#this chapter was supposed to be short would you believe it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dangerous-advantage · 2 years ago

Note

If you want, a disaster twins hurt/comfort drabble? Maybe even cuddles? You don't have to if you don't want to.

(cws: heights/references to falling from heights, discussion of canon-typical trauma, cursing)

Lightning flashed through the cover of clouds, exposing their rain-swollen underbellies. Leo counted the seconds between the latest strike and its corresponding rumble of thunder.

One, two, three...

He kicked his legs to the rhythm of his thoughts, concrete bruising his heels. The sting was grounding. Up here, above the city lights and conversation, Leo could use all the grounding he could get.

A fat droplet of rain smacked wetly on his arm. He looked up, just as the sky growled warning and unleashed it's downpour.

Leo closed his eyes and pretended not to breathe.

The rain had been worse this year. The last three days had seen scattered showers and an endless, overcast sky.

Leo liked the rain. God knows the city needed it. It made him feel cleaner than he had in a long time. Like New York was finally washing its hands of the events earlier that summer.

If he let himself, he could almost pretend everything was back to normal. That it had never been un-normal.

But the rain also brought new and unfortunate side effects. His time in the prison dimension left him scarred. Several months removed, he was still recovering.

The rain ignited his deepest aches. He'd lay in bed, clenching his jaw to stifle his whines of pain as the muscles in his legs cramped and spasmed. His shell ached, too, the cracks in his carapace lit up like a live wire. He'd popped three ibuprofen the day before, but this time, it didn't save him.

He'd hoped fresh air would do him some good, but his thoughts were as raw as ever.

If he had the energy for it, or maybe someone to tell, Leo would've joked about it. But his dramatics were never entertaining in his own head, and they weren't meant for him, anyway.

He tipped his head down and sighed out a breath. Cold rivulets cascaded down his face, tracing his jawline. They fell to his lap in scattered droplets, refracting the city lights as they rebounded.

He was starting to get a bit too cold for comfort. They weren't fully cold-blooded, seeing as they were part human, but they were still susceptible to temperature changes, especially Leo.

He didn't want to deal with a cold on top of everything else.

Leo gathered himself, shifting into a crouch. His body protested as he came to a standing position, retrieving his katanas from where he'd set them.

His bandana was soaked, say nothing of his bandages. He'd need to change them before his brothers awoke. He'd better dry off his katanas, too-- he didn't know if mystic weapons could rust, but he'd rather not find out.

Retreating away from the edge of the roof, Leo could feel his heartbeat start to settle. Heights didn't bother him, exactly. It was more about potential. Sitting on a precipice, seconds away from what could be your last breath.

It was the ultimate test of arrogance. Would you really test your luck, lean over the edge to catch a glimpse of what lay below? Just a cursory misstep and you would be sent plummeting, with only moments to contemplate before you were crushed against concrete.

Adrenaline was an effective tool for alleviating the worst of the pain. It probably wasn't a healthy practice, but what worked, worked.

Summoning his ninpō, Leo slashed a katana through the air, flinging rainwater with the sweep of his blade. The air rippled, a pool of blue reflecting in the puddle beneath him.

With barely so much as a thought to serve as a directive, the connection stabilized, pulling at his gut. Leo stepped through, shutting the gate behind him.

He emerged in their bathroom, water dripping off his disheveled form to the floor. Glancing up at the clock, he frowned. Had it really been three hours?

Leo set his katanas on the counter and foraged through the cabinet for a towel. He discarded the first two he grabbed on account of their worn texture, tossing them to the ground behind him.

His fingers closed around plush, white material, and Leo pulled out a newer-looking towel. It would do nicely.

He set to work drying his katanas with fastidious motions, guiding the towel into the crevasses where excess rainwater might accumulate. He dried his first katana once, and then a second time, before doing the same to the other.

When he was satisfied, he turned back to the cabinet and rifled through it, looking for a first aid kit. He'd had Casey restock recently, given how much of their supply had been damaged in the Kraang invasion. He didn't remember if anyone had put them away-- they might still be on the kitchen counter, for all he knew.

Leo gave up, nudging the cabinet shut, and carried his katanas to his room. His body was really starting to hurt again. He perched on the edge of his bed, tensing the muscles in his body.

He let his eyes flutter shut. His body felt washed out and faded like an old t-shirt, washed one too many times. Maybe he should just try and rest while he could, before the pain returned in full.

But the medic in him eschewed the idea. Not to mention, his brothers would kill him if he risked infection by something so careless.

Heaving a sigh, Leo abandoned his bedroom, making his way to the train car that housed their kitchen. To his surprise (and wariness), the lights were on, curtains drawn.

Had Mikey forgotten to turn off the light? That wasn't like him.

(Which meant he probably hadn't.)

Leo procrastinated by the entrance, killing time locked in an internal dialogue. Somebody else was up, or had been. Most likely scenario, it was Casey, being a light sleeper.

He was also the only person that knew about Leo's midnight escapades. He'd confessed that knowing Leo was gone set him on edge. Often, Leo would return to find him sitting in his room, eyes on a distant memory.

Shaking off his indecision, Leo pulled himself up into the car, grimacing at the jolt of pain that ran up his shell. He stepped inside and froze, stomach dropping to his knees.

Donnie sat on a stool at the counter, thumbs flicking over his phone screen. An empty bowl and spoon sat in front of him on the otherwise clean surface, evidence of a midnight meal. There was a cutting board in the sink and a stockpot on the cooktop.

Donnie looked up from his phone, eyebrows slightly smudged. They knit together in confusion as he took in Leo's waterlogged state.

Leo shifted his weight. "I didn't know you were up."

Donnie raised an eyebrow. "Went for a midnight swim?" he deadpanned.

Leo moved past him, toward the opposite counter. "Something like that," he mumbled. He withdrew one of the first aid kits from a plastic grocery bag stowed on top of the fridge.

His thigh dissented, muscles contracting, and he gasped. He bent over, resting his forehead on the fridge, eyes squeezed shut.

A stool creaked, sliding back. "Leo?"

Leo gritted his teeth. A bead of water slid down his face and fell from his chin like a teardrop.

"Just sore," he groaned. "I'm fine."

He could feel Donnie's presence as he approached. He stopped a few feet behind where Leo was standing, back bowed.

"You don't look fine," he pointed out.

Leo hadn't "looked fine" since the prison dimension. He choked on a laugh at the thought, unable to smother it. He couldn't see Donnie's face, but he could imagine the expression it displayed with ease.

The tension between them grew. When was the last time Leo had talked one-on-one with his twin? He didn't remember it ever being this awkward.

The cramp in his leg let up a little. Leo gingerly placed it on the ground, testing his weight. The sooner he could get out of this situation, the better.

"I should go," Leo said finally, straightening. He turned. Donnie's arms were crossed over his plastron, examining him with narrowed eyes. Leo stepped around him, gaze avoidant.

He got halfway across the kitchen before Donnie spoke.

"How long were you out?" Donnie asked. "Your bandages are soaked."

Leo recognized the trap laid out in his brothers' casual demeanor.

"Not long," he replied, matching Donnie's tone. "Just needed some air."

"Hm, is that so? Because I've been up since midnight, and it's now--" He checked his com band. "--two thirteen, so unless you magically gained the ability to be quiet, I'm not sure your story holds water."

Leo resisted the urge to make a pun. "Hey, I can be quiet!" he protested.

His brothers (somehow) hadn't realized just how accurate Leo's ninpō had gotten in the previous months. He would prefer it stayed that way. (Raph definitely wouldn't be too happy to find out how much time Leo spent overlooking foreign cityscapes instead of sleeping.)

"Don't change the subject, Leo, I know what you're doing." Donnie placed his hands on his hips. (Did mutant turtles have hips?)

Leo held his hands up in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. Fine." Prime example of a battle he refused to pick. "I lost track of time, sue me."

Donnie blew out a breath, and Leo knew they were entering safer waters. Works every time, he thought.

"Just tell me you didn't go far?" Donnie asked wearily. "Raph would freak."

"I didn't," Leo assured him. It wasn't a lie-- compared to his usual destinations, his trip to downtown New York was a novelty. "You aren't going to tell him, are you?"

Donnie hesitated. Leo's expression grew shuttered.

"No," he sighed. "Just-- next time you go out, could you at least leave a note or something? That way, if you get kidnapped by pirates again, we'll know where to look?"

"That was one time," Leo argued. Donnie sent him The Look™. "...Okay, two times, but can you really blame me?"

"Yes." Donnie stated the word without hesitation.

Leo hid a smile. It was easy, falling back into their familiar banter. He had missed this.

His legs gave a throb of pain and he winced. "I should go," he said reluctantly.

Donnie blinked, caught off guard. His gaze took on a hint of concern. "Oh. Uh. Right." He shifted uncomfortably. "Here. Do you... I can carry that for you." He gestured at the first aid kit.

Leo wanted to refuse, but he'd officially run out of luck. At that moment, his legs gave out beneath him. He crumpled, carapace smarting at the sudden movement.

"Leo!" Donnie knelt next to him, eyes dark with worry. "Are you okay? What's happening?"

"It's nothing, I'm fine," he groaned out. His leg gave a traitorous pulse, and he yelped.

Donnie stood. "I'm getting Raph," he decided.

"No!" Leo cried. "Honestly, Tello, I'm fine."

"Is that why you're laying on the kitchen floor?"

Leo swatted weakly at Donnie's calf. "No," he groaned. "It's just... the rain. Makes all my scars ache, and stuff."

"Oh," Donnie said. He returned to a kneel. "I... didn't think of that."

"'S fine," Leo grumbled. "Just need to re-wrap my bandages." Something he was not looking forward to.

His muscles slowly untensed, leaving a dull ache of pain in their wake. He let out a miserable sigh, closing his eyes.

In a moment, he'd need to get up and make his way to the bathroom. Though, he could probably get away with a few more minutes on the floor. Donnie had seen him through worse.

To his surprise, he could feel an arm slipping under his shoulders, helping him up. He cracked open an eye to see Donnie on his left side, bracing his arm on the wall as he helped pull Leo to his feet.

"Okay, come on," he groaned. "Let's get you to the bathroom before you forget how to walk again."

"Ugh, rude," Leo said, accepting his support. "You'd say that to an injured man? I'm on the cusp of death here, Dee."

"I'd say that to a dead man."

"What, was that a threat?"

"No, but it can be."

Leo snorted, then winced as they made their way down the steps. Donnie was careful, but not smothering, letting Leo lead. They limped their way to the bathroom, where Donnie set him down on a stool, flicking on the light.

"Thanks for leaving fucking puddles everywhere," Donnie said, lifting up his foot and shaking it. "Did you really not dry yourself off at all?"

"I dried my off my katanas," Leo defended. Donnie rolled his eyes and mumbled something beneath his breath. He turned and began rifling through the cabinet for a towel.

"Just use one off the floor," Leo said, kicking at the towels he'd discarded earlier.

"Those ones are shit," Donnie said, emerging triumphant with a fluffy, dark purple towel he must have hidden somewhere in the back. "Do you really want a sad, dirty floor rag? Not that it wouldn't fit you, but..."

Leo snorted, hiding a grin in the back of his hand. Donnie leaned over and swaddled him in the towel, wiping off his plastron with quick motions.

"What are you, some kind of towel elitist?" He leaned away, grabbing the towel for himself and pulling over his carapace. "smh, can't believe you were holding out on me." He rubbed his hand over the plush fabric. "I might be stealing this."

"Did you just say 'smh' out loud?" Donnie asked. "And absolutely not, I will destroy you."

"Then you gotta tell me who your dealer is, at least." Leo buried his face in the cushy material. When he spoke again, his voice was muffled. "This is exactly the kind of wasteful bullshit I need in my life."

"Frivolous luxury would suit you," Donnie mused.

Leo simpered up at him. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Do you even know what that word means? And don't fucking simper at me."

Leo simpered even harder.

Donnie grabbed one of the towels from the floor and threw it at him. Leo raised his hands with a laugh, shielding his face.

Donnie snatched his purple towel back. "Shh! You're gonna wake the others."

"I'm not the one who decided to commit a hate crime." Leo took off his mask and placed it on the sink.

"I threw a towel at you," Donnie deadpanned. "How is that a hate crime?"

"Because you were being mean to me." Leo wore his best pout.

"That's not a hate crime."

"It is if you hate me."

"I don't think you know what that word means, either." Donnie opened the first aid kit, setting it on the sink. "Okay, sit tight."

Leo stuck his tongue out, but kept quiet as Donnie leaned over him, inspecting his bandages. Neither of them spoke as Donnie took one in hand and carefully began to peel it off. He grimaced as it exposed the puckered scar beneath, gently dabbing it with a clean pad of gauze.

Leo didn't bother to wince at the soft prick of pain. It was so minuscule compared to everything else he'd gone through.

The thought was a depressing one, draining the small amount of humor he'd managed to recover out of his chest. He slumped a little, studying the floor.

Donnie seemed to notice the change. He paused for a minute, thinking. Leo could nearly hear the gears in his brain turning as he puzzled out what to say.

"...I hope the rain stops soon," he finally settled on, cautious.

"Yeah," Leo sighed. He glanced at the wall, his jaw working. "I used to like the rain."

"Yeah? Oh, that's right," Donnie remembered. "You would always beg papa to take you up to the surface when it rained. And then Raph."

Leo nodded mutely, turning his thoughts over in his head.

"Its... I just..." Leo glared at the wall. "It makes me angry."

Donnie replaced one of his bandages with a new one and started re-wrapping his shoulder. "The rain?"

A sudden wave of emotion rose in him, and Leo's hands clenched. "No. The Kraang. That they-- that they took that from me." He glared at the floor willing his mouth to not wobble. Damn it.

Donnie didn't speak, but he rested his free hand on Leo's shoulder.

"It's just-- it's so stupid." Leo tried for a bitter laugh, but it came out wetter than he'd intended. He sniffed, trying to get a hold of himself.

"It's just fucking rain. But it's like-- every time it rains, I'm not gonna be thinking about how much I like it, or drag you guys out to stand in it. 'Cuz all I'm gonna be thinking about it the stupid fucking Kraang."

Donnie had gone still, but his hand remained on Leo's shoulder, a silent show of support.

Leo swiped a hand over his face. "And it's stupid, because-- we got rid of them! The Kraang are supposed to be gone, or whatever." His voice broke on the word 'gone,' but he persisted.

"But they're still here. Everywhere I go in the city, I'm reminded of them. They're like... a shadow, or something, looming over me. All the things I like, they've infected." He barked out a wet laugh.

"I mean, did you know the reason I gifted all my Jupiter Jim comics to Mikey is that I can't read them without thinking about the Kraang? And it's-- so stupid because I love Jupiter Jim. But now I can't even watch our favorite movies, because every time it feels like a punch to the throat!"

Leo was about to cry, something he really didn't want to do right now. He took a tremulous breath. "I mean-- isn't that stupid? I know it's stupid." He let out a shaky laugh.

"...I don't think it's stupid," Donnie offered quietly. He returned to his previous task of changing Leo's bandages. "I think it makes perfect logical sense. We went through something traumatic. Of course it's going to affect us negatively."

Leo laughed, sharp and bitter. "Yeah." He glared at the floor.

It was quiet for a long moment.

"I get it."

Leo looked up, confused. "What?"

Donnie worried at the edge of his mouth, intent on his task. "Do you remember when I took control of the Technodrome?"

Leo swiped a hand across his face. Guilt twinged in his abdomen. "Mhm."

"In order to create a connection, it had to--" Donnie cut himself off. "Um. It had to. Physically connect to me."

Leo froze. "Like... how?"

Donnie tapped a repeating pattern on the edge of his shell, before reaching for the medical tape. "It was... through my shell."

"Oh." Leo said. Then, "Oh."

"Yeah," Donnie sighed.

Leo scuffed his feet on the floor. "Shit, Dee, I'm s--"

Donnie flicked him firmly on the forehead. "Don't."

"Hey!" Leo cried, rubbing at the spot.

"If you're gonna apologize, apologize for something that was actually your fault." The words were spoken with the tone of one who is used to speaking them. "And anyway, it was my choice."

"You wouldn't have needed to choose it if--"

"Nardo, oh my god, I will smack you." Donnie pulled back. "I am trying to empathize with you here, why are you making this so hard?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Leo mumbled.

Donnie sighed. "It's-- well, it's not fine, but. It's a topic for another time."

Leo nodded.

"As I was saying," Donnie continued, "It was not the most pleasant experience, going into it. And-- well, I didn't particularly enjoy the hasty removal, either.

"But... I didn't mind it, being in there. It's just... it made me realize how much I'm missing. How weak I am, with my shell." Donnie rubbed an absentminded hand over the strap of his battle shell. "Sometimes I'll wake up, and I'll..." His voice dipped into a whisper. "I'll miss it."

He paused as if waiting for Leo to react. Perhaps with disgust, or anger. Leo did neither, covering Donnie's hand on his shell with his own.

"I know it's not a perfect correlation, but. It makes me... feel. Emotions. Things I don't like." Donnie rummaged around in the kit for another piece of gauze. "And I just. It's. Ugh."

"'Ugh.'" Leo agreed. "That's a pretty good word for it."

Donnie scowled at him.

"I'm being serious!"

"Ok, enough being nice to you," Donnie announced. "I'm leaving. Suffer."

"But Dee," Leo whined, dragging out the 'e'. "You didn't finish wrapping my shell."

"Urgh, fine." Donnie rolled his eyes. Leo resisted a smile, secure in the knowledge that he wouldn't have actually left.

They lapsed into silence again. Far above, Leo could hear the rain slowing, the downpour giving way.

Donnie finished wrapping his shell. He pulled back, considering. There was an edge of hesitation to his expression. Leo knew that look.

“What’re you��”

Donnie leaned down and pulled him into a hug.

Leo tensed for a moment, caught off guard.

Donnie was very particular about touch. He didn’t like casual touch, unless he was the one to initiate it. That, plus with the invasion, had made him even touchier about it than usual. Well, less touchier.

When was the last time they’d just. Hung out? Slung an arm over the others’s shoulder?

Leo closed his eyes and let out a shuddery sigh. He melted into the embrace. God, he was tired.

Donnie pulled back. He placed a hand on the back of his neck, mouth hanging open as if he’d had something to say, but had forgotten it.

“You’re bandages are done,” he said finally.

Leo glanced down. “Oh. Thank you.”

Donnie nodded stiffly, and backed off. “We should turn the lights off before anybody else wakes up.”

Leo nodded in agreement. He was surprised Casey hadn’t woken yet. He made to stand, the full-body ache in his limbs intensifying. His feet landed in a puddle of water.

"Hold on, I have to clean the water off the floor," Leo said, reaching for a towel. Donnie intercepted him.

"I will clean it up," he contended. "It's time for you to get to bed."

"Don't act like your sleep schedule is any better than mine," Leo returned, but silently, he was grateful.

Donnie switched the lights off behind them and walked with Leo to his train car. It wasn't necessary by any means, but Leo didn't mind. The sick, weary feeling in his gut had been replaced by something warm and safe.

He paused at the steps to his train car, turning back. "I think I can go to bed by myself," he joked.

"After tonight, I truly doubt that," Donnie said drily, but Leo could hear a hint of fatigue in his voice. No doubt he was bone-tired.

Leo shuffled his feet. "Um, sorry. I didn't mean to keep you up."

Donnie stared at him, letting the silence stagnate long enough for Leo to remember their earlier conversation.

"Please go to bed," he said finally, exasperated.

"If I must," Leo sighed, putting on an air of melodrama.

"You must," Donnie deadpanned. Leo stuck his tongue at him again.

With little fanfare, Donnie turned and began to walk away. Leo watched him go, mentally preparing himself for the strain of getting up the steps into his train car.

“Oh, hey, and Leo?” Donnie looked back.

Leo frowned in confusion. “What?”

Donnie smirked at him. “I changed my mind. I’m not cleaning the floor.”

Leo gasped, adopting a scandalized expression. “Liar! How could you?”

Donnie smiled evilly and disappeared up the steps into his train car.

Leo went to bed smiling.

In the morning, he checked the bathroom floor and found that it was clean.

#...would you believe me if i said this was supposed to be short?#ignore me sneaking my headcanons in there #and thank you for the ask!!#hang tight i am working on another “drabble” as well (: it should be (hopefully) shorter than this one #tho idk when i'll post it given my regular chapter writing #long post #tw long post #rottmnt #rottmnt drabbles #writing #my writing #hurt/comfort #disaster twins #confessionals #no t-cest #was feeling very contemplative with this one so that's why my writing is all pretentious in some spots haha #also ignore any mistakes i just kinda glanced over it before i sent it out #yeah i know low-hanging fruit everybody and their sister has written insomnia disaster twins #but *I* havent so. im filling my legal obligation #sorry this took a while btw #i wanted to put more platonic cuddling in there but it just didn’t fit into the flow of the story i was setting up #so i hope you’ll forgive me for that /lh /nsrs

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scarlet-star-witch · 7 months ago

Text

The moon and his sun

Aemond Targaryen x Female reader

Summary: People would remember their story. Even decades after they were gone, Septa’s would tell young children about the one-eyed dragon prince and his sweet wife as if they were a part of a fairytale, too good to be true for the harshness real life possessed.

Aemond meets a young girl who quickly becomes his most cherished friend and changes the course of history.

Word count: 11.5 K

Warnings: Fluffy, Aemond finally makes a friend, characters will be aged up next chapter, reader is from a made-up house

AN: This is my first time writing for HOTD and I'm excited and terrified to share this story with you. I've had this idea in my head for so long and decided to finally get it out. Hope you enjoy xx

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Epilogue

He was used to playing for second best.

In his short life he became used to disinterested gazes, murmurs of his supposed cold heart and fits of rage, avoidant steps when he passed, the curse he possessed as the scarred second son.

But never from her.

She looked at him as though he put the stars in the sky. She looked at him as if he was the reason the sky bloomed with breathtaking colors in the early morning.

He felt himself unworthy of her attention and affection, something she was aware of, and she would hold him and tell him all the love she gave him was very much deserved.

It was a sentiment he always had trouble not disputing instantly.

She made his miserable heart full.

Aemond couldn’t believe his luck himself for the sun that entered his world and brightened his life.

He never believed he was worthy of her love.

And she spent her entire life trying to prove him wrong.

It was a beautiful, sunny, cloudless day.

A day Aemond was dreading.

It wasn’t often their family made trips away from King’s Landing. His father was King and most visitors made the effort to come to the Capitol and spare them the effort of a visit, but a sudden trip had their entire family uproot their usual routine and he found himself hating every moment of it.

Being dragonless, he was left to endure the crashing waves of the sea that made his stomach turn.

“This place is disgusting.” Aegon said the moment they landed on solid ground.

“Aegon.” His mother admonished with a steady glare. “The Ixtal Islands are a beautiful place and they’re home to one of the most powerful houses in the seven kingdoms. You would do well to show them some respect.”

“Not like they’ll offer me anything of importance.” He muttered bitterly. Rumors had spread of his mother and father’s desire to wed him to his sister Heleana, his future already planned for him.

His mood was immediately soured at the realization that none of the beauties he saw on the Island shore were his intended, but that wouldn’t stop him from having his fun.

“Why are we even here?” Aegon whined immaturely, making his mother suppress yet another eye roll in response.

“The Lord of Ixtal is an old friend of your father.”

“I still don’t understand why that demands my presence here.” Aegon rolled his eyes.

“Our council is in need of a new Master of Coin and your father is considering his dear friend. We are here for negotiations and our family is nothing if not loyal. Your father, our King, needs us.” Alicent answered shortly.

Aemond was excited to finally see the Island he had read so much about. He knew their history, their riches and goods they traded with the entirety of the realm. The Ixtal Islands were the most plentiful and prosperous house in the realm and he was in awe to see his readings come to life before him.

It was the socialization he dreaded.

Nobles would look at Aegon with respect, respect he didn’t deserve even being the first born son of the King. Helaena would be regarded with reverence, a comparison to the Realm’s Delight.

But he was nothing more than a second son, easily brushed over.

Daeron was still just a babe, too young to understand the slight they possessed not having been born first, but Aemond understood all too well.

