into the palm of your hand, you thought that maybe, just maybe, the flame of your love wasn't totally extinguished.

other members under the cut !

zhang hao ♡⃗ rivals to lovers

listen, he's number one in everything he do

he's so so so so so competitive

so of course, when you're as good as him in everything, he understands he has competition

and oh boy, he is so determined to destroy you and so are you

so for many years, your relationship is based on arguments and repeated bickering — a competition the whole school knows about, even forming “team hao” and “team y/n”

but one thing's for sure : hao is the only one who can compete with you and make fun of your grades. so when someone decides to attack you, right in front of his eyes, he's the first to defend you

which surprises everyone

and create a new sensation in your heart

just imagine ... ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀« who do you think you are, talking to them like that? » hao said suddenly, drawing the attention of the other students in the class. your eyes opened wide, observing his silhouette with his back to you, who had just slid in front of you — as if to protect you. the girl who had been trying to belittle you earlier suddenly found herself caught in the middle, with only one way out : to runaway. as she slipped away with a sigh, the other students around you commented in low voices, which didn't stop hao from turning to you, gently knocking the top of your skull. « don't let people put you down, okay? you know what you're worth. » — coming from the person who beats you all day long, it meant a lot. so you simply nodded, trying to ignore your heart pounding in your chest, but his hand grabbed your wrist, forcing you to get up and leave the classroom with him. which led you to end up in the library, studying in the company of the man you consider your rival. but well.. a cute one.

sung hanbin ♡⃗ soulmate

the invisible red string between you and hanbin is so real

ever since you were little, you've always felt that the love of your life, your soulmate, was not far from you

you pushed away every person who approached you in a loving way, to wait for the precise moment when you would meet the only one person who would be number one in your heart

and one day, as you entered the new cute and cosy café near your house

you saw it in the eyes of the pretty barista — the little spark that appeared when your eyes meet each other's for the first time

and instantly, your heart knew it, he knew hanbin (you still had the time to read his name on the nametag hanging on his apron) was the love of your life

your one and only soulmate

just imagine ... ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you were frozen, facing the cash register, your eyes completely hypnotized and stuck on the boy in front of you. he was pretty, handsome, he looked as soft as cotton, radiant as the sun, cute as a puppy. and he was watching you in exactly the same way : as if two wires had touched in your heads and you'd short-circuited. his eyes seemed like two deep wells, into which you suddenly lost yourself — your heart was pounding as you suddenly found yourself at a loss for words. this boy seemed to be the one you'd been waiting for all your life. but you were snapped out of your trance when the person behind you suddenly cleared his throat, leaving the cute barista to finally speak. « uh, mh, hi- welcome. i'm hanbin, what can we do for you? » after coming to your senses, looking everywhere but into his eyes, you gave him your order, paid, and waited patiently on the side. you couldn't help but observe him, the slightest of his delicate gestures and the smile that clung to his lips over and over again. until you received your order, and noticed a phone number on your cup. “ i'm hanbin, call me when you want :)xx ”

seok matthew ♡⃗ boy next door

he's the perfect cliché of the cute-hot boy who's just moved in next door to you

look at him, his smile, almost every morning when you're out to pick up your mails

and you just.. freeze, looking at him and his honey voice when he told you “hello neighbor”

and you just runaway — slightly embarrassed at having remained frozen in place without saying anything

and after that, every time you hear a noise near your door, you sneak a peek to catch a glimpse of him, watching him taking care of the plants around your shared balcony

until one day, when you suddenly need a carton of milk, and you have no choice but to ask your beloved next-door neighbor for help

..ending up cooking pancakes with him

just imagine ... ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you didn't know what to say, when he was standing in front of you, and you didn't look at all presentable. flour on your apron, and a spatula in your hands, you'd suddenly forgotten that you needed milk to make pancakes. « need help, neighbor? » he said suddenly, a chuckle escaping his lips, which brought you back down to earth. « hey, sorry, do you have milk? i want to make pancakes but i forgot the milk. » — nodding positively, he walked away for a few moments before returning with a carton of milk. but as you reached out to retrieve it, he gently pushed you as he closed the door to his apartment, pulling you into yours. « i'll help you, you seem to be having a hard time. » he announced, with a drop-dead smile that you didn't dare to refuse. following him to the kitchen, he helped you prepare the recipe, even taking the time to get to know you and make you laugh. finally, something interesting was happening between you.

kim taerae ♡⃗ first love

listen. taerae is so first love coded and you can't change my mind

he's the boy everyone secretly dreams about

the one you watch dreamily in class and who never fails to make your heart skip a beat every time he smiles

and when you finally get to date him, oh boi- you're in heaven

he's literally so sweet : always here for you, fingers that never miss an opportunity to tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear, take you home after school, help you study, ect ect..

he's the one who makes you discover love : the butterflies in your stomach, the scenarios in your head that become real, the sweetness of a first kiss, the soft warmth that settles in your chest when he tells you you're beautiful

a smile and you're won over. taerae is and will always be your first love

just imagine ... ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀it was a pretty warm afternoon, cherry blossom petals dancing in the air and the sun streaming through the classroom windows. you watched the clouds sail across the sky, tapping your fingers against the wood of your school table, when he entered the room. a gentle smile tugging at his lips as he caught sight of you, dreaming in your corner. then he moved towards you, settling into the chair opposite you before placing a light kiss on your cheek to bring you out of your reverie. taken aback by his action, millions of butterflies flew into your stomach, while your stunned eyes finally found the face of taerae. « i was looking for you, » he says, placing a carton of chocolate milk in front of you, « would you like to go for a walk with me after school? » — of course, you weren't going to turn down the chance to spend a special moment with the boy who was introducing you to all the emotions of first love. with your heart pounding in your chest, you nodded positively at the same time as his fingers clasped yours.