Their family was escorted into a grand throne room and Aemond was in awe of the intricate ornaments that decorated the hall and he briefly wondered why King’s Landing was where the most powerful man in the realm sat when this place existed.

His wide eyes eagerly took in every sight in front of him, admiring how the vast forest behind the castle casted a mystical green glow on the room from the giant window sitting behind the intricate gold throne.

“Viserys!” A cheerful voice called and for the first time in a long time, Aemond heard his father laugh, a genuinely delighted sound as he embraced his friend.

Aegon shared a brief look with him, his shock at hearing his father's laughter clear in the way he furrowed his brows in bitterness.

“It’s been too long, my friend.”

“Alicent, always a delight to see you, my dear.”

Aemond noted the blush on his mother’s cheeks as the charming lord embraced her. He shifted on his feet as his siblings were introduced. He knew what came next, the flippant dismissal was familiar yet it stung each time.

He looked up as the Lord shook hands with Aegon and gave Helaena a polite nod, her body language giving him the signal she wasn’t comfortable with anything else.

As he stepped in front of Aemond, he suddenly felt two feet tall under the man’s gaze. Until he smiled. It was a gesture filled with warmth he hadn’t been expecting.

“Aemond, a strong name for a strong lad.” The lord clapped his shoulder and Aemond felt his body straighten, his confidence reappearing the second he realized he wasn’t going to be passed over yet again.

He looked up at the Lord with a smile, feeling more respected by the stranger in front of him than he ever had from his own father.

“You remember my wife,” The Lord gestured to a finely dressed woman who smiled and bowed to them courteously.

“My son and-” The lord stopped abruptly, suddenly noticing the absence of the person who was supposed to be next in line and looked to his wife who was already wincing, having expected the abrupt drop in conversation due to their eldest daughter’s absence.

“My apologies, my daughter has lived here all her life yet still feels the need to explore.” The Lady of Ixtal explained, the lack of anger in her voice that gave way to begrudging acceptance made it obvious this was a common occurrence.

Viserys laughed and looked at his friend.

“You could not possibly think your children would give you any trouble, would you?” He chided sarcastically to the Lord who could only laugh in delight at his beloved daughter’s antics.

Aemond watched the interaction with wide eyes, intrigued by the sense of ease that surrounded everything.

If they were in King’s Landing and he was late to an event, his mother would have his hyde.

Suddenly, the great doors slammed open and an armored knight was seen running into the room, his hand latched onto someone small who was giggling in delight.

“My Lord, My Lady, I am so sorry, she wanted-”

“It’s quite alright, Ser Jerrod. I know my daughter could not have made it easy for you.” The Lord dismissed the unnecessary apology and smiled down at his daughter who smiled somewhat sheepishly as she passed by to take her place in line.

She smoothed her hands down the front of her silk dress and stood straighter, putting on the air of the perfect and primed daughter, as if they hadn’t all just seen her enter in a tizzy five minutes late.

Her mother looked down at her and leaned over her brother’s shoulder to pluck a leaf from her disheveled hair. Her eyes widened slightly, fearing retribution for her antics, but her mother only raised a teasing brow, silently admonishing her.

The girl brushed her messy hair off her shoulder and finally moved her gaze to their guests, a smile coming to her face as she met the eyes of the silver haired boy in front of her.

Aemond was rooted to his spot, his expression one of perplexed confusion. The smile she sent him, the gesture which was so simple - and usually faked by most at court - was blinding.

He was taken aback by the fact that she hadn’t looked at the powerful presence that was the King or the Queen faithfully at his side. She hadn’t looked at Aegon, Daeron or even Helaena, the only girl close to her age in the room.

She looked at him first.

She smiled at him first.

It was a gesture that wouldn’t mean much to anyone else, but to him, it meant everything, it lifted the veil of neglect he was so familiar with from his shoulders, leaving him to feel lighter than before.

He listened as the Lord introduced his daughter and he ran her name over and over in his head, feeling his cheeks heat, a blush easily coming to his face as she greeted everyone, but her stare came back to him, smiling shyly.

“This place is beautiful.” Helaena spoke dreamily as she took in their surroundings.

They were granted leave to look around while the servants prepared to set up the welcome feast.

Aemond couldn't take his eyes off the white sand and the crystal blue water. He breathed deeply, relieved to smell nothing but fresh flowers and ocean water and not the filth that permeated King’s Landing.

“Father should take over this place.” Aegon mused, earning looks of disdain from his siblings, which he easily shrugged off. “What? It’s much better than our shithole of a home.”

Aemond rolled his eyes at his brother’s crass nature and kept walking, praying Aegon would somehow get lost or at least get bored of his company and leave.

The sound of a loud laugh caught all of their attention and they walked their way through the lavish gardens to find it. Aemond suddenly became nervous as he saw the children of the Lord and Lady of Ixtal.

The oldest son was playing some sort of ball game with his younger brother. The youngest sibling was reading quietly with her Septa. But the eldest daughter was nowhere to be found.

As they stepped forward, the youngest son straightened and nudged his brother to stop. Catching sight of the young Targaryen princes and princess they let the ball they were playing with drop to the ground as they bowed respectfully.

“Hello.” Helaena spoke brightly and the two young boys were helpless against her sweet nature and they both smiled and greeted her warmly.

“Where’s the other one?” Aegon asked rudely, looking around for the pretty girl from earlier who was missing.

Aemond grit his teeth, praying Aegon wouldn’t drive her away before he even had the chance to speak to her.

“She’s in her tree.”

“Her tree?”

The oldest brother pointed to the enormous willow tree behind them.

He called out to his sister, alerting her to the presence of the royal children and just seconds later, Aemond watched with a slowly growing smile as a lithe form began to descend the ancient tree.

She was slightly out of breath as she jumped the last few feet to the ground, brushing her already tangled hair out of her face as she practically skipped towards them.

As if her Septa’s teachings and her mother’s scolding from that morning had finally caught up to her, the smile on her face fell slightly, remembering she was in the presence of royalty. She slowed her pace and curtsied slightly clumsily as she came before them.

“It is lovely to see you all again. I hope you are enjoying Ixtal.”

Aemond felt his face heat with a deep blush at the sound of her voice, the slight accent he heard capturing him instantly and he wished nothing more than to take the book from her young sister’s hands and demand she read it to him just so he could continue to hear the beautiful sound of her voice.

“Your home is lovely. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Helaena spoke, breaking him from his thoughts. She moved towards the girl, the two of them engaging in easy conversation.

Aegon began speaking with the two brothers, learning the rules to the ball game they were playing, the young boys instantly getting along. Which left Aemond to stand by himself.

He shifted on his feet anxiously, contemplating if he should leave and find his mother. He’d at least have someone to talk to then. The pit in his stomach that grew as the familiar feeling of loneliness settled over him broke abruptly at the sound of the beautiful voice again.

“Would you like to sit?”

He looked up, his eyes meeting hers and for a moment, he wondered if she had actually been speaking to him. His gaze found Helaena who was now kneeling to talk to the youngest of the children who was mesmerized by her lavish dress.

Which left the oldest daughter alone and her gaze on him.

He swallowed against the lump in his throat and stepped forward slowly, his heart racing as he took a seat on the bench next to her.

“What are you writing?” He asked after clearing his throat, wincing to himself at the nerves that lingered in his words.

“Drawing actually.” She corrected. “And not very well by the looks of it.” She shifted closer to him to show him the sketches in her notebook, the scent of lavender invading every one of his senses as her shoulder brushed against his.

His eyes looked over the shaky drawings of flowers and the willow tree she had been sitting in just moments ago.

“They’re beautiful.”

She smiled and the sight was enough to leave Aemond thankful that he was sitting.

“Do you draw?”

“No, nowhere near as well as you.”

“You must be shit then because these are awful.”

Aemond choked on his breath at her words, his wide eyes looking over at her in shock. She had a carelessness to her that he thought he would’ve found arrogant, it was certainly how he felt about the other ladies at court who were so brazen before him.

But he found he could only feel enamored by the girl beside him.

A quiet laugh escaped him, his stomach flipping in ways he had never felt before.

“They’re not so bad.” He spoke quietly, his nerves reverting him to his bashful nature.

“You’re quite the flatterer, Aemond.”

No words came to him, he was left to stare back at her, completely taken aback by her easy nature and blinding smile.

She continued to show him her other sketches, the conversation between them flowing easily, something that Aemond had never experienced.

Later, as their guards escorted them away to prepare for the feast, Aemond’s ears rang with the sound of her laughter, leaving him to hope he would hear it again before he had to leave.

He spent the night with a smile on his face, behaving more animatedly than he had in all his life. Alicent had looked at her second son with barely contained emotion, delighted to see him so at ease.

She was so caught up in her emotions, she hadn’t even noticed how his eyes never strayed too far from the eldest daughter of Ixtal.

The mischievous island girl was known to walk around the halls of the castle at all hours. It had happened so often for so long the guards didn’t bother to stop her anymore and no one batted an eye when they saw her wandering.

She made her way to her parents chamber hours after she had been put to bed.

She couldn’t stop the thought in her head and she had to see it through.

With a smile to the guard at her parent’s door, she strolled in as if it were her own chamber. Her parents looked startled for all of a second before they sighed in resignation.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed, Darling?”

“I was.”

Her father huffed out a laugh. “So what brings you here, Troublemaker?”

She let out a breath, her shoulders straightening, as if portraying herself as proper would help her cause.

“I want to go with you to King’s Landing.”

Her request did not go over as easily as she wished, she spent the next hour arguing with her parents, pleading her case. She may have overstated how much her decision to learn more about court, but her parents did not need to know her desire lay purely with her need to explore what the Capitol could offer.

Her parents knew she loved to explore and the chance to see a new part of the realm was too tempting to not indulge her in. Her parents loved her more than anything, they loved and doted on all their children in ways that left Lords and Ladies from other houses to scoff and roll their eyes in disdain.

They couldn’t say no to her.

By the next morning, she stood at her father’s side as their ship sailed to King’s Landing, her arm linked through his, her head filled with the wonders of what this new place would have to offer.

A smile grew on her lips as she pictured the shy boy who had complimented her drawings and her excitement began to grow.

She was more reserved than she had ever been as she sat beside the table of royals. King Viserys had planned an extravagant welcome feast for the Lord of Ixtal, his new Master of Coin and his daughter to welcome them to King’s Landing.

She had never experienced so many Lords and Ladies approaching her before, giving her their hand to shake and curtsey before them in greeting. It felt as though she had never truly existed until she made it to the Capitol, where the matters of the court actually held weight and prospect.

Her father had regaled many a knight and Lord over the course of the night, leaving her by his side to sit quietly, the overlooked daughter. She knew the power her house held, she knew the reason most Lords gave their good fortune to her father was to ensure their trade routes would continue prosperously. She knew she was nothing more than fodder at her father’s side.

She picked at her food unhappily, contemplating her decision to venture so far from her home, so far from what was comfortable. Her eyes rose from her plate, surveying the large throne room before her, catching sight of her father in talks with a large group of Lords from around the realm.

With a heavy sigh, knowing she couldn’t interrupt her father, her eyes moved to the head table where the Targaryen family sat.

The head seat where the King sat was empty, he was busy at her father’s side. She let her eyes roam over the queen, taking in her quiet servitude and demure presence. Her gaze fell to the heir, Princess Rhaenyra sat with her husband Laenor Valaryon, her brows quickly rising at the sight of the brown haired children sat beside the silver-headed wedded pair.

Her eyes fell to Queen Alicent’s children, a small smile growing as she caught the gaze of Princess Helaena, the quiet girl sparing her a wave to which she eagerly reciprocated.

She was never one to fade into the background and she eagerly took the Princess’ gesture as a sign of goodwill, standing from her seat to make her way to the head table.

Helaena beamed at the girl as she approached, oblivious to her elder brother’s lustful intrigue and her younger brother who sat up straighter as the girl approached.

“Hello, my Lady, I hope King’s Landing is treating you well.” Helaena greeted the girl happily.

“It is lovely, Princess. I am sincerely grateful to your father for allowing myself and my father to reside in your home.”

“We are delighted to have you.” Helaena assured her. She fidgeted with her hands for a moment, her face turning bashful for a moment. “The ladies of the court will be gathering tomorrow, you should join.”

“I’d love to.” She responded eagerly, relieved to know her newfound solitude would not be long held.

“You should join us for breakfast as well. I can show you my collection.” Helaena added excitedly.

“By the Gods, Helaena.” Aegon groaned beside her.

“Collection?” She asked, staunchly ignoring the prince sitting next to the blushing princess.

“My insects. I’ve collected quite a beautiful group of them. I’d love to show you.”

Helaena had a lovely innocence to her she was powerless against.

“I’d be delighted to see them.” She told the princess sincerely, hoping she had found a friend in the eccentric girl. “I’ve also heard wonderful things about your library. I’m eager to read the works about Valryian history and the Targaryen dynasty. There are only rumors where I come from.”

Aemond sat forward in his seat, his eagerness to interject himself finally coming to a head.

“I can show you to the library.” Aemond offered, finally making his presence known.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to take you from your duties.”

“You won’t.” He insisted, positive his face was blooming with a pink blush as her attention now lay on him. “There are many books that have not been translated, I would be happy to read them to you.”

He seemed to melt under her gaze that watched him curiously.

“You would do that?”

“Of course.” He insisted.

“That would be wonderful.”

He was thankful he was sitting because her smile would have knocked him off his feet.

By the next morning, as soon as the sun rose, he was sitting in the library, anxiously anticipating her arrival. He didn’t have to wait long until the door creaked open and her eager eyes took in the vast shelves around her.

She greeted him with happiness as if they were long time friends, causing his stomach to flutter in ways he had never felt before.

“This is incredible.” She mused, eyeing the many books she had to indulge in.

They spent the afternoon together, her at his side as he read the Valryian texts of their history, stopping every few minutes to answer the many intrigued questions she had.

Aemond was sure his face was on fire, he had never blushed so hard. No one had ever taken such an interest in him, no one had ever paid so much attention to him, no one had ever bothered to listen to him.

But here she was, this girl at his side, eager to know more, asking question after question, trusting him to give her the answer. As soon as he began to fear he had spoken too much, taken too much of her time she’d drawl out ‘tell me more’ or ‘what happened next’ and he was rooted to his seat, turning to the next page as he explained the history of the Targaryen dynasty to her eager ears.

He had never felt so important.

King’s Landing proved to be just as wondrous as she dreamed it. Granted, it didn’t have the luxurious beaches or sprawling forests her home did, but she was just thrilled to be exploring a new corner of the world.

Aemond had quickly become her closest ally. He had taken to showing her every inch of the place he thought she would enjoy, dragging her along to the mazes of gardens, the weirwood tree, the luxurious Sept, but her favorite had to be the library. She had spent many late nights with Aemond at her side, perusing through the many ancient works of Valyrian history.

It fascinated her, but she couldn’t deny she loved to hear Aemond’s voice as he read to her, enthralled with stories of Aegon the Conqueror and his two sister-wives, stories of ancient dragons and their riders, of wars long passed.

A week into their stay, as she broke her fast with her father, she was practically bouncing in her seat, shoveling her food into her mouth as quickly as she could, eager to get the meal over with so she could meet with Aemond and Helaena, the two of them quickly becoming her closest confidants.

“Slow down, my love, you’re going to choke.” Her father warned with a chuckle at her enthusiasm.

“Sorry.” She mumbled through the food in her mouth, causing her father to grimace at her very unlady-like behavior.

“Your eagerness wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain Targaryen, would it?” He asked slowly, his knowing smile teasing her clear affection for the young boy she was growing closer to each day.

“Helaena and I are good friends.” She shrugged, effectively dodging her father’s prying. He rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat, watching her thoughtfully. He had no idea where she had gained such a witty mouth, it certainly wasn’t from him or his sweet, quiet wife.

She finished the rest of her breakfast at record speed and hopped out of her seat, pressing a quick kiss to her father’s cheek.

“I’ll see you at dinner!” She called out over her shoulder as she skipped to the door.

“Be safe!” He called out, but she was already racing down the halls. He looked to the guard at the door pointedly who nodded and trailed after the rambunctious girl.

She slowed her pace once she reached the courtyard, suddenly very aware of the many eyes that would be on her if she was caught sprinting through the halls. She spotted a head of silver hair by the gates and she beamed, throwing all care out the window as she began to jog towards him.

“Aemond!” She called out and watched as the boy turned to her, his own smile growing at the sight of her.

“Took you long enough.” He jested playfully and reveled in the dramatic scowl she sent him.

“I’m not late. You are just an insane man that voluntarily wakes with the sun.”

It was so small, something so miniscule, but it still managed to make his heart race. Knowing she remembered a small detail about him, no matter if it was something that was so inconsequential, was something he couldn’t wrap his head around.

He hadn’t expected it to affect him the way it did.

~~~

She found herself with Helaena in the gardens, finding any bugs she could for the enigmatic

princess. Digging a jittery bug out of the dirt, her nose scrunched in distaste as the many legged creature crawled over her hand.

“What is this thing?”

Helaena peered over curiously and a wide smile beamed on her face.

“That’s a beetle.”

“They’re not poisonous, are they?”

The princess laughed in amusement at the widened eyes that met her gaze and she shook her head. “No, you’re safe.”

The girl nodded and, though still on edge, was less stressed as she held the bug in her hands.

Helaena, preoccupied with her own bugs, stole frequent looks at the girl next to her, noting the unease in her eyes. She smiled lightly and leaned in close to her.

“You don’t have to do this with me. I know not everyone likes the things I like. I can do this by myself.”

The girl looked startled by her words, a frown growing on her usually bright features and she looked down at the bug in her hands again, her eyes shifting from a look of disgust to one of determination, as if she could force herself to not feel grossed out at their existence.

“I like being here with you.” She said softly. “I don’t really have anyone else here.”

Helaena frowned, the thought of her brother immediately coming to mind and the smile that would grace his usually sullen face every time he was with the Island girl. As if she had conjured him herself, she looked over her shoulder, noticing him coming their way.

“Hello, Brother.” She smiled, though it was futile as his attention was locked onto the beauty beside her.

“Hello.” He spoke, though his eyes never left his sister’s friend. “What are you doing?”

“Finding bugs. Would you like to join?”

Helaena, having expected a ‘no’, given it was always Aemond’s answer anytime she asked him for help digging through the gardens, was shocked as he took a seat among them and dug his hands in the dirt before them without question.

The Princess watched with barely contained delight as her brother and friend immediately started conversing as if she weren’t there, the comfortable ease between them thriving.

Usually she would feel slighted by such an occurrence, but rather than feeling ignored, she was happy to see her brother, who was usually so serious, look completely unburdened. She worried about him, about how tightly wound he was, but since the Lord of Ixtal and his daughter had come to King’s Landing, she had noticed his demeanor change, as if he could finally take a deep breath and release the things that so often held him down.

Aemond looked at the dirt beneath his fingernails and mourned at what his night routine would be subjected to, but he found he didn’t care all that much. The stolen glances to the girl beside him had all sense of propriety out the window.

“Do you do this every day, Princess?” She asked the Targaryen who shrugged shyly.

“Most days. I find I prefer the company of bugs over people.”

The bark of laughter that left her had both the siblings smiling, her joyful nature contagious.

Aemond was transfixed, until he heard his name and he was forced out of his daydreams. He looked up at Aegon who was standing before them, judgment painting his features.

“What are you doing here?”

“We’re digging for bugs, Brother.” Helaena answered innocently, her eyes thankfully locked onto the caterpillar on her finger so she didn’t see how her brother rolled his eyes in disdain.

Aemond glowered at his brother, his mood dampened, his protectiveness for his sister rising involuntarily whenever he was around. He hated seeing Helaena’s eyes dim with every one of his hurtful words.

The Island girl looked between the siblings, beginning to understand just how different they were to her and her own siblings. The more time she spent with Aegon, the more she disliked him. She looked back at Aemond and frowned, noticing the dower expression grow on her friend’s face, and she called his name.

“Hmm?”

“What are these?” She asked, her dirt covered fingers trailing over the petals of the flowers in front of them, diverting his attention from Aegon.

“Marigolds.” He answered quickly, as if he wanted her to be impressed by his knowledge. “You don’t have these in Ixtal?”

“No. It’s a shame, they’re beautiful.”

Aemond bit his lip, his heart racing as she moved back to digging for bugs. He ignored the nerves that coursed through him and reached out to pluck the flower.

“Here.”

She looked up and her eyes widened, her cheeks burning as he tucked the flower behind her ear, his shy smile mirroring hers, his hesitance clear, but his bravery clearer.

Aegon scoffed, rolling his eyes at the pair.

The noise caused them both to glare at the older Targaryen, their eyes narrowed in annoyance.

“You two are pathetic.”

“It’s not our fault your pea sized brain cannot comprehend the idea of caring for someone other than yourself.” She snarked easily, making Aemond’s eyes widen as he nervously looked between her and his brother whose face twisted in anger.

Thankfully, his brother was smart enough to know not to start a fight with her and he stomped away, most likely in search of more wine.

“You shouldn’t do that.” Aemond mumbled, his worried eyes lingering on his brother’s figure as he stormed off.

“Do what?”

“Antagonize him.”

“Someone needs to knock him off his high horse. Why can’t it be me?” She shrugged, perfectly content to be the antagonist in Aegon Targaryen’s life.

“Because I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Why would anything happen to me?”

“Because… he’s… it’s Aegon.” He stressed, as if his brother’s existence was enough explanation.

“Yes, and he’s an absolute cock.”

Aemond’s eyes widened, not expecting the vulgar word to leave her lips. Helaena giggled and leaned into the girl at her side. His shoulders slumped and he allowed himself to laugh, amazed yet not surprised at her ability to evade him of his worries.

A body crashed into her as she turned the corner, almost knocking her off balance, but arms that quickly wrapped around her waist stopped her from falling to the floor.

She recognized the boy immediately.

“Aemond.” She greeted breathlessly with a smile. He pulled away from her instantly, taking a step back to create space between them, his head bowed downwards, avoiding her gaze.

But she saw the tear streaks through the stains of ash on his cheeks. Her smile fell and she stepped towards him, her hands gently lifting his chin, though he vehemently refused and harshly pulled himself away from her.

“What happened?” She asked, trying to keep the hurt from her voice at his avoidance, something she had never experienced from him.

“Nothing.”

“Aemond.” She admonished gently. She hated when he acted like this, so unlike the kind boy she knew.

He kept his head down and she sighed heavily, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I won’t leave you alone until you tell me what happened.”

Aemond huffed and side stepped around her to continue on his way to lock himself in his chambers and wallow, but she was too quick. She grabbed his hand to stop him and pulled him back towards her.

He spoke her name, the groaned pronunciation indicating he wasn’t in the mood.

“I just want to go to my chambers.”

“Fine. We can go together.” She said simply and linked her arm through his as they began to walk.

Aemond let out a long breath, his annoyance flaring for a second, but the moment he looked over at her it faded away into nothing. He brought his arm that was linked with hers closer to his chest, as if needing her touch to soothe his nerves.

He thought he wanted to be alone. After his mother had brushed off his tears and scolded him yet again for venturing through the dragon pit, he just wanted to wallow by himself, but with her arm in his, her steady presence at his side, he found he wanted nothing but to be with her.

Once they made it to his chambers, he reluctantly let go of her and practically slumped his way to sit on his bed, his head bowed down to his feet, his brother and nephews' latest prank ruminating in his head, causing shame and anger to cascade over every inch of him.

“Are you going to tell me what happened now or am I going to have to force it out of you?”

Aemond huffed at her words and began to fidget with his fingers, focusing on the sand that lingered on his skin rather than meeting her inquisitive gaze.

She rolled her eyes and moved to sit next to him on the bed, brushing the sand from his hair.

“Were you in the dragon pit again?”

He nodded wordlessly and she felt something inside her clench. She would never understand the hole in Aemond’s heart, how his lack of a dragon made him feel so worthless.

“They said they found a dragon for me.” He mumbled, causing her to look over at him with concern, her stomach sinking at the hurt she heard in his voice, knowing his dreams hadn’t come true that afternoon.

She knew it could only be a cruel prank at his expense.

“They gave me a pig.”

Her shoulders slumped, her hand reaching out to grab his, intertwining their fingers with an ease as though she had done it a million times before. She had only held his hand a few times and it made Aemond blush bright red every time, even now as he wallowed.

“I’m sorry. They shouldn’t be so cruel to you.”

“They’re right. It’s pathetic, a Targaryen without a dragon.”

“Aemond-”

“Maybe I’m not worthy and I’ll never get a dragon, maybe that’s why my egg never hatched. I don’t deserve it.”

“Stop it.” She spoke sternly, gripping onto both his hands in an effort to calm him down from his ranting. “You are every bit as good as any one of them, dragon or no dragon.”

Aemond sighed shakily and moved his gaze back down to his shoes, feeling as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“What if I never find one?” He asked quietly, as if afraid to speak the possibility out into existence.

“You will. I know you will.” She assured him, though it did little to release him from his sadness. “There are plenty of Targaryens that didn’t claim dragons until later in life.”

Aemond gave her a plain look, to which she just smirked. Serves him right for teaching her about his family history.

“Aemond, we’re young, we still have so much life to live. It’s not over because you don’t have a dragon yet. You have so much time to find what you’ve always wanted.”

The breath that escaped his lips left him feeling lighter, his hand finally gripping hers back, sending a bashful smile her way, hoping it was enough to convey how grateful he was for her.

He didn’t think he could ever find the words to tell her.

“You’d be with me, won’t you? For my first ride?”

“You would want me there?”

“Of course I would.”

She smiled and he was powerless but to return his own. “Then I’ll be there.”

Aemond’s glare was steady on his face, his eyes locked onto the Strong bastard that twirled her around.

How dare he ask her to dance, how dare he touch her, how dare he make her smile.

His disdain for his nephews was clear, they certainly didn’t give him much reason to be cordial, but this was the last straw. Seeing Jacaerys’ hands on her made his blood boil.

Those damned nephews of his had already stolen her away from his side that afternoon. He could only watch helplessly as she played around with the bastards and spoke politely to his half sister Rhaenyra.

He almost resented how sweet his friend was. He loved her kind heart, he just hated when it extended to his elder half sister and her sons who he despised.

He hated when Jacaerys and Lucerys stole her away from his side. It was happening more and more as they became closer. He felt like he was losing her, the more times she spent breaking her fast with his eldest sister and her brood, the more he dreaded every moment away from her.

She was his only friend, the only one he felt truly understood him, or at least made the effort to. Losing her would mean losing the only shred of happiness he’d managed to find for himself.

He averted his gaze from Jace and the Ixtal girl, the sight of both their bright smiles becoming too painful.

“They seem to get along well.” His father mused, prompting Aemond to torturously follow his gaze to the pair yet again.

His heart began to race at the insinuation, at the knowing look in his father’s twinkling eyes.

“Yes, he seems to be quite taken with her.” Rhaenyra noted with a loving smile.

“They’d make a fine match.” His mother added. Aemond looked to his mother, betrayal in his gaze. His mother knew how much his friend meant to him, she knew someone so precious shouldn’t be shackled to a bastard.

He refused to hear another word. His chair screeched loudly against the floor as he abruptly stood and made his way out of the room as if there were no air left for him to breathe. They couldn’t take her away from him, they couldn’t give her to that bastard.

He raced to his chambers, hoping he was quick enough that no passing guards could see the tears forming in his eyes.

By the next day, he found himself in the gardens, his eyes locked onto the open book in his lap as he read and re-read the same sentence over and over, his racing mind not allowing him to focus on the words in front of him.

The dread he had been feeling since the night before had not dissipated in the slightest.

“Aemond!”

His heart leapt within his chest at the sound of her voice. His hopeful eyes looked around the garden before landing on her and a feeling of lead settled within him, bringing him right back down to his dour mood as he noticed Jace and Lucerys beside her.

She motioned for him to join but he just shook his head softly and moved his gaze back down to his book.

He let out a long breath, trying his hardest to ignore the bitterness that grew in his heart, one that was all too familiar from before he met her. He startled slightly as a body slumped next to him. He looked up and his eyes widened slightly at the sight of her looking at him questioningly.

“Why are you sulking?”

“I’m not sulking.”

She breathed deeply, as if disappointed by his obvious lie. “Why didn’t you join us?”

He shrugged, he couldn’t very well tell her the truth about how he despised his nephews and seeing her with them was like a dagger to the heart, how he feared losing her, his greatest friend.

“I didn’t want to intrude.” He spoke softly.

Her eyes narrowed at his words, her gaze moving to the two Velaryon boys who were talking quietly amongst each other, their curious eyes occasionally drifting to her and Aemond.

She knew there was tension among them, the way they seemed to side with Aegon and play along in the cruel pranks he would play on Aemond always made her stomach twist. She suddenly felt guilty that she had never considered how it would make Aemond feel to be forced in their vicinity after how they treated him.

She turned to her friend and shuffled closer to him.

“You could never intrude.”

Aemond looked over at her, but quickly averted his gaze, finding it just too much to look in her eyes while she sat so close to him.

“You don’t have to stay with me. If you want to be with them, I won’t stop you.” He spoke quietly. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel smothered by him.

“I’d rather be with you.”

Her answer left him using all of his willpower to keep himself from marching directly to his father and demanding a betrothal this instant.

She chose him.

No one had ever chosen him.

She was bored out of her mind. With Aemond and Helaena gone to Driftmark for Lady Laena’s funeral, she was left without her closest confidants, leaving her little to do in their absence. She wished she’d been granted leave to attend the funeral with them, but her father had never met Laena and had been tasked with extra duties while the King was gone, leaving her to stew in her loneliness.

She was curled up on the settee by her bed, her sketchbook in her lap as she scrawled out an attempt at drawing Dreamfyre, to horrible failure.

A soft knock on her door made her lift her head and she sat up straighter when her father entered. The look on his face made her stomach twist, dread falling upon her like a crashing wave.

She got to her feet quickly, feeling unsteady on her now weak legs.

“Darling, there was an… incident on Driftmark.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, her heart racing. “What happened?”

“I wasn’t privy to all the details but all I know is that Aemond has been injured.”

The breath was knocked out of her and at the first sign of her face crumbling into despair, her father crossed the room and held her tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as the first sob broke free.

“Is he alright?”

Her father let out a long breath at her hiccuped words, holding her tightly. He knew his daughter had certain affections for the young boy, but hearing her now made him realize just how deeply she cared for him.

“The Maesters say he has lost an eye.”

A shuddering breath escaped her and she suddenly felt faint. She had no idea how, what could have unfolded, who would dare to do something so barbaric to him.

The next days were spent in agony. She barely left her chambers. Every time her father came to check in on her, he found her sitting by her window, her gaze locked onto the horizon, waiting eagerly for the Targaryen family’s arrival.

On the third day of her lonely torment, she finally spotted it. Dragons on the horizon. She was on her feet in a second and racing down to the courtyard. She was out of breath and disheveled by the time she made it, but her pace only quickened when she saw Helaena with her mother.

She called out to her friend and Helaena let out a breath of relief when she saw her, her arms opening for her as she approached.

Helaena didn’t let many touch her, but she was one of the lucky few she allowed.

“Are you alright? Where’s Aemond? Will he be ok?” She fired off questions, not even able to get a breath out through her frantic words.

“It’s alright, my Darling. Aemond will be fine.” Alicent consoled her, placing her arm around the shaking girl’s shoulders.

“Where is he?”

“He’s been taken to the Maester’s solar. He’ll have to spend some time there while he heals.”

“What happened?” She asked breathlessly.

“What I told him.” Helaena interjected calmly. “He gained a dragon, but he had to close an eye.”

She looked at Helaena with shock. “He… he claimed a dragon?”

She couldn’t make sense of the despair, relief and joy she had felt all at once. Knowing Aemond and his endless plight to gain a dragon, she knew he would see it a worthy trade, but the thought of him injured, permanently maimed, made her want to crumble to the ground below her.

After bidding goodbye to Alicent and Helaena, she made her way to the Maester’s wing of the Keep. She was denied entry, but she was determined to not let it stop her. Each day, at the crack of dawn, she’d drag herself out of bed and, before even breaking her fast, would make the trek to the Maester’s wing and ask to see Aemond.

She was refused each and every day, but it did little to deter her. She kept trying.

It had been weeks since she had seen Aemond. Her heart was aching without the presence of her best friend, without the boy that made her smile like no other could.

On the fifth day of the third week, as she made the familiar walk to his door, the guard stopped her, as usual, though his words were different.

“The Prince does not wish for any visitors.”

She frowned. It always used to be the order of the Maesters or Alicent, claiming her son needed his rest, but now it was Aemond himself refusing her.

She couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but she knew she had felt her heart crack in a way she had never felt before.

She walked away from the door with her head bowed in defeat.

The hurt she felt mirrored Aemond’s own. Refusing her made him ache, but the thought of her seeing him as he was and looking at him with disgust was unfathomable and he would delay that inevitable despair as long as he could.

He sulked in his bed, the dour expression on his face one that had been constant for weeks.

His mother was by his bedside as she had been for weeks. He couldn’t stand to see her wince or her teary eyes everytime she looked at his ghastly scar.

She had been trying, in no subtle terms, to get him out of the room, even going as far to bring up his friend, the one he longed to see yet dreaded ever seeing the same look on his mother’s face on hers.

“It’s been a few weeks. She’s been worrying herself sick.” His mother told him, making his already weak heart more fragile.

He stayed silent, his frown deepening in despair.

“Aegon and Helaena will be heading out tomorrow to Ixtal. You should take Vhagar and join them.”

Aemond shifted uncomfortably. He knew his friend was leaving tomorrow, to visit home for her mother’s name day. They had all been invited, but with his father’s fading health and his mother’s refusal to ride on dragonback, it left just Aegon and Helaena to join the festivities.

“Aemond.” His mother prompted again, the disappointment in her voice clear.

“I don’t want to go.” He mumbled, one of the few sentences he’d managed over the past few weeks.

His mother sighed in defeat and didn’t bring it up again for the rest of the night, leaving him to his solitude as he preferred.

The next morning, Aemond lay in bed, the wound over his eye itching gratingly. He longed to claw at the wicked scar, to scream in anger, to enact his vengeance on that Strong bastard. The fury festered in him like the open wound on his face, red and flaming.

The soft sound of his door opening and closing made him stir, assuming it was his mother yet again. As he lazily turned his head, dread settled in his stomach, his remaining eye widening in horror at the sight of her, the one he longed for yet resisted.

She froze in her place at the door, her jaw falling slack, a shaking hand covering her mouth as a hitched breath escaped her at the sight of him.

Aemond’s face twisted in agony. This was exactly what he wished to avoid.

“What are you doing here?” He asked angrily, tears forming in his remaining eye.

“I just wanted- I wanted… we’re leaving soon.”

It was faint but he heard it. Fear. The stuttering of her words, the quiet, almost docile way she spoke that was so unlike her was like a hatchet to his heart. The look on her face was even worse. She could barely make eye contact with him.

“Get out.” He spoke lowly through gritted teeth.

“Aemond, I-”

“Get out! I don’t want you here!” He screamed at her, tears steadily falling down his cheeks.

Her own tears began to fall, her face twisting with agony. He hated it. He didn’t want her pity, he didn’t want to see the disgust on her face that everyone would face him with for the rest of his life.

“Leave me alone! I never want to see you again!”

She let out a sob and turned on her heel, leaving the room with haste.

Aemond slumped back in bed, placing his hands over his face, ignoring the way it made his eye ache, and he cried for what he had lost.

Not just his eye, but his love, his happiness. His everything.

She stood on the balcony of the banquet hall, breathing in the fresh ocean air. She missed home. She had thought of this moment for weeks, had been eager and excited to finally visit, yet now that she was there, it was bittersweet.

The sound of the waves weren’t as peaceful as she remembered. The food she ate wasn’t as delicious as she remembered. The music and the dancing wasn’t as exciting as she remembered.

“Darling?”

She turned to see her mother approaching, concern written across her face as she moved to stand next to her daughter, her arm crossing over her shoulders, bringing her in close to her side.

“Are you alright? I thought I’d see you dancing all night.”

“I’m fine.”

The Lady of Ixtal looked to her once vibrant daughter worriedly. She was far from the girl that had left all those months ago. From all the letters she had sent, it seemed her daughter was having the time of her life in King’s Landing. The girl she saw now wasn’t the one who had gleaned nothing but happiness.

“Was it not what you expected?”

She stiffened, the need to defend her friends and her new found home rising. “No, it’s- King’s Landing is lovely.”

Her mother sighed. She had gotten a short re-telling of the last few weeks in the Capitol from her husband and she was starting to put the pieces together.

“I couldn’t help but notice your friend isn’t here.”

She looked up at her mother, her wide doe-like eyes giving everything away.

“Aemond?”

She felt her cheeks heat and she turned her attention back to the view before her, focusing on the waves of the ocean, mirroring her breathing with each crashing wave.

“He’s not my friend anymore.” She spoke quietly through the lump that grew in her throat.

“From what I’ve heard, it sounds as though he is going through an awful time, something no one, especially someone so young, should ever have to endure. People don’t exactly act rationally when they are hurt. It is easy to speak things that are untrue in that state.”

She stayed silent, taking in her mother’s words thoughtfully. It was easy enough to explain, but it didn’t lessen the hurt she felt.

“You can stay here if you wish. The Gods know I would love to keep you in my arms, but I don’t think that is truly what you want.”

She let out a shaking breath, her mind a mess as she thought of her life in King’s Landing, of what she’d be leaving behind. But, if Aemond was being truthful and he didn’t want to see her or be her friend anymore, what would her life be like there?

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You’ll figure it out.” Her mother assured her. “Or else we’ll have a dragon landing on our shores demanding you come back.”

The smile on her mother’s face made the hurt inside her melt away slightly. Her conviction that Aemond would forgive her for her intrusion, that he would bring her back into his life and his arms made her hopeful.

Her mother was never wrong and she prayed she wouldn’t start now.

She clutched onto Helaena’s waist as they flew on Dreamfyre back to King’s Landing. No matter how thrilling it was to ride a dragon, no matter that she felt as light as a feather, that she could touch the clouds and feel as though she was in a magical, untouchable realm, it felt wrong.

Her first ride shouldn’t have belonged to Helaena, it shouldn’t have been with Dreamfyre. It wasn’t what she promised.

As they dismounted, Helaena’s hand held hers and stayed, holding tightly as they made their way from the dragonpit to the Keep, as if knowing her friend needed the comfort.

As they parted, Helaena promised she’d spend the day with her tomorrow, knowing she needed the distraction from Aemond.

She smiled, though it wasn’t as bright as usual, and with a wave, they parted. She stepped into her chambers and sighed heavily, mourning what her time in King’s Landing would hold.

She moved to her bed, content to hide under the covers for the rest of the day, but she stopped, noticing a bundle of flowers on her desk. She frowned, she certainly hadn’t put them there before she left.

She stepped closer, her fingers gently tracing along the soft petals. They were perfectly bloomed and freshly plucked, most likely just placed on her desk mere minutes before she arrived.

It suddenly struck her.

They were marigolds.

She remembered the flower Aemond had tucked behind her ear, the ones he would bring her on occasion simply because he knew she was fond of them.

Her heart began to race, her stomach flipping at the merest notion that it could’ve been from her best friend. She picked up the bundle, inhaling their fresh scent with a small smile.

She noticed the slip of parchment below them, the simple words in familiar handwriting brought tears to her eyes.

I am deeply, truly sorry.

I didn’t mean a word of what I said

Please forgive me

- Your Aemond

Her breath hitched, her chest feeling tight with sorrow.

The words he had screamed at her that day hurt her deeply, yet the thought of not having Aemond by her side, not having him as her friend, was unfathomable.

She spent the remainder of the day in her chambers, picking sparsely at the food her father had sent to her, knowing she wanted her solitude. By the next morning, having thought of nothing but Aemond all night, she was determined to see the end of their rift.

She dressed quickly and stepped out of her chambers, determined to march her way straight to Aemond, but she was stopped by her guard.

“The Prince has requested your presence in the gardens.”

The crease in her brow that signaled her determination smoothed out, leaving nothing but hopeful nervousness as she quickly made her way through the halls of the Keep. She ignored the looks of disdain from the ladies of the court as she raced past them, ignoring the whispers of her undignified behavior.

They were the last things on her mind.

Her heart was racing within her chest as she approached the gardens. She walked the familiar path, one she had taken countless times, to get to their usual meeting spot. Her feet came to an abrupt stop as she turned the last corner and saw him sitting on their bench, the one they always congregated to over the months together.

Nervous butterflies fluttered within her as she approached him.

She called out to him softly, cursing herself for how her voice shook in hopeful anticipation.

Aemond turned to face her and she was shocked to see the eyepatch across his face, covering the angry looking wound she had seen that morning in his chambers.

Her heart ached at the sight of the red scar that peeked out from the patch. It looked painful and the reminder of what he had gone through, what his own nephew had inflicted on him made her want to cry.

He spoke her name in greeting, giving her a small, weak smile. He winced slightly, the pull of his cheeks causing his scar to flair with pain.

Her chest tightened at the sight of him. He seemed smaller, as if he sat hunched over, trying hard not to take up too much space in the world.

“I’m sorry.” She blurted out before he could speak. He looked up at her incredulously, his stomach twisting at the despair he saw on her face. “I shouldn’t have just barged into your chambers. I knew you wanted privacy and I ignored your wishes and I’m sorry. I never meant-”

Aemond spoke her name breathlessly, stopping her rambling apology. He had never seen her so frantic before, it was unnerving to him, nothing at all like the lively girl he was used to. And it was his fault.

“You don’t have to apologize.” He told her softly. He looked down at his hands that fidgeted in his lap, shame overcoming him as he thought back to that day, when he had yelled at her so callously. He had replayed that moment over and over again in his head for days and it was torturous each time.

He couldn’t get the sight of her tears out of his head. To know he was the cause was his greatest shame.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke earnestly, looking her in the eyes intently, hoping she would believe him. “I never should have spoken to you that way. I’m so sorry I made you cry. I never will again, I promise.”

She let out a long breath, his words stirring something inside her she couldn’t recognize.

He frowned deeply at her lack of reaction, shuffling over and patted the space next to him on the bench, motioning for her to take a seat beside him.

She moved slowly, hesitantly taking her seat next to him.

“I’ve never seen you that angry before.” She spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper as she recalled that dreadful day.

Aemond sighed and bowed his head.

“I…” He started but soon found he had no words, no excuses for how he had treated her. Nothing would ever make it ok, never to her. “I hated to see you look at me like that.” Was the only thing he could think to say.

“Like what?”

“Like you were horrified of me.”

“I was horrified.” She said and he felt his insides turn to stone, his throat tightening with emotion. “But not of you. Never of you.” She added quickly, causing him to look over at her, his eye wide and shining with unshed tears.

“But-”