shen ricky ♡⃗ forbidden love

honestly i was thinking about a secretly rich trope but i feel like ricky really likes to tell people he actually is rich.. so naur

so my other option is. i can imagine him as a fake bad boy.

like he hates everyone but you..

so when you noticed him at school, he had already noticed you — but he played the unapproachable guy until you needed a hand with another guy who was getting a little too close to you

and suddenly you saw him from a different angle, and that menacing yet nonchalant look he had on his face made your heart miss a beat — pushing you closer and closer to the forbidden

obviously, the people around you don't approve of your relationship with him at all

but it's not like you care

he may be mean to others, but he's always been upright, courteous and gentle to you

just imagine ... ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀midnight had just passed, as the clock on your bedroom wall told you, and yet you were still working on your homework for the next day. a sigh left your lips as you rubbed your eyes, and suddenly your peace was disturbed by a few almost inaudible knocks against your bedroom window. frowning, you approached it, hesitantly shifting your curtain to finally catch a glimpse of ricky's face. hurrying to open your window, the young boy entered your room in no time, before hooking his arms around your hips to press you against him. « what are you doing here? » you asked, whispering so as not to alert your parents about the intruder who was currently in your room at such a late hour. slipping your arms around your neck, ricky simply smiled, « i missed you. » he affirmed, placing a kiss on your cheek before deviating to your lips. even if you loved the fact that he'd show up at any hours just because he missed you, you still had to be careful and make sure you could continue to see him despite your parents' prohibition. « you know my parents are here? » — ricky shook his head, shrugged his shoulders and lifted you off the ground, kissing you passionately while telling you how much he didn't care.

kim gyuvin ♡⃗ fake dating

he can't be serious but trust me, he's the most perfect fake boyfriend you could ask for

just imagine that you've promised to bring someone to your sister's wedding — but unfortunately you are completely alone

your only option is to ask someone you trust to take on this role for the duration of a ceremony : and that's where gyuvin comes in

and he's perfect : his hand on your hip and his eyes attentive to your every word, having fun with your younger cousins and talking to your parents about anything and everything

he's charming, polite and gallant — the perfect son-in-law according to your mother and the hot jackpot according to your sister

and when you finally have a little moment alone together, and you're about to thank him for the perfect fulfillment of his role, you meet the gleam in his eyes and that silly little smile that hangs on his lips

and suddenly nothing exists around you anymore — all that's left is him, you, and the sun shining on his caramel skin.

just imagine ... ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the sun passing through the leaves gently settles on gyuvin's face, who looks at you in the most tender way possible. his hand is naturally hooked on yours — which suddenly makes you realize that he doesn't have to put on an act when it's just the two of you. « you can stop pretending, you know? » you say softly, but his pupils don't move from yours. on the contrary, his free hand moves towards your face, grazing your skin, touching your cheeks with his fingertips, as if there were only the two of you left on earth. you thought your heart was going to escape from your chest, because he was no longer pretending — his hand gently tugged on yours, pulling you closer to him, spinning slowly to the rhythm of the background music. « i think we should be careful and always act like a couple so as not to arouse suspicion, don't you think? » he whispered in your ear, and you just love the way he makes you feel at that very moment. as if you two weren't just fake.

park gunwook ♡⃗ enemies to lovers

okay this is from a personal experience because my boys planet' story with gunwook is enemies to lovers

since you met him, your relationship with gunwook has been very complicated — he don't really like you, and you don't really like him either

he tends to play the big guy to show off his superiority and that's what annoyed you about him in the first place

so ever since, you've despised him and given him death glares at every opportunity — and he can't help but prank or scare you at every opportunity

until the day you get paired together for a school project.

and, even though you'd have liked to do the job yourself from start to finish, your teacher didn't agree with you at all, which forced you to tolerate him a little

and introduced you to a new side of gunwook that you'd never seen before — a cute and silly kitty

just imagine ... ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀sitting on the floor of your living room, your work books covering every nook and cranny of the coffee table, not a word had left your lips or gunwook's since the start of the afternoon. but the atmosphere seemed heavy, this silence more distressing than relaxing, in the end. sighing as you got up to go to the kitchen, you tiptoed over to grab a glass from the top of the cupboard. but not everything went according to plan : and the next thing you know, the glass was on the floor, broken, and your finger was bleeding. « shit. » you say, running to the sink to put your wounded finger under the water, juggling from one foot to the other while holding back from swearing at how much it hurt. and suddenly gunwook was at your side, one hand on your shoulder and his eyes riveted on your wound, « do you have a first aid kit somewhere? » — nodding as you indicated where it was, you watched him grab the object and return to you, wrapping your finger in a clean cloth before guiding you into the living room. here, gunwook tended to your wound delicately, meticulously, asking you repeatedly if you weren't in pain. he was much gentler than most people you knew — he who tended to act tough in front of others, was actually an adorable kitten. with a smile on his lips, he lifted your hand and placed a magic kiss on top of the bandage he'd made, and that's probably when your heart decided to make room for him inside.