“Aemond, the thought of what happened to you, the thought of you in pain… it hurts me.”

The vice around his heart lifted instantly. His mind was spinning with the insinuation of her words.

“You… you’re not-”

She reached out, taking his hand in hers, causing words to fail him.

“I could never be afraid of you. I could never feel disgusted by you, I could never think any less of you, or whatever other horrible thing you think I feel for you now. No scar will change how I care for you.”

The weight that had been suffocating him for weeks now seemed to lift just the slightest, allowing him to feel as though he could finally take a breath.

He let out a shaking breath and tightened his hand in hers. She smiled softly and leaned in closer to his side, letting her head fall to his shoulder, letting him revel in her closeness.

He hated the stares he got from the ladies at court, he hated the winces, the horrified gasps as he passed them. He hated the worried looks he received, as if he was seconds away from collapsing like a weak mannered child.

But none of it mattered.

She still cared for him, she was still by his side, her hand in his.

Even the burning fury he held for his nephew seemed dim in the wake of the pure delight he felt in her presence.

“But, if you ever raise your voice to me like that again I will smack you.”

Her threat, that held no anger in the slightest, made him laugh and duck his head against hers as his body shook with each breath of laughter.

His first laugh since the incident.

From then, they were closer than ever. One was seldom seen without the other at their side.

The Ladies at court through the two of them were just about the most darling thing they had ever seen. Yet, not everyone was rooting for the threads of young love to flourish.

Alicent watched her son in the training yard with a frown. Her second son, so dutiful and so smart, was becoming distracted. Her eyes never strayed from him as he neglected his own lessons to play around with his friend, watching with a scowl as the two of them laughed together, as if there was no care in the world.

The sight of the young girl in the training yard was enough to leave her appalled, but her son’s willingness to indulge in such unseemly behavior was worrying.

“We cannot let this go any further.” Her father spoke from beside her.

“I can’t very well tell him he cannot be her friend. It would devastate him.”

“Let them be friends, but make it clear that is all it will ever be. Aemond can’t get any ideas about marrying this girl.”

Alicent chewed on her lower lip anxiously. The thought of tearing her son away from such happiness turned her stomach, but the thought of him marrying a girl so unpredictable was just as unfortunate.

“Would it really be so bad? We could gain leverage with her father.”

“Ixtal is a neutral house. They have never taken a stand in any war, that won’t change now. We cannot risk Aemond allying with a house that could not give us leverage for Aegon’s claim.” Otto hissed angrily.

Alicent wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes falling back to her son, taking in the sight of his smile while she still could. She doubted it would be a common sight once he was forced away from the Island girl.

But they all had a duty to perform.

Her arm was looped through his as he guided her past the dragon pit.

“Where are we going?” She asked, looking over her shoulder at the structure that housed the mighty Targaryen dragons they had just passed.

“Vhagar doesn’t stay there. She doesn’t fit.” Aemond explained, a slightly smug smirk crossing his features as he subtly boasted about his newly claimed dragon.

Her smile twitched slightly, her nerves suddenly overtaking her. She’d been hesitant when Aemond offered to introduce her to his mount, but the reminder of the great beast’s sheer size had the beginnings of fear creeping through her veins.

Noticing the subtle shift in her expression, Aemond tightened his grip on her arm.

“I would never put you in danger.” He assured her. “Vhagar is bonded to me, she can feel what I feel for you and she would never hurt you.”

“If I could hear that directly from Vhagar I might be able to breathe properly.”

Aemond snickered and led her forward excitedly.

Soon, they arrived at the crest of the hill, Vhagar’s enormous form coming into view. A shuddering breath escaped her when she came face to face with the historic dragon that fought in wars long before her time.

She could barely comprehend such a beast of her size existed among them, that the sweet boy beside her commanded her or even willingly approached her.

“Relax.” Aemond told her softly, moving out of her hold so his hand could take hers, intertwining their fingers.

The pair of them stepped towards the sleeping giant. She watched, mystified, as Aemond spoke a few words of Valaryian, the dragon's eyes sleepily opening, her large head lifting towards them.

She felt her body freeze, the blood in her veins running cold as the mighty dragon looked past her rider, her curious gaze landing on her. A low rumble shook the ground, Vhagar’s protest to the stranger before her.

Aemond soothed his dragon, placing an affectionate hand on her snout as he spoke soft commands.

She doubted a few measly words would suddenly convince Vhagar that she wasn’t a tasty snack, but she could only watch, her eyes widening as the dragon became disinterested by her presence, laying her head back down on the warm grass she had been slumbering on.

Aemond looked over his shoulder at her prone form several feet back and smiled, motioning her to come closer.

She shook her head adamantly, her feet frozen in place.

He spoke her name, holding his hand out to her.

She looked to his hand and then to his dragon and back again, contemplating the risk to her life.

“Do you trust me?” Aemond asked and her tense shoulders sagged. She had no reason to doubt her best friend. With one look in his eye, she knew he would never let any harm come to her.

She took slow steps forward, her fear not allowing her to move any quicker.

She reached out and took Aemond’s hand in hers as soon as she was close enough, holding on tightly.

“It’s alright.” He assured her.

He guided her hand toward Vhagar, watching the girl beside him closely, gaging every expression that crossed her face in a matter of seconds. From fear, to doubt, to disbelief and suddenly to awe.

A shaky laugh left her lips as her hand softly rested on the rough scales of Vhagar’s side. Pure delight was etched across her face as she pet the mighty beast as if she were nothing more than a house cat. Aemond saw how excited she got when one of the many stray cats that roamed Flea Bottom ventured their way into the Keep.

The excited smile she wore now as she pet his dragon was the same one he saw when she would cradle those strays.

The thought made him laugh and he leaned in close to her, letting his head rest against hers.

Seeing her now, fearless by his mount’s side, only confirmed what he already knew.

She was meant to be with dragons. Meant to be with him.

I will hopefully have the next chapter out within the next couple of days! And yes, every chapter is going to be long, I have no control. Hope you liked it xx

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon fic

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lovelyspring7 · 3 months ago

Text

Silver Pearl | Yandere JJK x Reader

Preview: Jungkook is used to getting what he wants, and now, he wants you. Saying "no" isn’t an option. Will you find a way to break free from his relentless grip, or is freedom just an illusion in the billionaire’s twisted mind?

Word count: 13k

Genre: Yandere

Pairing: CEO Billionaire Jungkook x reader, short mentions of Cha Eunwoo & Jung Jaehyun.

Warnings: Yandere, stalking, obsessive behaviour, kidnapping, non consensual touching, manipulation, controlling & emotionally abusive behaviour.

Disclaimer: This type of content is not suitable for all audiences and I do not condone any of the presented behaviour. This is purely for entertainment and fictional purposes and I don’t think any BTS member would act like this.

Authors note: The second part of Pearl series is here! Hope you enjoy! Can’t wait to know what you guys think of this long awaited chapter, my asks are always open!💜

Read Part 1 Here

With trembling legs, you let Jungkook guide you back to the bedroom. His grip on your hand was gentle, but the fear lingering in your chest made your entire body tense. The warmth of his touch, once comforting, now felt like a chain binding you to him.

You couldn’t believe how quickly everything had spiraled. Just hours ago, he was affectionate, kind even, and now... Now, the man standing before you was a stranger, someone whose darkness you had never truly seen until tonight.

As you entered the bedroom, Jungkook released your hand and sighed, rubbing his neck as though the tension of the evening had caught up to him. You stood near the door, watching him closely, unsure of your next move.

Jungkook’s smile softened as he turned to you, almost as if the events from earlier hadn’t happened. “Come here, princess.” He patted the bed beside him, his eyes urging you to comply.

You hesitated, but his gaze darkened, and you knew that defying him right now wasn’t an option. Slowly, you made your way over to the bed and sat down, keeping your distance from him.

He noticed but said nothing, instead reaching over to pull you closer. You flinched slightly, but Jungkook ignored it, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as if it was the most natural thing. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, you know. I could never hurt you.”

You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the tears that threatened to spill. How could he speak so calmly, as if he hadn't just confessed he had someone killed? As if you weren’t trapped?

He stroked your hair, his voice a low murmur. “I know it’s a lot to take in. But I promise, everything I do is for you, princess.”

Your stomach twisted, anger and fear bubbling just beneath the surface, but you forced yourself to stay still.

Jungkook leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “You’ll see,” he whispered against your skin. “You’ll see that this is how it’s supposed to be.”

A lump formed in your throat, and you fought to hold back the sob that was building. But Jungkook noticed your shaking body, his brows furrowing in concern. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re just overwhelmed.”

“I-I’m tired,” you whispered, hoping he’d give you space.

He paused, then nodded, giving you a small understanding smile. “Of course. You’ve had a long day.”

Jungkook stood up and helped you under the covers, tucking you in with a tenderness that felt so out of place after everything that had happened. You watched as he moved around the bedroom, dimming the lights and making his way to the other side of the bed. He slid under the covers beside you, pulling you close to him. His arms wrapped around you, caging you in. You could feel his heartbeat against your back. It was steady, calm, completely at odds with the storm of emotions raging inside you.

“Goodnight, princess,” he whispered into the darkness, his lips brushing against the back of your neck.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you lay there, trapped in his embrace.

As Jungkook’s arms tightened around you, the weight of everything crashed down. Your heart pounded in your chest, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t slow your racing thoughts. The room was quiet, but your mind was a storm.

Lying there, trapped in his embrace, the reality of what you had gotten yourself into settled in, cold and suffocating. You didn’t dare to move. Tears welled in your eyes, hot and uncontrollable. You blinked hard, trying to stop them from spilling, but it was no use. Slowly, silently, they rolled down your cheeks, soaking the pillow beneath you.

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to stay quiet. You couldn’t let him know. You couldn’t let him see you like this. He might ask questions, might tighten his grip, the last thing you wanted was for him to notice.

The warmth of his body behind you felt suffocating, a reminder of how close he always was, how there was no escaping him. The man you once thought was kind and protective had revealed something far darker, something far more dangerous. You’d never felt more alone, more trapped.

Fucking rich people.

How did this happen? How have you gotten yourself into this? You cursed yourself, cursed the choices that led you here, cursed him for being so cruel under the surface of his affection. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

You buried your face deeper into the pillow, muffling any sound that might slip out. The sobs you held back were painful, your throat raw from trying to stay quiet, but you had no choice. You had to be strong, had to stay silent. For now, that was the only thing you could control.

You lay there for what felt like hours, the tears eventually slowing as exhaustion began to weigh down on you. But even as sleep finally pulled you under, a deep, gnawing fear lingered in the pit of your stomach.

__________

As you stirred from sleep, your body felt heavy, weighed down by the exhaustion of a restless, sleepless night. Your head pounded, and your eyes were swollen from the silent crying that had consumed you hours before. The fear that had gripped you the night before lingered, but it wasn’t the same. As you lay there in the empty bed, staring at the ceiling, something else began to stir inside you.

Anger.

The sadness and fear that had paralyzed you last night shifted into a burning rage. The more you thought about it, the more the fury built. How could he act this way, treat you like something he owned, then sleep so peacefully beside you as if nothing had happened? It was sickening. It was maddening. He had controlled you with his words, his touch, trapping you, and you were done being afraid.

You threw the covers off and sat up and swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood up, the cold floor beneath your feet doing nothing to calm the anger simmering in your chest.

The scent of sweet vanilla wafted through the air, drawing your attention to the faint sounds of movement coming from the kitchen. He was up, and from the smell of it, making breakfast like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t terrified you into submission last night.

You walked to the door, every step fueled by the fire raging inside you. Reaching the kitchen, you saw him standing there, humming softly to himself, completely at ease as he moved around the kitchen, preparing breakfast.

Jungkook glanced up as you entered, his face lighting up with a smile that felt so wrong given everything that had happened. “Good morning, princess,” he said warmly, “Sleep well?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, the fury bubbling up again. He was acting like nothing had happened. How could he be so calm, so collected?

“Come sit down,” he said, turning back to the stove. “Breakfast will be ready soon.”

You stood there, staring at his back, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. He hadn’t even acknowledged the hell he put you through last night. You wanted to scream from how frustrated you were. But instead, you swallowed down the anger, pushing it deep inside for now.

Without saying a word, you walked over to the table and sat down. Jungkook continued to hum softly, oblivious to the storm building inside you.

But for now, you waited.

Jungkook set the plate in front of you with a wide, satisfied smile. Pancakes, perfectly golden and stacked high, topped with fresh berries and drizzled with syrup. The sweet scent of vanilla and sugar filled the air, tempting and warm. It was one of your favorites, something he knew well.

He sat down across from you, still acting like everything was perfectly normal. “I made them just the way you like,” he said, his voice soft and affectionate.

You stared at the pancakes, unmoving. Your fingers tightened around the edge of the table as you felt the anger inside you start to rise again.

Jungkook looked up when you didn’t immediately dig in. “What’s wrong baby, you don't like pancakes anymore?” He asked with curiosity.

“I’m not hungry,” you muttered, eyes fixed on the untouched pancakes in front of you.

You lifted your gaze, and there he was, watching you intently. His jaw clenched as he swallowed hard, breaking the tense silence.

“You were so good to me last night,” his voice was calm, but edged with something darker. “So why the sudden change?”

“Eat.” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for arguments.

“I said, I'm not hungry.” You bite back.

He exhaled through his nose as he put his fork down.

“What? Are you mad that things aren't going your way for once?” It was a bold sentence but it needed to be said. You weren't going to let him have his way with you. Staring back at him you saw how his jaw visibly clenched, irritation flickering across his features as he fought to maintain his composure.

“I’m gonna ask you one last time,” he said, voice steady but charged, “Eat your breakfast.”

“No.”

The word barely left your mouth before he stood abruptly, the force of it sending your heart racing. Before you could process what was happening, his hands were on you, lifting you out of your chair with a swift, almost casual strength. He carried you toward the kitchen counter, his grip firm but controlled. He set you down on the cold, smooth surface, positioning you so that you were sitting on the edge, your legs dangling. The cold countertop sent a shiver through you, but it was nothing compared to the icy tension in the air.

“Why do you have to be so stubborn?” he muttered, his breath warm against your ear, his tone a dangerous mix of exasperation and something much darker.

Your breath caught as he stood close, his presence overwhelming. Panic flickered at the edges of your mind, but you forced yourself to stay calm, pushing down the fear. His grip remained firm, yet disturbingly gentle, as though he was handling something delicate, something he could break if he chose.

“Let me go,” you demanded, your voice shaky but defiant.

He paused, his eyes scanning your face, searching for a crack in your resolve. Submission, perhaps. Doubt. He wanted to see you break, but you wouldn’t.

“You’re testing me,” he said, his voice low and threatening, but his hold on you never tightened. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.” his gaze drilling into yours.

“I’m not your doll,” you said through gritted teeth, meeting his stare head-on, refusing to let him see the fear in you.

His lips curled into something resembling a smile, but there was no warmth in it, only cold amusement. “Doll?” he echoed, his voice soft but dangerous. “No baby. But you’re mine. And you’ll do as I say.”

You could feel your pulse pounding in your temples, but you didn’t look away. “No, I won't.”

His expression darkened, and for a split second, something almost like disappointment flashed in his eyes. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that unnerving calm. He leaned in close, his breath ghosting over your cheek.

“You’re going to eat,” he whispered, his voice like velvet over steel. “Or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

His words wrapped around you, sickly sweet yet suffocating, the threat lingering beneath his loving tone impossible to ignore. He put his hand on your chin and held it firm, his thumb tracing your lip with unsettling affection. The way he looked at you, as if you were the most precious thing in the world, only made the whole situation feel even more twisted.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you hated yourself for it—the crack of desperation he would no doubt savor.

He tilted his head, his expression softening into something almost affectionate, his thumb pausing its slow movement. “Please?” he whispered back, as if you’d just said something sweet. His grip relaxed, but not enough for you to break free. “Oh, Sweetheart, I know you’re scared. But you don’t have to be. Everything I do, it’s for us. To keep you safe and close to me, to give you everything you deserve and more.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, his other hand sliding to the back of your neck, cradling you as if you were delicate, breakable. “Be good for me.” he murmured, his voice a gentle lullaby laced with obsession.

His closeness was suffocating, his words dripping with a distorted kind of love that made your skin crawl. “This isn’t okay,” you managed to say, your voice trembling as you met his gaze, refusing to let him see how completely terrified you were.

He smiled, but it was filled with a dark, dangerous affection, as though he found your defiance adorable rather than threatening. “You’ll understand one day,” he whispered softly, his fingers tightening just slightly at the back of your neck, holding you in place as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’ll see how much I care.”

He straightened, his gaze locking onto yours again, and in that moment, you could see how deep his obsession ran, how far he was willing to go. He gently released his hold on your neck and stepped back, his eyes still glued to you, watching every breath you took.

“Now,” he said, his voice soft but commanding, “you’re going to eat. And you’re going to stop fighting me, my love. You understand that?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, every fiber of your being screaming to run, but you were trapped—trapped by his words, by the twisted love in his eyes, by the knowledge that he would never let you go.

He slowly stepped back, leaving you on the cold countertop as he walked to the table to grab the plate of pancakes. When he returned, he held it in front of you.

You got goosebumps as you stared down at the plate, the pancakes now cold and uninviting, but it wasn't the food that made you hesitate. It was the weight of his gaze on you, expectant and unwavering, his dark eyes daring you to defy him again. You could feel the unspoken threat hanging in the air, just beneath the thin veneer of affection he wore so well.

Slowly, you reached for the fork, your fingers trembling as they closed around the handle. You weren't hungry. You could barely breathe, let alone eat, but refusing him again felt like

stepping into something far more dangerous. You could sense his satisfaction as you lifted the fork to your mouth, even though every movement felt like surrender.

"That's it," he murmured softly, his voice low and filled with twisted pride, as though he'd just coaxed a frightened animal into trusting him. "Good girl. See how easy it can be when you stop fighting?"

The words made your stomach churn, but you swallowed the bite, forcing yourself not to react. You couldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing how deeply he affected you. Every inch of your body screamed to run, to push the plate away, but you knew he wouldn't allow that. Not now. Not ever.

He watched you closely, eyes flickering with possessive adoration as you took another bite. It wasn't the food he was concerned with, it was your submission, your compliance, the quiet thrill he got from watching you bend to his will. "That's my girl," he whispered, his fingers brushing your hair back, tucking it gently behind your ear. His touch was soft, almost tender, but it made your skin crawl all the same. "I knew you'd come around. You just need a little... encouragement."

You set the fork down, unable to stomach another bite, but the gesture didn't seem to bother him. He stepped closer, standing between your knees now, his hands resting lightly on your thighs, his thumbs tracing small circles in a way that would've been comforting if it weren't him.

"I do this because I love you," he whispered, his breath warm against your cheek as he leaned in, his lips brushing your skin in an unsettling mockery of a kiss. "I know you haven't seen it yet, but you will. You'll understand. No one will ever care for you like I do. No one will ever love you like I do."

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but your pulse hammered in your ears. “You can't force me to feel the same," you whispered, barely able to keep the tremor out of your voice.

He paused, his lips still hovering near your skin, and for a moment, you wondered if you'd pushed too far. But then, he smiled- a slow, unsettling smile that sent a shiver down your spine. "Oh, Princess," he murmured, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. "You don't have to say it. I can see it in you, even if you don't realize it yet. I'll wait.”

His hands slid up your thighs, his grip firm but not painful, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'm patient, you see. I'm willing to wait until you come to your senses. But make no mistake," he leaned in closer, his lips ghosting over yours now, the intimacy of it sickening, "you're mine. Whether you admit it now or later, it doesn't matter. You belong to me."

You bit down on your lip, willing yourself not to tremble under his intense gaze. He lingered there, his breath warm against your mouth, daring you to react. When you stayed silent, he straightened, the satisfaction in his expression unmistakable.

"Good," he whispered, pressing one last, lingering kiss to your forehead before pulling away. He turned his back, walking calmly to the sink, as though the entire conversation had been perfectly normal. "You'll see, love. One day, you'll thank me for all of this."

__________

After finishing breakfast and clearing the table, you felt the need to wash away the lingering tension from the morning. You turned to him, trying to keep your voice light.

“Hey, I’m going to take a shower,” you said, heading toward the bathroom.

He looked up from where he was drying the dishes, his brow furrowing slightly. “A shower? Why now?”

“Just to freshen up,” you replied, forcing a smile. “I feel a bit gross after breakfast.”

He put the dish towel down, turning his full attention to you. “I can help with that,” he said, his voice low and slightly playful.

You hesitated, a slight chill running down your spine. “That’s okay. I can manage on my own.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but he maintained calm. “You know I just want to help you feel good. How about I join you?”

You took a step back, a mix of apprehension and defiance flooding your mind. “I’d really rather be alone right now,” you insisted, trying to keep your tone firm but sweet. “It’s just a quick shower.”

He stepped closer, his expression softening, but you could sense the underlying tension. “You don’t need to be alone. I can make it more enjoyable. We could have fun together.”

“I just need a few minutes to myself,” you said, keeping your gaze steady. “Please, can’t you let me have that?”

For a moment, he looked taken aback, as if your request was unexpected. But then his expression hardened, the warmth fading from his eyes. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide from me,” he replied, his voice steady but tinged with frustration.

You swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. “I’m not hiding. I just want some space to gather my thoughts. That’s all.”

He crossed his arms, his jaw tightening slightly.

“I’ll be quick, I promise,” you insisted, trying to sound convincing. “I’ll be right in the bathroom. You can stay close if that makes you feel better.”

He considered your words for a moment, and you could see the conflict in his eyes. Finally, he sighed, stepping back a little. “Fine, super quick then. I don’t want to be away from you for too long.”

You nodded, relief flooding through you.

As you headed into the bathroom, you couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes on you, watching as you closed the door. You turned on the water, letting it run as you leaned against the cool tiles. You needed this time alone to clear your head, to breathe without his suffocating presence hovering over you.

As the warm water cascaded over you in the shower, you allowed yourself a few precious moments to breathe. You closed your eyes, focusing on the sound of the water to drown out the thoughts of him.

What could you do to escape him? It was a dangerous game, but you had to find a way. You needed a strategy, a way to manipulate him into letting his guard down. If you played your cards right, you might be able to find a window of opportunity to slip away.

Your mind raced as you lathered shampoo into your hair. First, you needed to build his trust. You’d seen how quickly his mood could shift from affectionate to possessive, and you had to navigate that carefully. If you could make him believe that you were accepting of his love, that you were starting to see things his way, perhaps he would let you have more freedom, time alone, maybe even time away from him.

Once you rinsed out the shampoo, you continued your thoughts, focusing on the idea of creating a facade of compliance. “I can play along,” you thought, the water washing away not just the soap, but your anxiety as well. If I show him that I’m willing to embrace his twisted version of love, he might relax his grip.

Maybe you could start asking for small favors, things that seemed harmless but could lead to more significant opportunities. If you could convince him to let you go to school, or to see a friend, it would give you the chance to formulate a real escape plan. You could text someone for help or find a way to contact the outside world without him knowing.

The idea of appearing genuinely affectionate could work to your advantage too. If you made him believe that you cared for him, that you were falling into his idea of love, he might not suspect anything. You could ask to do something nice for him, like cooking dinner or watching a movie together, to further endear yourself to him. Keeping him engaged and distracted would be crucial.

Rinsing off the last of the soap on your body, you rehearsed the plan in your head. Every word had to be perfect. You needed to make him feel reassured, secure in the idea that you were staying, that you belonged to him, because if you could make him believe that, maybe, just maybe, he’d let his guard down. And that sliver of trust could be your chance to escape.

Wrapping yourself in a white plush robe, you took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. As you stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, Jungkook was already there, waiting. His eyes immediately flicked over you, and there was something possessive in the way he watched, as if even a moment without you was too long.

“See? I told you I’d be quick,” you said, forcing a lightness into your tone. “Thank you for being so patient with me.”

His gaze softened slightly as he smiled back at you, and for a moment, you felt a rush of confidence. Maybe, just maybe, you could find a way out of this after all.

“Feeling better, princess?” he asked softly, though his eyes held an edge. “I picked out something for you.”

You glanced at the clothes laid out on the bed, one of his hoodies and a pair of sweatpants. You hesitated, trying to keep your expression neutral. Wearing his clothes would make him feel in control. But you needed to give him the illusion that you were trying to please him while still asserting some level of independence, and can't go from a zero to a hundred.

You forced a small smile. “Thank you, Jungkook, but I was thinking I could pick out something myself today. Maybe one of my old clothes?” Your voice was light, casual, like it was no big deal.

He crossed the room in just a few strides, standing close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to read something hidden in your words. “You don’t like what I picked out for you?” His voice was low, but it carried a sharp undertone. A test.

You swallowed, keeping your gaze soft and affectionate, even as tension wound tight in your chest. “It’s not that. I just thought it’d be fun to wear something different. But if you want me to wear this, I will.” You reached out to touch the hoodie, hoping the gesture would calm him.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened briefly, but his eyes softened as they roamed your face, as if trying to understand you fully. Gently, he lifted his hand to cup your chin, his thumb grazing your cheek tenderly. He tilted your head up, making you meet his gaze.

“You don’t have to worry, my love,” he murmured, his voice warm but firm. “I’ll always take care of you. Let me handle everything, okay.”

His words were filled with affection, but beneath them, there was still an unmistakable note of control.

You fought against the instinct to pull away, keeping your voice soft and steady. “I know, and I’m trying. I just thought you might like seeing me in something else, something like silk. But I’ll wear whatever you want.”

For a moment, there was silence between you, the weight of his gaze heavy on your skin. Then, finally, his lips twitched into a small, satisfied smile. The decision was final in his smile.

As Jungkook reached for the robe, you instinctively tightened your grip on it, he gently tugged it from your grasp. Panic flared in your chest as the soft fabric slipped down, but you reacted quickly, clutching the robe just before it fully exposed you. Only your shoulder and part of your collarbone were visible, the rest of the robe held tightly against your chest.

His eyes traced the newly exposed skin, lingering for a moment, before flicking up to meet your gaze. A mix of emotions flickered in his expression, something between satisfaction and curiosity, as though he was testing your boundaries, watching how far you’d go to resist.

“You don’t need to hide from me,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle, though laced with possessiveness.

You grip firmly on the robe as you carefully shielded yourself.

Ironically, even then as a stripper, you’d never shown much of yourself. Most of the outfits you wore, body suits and lingerie, had always covered more than they revealed. It was a kind of armor, a way to maintain some control over your own body, despite the prying eyes watching you night after night.

He paused, clearly not used to being denied, even in such a small way. His hand brushed your arm, fingers ghosting over your bare shoulder, sending a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, as you let him pull the hoodie down over your head. Even as the oversized fabric enveloped you, you kept your grip on the robe beneath it, protecting yourself, both from the cold and from the vulnerability of being completely exposed to him.

As Jungkook stepped back, admiring how the hoodie looked on you, his gaze shifted to your wet hair, droplets falling onto the fabric. He frowned slightly, a hint of concern crossing his face. "Your hair's dripping water" he said softly, reaching out to brush a strand behind your ear. "I don’t want you catching a cold."

Without waiting for your response, he turned toward the vanity. "Let me get you a hair tie."

As soon as his back was turned, your heart raced, knowing you had just seconds. You glanced quickly at the bed where the sweatpants were lying. Without thinking, you dropped the robe that was covering your waist down. Moving swiftly but silently, you grabbed the sweatpants and stepped into them, pulling them up just as Jungkook returned with the hair tie in hand.

His eyes immediately went to the sweatpants now covering your legs. For a brief moment, his smile faltered, and you could see a flicker of disappointment in his expression. His gaze lingered on the fabric, and the tension between you grew heavier.

He had been expecting something different, a chance to savor the control he had over you in this moment, and now, it was slipping. You saw the sadness in his eyes, subtle but unmistakable, as he handed you the hair tie.

"You were quick," he said softly, his tone gentle but tinged with regret. His fingers brushed the fabric of the sweatpants lightly, as if he were reconsidering what to say next. "I just wanted to help."

You forced a smile, trying to smooth things over. "I know," you replied, taking the hair tie from him. "I just got cold and... I thought it would be better." You paused, meeting his eyes, hoping the reassurance in your voice was enough. "But I appreciate everything you do for me. Really."

He exhaled slowly, his hand falling back to his side. He nodded, though you could still feel that lingering disappointment in the air.

“Let’s not think about it too much, okay?” he said, his voice dipping into that sweet tone he used when trying to soothe over any conflict. “Why don’t we relax for a bit? We could watch a movie, something we both enjoy. How about that?”

You nodded, keeping the smile on your face. “Sure, that sounds nice.”

Without another word, Jungkook took your hand and guided you toward the living room, where the plush couch awaited. As he set up the movie, you could feel his presence behind you, close and attentive, his fingers brushing your back as if testing the waters. Once everything was ready, he sat down next to you, immediately pulling you into his lap, his arms wrapping securely around your waist.

As the movie went on, you could feel his eyes on you more than the screen. Every so often, his hands would drift, brushing over your thighs, running along your back, and occasionally tightening as if to remind you that you were his. His touch became bolder, more insistent, until it started to feel like he was less interested in the movie and more focused on you.

You shifted uncomfortably, trying to redirect his attention to the screen. "This part's really good," you said lightly, gesturing toward the TV, but he wasn’t paying attention. His lips pressed against your neck, lingering there for longer than you wanted. Your heart raced as you tried to stay calm, forcing a nervous laugh.

"Jungkook... maybe we can just-"

Before you could finish, his phone buzzed, cutting through the moment like a lifeline. His grip on you loosened slightly, he took out the phone with a sigh, frustration flashing in his eyes.

"Hold on, just one second," he murmured. His fingers lingered on your waist for a moment before he finally pulled away completely and gently moved you aside, standing as he answered the call. His voice shifted, going from soft to firm and businesslike. "Yeah? What is it?"

He paced across the room, his back to you now, as he discussed something about a meeting that needed his attention. You sat there, your heart still pounding from the intensity of his closeness, but now relieved by the brief reprieve.

Jungkook shot you a glance, his expression torn between annoyance at the interruption and reluctance to leave you alone. "I have to take care of something at work," he said, his tone clipped but apologetic. "I’ll be back before dinner. Just stay here, okay? I'll make it quick."

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and watched as he gathered his things.

Jungkook lingered by the door, his hand on the handle as he turned back to face you. His expression softened, but there was something darker underneath- a warning, a reminder of control. He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an unsettling intensity.

“I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret while I’m gone, princess,” he said quietly, his voice firm yet gentle, as if coaxing you into compliance. “And I really don’t want us to do anything we’ll both regret.” The words, though calm, carried an unmistakable edge.

Your stomach twisted at the unspoken threat in his tone. You forced yourself to smile, nodding obediently. “Of course. I’ll just stay here, wait for you to come back,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

He moved closer again, reaching out to brush your hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just a little too long. “Good girl,” he murmured, his fingers gently gripping your chin, lifting your face to meet his gaze. “I’ll know if you try anything. Don’t forget that.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his gaze, his thumb tracing your lower lip in a way that made your skin crawl despite the tenderness. He was always like this, smothering affection masking something far more dangerous. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment too long before he pulled away.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he said, a twisted warmth in his tone. “Be good while I’m gone.” With that, he stepped away, finally exiting the room, but not before casting one last look over his shoulder, as if ensuring you understood exactly what he expected.

You heard the door click shut, the sound echoing in your ears like a warning bell. Your mind racing, trying to process everything. He hadn’t locked the door, not this time, but you knew better than to believe you could just walk out without consequence. There would be cameras, perhaps even people watching.

A part of you wanted to rush for the door, but you knew better. You had to be smart, strategic. Trying to escape now would only tighten his grip, making things even worse. If you were going to find a way out, it had to be subtle, planned, and with no room for error.

Taking a shaky breath. For now, you had to play the part.

You stood there for a moment, listening to the quiet hum of the apartment after Jungkook left. The air felt heavy, as though his presence still lingered, even though you were alone now. But his words echoed in your mind: “I’ll know if you try anything.”

You forced yourself to breathe slowly, trying to calm your racing heart. You couldn't act hastily, not now. You glanced toward the door, freedom, but not without consequences. You had no idea what surveillance systems or traps he might have in place. You knew he was possessive enough to ensure you wouldn’t just slip out without him knowing. He always had control, even when he wasn’t physically there.

You looked around the apartment, your mind running through all the possibilities, all the things he could be watching. Cameras? Maybe. Some kind of alert system? You couldn’t rule it out. You’d learned early on that he wasn’t the kind of person to leave anything to chance.

Carefully, you walked toward the window, pulling the curtain back just enough to peek outside. You were several stories up. Jumping wasn’t an option.

Your mind buzzed with ideas, trying to balance hope with fear. What could you do now to buy yourself more time, more trust? You knew you had to be smart, to play along even when it felt suffocating. Maybe this time, when he returned, you could act more compliant, give him a reason to believe you were falling in line. You just needed him to let his guard down a little more.

With a sigh, you moved back to the couch, deciding it was safer to wait. You couldn’t make any rash decisions. Not yet.

As you sat, your mind shifted back to Jungkook’s behavior, his unsettling mix of affection and control. He truly believed he was doing this out of love, protecting you, caring for you. That delusion fueled his every action, and it made him unpredictable. You knew you had to carefully navigate his moods. Push too hard, and he’d snap. Give in too much, and you’d lose yourself completely.

You fiddled with the hem of his oversized hoodie he had dressed you in, the material soft against your skin, and the subtle scent of laundry detergent. You had to stay calm, stay strategic. Maybe you could make dinner for him. A way to show him you were being “good,” just as he expected.

As you made your way to the kitchen, an idea came to mind: Bibimbap. It was simple, comforting, and reminded you of times when things were easier. Back when you had to scrape together whatever ingredients you had just to make a meal, tossing them into a bowl of rice with a bit of protein.

You opened the fridge and scanned for what you needed. There were eggs, some vegetables, and a bit of leftover beef, perfect for what you had in mind. Cooking could help settle your nerves, and more importantly, it could keep Jungkook happy.

Just as you were about to place the fried egg in the bowl for the final touch, you heard the front door open. He was back, sooner than expected. Your heart jumped into your throat, and you quickly composed yourself, forcing a soft smile as you turned toward him.

Jungkook stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room briefly before landing on you. There was a strange relief in his expression, as if he had been expecting to find you somewhere you shouldn’t be. He smiled, walking over to you, his fingers brushing your cheek as he leaned down to kiss the top of your head.

"You’re still here. Good girl," he murmured, his voice a mix of affection and possession. "I’m glad you didn’t try anything… disappointing."

You swallowed hard, maintaining the calm facade. "Of course not," you whispered, keeping your tone steady. "I was waiting for you."

His gaze softened, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, like he truly believed this twisted version of love. He sat down next to you, pulling you into his arms, his touch tight yet oddly gentle. "Let’s spend the rest of the evening together, just us," he said quietly, his lips brushing your temple. "I want to enjoy every second with you."

You nodded, leaning into his embrace, knowing that for now, you had no choice but to play along. Each small victory would build toward something bigger, toward an escape.

Suddenly, Jungkook pulled back and grabbed the bowl of food you had prepared from the counter, setting it down next to you. Without a word, he picked up a spoon, his expression calm. He scooped some food from the bowl, and turned toward you with a faint smile.

"You know," he said, his voice dripping with a mixture of amusement and something darker, "I think you need a little help."

Before you could respond, he brought the spoon closer to your lips, his gaze unwavering. "Open up," he commanded softly, his tone leaving no room for refusal.

Your heart raced, instinctively pulling back. "I can feed myself," you protested, but the tremor in your voice betrayed your fear.

“Not today,” he replied, leaning closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours with unsettling intensity. “You’re going to let me feed you.”

“Look at it this way,” he said softly, his fingers brushing the side of your face. “It’s a way for you to make up for your bad behavior from this morning. All is forgiven now.” His tone was almost gentle, as if offering you a gift wrapped in his twisted logic.

Your breath caught in your throat. You knew what he meant, your resistance earlier, your small acts of defiance. They hadn’t gone unnoticed. Every decision you made, every hesitation, was another test to him, and now, by complying, you were wiping the slate clean. At least in his eyes.

You forced yourself to nod, your throat tight. "I’m glad everything’s okay now," you whispered, trying to match his calm tone, though the words felt hollow.

He smiled again, "That’s my girl," he murmured.

"We’ll be fine as long as you keep behaving." He held the spoon near your lips, the savory scent mixing with the rising anxiety in your chest. You felt trapped, the weight of his control suffocating as the desire to resist clashed violently with the fear of what he might do if you refused.

"Just one bite," he urged, his voice deceptively gentle. "That’s all I ask. You might even like it."

You hesitated, the spoon hovering inches from your mouth. His breath brushed your skin, warm and suffocating, and despite every fiber of your being screaming to resist, you reluctantly parted your lips. He fed you the bite, his eyes lighting up with satisfaction as you chewed.

“Good girl,” he praised softly, his voice laced with twisted affection. “See? Not so bad, is it?”

You couldn’t meet his gaze, focusing instead on the way he savored your submission, each bite you took a victory for him. He continued feeding you, the act a power play more than an act of care. “Good girl,” he murmured again, his praise becoming a sickly sweet reminder of how much he enjoyed your obedience.

You swallowed the last bite, but before you could protest, he was already lifting another spoonful to your lips. "No more," you whispered, shaking your head. But he only smiled, unbothered by your plea.

“You’re not done yet,” he replied, his voice still calm but now carrying a subtle warning. “You need to eat. I won’t let you starve yourself.”

Each bite felt like a slow erosion of your autonomy, a surrender to the web of control he had wrapped around you. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he set the spoon down and wiped the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

“There. Good. Now, was that so hard?” he asked, his smile widening, a smug satisfaction radiating from him.

You could barely hold back the bile rising in your throat as he tilted his head, his eyes flashing with something dark and possessive. “Soon, you’ll see things my way.”

__________

The days blurred together in a suffocating routine after that morning. Each day, you played your part, becoming the perfect version of the person Jungkook wanted you to be, feeding into his twisted fantasy of love and control. You adapted, not out of choice, but out of survival, carefully treading the fine line between submission and manipulation.

Jungkook, on the surface, seemed content. Every morning, he’d wake you with soft kisses, his arms tight around you as he whispered promises of love. You’d smile, kiss him back, and play along, even when every touch made your skin crawl. Breakfast was always a quiet ritual, with him feeding you more often than not, his gaze watching your every move, ensuring you didn’t deviate from his expectations.

In the afternoons, he’d insist on spending time together, whether it was watching TV or simply lounging around. His arms were always around you, his touch never far. It was smothering, but you endured it, knowing that resistance would only tighten his grip. You began to flatter him, giving him small, calculated compliments, making him believe that you were starting to see things his way. Each word was carefully crafted, designed to earn his trust, to keep him from suspecting that behind your compliance was a growing determination to escape.

You started doing more for him, small acts of care that fed into his obsession. You made his favorite meals, dressed in clothes he picked out for you, and even initiated moments of affection, all while hiding the fear and anger that simmered beneath the surface. You needed him to believe you were falling in line, that you were happy, even when the chains around you grew tighter every day.

And he did believe it. The more you played into his fantasy, the more he relaxed. He started leaving you alone for short periods, his possessiveness loosening just enough to give you moments of freedom. But even then, you knew he was watching. There were cameras, there had to be. You could feel his presence, even when he wasn’t there.

Yet, despite the facade you maintained, the anger inside you grew. Every time he praised you for being his "good girl," every time he fed you like a child or held you too tight, it fueled the fire burning in your chest. You hated how easily he controlled your life, how he believed you were his to command.

But you also knew that anger wasn’t enough. If you were going to escape, you had to be smart. You needed to play the long game, to lull him into a sense of security. Every smile, every affectionate word, was a brick in the wall you were building between you and his suspicions. Slowly, carefully, you were laying the groundwork for your escape.

As the days passed, Jungkook grew more comfortable with your “submission.” He praised you often, told you how proud he was of how you were “adjusting” to his love. Each time he said it, your heart twisted, but you forced a smile, knowing that it was part of the plan. The more he believed in your compliance, the more likely he was to slip, to give you the opening you needed.

But for now, you remain trapped in the routine, your every move calculated, your words carefully chosen. The slivers of freedom he gave you were small, but they were enough for now. You knew that eventually, the trust you were building would be your key to escape. It had to be.

You sat on the couch, curled up under a soft blanket, your legs stretched out across Jungkook’s lap. He was working, as he often did these days, typing on his laptop with one hand while absentmindedly rubbing your feet and calf with the other. The quiet sound of his fingers on the keyboard and the gentle pressure of his touch were strangely soothing, but the tension in your chest refused to ease.

Your book, Gone Girl, lay open in your lap. It had been months since you’d had time to read for pleasure, back when your life was a whirlwind of school and juggling two jobs. Now, though, things were different. Your days were long, filled with a strange mixture of peace and suffocation, where the boundaries of control and submission were constantly shifting.

Jungkook had been working from home more often lately, his gaze flicking between you and his computer screen. He liked having you near, a constant presence that fed into his need to know where you were, what you were doing, at all times. You had grown accustomed to it, the way he monitored your movements even when his attention seemed elsewhere. But tonight, something was different. Maybe it was the quiet, or maybe it was the fact that he'd been in a particularly good mood recently, satisfied with how you were behaving.

You glanced at him over the top of your book, the glow of his laptop reflecting off his features. He looked calm, focused on his work. Now felt like the right time to bring it up. You’d been absent from school for weeks, your professors likely wondering where you had gone. But more importantly, your final exam was approaching. If you missed it, you wouldn’t pass the course you've fought sleepless for.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. It wasn’t that you were afraid of asking, Jungkook rarely reacted harshly to your questions, but the idea of returning to school, even for an exam, meant the possibility of freedom. And you knew how he felt about that.

Still, you had to try.

“Babe,” you said softly, trying to keep your tone light and casual, “I’ve been thinking about school.”

His fingers paused on your leg, just for a second, before continuing their gentle massage. His eyes remained fixed on his screen, though you knew he was listening intently.

“What about school?” he asked, his tone even, though you sensed a hint of curiosity beneath it.

“I’ve been gone for a while now,” you continued carefully. “I still need to take my final exams at the end of the month if I want to graduate.”

There was a brief silence, the sound of his typing slowing to a stop. He finally looked at you, his dark eyes scanning your face as if trying to gauge your intentions.

“I thought we talked about this,” he said quietly, his hand tightening slightly around your calf. “School isn’t something you need to worry about anymore. You’re with me now.”

You swallowed, forcing yourself to stay calm. You couldn’t afford to push too hard. “I know, but graduating is important to me. It’s something I worked really hard for, and I just need one more year before I graduate. After that, I’ll be done.”

Jungkook’s expression didn’t change, but his grip on your leg remained firm. He seemed to consider your words, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the request. You could see the wheels turning in his mind, weighing the risk of letting you out of his sight, even for something as seemingly harmless as an exam.

“I don’t like the idea of you going back there,” he said finally, his voice soft but edged with tension. “Too many people. Too many distractions.”

“I’ll only go for the exam,” you promised, your voice gentle but firm. “I won’t stay longer than I need to. Just in and out. You can even drop me off and pick me up, if that makes you feel better.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his thumb idly rubbing small circles on your ankle. You could see the conflict in his eyes, his desire to give you what you wanted clashing with his need to control every aspect of your life.

Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll think about it,” he said, his voice a little more relaxed. “But I don’t want you getting any ideas. You know how much I care about you.”

“I know,” you whispered, relief washing over you even as a knot of anxiety twisted in your stomach. You had planted the seed. Now you just had to hope it would grow into an opportunity, one that you could use to finally reclaim a piece of your freedom.

__________

Three days had passed since that conversation, and the knot in your stomach had only tightened. The exam was fast approaching, and you could feel the weight of it looming over you, just as much as the constant, watchful presence of Jungkook. He hadn’t brought it up again, and you were too afraid to push the topic further just yet. But the clock was ticking, and you knew that soon, you’d have to.

Jungkook had been busier than usual lately, ever since his father passed away. The responsibilities that came with running the family business had doubled, and you could see the strain in his face, in the way he carried himself. He spent hours in his office, buried in paperwork, his attention consumed by the demands of the company.

You sat on the armchair in the corner of his office, reading the book in your lap, though you hadn’t turned a page in the past thirty minutes. Instead, your eyes kept drifting toward him, watching the focused look on his face as he scribbled notes or typed away at his computer. The tension in the room was palpable, even though neither of you had said a word for the last hour.

Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair, the fatigue clear in his movements. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples, clearly feeling the pressure of everything on his shoulders. You knew he hated being questioned or distracted when he was like this, but you couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Jungkook,” you said softly, careful to keep your tone gentle.

He didn’t look up right away, but you saw the slight tightening of his jaw, a telltale sign that he had heard you. After a moment, he placed his pen down and finally met your gaze.

“What is it sweetheart?” he asked, his voice calm but edged with exhaustion.

You swallowed hard, trying to gather your courage. “I know you’ve been thinking about it… and I appreciate it. But the exam is only a few days away. I really need to know what we’re going to do.”

Jungkook’s eyes darkened slightly, but his expression remained controlled. “You don’t need to worry about the exam. You don’t need school anymore. I’m taking care of everything.”

You bit your lip, feeling the familiar frustration bubbling up inside you. “But I’ve worked so hard for this. I need to graduate, Jungkook. I can’t just... quit. You said you’d think about it.”

He let out a long breath, standing up and walking around his desk to where you sat. His eyes softened, but it didn’t comfort you. Instead, it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Princess,” he said gently, reaching out to cup your cheek, “I understand that this is important to you. But you don’t need that degree. You have me. I’ll take care of you. You don’t need to go back to that life.”

You pulled away slightly, shaking your head. “That’s not the point. I want to finish this. It’s something I’ve worked for.”

His gaze hardened, just a fraction, but enough for you to notice. “You need to stop thinking about what you want,” he said, his voice firm. “This is what’s best for you. Trust me.”

Your chest tightened as you looked at him, your frustration turning into something sharper, something closer to anger. You had done everything he asked. You had been patient, played the role of the compliant partner, all for this one moment of freedom. And now, he was taking that away too.

“I’ve been patient,” you said, your voice shaking with barely-contained frustration. “I’ve done everything you wanted. But you promised. You said you’d think about it.”

Jungkook’s expression remained unbothered, as though your words had no effect on him. “I did think about it,” he said, his voice cold. “And I’ve decided. You’re not going back to school. You’re staying here, where you belong.” He turned his back to you, walking back to his desk.

That was it. That was the moment everything broke.

Before you even had time to process the fury building inside you, your eyes locked onto the vase on the table next to the armchair. Your mind screamed at you to stop, but your body moved before you could think. In one swift motion, you grabbed the vase, the weight of it grounding you for just a split second before you swung it at him.

The vase hit him on the side of the head with a sickening crack.

Jungkook collapsed to the floor with a groan, his hand flying to his head as he struggled to process what had just happened. Blood seeped through his fingers, and his eyes flickered with shock as he looked up at you.

“Princess…” he rasped, his voice hoarse with confusion and disbelief. “What... what did you-”

You ran.

You bolted for the door, your heart pounding in your chest as you sprinted down the hallway, your mind a whirlwind of panic and adrenaline. The front door to the penthouse was open, a careless mistake on his part, a sliver of luck for you. You didn’t care about anything else anymore. You didn’t care about his control, or even the fear of what he would do if he caught you.

All you wanted was out. Out of this suffocating place, out of this twisted prison he had built around you.

Out of him.

You bolted for the door, heart pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears. The vase clattered to the floor behind you as you sprinted toward the elevator, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You didn’t think, there was no time for thinking. You just knew you had to get out.

The hallway blurred as you ran, adrenaline surging through your veins. The elevator doors were open, another moment of luck in a twisted series of events. You threw yourself inside, slamming your hand against the button to close the doors as fast as possible.

The elevator doors slid shut with a quiet hum, sealing you inside. Your hands trembled as you pressed the button for the lobby, willing the elevator to move faster. You had no idea how long it would take for Jungkook to recover, but you knew it wouldn’t be long before he came after you.

As the elevator descended, your chest tightened, each floor feeling like an eternity. You pressed yourself into the corner of the elevator, your whole body shaking as you tried to catch your breath. The reality of what you’d just done hit you all at once, crashing over you like a wave.

You hit him.

You hit Jungkook.

But you didn’t regret it. You couldn’t regret it. Not after everything he had done, keeping you trapped, controlling every part of your life.

You closed your eyes, feeling tears sting at the edges, but you fought them back. You didn’t have time to break down now. The elevator dinged softly as it reached the lobby, and you wiped your eyes quickly, forcing yourself to focus. The doors slid open, revealing the bright lights of the ground floor.

Freedom.

You stepped out, your legs weak beneath you, but you forced yourself to keep moving. People were walking past you in the lobby, completely unaware of the storm you had just escaped from upstairs.

You had no plan, no phone, no money. Still, all that mattered was that you were out. Away from him.

And you weren’t going back.

You burst through the doors of the lobby and into the night, your legs carrying you without direction, just away. Away from Jungkook, away from the suffocating control, away from the penthouse that had been your prison for far too long. You ran blindly through the city streets, heart racing, breath shallow, your feet slamming against the pavement with each desperate step. The cool night air whipped against your face, but it did little to clear the panic clouding your mind.