han yujin ♡⃗ childhood friends to lovers

he's still a child okay

so i can easily imagine yujin as a childhood friend

playing cards and video games as kids, right up to entering high school hand in hand

nevertheless, i imagine that you have different groups of friends, even if you remain each other's number one

and you meet up every day after class to go home together and tell each other about your day

obviously, you don't notice it, but yujin always keeps an eye on you — without showing the slight jealousy growing in his heart every time he sees you getting a little too close to your other friends

he's never shy about reminding you that he's right there and that he's still your favorite

just imagine ... ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀waiting patiently in front of the school gate, yujin kicked a pebble before suddenly hearing your voice ring out. looking away from the road to observe you, he watched you walk up to him after you had greeted your new friends. as you reached your best friend, you planted yourself in front of him, a grandiose smile hanging on your lips, creating a slight reddish tinge at the tip of yujin's ears. squinting as you started to move forward, you hurried over to him and slipped your hands around his arm, pulling him closer to you, « yah. you walk too fast with your long legs. » — slowing down to walk at the same speed as you, he was content to listen attentively as you told him about your day, nodding from time to time and speaking up when necessary. but you could see that something was on his mind, so you stopped walking, forcing him to stop and turn to face you with a questioning expression. « what's on your mind, han yujin? » you say, your sun-filled eyes dazzling his. clearing his throat while looking away, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, you tilted your head slightly to one side, watching yujin with a small smile on your lips. « i'm still your favorite, mh? » he asked, daring to look deep into your eyes, « because you'll always be mine. » — you couldn't explain, but it was like in the romance books, with butterflies in your stomach and your heart beating wildly.

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colormepurplex2 · 7 months ago

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Beneath The Boughs | Dare To Dream

↳ Namjoon x f.Reader ⤜ Robinhood Retelling, Strangers to Lovers/Soulmates, Ruined Arranged Marriage AU ⤜ Rating: MA🔞 ⤜ WC: 6,740 ⚠️violence, crass language, mentions of parental illness, melancholy feelings

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to story masterlist

“My Lady,” Ms. Duckett calls from beyond the doors of the balcony terrace. “My Lady, it is time. If we do not leave now, we will not make it through this side of Sherwood before nightfall.”

You sigh with one last look out over the rolling expanse of bleak countryside. You push to your feet and smooth your gloved hands over the back of your gown, brushing away any detritus that might have attached to the fabric from the bench you were seated on. The heavy silk skirts swish over the layers of your thick wool petticoats as you turn to make your way back inside.

The first flurries of winter have begun, and unless you wish to spend the season shivering in the northern reaches of Yorkshire, you best get on with it. The window to return to the city of Nottingham is closing swiftly. It was a fool's move to leave it until the last moment anyway. But you couldn’t bring yourself to rejoin society sooner than absolutely necessary.

“Apologies, Duckie,” you offer her, the childhood nickname you gave her rolling off your tongue with affection despite your surly mood.

Verna Duckett has been your attending maid ever since your mother fell ill some twenty years prior and found herself with more need for a nursemaid than a lady’s maid. Duckie’s age is a mystery to you, but considering the silver knot tucked under her bonnet, you’d guess she was far older than her spry body and fiery attitude suggest.

Thinking of your mother’s continued ailing constitution only sours your demeanor further. After all, it is why you’ve found yourself in the predicament you are currently trying to avoid. So, to keep from dawdling further with those dark thoughts, you focus on gathering the fox-fur-lined cloak you left draped over the end of your bed and securing its thick golden clasp at your throat.

Duckie titters under her breath, reminding you of a flittering songbird as she encourages you from the room. “The sheriff is waiting with the carriages.”

That news pulls you up short at the top of the grand staircase. “The sheriff?”

“Indeed so, My Lady. He has come up from Nottingham to be your escort at the request of Prince Seokjin.”

Bile threatens to rise from the churning pit of your stomach. The Prince. “Must it be so?” you mutter to yourself. “Right,” you try to clear the disappointment from your voice as you begin the descent down the stairs. “Let us not keep him waiting long, then.”

The bite from the snowy northern winds does little to soothe the blazing tempest in your chest as you breeze through the open doors of the home you’ve kept for the summer in Yorkshire. It was once your father’s estate, passed down to you when you came of age. You prefer it to the oppressive halls of the inner city home you keep in Nottingham—the one your parents choose to reside in year-round.

“My Lady.” The sheriff greets you by way of an oily smile and a tip of his chin. “Trying to catch a cold before your big day?”

A snide remark forms on the tip of your tongue but you bite the offending appendage before it can garner you trouble over the next two days of travel. The absolute last thing you wish for right now is to land on Yoongi’s—the sheriff’s—bad side.

It’s possible you might have once considered him a friend. He has all the charm and grace of a pleasant gentleman. But, when he started to bow and scrape, doing the Prince’s bidding in forcing your hand, you lost all respect and good will towards him.

You’re aware that’s not exactly fair, considering Yoongi is merely a sheriff, and the prince is, well, a prince. But it simply is not fair, and you are more than aware of the other dealings the prince and Yoongi have gotten up to in the recent years since King Seokjoong went on his crusades.

Mirth twinkles in Yoongi’s eyes; clearly, he can see the restraint painted all over your face. “Of course not, My Lord—I mean, Sheriff,” you reply, your words dripping with saccharinity. His lips flatten at your intentional misuse of the title.

Yoongi is as much a Lord as you are a pigeon. And you know that rankles him far more than any snide remark you might have bestowed upon him. Being the Sheriff of Nottingham brings Yoongi power, but not nearly enough to satiate his growing greed. That much is evident in how he swindles and ousts any and all meager bits of coinage from the pockets of those he is sworn to protect. No, Yoongi protects only himself…and occasionally you, per the prince’s request.

The ride to Nottingham starts slow and ponderous, the snow turning to sleet with each creeping mile south, causing the dirt under hoof and wheel to quickly form ruts and mud pits that suck and pull, sapping any haste from the procession.

Duckie was being generous in her assessment of time, as by the time the sun drops below the horizon, your caravan escort has barely hit the outskirts of Sherwood. You know it was unwise to have spent so long avoiding the ride; this is your own doing.

It’s not that you mind the forest at night; it’s just that the swaying oil lamps and guttering torches do little to diminish the darkness. Every creak of the carriage and distant animal chitter have you quite literally on the edge of your seat, the velvet cushion firmly crushed under your hands where they fist the lip of the bench.

The sudden, jarring stop of the carriage nearly unseats you. Muffled shouts sound from beyond the drawn curtains. Duckie frowns, absently pulling a handkerchief from her apron pocket and fanning her ample bosom with it.

“Dreadful luck stopping in these cursed woods,” she mutters nervously before flicking back the edge of one of the curtains and peeking out the window. “What in heavens is going on out there?”

She jumps back, her alarmed yelp echoing through the carriage as Yoongi jerks open the door. “My Lady, I apologize for the delay. There is some debris across the roadway. It should only take a moment for it to be moved, and then we shall be on our way once more. I think it best we continue through the night,” he says with a grimace as his focus is pulled somewhere back beyond the carriage.

Without another word, he disappears, shutting you and Duckie in the carriage once more. The silence is only broken by the soft swishing of Duckie’s handkerchief as she goes back to fanning herself.

“Not to worry, dearie. I’m sure the Sheriff will have us back on the move in no time.”

Adrenaline courses through your veins when muffled shouts and screams rend through the air, breaking the tense silence. You catch the faintest bellow from the head of the caravan.

“Brigands! Brigands in the trees! To arms!”

Duckie shrieks, her handkerchief fluttering in the air as she lurches toward you. The air wooshes from your lungs as she drags you bodily into the bottom of the carriage and throws herself on top of you.

One of her elbows catches you in the chin as you try to turn over, your skirts tangling around your ankles with each struggling movement.

“Duckie!” you croak, sucking in pitiful gasps of air. The corset stays pinching at your ribs, combined with the full weight of your maid laid across your back, are making it hard to gain the breath that was shoved from your lungs when you hit the carriage floor. “I cannot breathe!”

She wails something unintelligible and pushes up onto her knees. You flop over onto your back and suck in a sweet lungful of air. Your exhale is an aching sputter that turns into a fit of coughing. Suddenly, the air inside the carriage is too hot and thick.

“My Lady!” Duckie’s bark of protest follows you out of the carriage. You couldn’t reach your feet fast enough, scrambling up from your knees and shoving open the carriage door, stumbling out several steps. You stand there, plunged into the cacophony around you, trying valiantly to suck in fresh air.

The night is alive with pain and shrieks of madness. Chaos engulfs your small caravan, and there are scattered pockets of struggle everywhere you look. Figures dressed in various shades of dark green and brown are engaged with the bright reds and golds of the Prince’s colors.

As if wanting to bear witness to the violence, the moon has worked its way through the gloomy cloud cover overhead and lends its light to the smoking oil lanterns and torches to illuminate the mud-churned—now striped with blood—road.

A sneering face comes into focus, startling you back a step. “Are you mad, woman!? Get back in the carriage!” Yoongi roars before taking off back into the fray.

He meets the swing of a brigand's sword with his own; the clash of steel against steel rings through the air, further jolting you from your frozen state. Panic harries you as you retreat further, your eyes on a constant swivel for danger.

A gout of flame flares to life near the head of the line of carriages, and the screams of horses pierce the din. “Fire! The horses!” thunders a voice that is soon swallowed by the frenzy of other sounds.

You watch in horror as a carriage engulfed in flame careens off the road, being dragged through the sticky muck by out-of-control horses. Their fear is palpable, the flames devouring the front coach seat and licking so close to their tails.

The painful whickering of the beautiful draft horses draws you like a moth being led directly to the inferno. You’re heedless of the danger around you. One sole focus consumes you; no one is available to free those horses…if you don’t do it, they’ll surely die.

Once again, your feet move before you can do more than register Duckie’s protesting cries from behind you. You fist the billows of your skirt in your hands, hiking up the thick material, making your reckless sprint a little easier, though the churned mud still sucks at the soles of your slippers, which are soon filled with icy water and slimy muck.

“My Lady!” Duckie’s cry follows you, closer than before. “Please, My Lady, no!”

“The horses, Duckie! We have to help them!” you beg, skittering to a stop in the muck, arms windmilling to keep yourself upright.

Whether or not she heard your desperate plea or simply followed you out of an attempt to get you to turn back toward the carriage, she stumbles to a stop beside you as you take in the carnage.

The carriage that caught fire was one of the ones lit with the hanging lanterns. Arrows dot the wooden side, which is now facing the sky. The entire thing has turned over in the muck from the mad dash of the horses combined with the sticky mud. It’s evident an arrow hit one of the lanterns and caused the fire. Whether by accident or intentional, the damage is done, and your time is running out as the flames lick across the carriage and shoot toward the sky.

A massive tangle of leather hitching straps and splintered wood connects the two draft horses to the wreckage. They rear and scream, massive hooves raking the sky as they thrash and pull in vain at their harnesses.

Ignoring the sapping cold of the mud seeping through the skirts of your gown, you throw yourself on the ground where the straps attach to the overturned carriage. Duckie lands in the muck beside you a second later, her hands moving as frantically as your own as you wrestle with the buckles and bolts. The entire wreck shudders every time the horses stomp and attempt to free themselves, but you don’t dare abandon the buckles to try and calm them. You’d likely catch an errant hoof to your person for the efforts.