You couldn’t stop. You couldn’t ask for help. Who would believe you? He was Jeon fucking Jungkook, one of the richest, one of the most powerful men. If you went to the authorities, they’d likely send you straight back to him. Money bought silence, it bought control, and you knew better than anyone just how tightly he held that control.

You needed to disappear. To vanish completely until he couldn’t find you, until he finally gave up. But how??

The thought of going back, of being caught, terrified you more than anything. You needed help. You needed money. That’s when you remembered the necklace hanging around your neck, the one Jungkook had given you. It was expensive, something rare and exclusive, probably worth a fortune. Maybe you could sell it, use the cash to disappear for a little while.

But first, you needed a place to stay. Somewhere safe, at least for the night. Your parents lived too far away. You couldn’t risk reaching out to them, not yet. The only person you could think of was Bora. Sweet, dependable Bora. She had always been there for you, and maybe, just maybe she’d still help you now.

But could you risk getting her involved? If Jungkook found out she helped you, she could get caught in the crossfire. The thought gnawed at you, but you didn’t have many options. Bora worked at the strip club, usually at this time of night. Maybe you could swing by, ask for some quick cash, and move on before Jungkook even had a chance to realize where you’d gone.

You stopped in your tracks, panting, your lungs burning from the nonstop sprint through the city. You bent over, hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath. “Breathe”, you told yourself. “Just breathe”.

As you straightened up, your eyes caught something pinned to a streetlight nearby. An old, wrinkled poster. Something familiar.

You took a step closer, squinting under the dim streetlight. The faded ink became clearer. It was a missing person report. Your missing person report. Your own face stared back at you, a photo from what felt like a lifetime ago.

Beneath your name, someone had scribbled something in jagged handwriting.

Rest in peace Angel.

Your heart dropped into your stomach. Cold realization washed over you. I’m dead. Jungkook made sure of it.

The world tilted for a moment as the weight of what he had done finally hit you. Everyone thought you were gone, your family, your friends, anyone who might’ve come looking for you. They had already mourned you, accepted your death. No one was looking for you anymore. As far as the world was concerned, you didn’t exist.

He had erased you.

You staggered back, the noise of the city fading as you stared at the poster, at the brutal, final words scribbled beneath your name. Jungkook had planned this all along, trapping you in his world, and now, even if you ran, you had no identity to run with.

But you had to run. And you had to survive. You had to find Bora, get enough money to keep moving. The thought of stopping, of letting him catch up to you, was unbearable.

You glanced around, panic rising again, your heart pounding louder than ever. The clock was ticking. You had to go.

You slowed down, heart still racing, trying to steady your breath as you kept moving toward the back of the club. The line stretched on, men jostling for position, but you weren’t going through the front. The bouncers, tall, muscular figures with sunglasses even at night, stood like sentinels at the door, arms crossed, keeping watch over the chaos.

God, you hated this place. The memories here were bitter, nights spent working, enduring the leering stares, the unwanted touches, the crude jokes. But now, this was the only place you could turn to. The only person you had left was inside.

You slipped down the alley, the familiar route you used to take when you worked here. The scent of cigarette smoke and alcohol clung to the air, a sharp contrast to the cool breeze brushing against your flushed skin.

You kept your head down, weaving through the crowd toward the back of the building. There was a secret door in the back, hidden from the public, where the staff would slip in and out during shifts. You didn’t have your key anymore, of course, but you remembered the routine. Girls always came out for smoke breaks here.

Your breath hitched as you reached for the door handle, hoping to slip in quietly, unnoticed. But before you could even touch it, the door swung open.

You stumbled back, heart leaping into your throat.

“Oh my god,” a voice muttered, and your eyes shot up to see one of the dancers, Sana, one of the regulars, blinking at you in surprise. She was dressed in her stage outfit, cigarette in hand, her eyes wide as she took you in.

“What the hell...?” she asked, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “Wait... is that-is that really you?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you grabbed her wrist, pulling her out of the doorway just enough to slip inside, keeping your face hidden as much as you could.

“Sana, I-I need to see Bora,” you whispered, your voice shaky and desperate. “Is she here tonight?”

Sana stared at you, her expression caught between disbelief and alarm. "Wait, wait, hold on-what's going on? You-you're supposed to be-"

“I know,” you cut her off, your voice urgent. “I can’t explain right now. Just... please. I need to see her.”

Sana hesitated for a moment, clearly confused, but then nodded slowly. “She’s inside, on stage. She should be finishing up soon.”

Relief surged through you, though it was mixed with the familiar dread of being in this place again. “Thank you,” you muttered before slipping past her and into the dimly lit hallway.

The familiar thrum of music filled your ears as you made your way down the narrow corridor, past the lockers and dressing rooms. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, perfume, and alcohol, and you could hear the muffled cheers of the crowd beyond the main stage.

You hovered near the dressing rooms, hiding in the shadows, waiting for Bora’s set to finish. Your heart raced with every second that passed, the fear that Jungkook might somehow track you here gnawing at you. You had no idea how much time you had before he realized you were gone, before he started searching.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally saw Bora walking off the stage, her usual confidence dimmed by exhaustion. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and glanced around, heading toward the dressing room. You stepped out from the shadows, your hands trembling.

"Bora."

Her head whipped around at the sound of your voice, her eyes widening as they landed on you. She froze, her face going pale. "Angel... You're-"

"I'm alive," you whispered, stepping closer. "But I need your help. Please, Bora, I don't have much time."

Her eyes darted around the room, panic flashing across her face as she processed the situation. She grabbed your arm, pulling you into the dressing room and slamming the door behind you. "What the hell happened to you? We all thought... we thought you were gone! A body, they found a body-everyone thinks you're dead!"

"I know," you whispered, your voice cracking. "It was Jungkook. He made it look like I was dead. I-I just escaped from him."

Bora's expression shifted from shock to anger. "That bastard. I knew something was off with him. But why come here? If he knows you're here, he's going to come after you. This place isn't safe!"

"I know, but I had nowhere else to go. I need money. I need to disappear, Bora."

She stared at you for a long moment, clearly torn between fear and the instinct to help you. Finally, she nodded, grabbing her purse from the counter. "Okay, okay... I’ll give you whatever cash I have on me. But you can’t stay here. He’ll find you."

You exhaled a shaky breath as she handed you a wad of bills. "Thank you. I won't stay long. I just need a head start."

Bora's eyes softened with concern as she stuffed more money into your hand. "You need to get far away from here. As far as you can."

You nodded, your hands trembling as you stuffed the cash into your pockets. "I will."

But even as you said the words, the lingering fear gnawed at you. How far could you really run from someone like Jungkook?

Bora’s eyes softened as she looked at you, the weight of everything hanging in the air between you. Before you could say anything else, she pulled you into a tight hug, her arms wrapping around you in a way that made your chest tighten with emotion.

“Please be safe,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the muffled music from the club.

You held on to her for a moment longer, your own arms squeezing her back. It had been so long since anyone had hugged you like that—since anyone had shown you kindness without control attached to it. You blinked back the tears that threatened to spill, knowing you didn’t have time to break down. Not here. Not now.

“I’ll try,” you whispered back, your voice shaky. “Thank you, Bora. For everything.”

She pulled back, her hands lingering on your arms for a second before she let you go. “Don’t come back here. Don’t let him find you,” she said, her voice fierce but laced with worry. “Disappear. For good.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I will.”

Before you could make your way toward the door, Bora grabbed your arm again, her eyes scanning you up and down. “Wait,” she said firmly. “You can’t go out there like this. He’ll recognize you immediately. Everyone will.”

You looked down at yourself, your clothes, they were from a life Jungkook had tailored for you, a life that you needed to shed to blend in, to disappear.

Bora was already moving, digging through her locker and pulling out a simple, dark outfit, one she usually wears going to work and back. “Here,” she said, shoving the clothes into your arms. “Change into this. It'll make it harder for anyone to spot you. Hurry. We don’t have much time.”

Without another word, you quickly pulled off your old clothes and slipped into Bora’s outfit. A dark pair of jeans, with a loose black hoodie and a warm black warm coat. It smelled a lot of perfume. You tied your hair back, glancing at yourself in the mirror.

Bora handed you a cap, adding the finishing touch. “There.” she said, a small, sad smile on her lips.

You gave her a grateful look, feeling your throat tighten. “Thank you,” you whispered again.

Bora pulled you in for another quick, tight hug. “Get out of here, okay? And don’t come back,” she repeated, her voice low and urgent. “He won’t stop if he finds out.”

You nodded, heart pounding as you finished dressing. “I won’t. I promise.”

With that, you headed toward the back exit.

You had to keep moving. You couldn’t afford to stop.

You pulled the hoodie tightly over your cap, tucking your hair beneath the fabric as you prepared to leave. Your mind raced with one thought: you needed to find a motel. Just for the night, somewhere to lie low until you could sell the necklace.

Pushing open the back door, you stepped into the cool night air, but before you could take another step, a hand grabbed your arm roughly, slamming you against the brick wall of the alley.

"Where are you off to?" a low voice growled, eyes narrowing at you.

"You're not Bora."

You froze, the shock rendering you speechless. The world blurred around you as you stared at the man who had pinned you. Panic surged through your veins until recognition hit you like a punch to the gut.

Jeong Jaehyun.

One of Jungkook’s closest friends.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you kept your head down, desperately trying to hide your face. "No... I’m not," you mumbled quickly, trying to keep your voice steady. "I’m her friend. I wasn’t feeling well, so I was sent home."

Jaehyun’s eyes raked over you, suspicion flickering across his features. "You look familiar," he said slowly, his grip tightening for a brief moment.

Your stomach lurched, but you forced a tight smile. "Yeah, well... I work here. Probably seen me around. I really have to go now," you said, your voice barely masking the fear.

You slipped away from his grip, pulling the hoodie tighter around your face, praying he wouldn’t connect the dots.

"Wait-"

Before he could stop you, another voice called out from behind him.

"Jaehyun! Where the hell are you, man? What are you doing back here?"

A distraction.

Without wasting another second, you pushed the door open wide and bolted, your feet slamming against the pavement as you ran down the alley. You could hear Jaehyun calling out behind you, but you didn’t look back.

You couldn’t catch a break. Every time you thought you were one step ahead, something or someone dragged you right back into it.

__________

Jungkook blinked, his vision swimming as the sharp pain in his head brought him back to the present. His fingers grazed the spot where the vase had hit him, and the warm trickle of blood running down his temple stung, but it wasn’t the pain that consumed him, it was the realization.

She hit me.

His princess, the one he had carefully protected, sheltered, loved, had just hit him and ran. The one he thought had finally understood their connection, their bond. She had betrayed him, and now she was gone.

He staggered to his feet, his breath coming in sharp bursts. The penthouse felt unnervingly quiet, the door slightly ajar, the echoes of her departure lingering like a slap to his face.

She ran.

The thought sent a fresh wave of fury through him. After everything he’d done for her, how he had protected her, made her feel safe, cared for her in ways no one else ever could, and she had the nerve to run?

His fist slammed against the wall, the plaster cracking under the pressure. His vision blurred, clouded by the dark haze of his anger. She thought she could escape him? That she could leave him after everything?

No.

She was his. She belonged to him, and she would always belong to him.

Jungkook stood still for a moment, letting the anger settle into something colder, more focused. He wiped the blood from his knuckles, smearing it across his fingertips before casually brushing it away. His mind was already racing through the next steps.

No matter how much he loved her, no matter how well he treated her, the thought of escape might flicker in her mind. But he had prepared for that. He wasn��t that naive. He wasn’t stupid.

In fact, he had been two steps ahead of her the entire time.

Jungkook reached into his desk drawer, his fingers brushing past papers and folders until he found what he was looking for- a small black device, barely larger than a key fob. He turned it over in his hand, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he thumbed the button on its side.

The tracker.

Weeks ago, when he’d first brought her into his world, he had planted a small tracking chip under her skin. A simple procedure. Harmless, unnoticed. She had no idea, of course. It was for her safety, for their safety. He couldn’t risk losing her.

The tiny chip, embedded beneath her skin in a place she would never think to check, allowed him to always know where she was. It was a precaution, one he had hoped he’d never need to use. But now? Now it was time to activate it.

Jungkook pressed the button on the device, watching as the screen lit up, a small blinking dot appearing on the map. He watched the blinking dot on the tracker screen, his expression calm, almost serene. She was running, heart pounding, mind probably racing with thoughts of escape. She thought she had outsmarted him, thought she had finally broken free.

Let her think that.

His fingers lightly traced over the small red dot on the screen, his smile widening. He could go after her now, catch her within the hour. But where was the fun in that? Where was the lesson? No, she needed to feel the weight of her decision, the consequences of trying to leave him. She needed to believe that freedom was within her reach, only to have it yanked away when he decided the time was right.

This wasn’t just about finding her. It was about showing her that she had never truly escaped. That she could run, hide, try to slip away into the cracks of the city, but he would always know where she was. Because she was his, and nothing could change that.

Jungkook leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing on the blinking dot that represented her. He’d give her time, just enough to think she’d won. Let her scramble, desperate and afraid. Let her believe that she was outsmarting him, that she had carved out a sliver of freedom.

But in reality, she was playing a game where the rules had already been set, and he held all the pieces.

He could wait. After all, the longer she thought she was free, the sweeter it would be when he finally pulled her back into his world.

Let her run. Let her think she had won.

But when he decided it was time—he’d make sure she knew that freedom had never really been hers to take.

Jungkook wiped the blood from his temple, his head still throbbing from the blow, but his lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile.

“Run all you want, Princess,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and venomous, his fingers tightening around the edge of the desk as he steadied himself.

“I’ll always find you.”

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rafesplaymate · 4 months ago

Text

Off to the Races

Chapter ii

Older!Rafe Cameron x Stepdaughter!Reader

ੈ✩‧₊˚ masterlist ੈ✩‧₊˚ series masterlist

warnings: emotional infidelity. pseudo / stepcest. dd/lg dynamics. dark themes.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Rafe didn’t think much of it when he came home one day to his living room full of cardboard boxes and pretty pink suitcases. The details of his stepdaughter’s arrival being handled by his wife all on his dime. He didn’t mind, he was more than happy to provide for what would be his family. Yet, he struggled to accept that he would have a 19 year old girl in his house who was suppose to be under his guidance. He could handle babies or toddlers, maybe even a young teen but she’s practically a young woman already. Legal enough to vote and 2 years away from being legal enough to drink. He throws his suitcase on the dining room table as he runs a hand over his face with a sigh. Shrugging off his jacket on the top of one of the chairs of the table and rolling his sleeves up. Rafe walked to the kitchen ready to shout his wife’s name, and look for her when the sight he saw made him stop in his tracks.

Now this, was a nice little surprise. Rafe knows he’s a married man fuck —he knows. If the gold wedding band on his left ring finger was anything to go by. But he’s only a man and he can’t help but stare at the pert little ass spread out in front of him in tiny pink shorts as the top half off whoever was in his fridge rummaged through. His eyes ran down the pretty legs exposed to him and locked on the way her ass was so spread out that he could almost practically see the imprint of her pussy. He cleared his throat and the figure jumped a little, immediately standing up and turning around. The face that came into view made Rafe’s heart stop.

A sweet little angel was standing in front him, a gorgeous face that glowed with youth. Her pretty eyes accentuated by wispy lashes, her plump pout accentuated with a shimmery gloss slathered across. Her wrinkle free complexion dewy with natural makeup and the way she batted her lashes as she took him in as well made him want to groan under his chest. His eyes quickly moved down her half-turned position. Taking in the side swell of her breast in the matching tube top, down to her pinched in waist and pert ass. Fuck —so fucking beautiful. That’s all he could think as he felt his cock harden. His brain racked as he could only come up with one conclusion as to who this is, dread filling in his chest and he told himself this better not be- “oh! You must be Rafe. I’m y/n… your stepdaughter.” Said a sweet voice that sounded like music to his ears, her words registering in his short-circuiting brain. Fuck. His stepdaughter.

Rafe cleared his throat as she turned her front to him and stepped fordeward, plump chest bouncing with each step as her hardened nipples poked through the light pink fabric. Pretty tummy looking so soft and nuzzable as she reached out a pretty manicured hand. Rafe quickly shook the sinful thoughts building in his mind as he finally acknowledged her, his large hand encasing hers as they shook in each other’s grasp. Both their chest tightening and eyes stuck on each other’s as they refused to let go. Sparks were flying, so many fucking sparks that it made a small gasp fall from her pretty lips and his grip on her hand tighten slightly. His cobalt eyes cutting into her as she cowered under his strong gaze. He was so handsome. The years doing good by him and she could not believe this was her stepdad. Why was heat building quickly inbetween her legs for a man who was almost 20 years her senior, a man who was again her stepdad.

When Rafe finally made the move to speak, he dropped her hand quickly before the overwhelming tension that built suffocated him. Running the hand over the back of his buzz-cut as he gave her a warm smile. “Welcome y/n. It’s uh-it’s nice to meet you, your mom hasn’t stopped talking about your arrival.” He drawled, his voice making her want to whimper from how sexy it was. Everything about his was so sexy and she wanted to feel sick at herself for finding him so attractive but how could she? How could anyone? She bat her long lashes at him as she gave him a shy smile before biting her bottom lip. Looking down bashfully at her pedicured toes which Rafe immediately took notice of. He loved a well-pampered girl. Especially one that looked as sweet as her and smelled like creamy vanilla that was hitting his nose. His sweet little stepdaughter who he only just met but all he wants to do is devour her whole.

“Oh, I um.. I guess.” She sighed out, looking back up at him as she shrugged with an ironic smile. “I wish she felt the same way when I was born.” She admitted with a shy whisper, immediately looking down again as she realize she said it to the man her mother was married to. Hoping he didn’t take any offense to her mommy issues. Rafe sighed, stepping forward and reaching his hand under her chin. He pushed it up with his index finger and pinched it with his chin as she looked into his piercing gaze one more. “I know sweetheart, but be happy she’s making the effort now. You’ll be so happy here, I know it. We’re gonna take care of you. Don’t let a thing worry that little brain, you’re home now.” He comforted her, his use of a pet name making her insides turn into goo as she gave him a sweet smile which he immediately returned. He pinched her chin lovingly then pulled it away. He then knocked her chin lightly with his index finger making her let out a sweet giggle that he wanted to hear all the time. His heart already making space for her as she made his insides warm up. Sweet babygirl, I’m going to take such good care of you. Their sweet moment being interrupted by a voice he knew all too well.

“Oh great! You guys have met already I’m so glad! Honey..this is my babygirl!” Gushed his wife as her heels clacked over to her scantily clad daughter, hugging her as the younger girl tensed. Patting her back awkwardly as she looked at Rafe over her mom’s shoulder. Rafe reassured her with a wink and smile, that made her body loosen immediately and return her mother’s embrace. The older woman pulled back with a big smile as she turned to her husband, walking over to him and sliding her hands up his chest as she greeted him with a long peck. “Hi honey, m’so glad you’re home.” She drawled from the back of her throat, closing her eyes and kissing him once more as he stared at the girl behind her. Her pretty lips turning into a small frown as she looked down once more, arms crossing over her chest while she brought one out to inspect her manicure. When his wife pulled back from the kiss he was still staring at his stepdaughter. His gaze quickly moving to his wife’s as he gave her a warm yet not all genuine smile. Her smoothed her hair back as he greeted her with a, “hi honey.” Her smile widened as she turned to her daughter while looping her arm around Rafe’s waist. The two intertwined as they stared at her. Only in different ways. While his wife stared at her with giddiness, ready to build a relationship with her neglected child. Rafe stared at her with a slight frown marring his perfect face. He hated the way she caved in on herself, keeping her gaze down on her toes while she fiddled with her fingers.

“Baby, do you need Rafe to help you put your stuff in your room?” Her mother said softly, stepping forward and reaching out her hand to caress her daughter’s upper arm. The younger girl looked up at her mom, sadness still lingering in her eyes as she nodded slightly. Moving her gaze to Rafe as she cowered under his eye contact, moving her eyes down again immediately. Rafe hated seeing her this way, already feeling so protective of the little princess that landed in his home and was carving out her place in his heart. “Of course. C’mon princess show me where you want it.” He reached out his hand, waiting for her to place hers in his open palm. The younger girl looking at her mom for reassurance, her mom gave her quick nod with a warm smile. Only then, is when she placed her pretty hand into his. The use of a nickname once again settling in her as she smiled at him once more; Rafe immediately returning it with satisfaction settling in his chest. He guided her out of the kitchen and helped her move everything she had with her guidance and soft voice pointing out where she wanted her things to be settled.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

After less than an hour Rafe brought the last of her things to her room. Watching as her eyes took everything in, moving to the balcony doors and opening them. She walked through excitedly and giggled to herself as she took in the lowering sun, leaving a warm orange haze over Kildare. She sighed as she leaned on the railing, not believing she gets to call this grand room and beautiful view her home. So different from the small apartment and bustling city she used to live in. Rafe shuffled slowly behind her onto the balcony, coming next to her as his eyes stared at her. He watched as she took everything in, her eyes shining with happiness. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He broke the silence, watching her pretty eyes look into his as she nodded. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” She shyly admitted, looking back at the sun kissing the ocean. Like two lovers meeting again in a warm greeting. Rafe’s eyes still holding onto her as he took in her glow in the lowering sun, his new sweet little angel who he was liking more than just in a fatherly sense.

He watched as her eyes welled up and a single tear dripped down her cheek, more following after from both as her lips pursed in a frown and her chin wobbled. Rafe’s brows furrowing in concern as he took in her the melancholic energy radiating off of her, immediately grabbing her in his arms. She immediately latched onto him, his hand pushing her face into his neck as a sob fell from her lips. Tears wetting his skin as he brought his hand to caress her head, laying his cheek on her as his other arm wrapped around her. “Hey princess,” he cooed to her. “What’s wrong, huh? C’mon sweet girl,” he urged her to answer as her hands curled into his button up and she buried face harder into him. His natural scent, cologne and warm skin immediately soothing her. He smelled and felt like home. His big arms around her as she felt safe in a way she hasn’t in so long. Her dad never held her like this, he never comforted her pain.

Rafe rocked them side to side as her sobs minimized into soft sniffles and whimpers, her arms coming to wrap around his waist as she pulled back to look into his eyes. Her head craning up to look at him as he craned his down. Taking in her red-rimmed eyes, long lashes clumped with tears, and red-tipped nose as he cooed at her once more. So precious, a little doll who needs to be taken care of and protected. He would do just that, he would do anything for her. It’s been only just a couple hours since they met and he’s already completely enamored by her, his feelings walking the tight line of paternal and something romantic. He didn’t know and he didn’t care to figure it out right then. All he knew is that she was his now, under his roof and he was going to ensure his angel was well-taken care of. Rafe brought the hand that was caressing her hair and used his index finger to wipe away her tears, “what’s wrong, hm? What’s got you so down? Aren’t you happy?” He cooed to her once more, cupping her cheek as he urged her to speak. Her lips still in a precious out and swollen from her crying. All he could think is how kissable they look, and as much as he liked how pretty she looked with tears streaming down her cheeks he hated it being from a negative emotion.

“I-I am,” she croaked out, voice raspy from her sobbing session as she nuzzled her cheek into his hand. “I just feel so overwhelmed, so much to take in. I-I’ve never..” she trailed off, looking down as she pushed her forehead onto his chest. Rafe immediately put his hand under her chin and pushed her head up to look back into his eyes, urging her to continue. “I’ve never had anything like this before. I’m so grateful, I’ve never been held so tightly this way or cared about. My dad was… let’s just say he wasn’t always nice an-and we lived paycheck to paycheck in a tiny apartment. For all this to be mine an-and you being so sweet to me. It’s all so much, and m’sorry for crying.” She whispered the last part, Rafe taking in her words as his arm tightened around her and his thumb and index finger pinched her chin. He gave her a sad smile as his thumb caressed her. The tip of it grazing the bottom of her lower lip. Anger building in his chest at the thought that she’s been living like that for so long, she deserves everything. All the luxury he was going to provide for her and he doesn’t even want to dwell on what she said about her father. He can’t imagine anyone treating her less than the princess she is. His princess now.

“It’s okay, baby.” He felt her hands fist the back of his shirt as he granted her a new nickname. Something way more intimate than the one he’s been calling her. “I’m gonna take care of you okay,” he spoke seriously, holding her eyes with his piercing gaze as he urged her to understand his words. Watching hers soften slightly, “You don’t need to worry about him anymore, or worry about that life anymore. You’re here now, with me. With your mom.” He added the last part for the sake of some normalcy, watching her deflate slightly as she remembered this was her mother’s husband. A woman who gave her up so easily and lived a beautiful life while knowing her daughter didn’t. “Maybe one day, you’ll tell me everything. For now, I want you to get some rest and sleep in the big bed that’s all yours now.” He pinched her chin once last time, using it to bring her closer as he guided his lips to her forehead. Kissing it softly with small pecks as both their eyes closed.

Warmth radiated over them and encased them in a small bubble. The orange haze of the lowering sun a physical representation of such. Deep inside they both knew this was crossing a big boundary, they should feel sick at being so touchy with each other so early on especially under the circumstances. He’s her stepdad, she’s his stepdaughter. Though they can’t find it in themselves to care, because it felt so fucking good and neither of them wanted it to end. They could stay in each other’s arms forever it felt like. The intense spark between the two beginning to build into a flame that neither would yet realize, would eventually grow and explode into something grand. Something that would blow up a lot of things, damaging them to no repair. Only they together would survive the explosion.

“Daddy’s here now, and I’m not letting you go. Ever.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

a/n: PHEW! they’re soulmates in case yall couldn’t catch that! i wanted it to be an instantaneous love kind of thing. let’s see where this relationship winds up. please let me know your thoughts it would be so appreciated! and if you’d like to be added to the taglist pls let me know as well! thank you all so much for the support!!! much love, enjoy!

taglist: @xcinnamonmalfoyx @dreamygirli3 @littlelamy @ghoslyethastaryn @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysbebe @enjoymyloves @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist @starkeyboyismine

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runariya · 4 months ago

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The Auction (JJK) • Chapter 1

summary: After being sold to a dangerous wolf hybrid at a secret auction, you find yourself bound to him in a game of control and obsession. pairing: wolf hybrid!Jungkook x cat hybrid!female reader genre: mafia!AU, hybrid!AU, dystopian!AU, S2L, dark romance, slow burn, angst rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: DDDNE, angst, violence, trauma, hybrid trafficking, JK is an Alpha, nud!ty, hormone suppressants, b!ting, blood, sniffing, the obsession is slightly showing, murd€r, gun, branding, fainting, lmk if I forgot smth - THX word count: ~ 1.8K

a/n: why would I give you a sneak peek when I could just gift you the first chapter? hihi 🤭 the chapters to this story will be as short as this one...soooo....and PLEASE MAKE SURE TO CHANGE YOUR SETTINGS, I CAN'T TAG SOME OF YOU 😭

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

masterlist • 2

You haven’t slept in days, haven’t felt right in yourself for even longer, but somehow the adrenaline still floods through you, keeping you wide awake, on edge, your senses sharper than they’ve ever been, catching every little movement around you like your life depends on it, which is truly does.

It’s hard to believe that just two months ago, you were innocently walking down the street, not paying any attention to the blacked-out car with its door wide open or the figure standing across the pavement pretending to be on the phone. You had no idea then that you’d soon wake up miles away in another country, surrounded by other cat hybrids, far from the only home you've ever known.

You’re not stupid—you know exactly why they took you, what they’ve got planned, what they want from you. Even so, you stubbornly refuse to accept the grim future they’ve laid out for you.

The factory hall you’re crammed into now, in some grubby back room with the other hybrids, is every bit as filthy as your once-pristine black fur. What was once sleek and soft is now matted with dirt, so vile it makes you want to gag.

You’ve overheard the men who dragged you here talking about some hidden annual auction, where dangerous men from all over the world come to bid on the likes of you. Ever since, the other hybrids have been breaking down, sobbing and begging, their wails so relentless you feel like your brain is going to explode. Yet you stay quiet, ears pricked, your senses locked on every faint sound coming from behind the door.

Soon enough, they come for you all, shoving you roughly through the corridor you were brought down earlier, though this time they steer you down a different path, lining you up on a shabby makeshift stage. The construction site-style floodlights beam down so harshly that you can’t keep your eyes open for long, the brightness overwhelming and painful.

Through your squinting eyes, you catch glimpses of the men gathered in front of the stage—some muttering quietly to each other, others smoking as they lazily size up each woman. You search for even a hint of kindness in their faces, but of course, there’s none to be found—only cold stares from the most powerful predator hybrids. You feel completely exposed, even with clothes on, so vulnerable that it’s a wonder you don’t simply keel over from the intensity of being watched.

The auction starts soon enough, but it drags on endlessly, until finally, you’re the last one to be put up for bidding. It’s a shock when your price rockets past the others by millions. What doesn’t surprise you in the least is when a dangerous wolf hybrid steps forward to claim you. You knew, from the moment they snatched you off that street, that your life was always headed straight to hell.

When you arrive at your supposed new ‘home’, the wolf hybrid, who had you driven in a separate car from his, two golden retriever hybrids—one male and one female—greet you silently, as the wolf hybrid barks out “Get her ready, run all the tests.”

They bow nervously to him with obvious fear, muttering, “Yes, Alpha,” before leading you stumbling over your own feet away.

They scrub you clean, working the conditioner into your fur, detangling the knots that have formed over time. It ought to feel soothing, and on some level it does, but the very fact you’re being ‘prepared’ for something you can’t even begin to imagine keeps you from feeling any real sense of comfort. They run a barrage of tests—urine, blood, checking for illnesses like STDs—and though there’s some relief in knowing you’re healthy despite your malnutrition, the fear never leaves you. Your tail, now soft and groomed, curls tightly between your legs, trying its best to shield your bare chest from their prying eyes.

Once they’ve finished prodding and poking you, they dress you in clothes that fit a little too well, and when your fur is finally dry, they lead you up several floors until you reach the penthouse.

The space is shrouded in darkness, save for the twinkling lights of Busan’s cityscape outside. Every surface, from walls to ceiling, is dark and gleaming, with deep brown furniture blending into its shadows, the only touches of light come from minimal brass-coloured décor scattered sparingly around the room. The golden retrievers push you silently to the centre, where the wolf hybrid lounges lazily on a leather sofa smoking a cigar, his eyes fixed on you, never wavering. The retrievers do nothing more than bow silently and exit, leaving you alone under his cold gaze.

His stare penetrates you, inspecting every inch of your trembling body from your twitching cat ears down to your feet, while the heat from the nearby fireplace stings your fragile skin. You try to lower your gaze to the floor, hoping to escape the intensity of his, but his dark eyes pull yours back like they have their own magnetic force.

“What’s your name?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

You want to answer, you really do, but it’s as if your voice has been lost since the day you were taken, and your only response is the bristling of your tail in an instinctive attempt to protect yourself.

When it becomes clear you won’t speak, he’s not having any of it, and his voice booms, “I said, what’s your name!”

You flinch at the loud slap of his tone, a frightened hiss escaping your lips before you can stop it. His expression darkens, one eyebrow raised in irritation as his finger taps impatiently against the backrest.

Summoning every ounce of willpower, you manage to whisper your name.

“Speak up,” he snaps. “I’m not a fucking feline.”

You gulp, clearing your throat as best and silently you can, and try again with a parched throat, this time just loud enough for him to catch. He nods, seemingly satisfied for now.

“Strip,” he orders after a long pause, his cold eyes locked onto yours, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The last thing you want to do is obey, but you can see the anger rising rapidly in him again, and you know better than to push your luck. Trembling, you begin to undress, feeling utterly exposed even before your clothes hit the floor. He watches you with the cold detachment of someone examining an object rather than a person, and though you’re fully naked, your tail desperately tries to cover your most private parts.

The wolf hybrid sighs heavily as he stands, exuding a casual dominance that reminds you exactly who he is. He moves around you slowly, inspecting every inch of you while you stare blankly ahead, your ears twitching nervously to follow his movements.

He stops behind you, towering over your smaller frame, and you feel his cold hands glide up your arms, squeezing your shoulders lightly before his nose brushes against your neck up to the back of your ear. He inhales deeply, and you feel your legs grow weak with a dizzying wave of fear.

“You smell divine,” he mutters to himself, though the words ring loudly in your sensitive ears. “But something’s off.”

His hands trail back down your arms, his nose following the curve of your spine, your fur standing on end as goosebumps spread across your skin. He stops at your lower back, just before your tail begins, sniffing intently before, without warning, sinking his teeth into your soft flesh. You yelp in shock and pain as he spits something metallic onto the floor beside you.

“Fucking bastards,” he growls, and you know he’s right. The implant he’s just bitten out was the one messing with your hormones, suppressing your natural cycle and heats, placed methodically where you can’t reach. Though the bite stings violently and blood trickles down your legs, you feel immediate relief now that the implant is finally out.

He runs his hand back up your spine, stopping when he reaches your neck, his fingers grazing over the small burn mark where your slave number is branded into your skin. The sensation makes you shudder violently, triggering nerves that are too raw to keep you standing still, but he seems entirely unbothered by your reaction.

“Alpha…” a voice interrupts. The door opens and a crocodile hybrid strides in without so much as a knock, freezing when his eyes land on you. Instinctively, you try to back away, only to bump into the wolf hybrid behind you, making you tense even further.

The crocodile hybrid doesn’t move, his gaze fixated on you with a predatory gleam in his eye. You hear a low growl rumbling from the wolf hybrid behind you, followed by the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked close to your sensitive ear, and then a deafening shot. You flinch and scream violently, hands flying to your ears in a desperate attempt to cover them, but the damage is already done—your ears ring painfully as you crouch down, overwhelmed by the unbearable noise, tears collecting in your lash line.

It takes a moment for your senses to return, and when they do, you realise the wolf hybrid is crouched beside you, his legs brushing yours, his hands gently rubbing your upper arms soothingly as he murmurs, “I’m sorry, kitten,” kissing against the top of your head. All while the crocodile’s body lies crumpled on the floor in a growing pool of blood nearby.

You tremble uncontrollably, paralysed by fear, your mind struggling and utterly unable to process what happened around you. But the wolf hybrid doesn’t seem to care, helping you back up to your feet, brushing your soft hair over your shoulder to reveal the burn mark once again.

You barely dare to breathe as he steps away, but when you see him take an iron rod from near the fireplace and hold it in the flames, heating it until it glows angry red-hot, memories of the previous branding flashes through your mind like an alarm. You panic, your breath coming in desperate, frantic gasps. “No, no, no…” you chant quietly, but your body is frozen in place, still paralysed by the overwhelming terror.

The wolf hybrid, unfazed to the core, pulls the rod from the fire and walks towards you. Just before the hot metal touches your skin, branding you over the old mark, you hear his voice growl behind you, cold and final, “You’re mine now.”

You scream until your ears begin to bleed, your voice tearing through your throat as you collapse onto the cold, hard floor, the world around you fading into a welcoming, merciful blackness.

masterlist • 2

a/n 3: hope you enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like!

a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for this fic 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

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fangswbenefits · 1 year ago

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The Arrangement (11) - First Light

Chapter summary: A much needed discussion takes place and it ends with Astarion coating his daggers with poison.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Mentions of past trauma. Mentions of oral sex. Blood drinking,

Word count: 4.3k

Author's note: I am still unable to reply to comments (I'm waiting for tumblr support to fix this... I read all of the, I promise. You can also send and ask or head to ao3 so I can reply there. Thank you!

Series masterlist

Ao3

Wyll Ravengard was the picture-perfect of integrity.

Well, if you were to exclude his past dealings with the half-devil Mizora. But even then, he had been mostly justified in his assessment of the situation.

So it came as no surprise when you weren't able to find a single trace of judgement on his face.

Only evident concern.

Shadowheart had quickly filled him in on the Waterdeep situation as well as provided him with enough context when it came to Ava.

“Well, this is a… mess,” Wyll eventually drawled out.

Astarion, who was sitting to your right, immediately snickered. “Understatement of the year.”

Shadowheart, who was sitting to you left, promptly quipped, “I wonder whose fault that is.”

He leaned forward to glance at her. “Darling, all that pent-up frustration must–”

You heaved a deep sigh as you nudged him with your elbow, not in the mood to moderate their venomous exchange. “Enough!”

Wyll took a seat across from yours as a Fist stood by his side, hand clasping the handle of his sword in a silent warning.

“You should have told me about your arrangement with Ava,” he said, locking eyes with you. “I know all too well how some propositions are just rotten from the start and doomed to fail.”

Tension and guilt settled in the pit of your stomach.

Not even half an hour ago, you had been able to momentarily push aside the chaos that had been hurled at you in such short notice.

“It seemed like a fair exchange – if her words are to be believed, that is,” you said.

Wyll tensed up. “There is nothing fair about offering your blood to bloodthirsty fiends as an exchange.” He then glanced at Astarion. “No offense.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “None taken, darling.”

But Wyll did have a point even if your arrangement with Astarion was nothing akin to the one with Ava.

Yet…

“Nothing is set in stone. I don't have to go through with any of it.”

From beside you, Shadowheart managed an irritable look. “I cannot be the only one who finds all of this rather convenient. Even if there is someone connected to Cazador after you, why would she withhold that information? Doesn't she need you safe and sound, Astarion?”

“I suppose so, but who's to say? I would need to talk to her,” he said, eyes on Wyll. “I have to talk to her.”

Wyll immediately understood the implication in his words. “Now?”

“Well, obviously not now,” he said indignantly.

The sun was still up and dusk was hours away.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” you intervened, heart racing in your chest. “We need to find out first if there's something that links all of this to Ava.”

“Regardless of that, she still needs to answer for her deranged proposition,” Astarion replied.

Shadowheart scoffed. “You were the one who endangered her in the first place with that bizarre deal.”

He was on his feet faster than you could blink, scowling. “Do not make the idiotic mistake of thinking you are the only one here who cares for her.”

She rose from the sofa, matching his defyance. “Oh, I am sure you care for her – in your own twisted way.”

“Can you two stop it?” you half-shouted, coming to stand in between them before he could retort. “This is pointless!”

They glared at each other in silence for a moment before parting ways, with Astarion sinking down on a chair whilst Shadowheart began pacing around the room, evidently distressed.

“My friends, we need to think critically here,” Wyll spoke again. “Arguing with each other is the last thing we ought to do right now.”

Silence followed as tension dispersed.

“Now, as we wait for Lae'zel and Gale to return, I must ask a few questions, Astarion.”

He crossed his arms. “Oh, this should be fun.”

Wyll ignored his snarky remark, assuming a more serious demeanour. “Why would you resort to her in the first place? Was her promise more solid than the Wish spell?”

“There were no promises made,” he said acidly, a nerve clearly having been struck. “She’s merely experimenting and the prospect seemed too good to pass.”

“So, your blood for a way to lessen your vampiric hunger? That was the deal?”

A cold shiver ran down your spine and you watched as Astarion tensed up slightly.

He had never shared with them just how deep the horrors he endured under Cazador's command truly twisted inside him.

How all of it had taken a toll on his ability to be intimate with someone without feeling tainted.

How it had ultimately driven him into striking a deal with someone like Ava as despair took root.

And it wasn't your place to reveal any of it.

So you merely sat back and observed him in silence.

“It seemed good enough back then,” he said coolly. “Besides, it could also be helpful to the spawn in the Underdark.”

That had Wyll arch an eyebrow. “The spawn?”

“Petras has been sending letters to report back, and – well, let's just say that dealing with 7,000 hungry vampire spawn isn't an easy feat,” he said. “I figured that if her experiment were to be successful, then it'd be beneficial for them as well.”

Oh.

Shadowheart waggled her eyebrows as her feet came to a halt. “So you weren't merely thinking about yourself?”

“Initially, yes. Of course.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

“However, I was the one who doomed them to eternal hunger, so it seemed fitting I'd help.”

“They were doomed either way,” you quickly pointed out. “And it was Cazador's doing.”

His head turned to you. “Be it as it may, their hunger isn't sated for long. I know that all too well.”

Astarion wasn't exactly the epitome of selflessness, but you knew he had come to change some of his ways in the past few weeks after all the events that had unfolded.

And when it came to his own hunger, you figured old habits did die hard.

His eyes then landed on your neck for a moment before looking away.

“I reckon I already know the answer to this, but did you even plan ahead?” Shadowheart said, crossing her arms. “How would you even make this feasible for thousands of spawn with just your own blood? Or were they really just an afterthought?”

Astarion narrowed his eyes. “Ava was handling the … logistics, shall we say. My blood would be the starting point, but not a requirement.”

She scoffed in utter disbelief. “And you took her word for it… blindly. You simply trusted some monster hunter with a blood fetish? This is ridiculous even for you.”

He was definitely a passionate admirer of the ‘laugh now, cry later’ school of thought, which also meant that when the consequences hit… they would hit hard.

“It's not like progress was being made with the Wish spell, sweetheart,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

A chill rushed through you like a knife. “Only a few weeks had passed, Astarion. All you had to do was wait–”

And then he snapped. His seemingly calm demeanour finally cracking open and revealing the hurt underneath.

“For centuries, all I did was wait! There were times I wished he would just destroy me once and for all to rid me of the burden of being ‘alive’ under such conditions,” he snarled, rising from the chair as he faced you. “I turned away from all that power I could have – the ritual… everything! I – I just…” His voice faltered and he heaved a sigh, reining back his outrage as his face softened into that expression that just broke you. “Is it such a crime that I want better for myself?”

You shook your head, feeling for him, but… “These things take time. Despair leads to rushed actions.”

He grimaced. “So you'd have me turn to hope?”

“Yes.”

He clicked his tongue. “There's nothing quite as cruel as hope, darling.”

You heard Wyll let out an exasperated sigh from across the room. “Astarion, I will not judge you for the decision you made to mingle with Ava – you had your reasons. But the consequences seem severe enough even if she isn't involved in either of the killings.”

He remained silent.

“It's not just about you anymore. She took an interest in her blood and is now using it as a bargaining chip,” he said. “That is unacceptable.”

“I fully agree with Wyll,” Shadowheart said as she came to sit next to you once again.

“And that is why you'll let me go to her,” Astarion said.

“You're still under house arrest. The Council of Four will–”

“To Hells with them all!” Astarion said through clenched teeth, fangs peeking through. “We're your friends, are we not? And since you're so adamant about my fault in this, allow me to set things right.”

“A good call,” Shadowheart chimed in with a nod.

Wyll seemed taken aback by his words and his frown deepened. “I may have the final word as the Grand Duke, but I cannot consciously go against a collective ruling.”

“The circumstances have changed,” Astarion retorted simply. “I will go to her and you're free to have your Fists point a thousand stakes at me along the way if it eases your mind.”

You could tell Wyll felt torn between duty and reasoning, and you didn't envy him in the slightest.

“You don't understand the consequences of–”

Astarion's face darkened and a devious smile tugged at his lips. “Oh, darling. I do understand. I simply do not care.”

Wyll took a deep breath, clearly realising he was fighting a losing battle.

He turned to face the Fist by his side. “Send word to the Council.”

The tall and broad man nodded before exiting through the front door.

“You can't be serious,” Astarion scoffed. “You should have kept this between us. They don't have to know.”

But Wyll merely shook his head. “We can do things your way and my way.”

Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan.

“I'm coming with you,” you said, fully determined..

Shadowheart immediately gripped your arm firmly. “No.”

Wyll rose from his seat. “He shall not go alone, but you don't need to get more involved in this than you already are.”

Astarion turned to face you and raised one hand. “Absolutely not. You stay.”

That made your blood boil almost instantly and a flash of anger crossed your face. “I can fend for myself. Just let me–”

But your words were muffled by a deafening swirling and pulsing sound that came from outside.

In no time, the door was slammed open as a visibly irritated Lae'zel stormed inside.

“Tsk'va! Mages and their nauseating portals,” she grumbled before closing the door shut and plunging the room in candlelight once again. “Almost spilled the contents of my stomach. Twice.”

Both you and Shadowheart flocked to her side and you spoke first, “Are you alright? Where’s Gale?”

She nodded dismissively, placing her esteemed greatsword on the long table. “He stayed behind to converse with a few of his acquaintances, trying to make sense of what happened.”

“Well? What happened, then?” Astarion asked as he approached the three with you with Wyll right behind him.

“The man succumbed to a multitude of slashing wounds.”

Your eyes widened as you gasped.

“Slashing wounds? Was it an animal? A monster?” Wyll immediately pressed.

“We do not know. It was a rather brutal sight even for someone like me,” Lae'zel said with a frown.

A shiver spread across your body and you felt nauseous all of a sudden.

“Was there anything odd about it?” Shadowheart asked.

“Because a man being brutally shredded to pieces isn't odd enough?” Astarion said with a scoff.

She ignored him. “Were there traces of necrotic magic?”

Lae'zel arched a brow. “No. What's with this interrogation?”

Shadowheart was definitely trying to find a common element between the two deaths… and Ava.

And it seemed that there was nothing there.

Yet.

“We are trying to figure out if Ava could have had a hand in this.”

Lae'zel didn't budge. “Who?”

“Ava.”

Lae'zel turned to Astarion. “Your hairdresser?”

This time, Shadowheart clicked her tongue impatiently, hands on her hips. “Astarion struck a deal with some monster hunter turned blood merchant and got her involved.” She extended one arm to at you. “This Ava woman now wants her blood for whatever nefarious reason and might also be the one to blame for the death that led to them getting arrest and – quite possibly – the one from today.”

Your eyes widened, quite astonished that she was able to spill all that information in one swift breath.

If the circumstances weren't quite so dire, you would also have chuckled from how she sounded like a child who was telling her strict parent on her misbehaving sibling.

Astarion was obviously offended. “Conveniently leaving out the part where I am entitled to mingling with whomever I want, and that I was completely oblivious to Ava's finding and her proposal.”

Lae'zel glanced at you. “What proposal?”

“It's fine. Don't worry. I won't go through with any of it,” you said reassuringly, placing your hand on her wrist, knowing fully well she was itching to swing her sword on him. “This is all one big mess, but he truly didn't know.”

Shadowheart growled. “You do not have to keep defending him!”

Wyll spoke before you could. “Shadowheart. I understand your indignation, but we need to move on from the constant pointless bickering. What is done is done.”

Astarion clapped thrice. “Ah! The voice of reason!”

She threw him a death glare before crossing her arms and tapping her foot irritably on the floor, but not uttering another word.

Lae'zel, on the other hand, had her narrowed eyes set on Astarion. “You are fortunate she adores that pretty head attached to your body.”

“Was that a compliment, Lae'zel?” he taunted.

“Your ability to turn any remark into an opportunity to feed your ego is truly astounding, Astarion.”

He smirked happily in response. “I do my best – or worst, depending on your taste.”

“Enough of this,” you interjected as you stared at Lae'zel. “When is Gale returning?”

She shrugged. “Unclear. He is also trying to find another contact who might help out with the Wish spell.”

“No.”

All heads turned to Astarion.

His brows knitted together. “No. No one else is getting involved until we figure out what is happening.”

Your eyes met his in mingled surprise and confusion.

Even Shadowheart was stunned silent as her face softened.

“I thought you wanted this more than anything,” Wyll asked.

“Well, yes. But not when people are turning up dead all around me.”

Lae'zel frowned. “So, all of this for nothing? Had a sudden change of heart about your inability to walk in the sun again?”

He rolled his eyes. “Heavens forbid I'm the one pointing the moral compass in the right direction. Don't act so surprised, darling. I still know what I want and what I need to do.”

You closed the distance between you and him, worry brewing in your heart.

“Astarion, the Wish spell isn't easy to come by. It's not easy to find someone willing to teach it and Gale is a powerful wizard and strong candidate,” you said, trying to reason with him as you placed a hand on his arm. “I understand your reluctance, but we might have to wait even longer if this opportunity is disregarded.”

He didn't even flinch. “This is ultimately my choice, and I choose to wait. I've had it with others dictating how I should feel and act. This is the sensible thing to do.”

For centuries, he had belonged to everyone – to anyone – but himself.

Both in body and mind.

So, if this was what he truly thought was best for him, who were you to deny him of it? Maybe you would have chosen differently, but this wasn't truly about you, was it?

He would tell you otherwise, of course. That you had been the stepping stone to his healing process since the nautiloid crash, but you couldn't and wouldn't take full credit for it.

This was a joint effort and you would empower him all the way through.

“I stand with you,” you said eventually said, breaking the silence.

He gradually relaxed under your touch.

Shadowheart spoke next, “I respect your decision, Astarion. We need to see if there is a link between the two deaths. I can go ahead through the portal and ask Gale to return.”

He nodded.

“Very well,” she said with a curt smile.

Wyll approached the door. “I will inform the guards to accompany you once dusk hits, Astarion.”

He nodded again. “Thank you.”

Lae'zel then cursed and left the room with a loud bang behind her as the door closed shut.

Your hand came to his shoulder and his crimson eyes were on you again. “Let me come with you.”

“No.”

You scowled. “I'm not some frail sorcerer. I can stand by your side and help.”

This time, he chuckled. “Sweetheart, you are more capable than most of us combined here. My reluctance doesn't stem from my lack of faith in your abilities,” he said, voice firm and collected. “If anything were to happen to you because of me, I'd never forgive myself. Allow me to handle this.”

Your heart was hammering fast in your chest from his words, and even though you wanted to argue with his decision, you held your tongue back.

In truth, you were mostly scared Ava would have something up her sleeve and hurt him. That was what was eating at your nerves.

But still, you nodded

It was settled then.

You made your way down the corridor, coming to a halt as the faint glow spilled from inside his room.

The door was open for a change.

A comforting smile curled your lips, knowing you'd find him inside.

As you approached the doorway, you spotted Astarion across the room, flicking through a few pieces of cloth placed on the round table.

You knocked twice on the wood “May I?”

He nodded. “It's your house.”

“Well, it's your room,” you retorted. “For now, at least,” you quickly added, not wanting to seem overbearing. After all, he wasn't ultimately here on his own volition.

“You don't have to keep asking,” he said with a faint smile.

Your eyes landed on his bed as you walked in, causing your heart to skip a beat.

A few hours ago, the two of you had been lost in each other's pleasure on that very same spot. Now, the bedclothes had been laid sprawled across it, no creases or any remaining proof of your earlier endeavour.

The two of you had been robbed of after care and a much needed talk about what had happened.

Even if he had seemed quite content during and after all of it, you found yourself always hung on the fear that you had rushed through it all.

So, you needed the affirmation. You needed to hear his thoughts on it and to ensure no boundaries had been crossed.

You approached the table and your gaze roamed cross the clear vials that he had placed by his twin daggers.

Odourless.

Colourless.

Poison.

“Lethal?”

He dabbed a selected piece of cloth on the clear liquid. “No.”

An uneasy feeling began to take root. “Do you think she'll try to hurt you?”

“It would be rather foolish of her,” he mused, dragging the damp fabric along each blade, coating them in a fine layer of poison. “But I've been wrong before about people, so – as they say – better safe than sorry.”

It wasn’t the reassurance you were seeking, but Astarion was more than capable when it came to self-defence.

“Besides, she needs me more than I need her,” he concluded, inspecting the glinting blade close to his eyes. “And if she fails to provide satisfactory answers, the Fists will deal with her.”

You nodded, but still failing to push your fear aside. “What if there is really someone after us? What if she's not connected to any of this?”

You had purposefully let out the faint implication that maybe there was a connection to Cazador. He didn't need to be troubled with that in case Ava was bluffing.