Heat beats down on you, and the faint stench of burnt hair and singed fabric mixes with the acrid stink of smoke filling the air around you. The flames are growing closer, but you ignore the discomfort, pouring all your focus into freeing the horses.

“To your right!” a voice calls out over the din of battle a second before something thunks heavily into the ground beside you.

You spare a glance up, and your eyes catch on a hooded figure. Time suspends in a moment of what you can only describe as magick. Something flickers in your chest as your eyes meet the ones staring out from the cowl, like a blossoming flower opening under the warm spring sun for the first time.

It’s captivating, soul-capturing, and utterly unexplainable. Dark, seemingly endless eyes, inky hair, and a face you’re sure you’ve never seen in full before…yet know more intimately than even your own—a man of your dreams. Dreams you’ve had since you were a young teenager of a man with eyes like endless pools of night sky and a heart that beats in kind with your own.

A frantic cry from Duckie breaks the spell, the carriage shifting so violently it rocks you backward onto your bottom. You tear your eyes away from the mysterious man. Focusing back on the task at hand, you grasp the hilt of the forearm-length blade you know he’s responsible for tossing to you. It is embedded point-down in the ground by your side, still vibrating from the force.

Ripping the blade from the mud, you make quick work of slicing through the harness straps. The horses burst free from their restraints and take off at a panicked gallop away from the fire raging behind you.

Quiet sobs are hiccuping from Duckie. She grabs a fistful of the back of your gown and jerks. “Go!” But instead of directing you back toward your carriage, her momentum sends you sprawling in the direction of the closest darkened clutch of trees. “We need to hide! Hurry, to the trees!”

Digging for purchase in the icy muck, you lurch to your feet and stumble until the forest's darkness gobbles you up. Duckie is only a pace or two behind you, her mud-covered bosom heaving as she slumps down behind a knotted and gnarled tree.

Wordlessly, she beckons for you to join her, and you both sit there, peering around the side of the tree and back at the chaos still engulfing your caravan. The fighting has died down. A few green and brown-clad bodies writhe on the ground, making your stomach protest the senseless violence.

Broken crates and boxes lie scattered about, their insides spilled and pilfered through by the brigands—clearly a band of no-good highwaymen. It’s one of the main reasons the Sherwood Forest should be avoided after dark. Bands of rogues and disgraced knights have taken to prowling the thick woods.

As sour as your thoughts are, you can’t help searching the fray for a particular hooded figure. You feel like if you could get one more glimpse of him, you might be able to decipher what happened when your eyes met his. At the moment, you could have sworn he was the man of your dreams, but now, you’re not so sure. There is far too much adrenaline coursing through your system for you to make heads from tails of it.

You watch as one of the brigands uses the pommel of their sword to clock one of your escorts across the temple, crumpling him into a heap of red and gold. Focusing on each pitched cluster of violence, you realize the red and gold figures are the only ones trying to deal lethal blows. You’ve watched enough tournaments of combat to know the basics of battle.

“They’re not trying to kill them,” you mutter under your breath.

“What, My Lady?”

Sparing a glance at Duckie, you nod back toward the road. “The brigands. They’re not using lethal moves. It is as if they are intentionally avoiding critical damage. Like they…” you trail off, catching sight of a familiar hooded figure, glinting eyes shadowed in the cowl latching on yours.

“You cannot possibly be suggesting—”

“Behind you!” you scream, lurching from your hiding spot and sprinting back toward the road where you saw Yoongi creeping up behind the hooded figure as he was distracted, staring at you.

Branches scratch and rip at your gown and the exposed skin of your throat and hands. But the stinging lashes are second to the intense panic slicing through your chest as Yoongi’s bloodied sword arcs through the air.

By the time you spill from the cover of the trees, the cloaked man is springing up from a roll where he must have dodged Yoongi’s blade. You watch as he spins to face Yoongi. He brings a hand up, and an ear-splitting whistle pierces the air.

As if the sound has broken a dam, the dozen remaining hooded figures, including the one with those molten eyes locked on you, disengage and retreat. They dissolve into the surrounding trees like fog baked away by a noonday sun; there one moment and gone the next.

Yoongi barks an order to pursue, and half the remaining gold and red soldiers peel off to follow. They look like a ragtag bunch, their armor speckled with dark mud and blood. But, you know they have received extensive training under the tutelage of Yoongi and the Prince’s court mage and will try to track down as many of the brigands as they can like the good hunting dogs they are.

“Yoongi, please, call them back!” you plead. “The wood is dark. It is not worth it! Please, I beg you, let us hurry—”

The narrowing of Yoongi’s eyes causes your words to catch in your throat. You’ve never seen such a venomous glare. It pierces right through your heart, spearing you in place. You think he is about to lay into you, lashing at you with that curdling tongue. Yet, he just nods, turning away and stalking from you before whistling a sharp cadence that you recognize is used to call the guards back.

“My Lady,” Duckie sniffles. “Oh, your gown. This simply won’t do. Come, come, back to the carriage.”

She ushers you quickly back toward the open door of your carriage, the horses tethered to the front, finally calming their stamping hooves and wild eyes.

“Move out!” Yoongi shouts. The guards who had peeled off to follow the brigands emerge back into the clearing, and in a few short minutes, the caravan moves once again—albeit a few carriages short, the carnage left behind like a pock on the King’s Road.

🍂🍂🍂

Namjoon

There were too many.

Too many uniforms of red and gold and sharpened swords.

It was a bad call.

No amount of coin is worth the bodies that were left behind in the mud. Namjoon knows he shouldn’t have encouraged the men. He should have put his foot down and been firm in his insistence that they hold back.

But, there’s naught to do for it now except lick their wounds and hope the amount of coins and jewels they got off with can fill their larders against the coming winter. The bags seemed heavy enough, but one can never be too sure until they actually begin to count and weigh it out.

The men seem happy enough. Their jovial shouts and laughter carry through the woods, adrenaline adding to the thrill of it as they all easily lope along under the darkening boughs.

The dense foliage overhead absorbs their merriment, and Namjoon doesn’t wish to take it away from them by asking them to quiet down. He realized that the Sheriff called off his dogs shortly after anyway—a surprise for sure and a welcomed one at that.

“How many did we lose?” Hoseok asks, pitching his voice low so others don’t hear. His long legs trot along, keeping pace with ease beside Namjoon.

Namjoon frowns, huffing a breath as they jog in silence for a few moments. “Five.” He rattles off their names, hating how each one coats his tongue with a bitterness that nothing but the most potent fyre ale will be able to staunch.

“We will honor them and ensure their families are taken care of,” Hoseok offers, his voice hollow but firm. He’s always been a softer guy, something Namjoon has cherished in all their years of friendship. Hoseok has helped to temper Namjoon’s anger and quell his intensity at dire times of need; he is an empath through and through.

Not trusting himself to say more, Namjoon just nods as they continue through the woods until they reach their destination.

It’s a hidden city—a village, really. But everyone likens it to a city, considering it stretches across nearly an entire league of forest, tucked into the upper branches of the trees. It’s a proverbial city of wooden treehouses and rope bridges spanning between platforms. They have nearly everything a city does, even a bakery and a small darning shop.

The only thing not within the hidden city in the tops of the trees is the smithy—too much of a fire hazard, of course. So, Jungkook has his forge and the bellows tucked away into the crumbling remains of an ancient fortress long forgotten in the woods.

As an exiled knight of the crown, Jungkook knows his way around weaponry. It wasn’t that far of a leap to smithing once he got the hang of it. Namjoon can just see the glow of the forge fire as his band approaches, the approaching call having been whistled just a moment before.

It’s safer like that, using mimicry of bird calls as signals. He learned early on that you can never be too careful. The last thing Namjoon wants is for someone to come across his home…his people, the outcasts and the damned.

“I’m going to check in with Jungkook. Be up shortly,” Namjoon tells Hoseok before veering off towards the old ruins.

Hoseok disappears into the foliage, rallying the band up the rope ladders to the hidden homes above, where most of their families wait. Despite how ramshackle and hodgepodge his little city is, there is beauty in it, too. Beauty in the families, the small children that have spent more of their lives living among the leaves of trees than on the ground. But at least they’re safe; that’s what matters most.

That and the food from the coin they managed to loot tonight will garner.

That’s the primary reason he needs to speak with Jungkook. Being an exiled knight, the man not only knows his way around weaponry, but he has a knack for trading and brokering deals as well.

Despite his exile, Jungkook is still respected among many of the Prince’s men. With a well-placed word and an extra coin or two, Jungkook can get just about anything Namjoon needs.

There is a chill in the air, but the forge is blistering hot, the heat reflecting off the stone ruins' few remaining walls. Namjoon thinks this particular nook of rubble was once a stable—the rusted iron hitching posts lining the lower wall leads him to that conclusion.

Jungkook seems to be getting ready to shut the forge down for the night. He’s shirtless and dripping sweat with an assortment of new blades, which are laid out on the makeshift table off to the side.

“Oh! You startled me,” Jungkook huffs, a soot-covered hand slapping over his heart as he turns and spots Namjoon.

Namjoon smiles apologetically. “Sorry, brother. I was just about to announce myself.”

“It’s no matter,” Jungkook says, brushing it off. He swings around further, depositing the leather roll of tools cradled in his other arm on the table beside the new blades.

“What brings you here? I thought surely you’d be up with everyone else, filling your belly with some ale. There are still a few casks left.”

“In due time.” Namjoon shrugs, looking for something to distract from the real reason he’s come to talk to Jungkook. “Do you mind if I have one of these?” he asks, gesturing to the pile of fresh blades.

Jungkook’s eyes sweep over Namjoon, landing on the empty dagger sheath at his hip. “That’s, what, the third blade you’ve managed to lose in as many months?”

Namjoon scrubs a hand through his hair, sighing. “Yeah…there was some trouble on the road.”

Those eyes that were resting on his empty sheath now narrow into a calculating query as they rise to Namjoon’s. “How did it go?”

The tense silence lasts just a spell before Namjoon clears his throat and breaks it. “We came away with a few hefty bags.”

“But? There’s a but there, I can tell. Go on, tell me, how many did we lose?” Jungkook leans a hip against the table. He pulls out the rough-spun towel tucked into the top of his leather apron and begins to absently brush and wipe the soot and grime from his hands.

As much as Namjoon would rather talk about the trade and bartering that would come from the coin, he knew Jungkook would ask after the loss. After all, it was Jungkook’s suggestion that took Namjoon and his band of men to the edge of the forest tonight. He had heard that the Sheriff would be moving precious cargo. It turns out the precious cargo was in the form of a woman.

A fierce and brilliant woman who came rocketing into Namjoon’s life like a shooting star blazing through the night as she streaked across the impromptu battlefield to free those terrified horses. It was an accident, the errant arrow catching one of the hanging lanterns. He heard the man who loosed the arrow curse and lament over it and they both got caught up defending their backs against the Guards before they could act.

“We lost five,” Namjoon says to pull his mind out of that rabbit hole. The last thing he needs to be thinking about is the odd, visceral connection and pull he felt with that mystery woman.

Jungkook nods, his lips thinning into a straight line. “They’ll be honored by all,” he says, mirroring Hoseok’s words from earlier. “Tell me what else went on? What was so precious Yoongi disregarded all safety guards and ventured into the Wood so late?”

The words get caught in Namjoon’s throat. In part, he doesn’t want to tell Jungkook because he somehow feels possessive of the woman. It’s absurd. Forcing that notion aside, Namjoon forges on, recounting everything that transpired for Jungkook. By the time he’s done, Jungkook nods with a faint look of knowing on his face.

“For some reason, the Sheriff signaled a pullback a few minutes after the order to follow. He’s never done that before.”

“That,” Jungkook says, tucking the now-soiled rag back into the top of his apron, “would be The Fair Maiden of York’s doing.”

“Wait. The who?” Namjoon has heard of The Yorkshire Maiden. She’s renowned throughout the parts, even for someone as hidden and removed from society as Namjoon. In fact, he knows that she’s— “The Prince’s betrothed? You mean to tell me we attacked her caravan?” He mutters your name, the sweet sound of it coating his tongue like honey. “That’s who that was?” Each new line of thinking has Namjoon’s alarm rising.

“I had thought she had already ventured south. It didn’t even cross my mind that the precious cargo could have been her. In truth, I should have considered it. I’m sorry, my friend. I’ll try to get better information next time.”

Namjoon barely registers Jungkook’s words, giving him a jerky nod and a half-muttered excuse of needing to go. Jungkook waves him off, saying he’ll be up shortly.

But he won’t find Namjoon when he does.

No, because Namjoon is now on a different trail, having passed off a curt message to a sentry about returning in a few days' time that he was going to speak to a contact. Which isn’t entirely a lie. He needs answers and fast. There is only one place he can think of that he might be able to find them. A place he hasn’t visited in far too long—months at this point.

The feeling in his chest…the name still echoing in his mind. There is an explanation. But he needs to be sure, confirm it, and see it once again with his own eyes. Because surely it’s impossible… fairytales are just that, fairytales.

It’s not like he didn’t already know your name. But the combination of your name and the feelings that assaulted him…Namjoon’s thoughts trail off as he focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, keeping to the shadows.

He cuts around the tree-top encampment, skirting the ruins until he hits a very seldomly trailed path. It spears right into the heart of Sherwood, leading Namjoon directly to the outskirts of Nottingham.

Namjoon has to journey through the night, taking a brief reprieve under the drooping boughs of a pine. Thready light filters through the trees, guiding Namjoon. Despite the infrequent use of this particular trail, he knows it perhaps more intimately than any other. It was the path of his childhood, where he found salvation and freedom.

The spire of the old church comes into view, breaking through the canopy before it gives way entirely to the thick stone wall encasing the city proper. It was the wish of the church to remain outside the city so its doors could remain open to any and all manner of wanderers, even those who may have found themselves on the wrong end of the Kingdom’s sword.

“Friar Gill! Friar Gill, are you within?” Namjoon whisper-yells, peeking over the sill of one of the rear windows of the sprawling sect house that connects to the church proper. It’s early enough in the dim morning hours that daily service and devotionals haven’t happened, but the brother within should be awake to prepare for them.

“Is that you, Namjoon?” comes a familiar voice, though one that does not belong to Friar Gill.

“Jimin? Er, Friar Park, yes, it’s me.”

“What brings you here at this hour?” Jimin asks, his tousled head of dark locks poking out the window a second later. His eyes are bright, the dark irises catching the first glimmers of morning light. A hefty tome is clutched to his robe-covered chest and there is a smudge of ink on the apple of his left cheek.

“Is Friar Gill here?”

“I’m afraid not. He left per request of the King, nearly a month gone now. He’s to bless the front lines and bestow his grace upon the King as he continues his crusade. It seems the Prince’s favored mage has not brought the King any luck,” he adds that last part with a healthy smirk, his cheeks instantly coloring as he clears his throat. “Forgive me for speaking ill of the Prince’s Mage.”

It’s an automatic response, Namjoon knows, for Jimin to feel contrite over his words immediately. Even if he knows Namjoon holds no warmth with the Prince nor his Mage. If anything, Namjoon harbors far more resentment and hatred towards the snake of a magick caster than most.

After all, it was The Mage who saw to Namjoon’s displacement and subsequent outlawish ways. It’s his fault that Namjoon has had to resort to pillaging city-bound caravans to get by.

He reminds Jimin as much, “You know there is no pleasantry lost between Taehyung and myself.”

Jimin nods, a frown pulling down his full mouth. “Yes. Yes, I don’t suppose so.” Straightening up, Jimin gives a quick shake of his head. “Friar Gill may be gone, but perhaps I can help you. What is it that you need?”

“There’s a book…a book that was shown to me when I was just a boy by Friar Gill. It has a green leather cover and gold etching along the edges. The title was something odd, a language I’m not familiar with. Do you know it?”

“‘Prophetia Somniorum’,” Jimin intones softly, his eyes widening with twinkling wonder. “A book about dreams. Prophetic dreams.”

“Yes. That’s the one. I think it has the answers that I seek.”

🍂🍂🍂

“Please, My Lady, come away from the window before you catch a chill. It’s the last thing you’d want on this day.”

You sigh, turning away from the open window of your tower room. The landscape beyond is bleak, the sky streaked through with heavy, grey rain clouds. There’s been a perpetual drizzle ever since you arrived in Nottingham.

Six days. It’s been six whole days since the incident in Sherwood Forest. Six days since you saw him…and you can’t stop thinking about those dark eyes. You’ve dreamed about them several times throughout your life, a few times a year at most. Now, though, it’s become a nightly occurrence.

There was a point in your life, in your early twenties, when you asked your mother about the dreams and whether or not she thought they held any meaning. You’ll never forget the faraway look she got in her eyes and the sad smile that curved her rouged lips.

It was like she was haunted by your question, or rather whatever your question made go through her mind. Memories, perhaps. Though, she never would tell you, no matter how much you asked. She simply told you that you should always dare to dream, whether your eyes are opened or closed.

You wish you could seek her guidance now, to ask her whether or not the man on the road could genuinely be the man you’ve been seeing in your dreams or if that kind of thing only belongs in storybooks.

It’s been months since you’ve seen either her or your father. Ever since your mother took ill and she and your father took up permanent residence in Nottingham, you’ve spent far more time alone in Yorkshire than in either of their companies.

As it is, you’ve not even seen either of them since you came into the city. Their estate is on the far side of Nottingham, in the garden district, and you’re restricted to the Palace. You had received a brief letter from them when you first arrived, a simple check-in via a cursore. You sent a response, but there hasn’t been word since, not a single knock at your chamber door aside from the occasional servant bringing your meals.

You wouldn’t be surprised if it’s still months before you see them again, given your mother’s health and your father’s demanding position within the governing body.

Duckie titters, her hands automatically moving to straighten your gown, even though not a stitch has moved since she trussed you into the stays an hour gone. The sun sits heavy and low on the horizon, its thready rays trying pitifully to eat away the thickness of night and perpetually grey cover.

You woke long before you should have, feeling restless with an itch beneath your skin. The fine hairs along your arms prickle under the long bells of your sleeves. You can’t shake the feeling that’s been gnawing at your gut since your eyes popped open, the dream of your highwayman sluicing away like a rush of icy water down your back.

“My gown is fine, Duckie,” you mutter. It takes every ounce of nerve you have to not jerk away from her prodding and fluffing.

Her wrinkled lips turn down in a frown. “One can never be too lax on a day such as this, My Lady. I just want to make sure you are pristine for Prince Seokjin.”

You might have once smiled at the thought of a prince. Part of the girlish charm of childhood, you’re sure. Pretty dresses, handsome princes, and a single care of naught else in the world. Only, you’re not a girl anymore. Not even close.

“I’m quite alright. Please. If the prince cannot accept me as I am right now, then perhaps he does not befit me after all.” You meant to say that to yourself, a mere utterance under your breath, but your frazzled nerves must be affecting your senses as a whole.

The gasp from Duckie is so dramatic it belongs in the theatre, center stage with an anticipation-gripped crowd holding their breaths to find out what happens next. In this case, it's a twitching of your eye as you suppress an eye roll and plaster on a tense smile instead.

Duckie swallows whatever response is on her tongue when a loud, sharp rapt sounds at the door. She schools her features and turns towards it, giving you a quick glance over her shoulder. You nod, letting her know it’s acceptable to open the door, even if you’d rather tell her to send whoever it could possibly be away. Nothing good can come of a knock on the door today, even if it could be a cursor from your parents.

Just as expected, the door opens, and you’re certain the temperature in the room drops several degrees. If you were facing the window, you’re sure you’d see the sun slink backward in the sky, choosing to hide from the figure on the other side of your threshold instead of continuing its journey to spread its meager warmth.

The prince’s mage sweeps into the room, his upper lip curled in mild disgust as his gaze sweeps over Duckie, quickly dismissing her, until they land on you. Those cold, calculating eyes have always unnerved you. What with their slender vertical pupils that slice through his golden brown irises, he looks every inch the venomous snake you know he is.

“My Lady,” he says, tilting his unruly head of midnight hair toward you. Even his voice has a hiss-like quality to it, the syllables drawn out just a breath too long.

“Taehyung.” You hope he can hear the apparent disinterest in the flat tone of your voice. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Though it’s anything but, you mentally note.

“I came to escort you to the arena.”

Of course, he would be the one to come and escort you. You should have figured as much. Despite the threat of rain, today’s festivities are set to commence at high noon. In celebration of your betrothal to the prince, a tournament of varying specialties is being held. There will be horse jousting, stone lifting, archery, and a multitude of other events, along with a giant feast. The event is open to most of the public, one of the only times mere commoners may get the chance to mingle among the upper echelon.

You balked at the idea when it was presented to you by your father. But, he would hear nothing of it, nattering on about how this marriage will benefit not just the Kim crown but your father’s own standing with his home country as well. For lack of a better way to say it, you are simply a means to a political end. No better than a slab of meat being bartered for at market.

“There is no—”

“There have been more reports of attacks on the road, growing ever closer to the city. The prince worries for your safety. You can come with me, or I shall have to call for the sheriff. My Lady, there simply can be no other way.”

It’s tempting to make him call for Yoongi. However, you’re not sure who the lesser of two evils is. As much as you hold disdain for the sheriff, you know if he’s pulled away from his duties to escort you, his wrath will be great. While the prince’s mage unnerves you…best to get this over with.

“Very well.” You incline your head and clench your jaw in preparation for the feel of his skin against yours as you stiffly rest your hand over the top of his when he offers it to you.

Ignoring the foreboding feeling growing in the pit of your stomach, you allow Taehyung to guide you out your door, Duckie shuffling close behind. The soft whisper of your slippers over the cold stones in the corridor might as well be the toll of a bell, telling of your impending doom and the future you want no part of.

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