Astarion sheathed both daggers on either side of his waist before his eyes landed on you. “If that is the case, then she will tell me who it is. And she better have a godsdamned good justification for why she thought I would allow you to be involved.”

You absentmindedly bit your lip and he smiled warmly, coming to stand in front of you, wiping his hands clean from any trace of poison.

Silently, he leaned to press a lingering kiss on your forehead, his cool lips making you flinch slightly.

It was as if a surge of lightning had been cast throughout your body, setting you alight.

“About earlier…” you said, swallowing your nervousness.

He traced your jawline with his thumb before tipping your head back so you could properly meet his gaze.

“Darling, already back for another round?”

You broke into laughter. “No! No… that wasn't what I trying to say.”

He tapped your nose lovingly and it was as if the two of you were long-time lovers, used to each other's teases and mannerisms.

Your heart skipped yet another beat.

“I know. Just couldn't miss the opportunity to have you all flustered for me again,” he said with a devious grin. “But do go on.”

“I just want to make sure… it was alright… what we did, I mean,” you said in a whisper.

Astarion's brows furrowed together. “I thought that was pretty much evident…”

A lump swelled in your throat.

You truly didn't want to overstep any lines.

But you had to know. You had to hear it.

“I am talking about… up here,” you said, pressing a finger softly to his temple. “I… just want to make sure you're truly fine. That we're truly fine.”

You held your breath for a moment, dreading a worrisome reply.

He caught hold of your hand and pressed your finger to his lips. “I will always tell you if it's too much.”

A wave of relief washed over you and you allowed yourself to breathe normally.

Still…

You swallowed again. “Promise?”

“I promise, sweetheart,” he said, using your own finger to tap the tip of your nose, earning a heartfelt giggle from you.

“So… it wasn't too much?”

“No,” he said truthfully.

You nodded as he gripped your chin. “How did it feel?”

He paused for a while, pondering. “It felt… right.”

Your stomach turned and your heart sped up from how close he was to you.

How close he felt to you.

“I want to kiss you,” he said all of a sudden. “May I?”

You felt as though you would melt into a puddle from how desperate he sounded.

“You don't have to always ask,” you said truthfully.

He then pressed his cool lips to the corner of your mouth and you instinctively gasped. “I just adore the sound of your voice when you let me in.”

His lips moved to the opposite side, lingering there, and a rush of heat pooled in your cheeks.

“May I kiss you, darling?” he asked once more, pulling back just enough for his lips to barely touch yours. “May I taste you?”

Gods…

“Please do.”

He didn't need to be told twice.

The kiss started off slow at first as his lips molded into yours. But as soon as you made way for his tongue to slide inside, Astarion became the image of hunger.

He cradled your face in his hands and pressed both thumbs on your chin, so you'd open up wider for him.

A flash of memory filled your mind and you recalled how he used to do the same whenever you were on your knees, struggling to fit his thick cock in your mouth.

“You can take more of me, can't you, my sweet?” he'd say, voice dripping with lust.

You'd always struggle at first. Always. But he was such a caring lover and he would always ensure you took your time.

You quickly shuddered as your clit began throbbing evenly.

His tongue was as relentless against yours as his cock had once been, but his eagerness and hunger had his razor-like fang nip at your lower lip, drawing blood.

“Shit,” you groaned from the sharp sting.

Astarion immediately pulled back and you stared at him in confusion.

You felt a few drops dribbling down your chin.

Why wasn't he tasting you?

His eyes were fixed on your lips and his eyes narrowed with bloodlust.

“You're letting it go to waste?” you asked, swiping your finger across the bleeding wound.

He swallowed with a strained smile.

Oh, he was struggling to hold back…

“Well, darling… I don't intend on leaving the house with my cock hard with your blood.”

You clenched so hard you felt a gush of wetness being squeezed out.

But there was only so much Astarion could withstand, so you couldn't fight the moan that tore through your throat as he placed the softest kiss to your lip.

“Just before I go,” he whispered. “So I can take you with me.”

You clenched again and you could feel your clit swell up with each throb.

He eventually parted from you, licking his blood-stained lips as his eyes held that lustful gaze you adored.

“I'll be back soon.”

You were left petrified in place as he swiftly made his way out.

It wasn’t fair how soaked you were.

How soaked he had left you.

You glanced over your shoulder and realised the door had been left open all along and you rushed to the window, tugging on the curtain.

The sun had set as he appeared down below, followed closely by two Fists.

And the single mage slayer.

The three of them trailed after his steps and darted off into the distance.

And you realised that without a mage slayer around to keep your magic at bay, you could simply vanish.

You glanced at the vials of poison on the nearby table and smiled.

TBC

Series masterlist

Ao3

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x female tav #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x female reader #astarion x you #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #the arrangement #astarion smut

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stylesispunk · 7 months ago

Text

'I've been praying, I never did before'

Not outbreak! Joel Miller x f! Reader

summary: you prayed to God to send you the answers. Should you stay with Joel or leave him?

w.c: 5k> warnings: angst and cheating.

a/n: this one is based on this ask a lovely anon (🍫) sent the other day. (thanks for your support, I hope I made it justice) and I hope you all like it. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

You weren't a religious person.

You believed in God, but your devotion didn't go beyond the necklace's cross and your eloquent prayers asking for the protection of your loved ones.

You weren't a religious person, but you thought God sent Joel to you that night at the bar when a wasted man thought he had some power over you just because you wore a short dress. Everyone should have seen his face the night he first got you.

And you thought God rewrote the prophecy of your failed luck in love.

Joel, the sweetheart. Joel, the loving, thoughtful, and faithful.

Joel Miller, your boyfriend of six years.

Not rings, not clues of him saying you loved beyond the whispers in your ear when he had his arm wrapped around your waist in public, showing you off to hide you from the rest of the world once the lights weren’t on you.

The first signs of your love rusting into scarlet maroon.

At first, you brushed them off, attributing the occasional cold shoulders or the missing date nights to stress, life’s inevitable distractions, or nights of hard work. But deep down, you felt the shift. The whispers of doubt crept in, subtle yet persistent, like the gradual erosion of a once impenetrable fortress.

All the vipers are moaning in mourning for you and your poor wounded heart, already cracking due to the daggers thrown at you in poisoned words.

Joel made you feel invincible, loved, and worthy of something as warm as the golden dawn. However, his eyes, once brimming with affection, now flickered with a hint of something words couldn’t speak. His somber eyes matched the gray clouds before the storm on a cloudy day, with no defense or barbed wire to keep you warm. You tried to bridge the growing chasm with gestures of love and attempts at rekindling the spark, but it felt like grasping at smoke.

The nights grew longer, and the silences became more pronounced. You found yourself reminiscing about the early days, the nights spent talking until dawn, the effortless laughter, and the shared dreams you were supposed to build. Those memories felt like a lifeline, a reminder of what once was and what you desperately wanted to reclaim as yours.

Yet, the more you clung to the past, the more it slipped through your fingers. Joel's once warm embraces became mechanical, his kisses lacking the fervor they once held. No more lips attached to your forehead for protection. The blaze on your sheets, once fueled by the fire of your touches, has now become a simple ritual, devoid of connection.

You began to wonder if you had misread the signs, if perhaps you had mistaken God's intervention for a fleeting moment of serendipity. The love that had once felt like destiny now seemed like a chapter nearing its end. The vibrant hues of your relationship had faded, leaving behind a tapestry woven with threads of doubt and broken promises.

In the quiet moments of solitude, when you waited by the door, hoping for Joel to step into the house, you wondered how the red roses he brought grew back as thorns, hurting your fingers as much as when you touched his skin. Would you be able to build a fort after this storm?

"Dad isn’t here yet?" Sarah interrupted your thoughts from the stairs, her wide eyes gazing into yours with the same worry drawn on them.

"No, sweetheart, not yet," you replied, trying to mask your own anxiety with a reassuring smile.

Sarah descended the stairs slowly, her small frame casting a long shadow in the dim light of the hallway. She reached your side and leaned against you, her presence a small comfort in the growing uncertainty.

"Did he say he would be late?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

You shook your head. "He didn't say anything, Sarah. Maybe he's just caught up at work."

But you both knew it was more than that. The nights he came home late were becoming more frequent; the excuses were absurd. The distance between you and Joel was no longer just emotional; it was physical, an ever-widening gap that neither of you seemed able to bridge.

"We'll wait a little longer," you said, wrapping an arm around Sarah's shoulders. "He'll be home soon."

Together, you stood in the hallway, the silence stretching out, heavy and oppressive. The clock on the wall ticked away the minutes, each one a reminder of the uncertainty that now defined your lives.

Sarah was thirteen; she wasn’t naïve when it came to your somber eyes growing gray with each passing day. How do your luminous smiles become a sad smirk just for the sake of pretending?

And as you waited, you couldn't help but wonder if the prophecy of your failed luck in love had been rewritten after all, not by God but by the slow, inevitable decay of a love that once seemed eternal.

The memory flooded back, a vibrant contrast to the present. It was a crisp autumn afternoon, the air filled with the scent of fallen leaves. You and Joel had decided to escape the city for a day, driving out to the countryside without any particular destination in mind.

“Where are we going?” you had asked, laughter in your voice as the wind whipped through the open car windows.

“Somewhere beautiful,” Joel replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You ended up at a secluded lake, its surface like glass reflecting the fiery colors of the trees surrounding it. Joel spread out a blanket, and you both sat down, your shoulders touching, sharing the warmth of the moment.

“This is perfect,” you whispered, leaning into him.

He turned to you, his face inches from yours. “You’re perfect,” he said softly before capturing your lips in a kiss that felt like the first rays of sunshine after a storm.

You spent the afternoon there, talking about everything and nothing, your conversations punctuated by comfortable silences filled with the sound of nature and the beating of your hearts. Joel picked up a pebble and skimmed it across the lake’s surface.

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over everything, Joel pulled out a small notebook from his jacket pocket. “I’ve been writing something,” he admitted, looking almost shy. “About us.”

You felt a lump in your throat as he read aloud, his deep voice weaving words of love and dreams of a future together. It was in that moment you realized just how deeply Joel had intertwined with your soul, making you believe in a forever you had always been skeptical of.

“Marry me someday,” he had said, not as a question but as a promise.

“Someday,” you had agreed, sealing it with a kiss that tasted of hope and endless possibilities.

That day, everything felt like a love story from a book, each written page filled with the promise that seemed far from the truth now.

You thought of God when you walked towards the church, seeking prayers and perhaps answers about the fate of your written story with Joel.

The voices were getting to your head, as were the flashbacks from the first night. Puzzle pieces on the dead end of a relationship reeking of putrefaction. You should've known better; flowers die of thirst after being picked.

You thought of the nights. Joel came home late—the missed dinners, the cold shoulders. Each instance is a small fracture, barely noticeable at first but gradually accumulating into a chasm. You thought of the way his kisses had lost their warmth, becoming mere pecks devoid of passion. You had tried to hold on, to rekindle the flame, but it was like trying to grasp water with your hands—it slipped through your fingers, elusive and unattainable.

Dolls are pretty inside their boxes, then they are taken out, played with, worn down, and eventually discarded. You felt like that doll, once cherished and now left on a shelf, gathering dust.

"God," you murmured, "if you can hear me, please show me what to do. Show me how to fix this, or give me the strength to let go."

But how would you resist his charming promises after he had stolen your wounded heart, fixed you, and made you feel like you belonged somewhere?

Once you reached the bench, you got on your knees, clasping your hands together, and prayed to the Lord. You begged him to give you answers.

Should I stay with Joel? Or should I take this knife to my lungs and remove it?

There was nothing more humiliating than begging God that somebody would love you the way you wanted. You have let people love you the way you thought you deserved.

Please

Your golden bracelet was fading into a scarlet maroon as you clasped your palms together, praying.

Please

You prayed, trying not to imagine Joel shoving his dick into some other woman.

The silence that followed was heavy, pressing down on you like a weight on your shoulders. But in that silence, you felt a flicker of something—hope, perhaps, or maybe just a sense of acceptance. You realized that, whether you found a way to mend your relationship or decided to walk away, you would survive. You would find a way to heal, even with your heart in pieces.

As you stood to leave, you took one last look at the altar, the candles still flickering stubbornly against the darkness. You walked out of the church with a little more resolve.

You wake up in the middle of the night. Joel is there, breathing with his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. You watch him for a moment, your heart aching with the memories of what used to be. Since when did you become a footnote in the story of his life?

Unable to find solace in the darkness, you slip out of bed, careful not to wake him. The floor is cool beneath your feet as you make your way downstairs, the house silent except for the faint creaks and groans of settling wood. You head to the kitchen, seeking the comfort of a warm cup of tea—something to soothe the restlessness gnawing at your soul.

You fill the kettle and set it on the stove, the soft click of the burner igniting the only sound breaking the stillness. As you wait for the water to boil, you lean against the counter, your thoughts drifting back to the early days with Joel, when love was a fire that warmed you both.

The kettle whistles, jolting you from your reverie. You pour the steaming water over a tea bag, and the fragrant aroma of chamomile rises to meet you. As you stir the tea, you hear the soft padding of footsteps behind you. Turning, you see Joel standing in the doorway, his eyes heavy with sleep.

“What’s wrong?” You asked with a clear intention behind those words.

“It’s cold,” he answered. "I missed your warmth," he added, his voice a low murmur that carries the weight of unspoken feelings. "It's cold without you."

You swallow hard, the words catching a lump in your throat. "I couldn't sleep," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just needed some tea.”

Joel steps closer, the dim light casting shadows on his face. "I know things have been... different lately. Distant. I don't want it to be like this."

Here it comes: another lie to cage you.

You look down at your tea, the steam swirling like confusion in your mind. You look down at your tea, the steam swirling like confusion in your mind.

“Do you love me?” you asked.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Of course I love you.” He assured you. “Life just got complicated, I guess. Work, responsibilities... but that's no excuse. I've let us drift apart, and I'm sorry."

You meet his eyes, searching for the truth in them. "I miss us," you admit, your voice breaking. "I miss what we had."

Joel reached out, his hand warm as it covered yours. Promising something without evoking words, as if his touch would be able to evoke the fire you used to feel when his hand touched your skin.

“You can go back to bed,” you said, breaking the suffocating silence settled between the two of you. “I’ll drink my tea first.”

Joel hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay," he said softly. "I'll be upstairs if you need me."

You watched him walk back up the stairs, each step heavy with the weight of unspoken promises and unresolved tensions. The quiet in the kitchen seemed even more profound after he left. You took a deep breath, letting the warmth of the tea seep into your hands, trying to find comfort in its simplicity.

The minutes stretched on as you sipped your tea, your thoughts swirling like the steam rising from the cup. When the tea was gone, you washed the cup and placed it on the counter, taking one last moment to collect yourself before heading back upstairs.

When you entered the bedroom, Joel was already lying on his side of the bed, his back to you. You slipped under the covers; the sheets cooled against your skin. You turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The silence felt different now—less oppressive and more like a blank canvas waiting to be filled.

You settled into your usual spot, leaving a small gap between you and Joel. But before you could close your eyes, you felt him shift. He turned towards you, his arms reaching out and wrapping around your middle. It was a tentative embrace, but it was the first sign of love he had shown you in a while.

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the familiar warmth of his body against yours. You relaxed into his hold, feeling the weight of his arm around you and the steady beat of his heart against your back.

"I miss this," he whispered, his voice barely audible in the darkness.

You placed your hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I miss it too," you replied softly.

In the quiet of the night, wrapped in Joel's arms, you felt a flicker of hope. The path to healing and rediscovering each other would be long, but in that moment, you both took a step towards it.

The next morning, you woke up feeling the absence of Joel's warmth beside you. The space where he had lain was cool, and the sheets were undisturbed. You rubbed your eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, and sat up. As you looked around the room, you noticed Joel at the foot of the bed, quietly packing a suitcase.

A pang of confusion and worry shot through you. "Joel?" you called softly, your voice still heavy with sleep. "What's going on?"

Joel looked up, his expression a mix of guilt and resignation. "I'm leaving for the conference," he said, zipping up the suitcase with a firm pull.

Your heart sank. "What?" you asked, trying to make sense of the situation. "You didn't tell me you had a conference."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know. I’m sorry. It came up last minute, and I didn't want to worry you."

"But you're just leaving now? Without saying anything until now?" The hurt in your voice was palpable, the sense of déjà vu from last night's conversation lingering in the air.

Joel's eyes softened with regret. "I should have told you sooner. I didn't handle it well. I'm going with my boss, and we'll be back in a few days."

Your mind raced, trying to process his words. "Going with your boss? Why didn't you tell me about this before?" You knew he was saying the truth, and you had come to the conclusion that all the affection he showed you last night was pretending to ease you.

He hesitated, the silence stretching uncomfortably. "It’s been hectic at work, and honestly, I didn't want to add more stress to everything."

You stood up, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to shield against the emotional chill. "We talked last night about making more time for each other, and now you're leaving without a word."

Joel stepped closer, reaching out to touch your arm. "I know, and I promise we'll talk more when I get back. I want to work on us, really."

You pulled back slightly, searching his eyes for sincerity. "I hope to be here for when you come back.”

"Don’t be like this, please," Joel replied, his voice tinged with regret. "I don't want to lose you, not after everything."

You forced a small smile, though it felt hollow. "Just be honest with me, Joel. About everything."

He nodded, his expression earnest. "I will. I promise."

With a heavy heart, you watched as Joel gathered his things and headed for the door. As it closed behind him, the emptiness of the house seemed to swallow you whole. You sank onto the couch, feeling lost and alone in the wake of his departure.

As the minutes stretched into hours, you found yourself unable to shake the nagging feeling of doubt that had settled in the pit of your stomach. Joel's sudden departure, coupled with his vague explanations, left you feeling unsettled and suspicious.

You paced the empty rooms of the house, your thoughts spiraling out of control. What if Joel wasn't really at a conference? What if he was with her and the secretary you knew had feelings for him?

The mere thought sent a surge of anger and betrayal coursing through you. You had noticed the way she looked at Joel and the way she always seemed to find excuses to be near him. And now, with Joel gone on this supposed trip, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

You grabbed your phone, your fingers trembling as you scrolled through your contacts. Should you call him? Text him?

But before you could make a decision, a wave of exhaustion washed over you. The lack of sleep, coupled with the emotional turmoil of the morning, left you feeling drained and defeated.

You sank onto the couch, burying your face in your hands. Tears threatened to spill over, but you fought to hold them back. You couldn't let yourself fall apart, not now.

As you sat on the couch, overwhelmed by exhaustion and emotion, a sudden surge of determination washed over you. You couldn't just sit there, stewing in your doubts and fears. You needed answers, and you needed them now.

With trembling hands, you grabbed your phone and quickly searched for Joel's location. Your heart pounded in your chest as the GPS map pinpointed his whereabouts—an upscale hotel here in the city, not at all where he had claimed to be.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. Joel wasn't at a conference. He was right here, in the same city as you, but he had lied to you.

You were someone who, until recently, he had shared secrets with, and now he was keeping them from you.

Despite the exhaustion and emotional turmoil, a fierce determination burned within you to confront him and demand answers.

With shaky hands, you dialed a taxi, your mind racing with a mixture of anger, hurt, and disbelief. How could Joel, someone you had shared your deepest secrets with, now keep such a significant secret from you?

As you waited for the taxi to arrive, the minutes felt like hours, each passing second amplifying the turmoil within you. But you refused to let the uncertainty consume you. You needed to know the truth, even if it shattered the facade of your relationship.

Finally, the taxi pulled up outside your house, and you climbed inside, the anticipation building with every passing moment. The ride to the hotel felt interminable, the streets passing by in a blur as your thoughts swirled in a tempest of emotion.

When you arrived, you paid the fare and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The cool night air was a sharp contrast to the heat of your anger. The imposing facade of the hotel loomed before you, a silent witness to the unfolding drama of your life.

As you entered the lobby of the hotel, your heart raced with anticipation and anxiety. You couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal that gnawed at you, driving you forward with a relentless need for answers.

Just as you were about to approach the reception desk to inquire about Joel's room, your phone buzzed in your pocket. With trembling hands, you retrieved it, seeing Joel's name flashing on the screen.

For a moment, you hesitated, your thumb hovering over the answer button. But then, steeling yourself for whatever confrontation awaited you, you pressed accept.

"Hello?" you said, your voice betraying none of the turmoil raging within you.

"Hey, babe," Joel's voice came through the line, sounding casual and unconcerned. "Just checking in. How’s Sarah? How's your evening going?"

Your grip tightened on the phone, anger bubbling up inside you at his nonchalant tone. "She is good; everything is fine," you replied tersely. "Just fine."

Joel seemed oblivious to your tone as he continued to chatter about the conference, complaining about how boring it was and how tedious it was to spend time with his boss.

As he prattled on, your mind raced with conflicting emotions. On one hand, his words seemed to confirm his alibi—unless, of course, he was lying through his teeth. On the other hand, his casual dismissal of your concerns only fueled your suspicions.

When he finally paused to take a breath, you seized the opportunity to interject. "Joel, where are you right now?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, and you held your breath, waiting for his response.

"I'm still at the conference," he said finally, his voice tinged with confusion. "Why? What's going on?"

You clenched your jaw, trying to keep your composure. "I see," you said through gritted teeth. "Well, have fun at your conference, Joel. Goodbye."

As you sat in the lobby, the minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity. Doubt gnawed at you, eating away at your resolve as you questioned whether you had been mistaken about Joel's whereabouts. Maybe he really was at the conference, and you were letting your suspicions get the better of you.

Just as you were about to give up and leave, your gaze drifted toward the entrance of the hotel. And there, walking through the doors, was Joel, his arm wrapped around the waist of his secretary, her laughter echoing in the cavernous lobby.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as you watched them, your heart plummeting to the pit of your stomach. You felt like you had been punched in the gut, the air knocked out of your lungs as the truth stared you in the face.

Joel's eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, his face went white as if he had seen a ghost. You felt a surge of anger and betrayal wash over you, your knees threatening to give out beneath you.

As the truth of Joel's betrayal hit you like a freight train, panic seized hold of you, squeezing your chest in a vice-like grip. The world seemed to spin around you, and you struggled to catch your breath as waves of nausea washed over you.

One of the receptionists noticed your distress and hurried over to offer assistance. "Are you alright, miss? Can I help you?" they asked, their voice laced with concern.

You could only shake your head, unable to form coherent words as tears welled up in your eyes.

But before you could fully process what was happening, Joel appeared, his face etched with panic and concern. "Hey, hey, hey, are you okay?" he exclaimed, rushing to your side and reaching out to steady you.

Your heart twisted at the sight of him, the betrayal stabbing at you like a knife. "Don't touch me," you choked out, recoiling from his touch as if it burned.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, unchecked and unbidden, as you struggled to find the words to convey the depth of your anguish. "How could you?" you whispered, your voice breaking with pain. "How could you do this to me?"

His eyes widened in realization, and for a moment, you saw the flicker of guilt and regret flash across his features. "I can explain," he began, but you couldn't bear to hear his excuses.

The pain was too raw and overwhelming, and you felt like you were drowning in a sea of hurt and confusion. With trembling limbs, you pushed yourself to your feet, shaking off Joel's attempts to console you as you stumbled towards the exit.

"I need to get out of here," you muttered, your voice hollow and distant as you fled from the scene of your heartbreak.

As you stumbled towards the exit, Joel's voice followed you, pleading and desperate. "Wait, please, just let me explain," he called out, his footsteps echoing in the empty lobby as he chased after you.

But you couldn't bear to listen to his excuses; you couldn't stand the sight of him after his betrayal. Anger bubbled up within you, a fierce fire burning away the remnants of the love you had once felt for him.

When you reached the cool night air outside, you turned to face him, your chest heaving with emotion. "Explain?" you spat, the word bitter on your tongue. "What could you possibly say to justify this?"

Joel's expression was a mask of guilt and regret as he reached out to touch your arm, but you jerked away from him, the sting of his betrayal still fresh in your mind. "I made a mistake," he began, his voice pleading. "I never meant to hurt you."

"You never meant to hurt me?" You scoffed, incredulous. "You lied to me, Joel. You betrayed my trust and our relationship. How could you think that wouldn't hurt me?"

He took a step closer, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. "I know I messed up, but please give me a chance to make it right. I love you, and I'll do whatever it takes to fix this."

But his words fell on deaf ears, drowned out by the roar of anger and pain that filled your mind. "I don't want to hear it," you spat. “I gave you six years of my life to you!” you sobbed. “Six years wasted on you, you fucking asshole!” you began to hit in the chest.

With a surge of emotion, you lashed out, your fists pounding against his chest with a force fueled by years of love and betrayal. Each blow was a release, a cathartic expression of the pain and anger that consumed you.

But even as you struck out at him, the tears streaming down your face, you knew that no amount of violence could erase the pain of his betrayal. And as Joel stood before you, his face contorted with remorse, you realized that the love you had once felt for him was now nothing more than a bitter memory.

With tears still staining your cheeks, you turned away from Joel, your heart heavy with the weight of his betrayal. Every step felt like a struggle as you made your way back home, the echoes of your confrontation with Joel still ringing in your ears.

As you entered the familiar surroundings of your home, you felt a sense of overwhelming exhaustion wash over you. But there was no time to rest, no respite from the storm of emotions raging within you.

With a heavy sigh, you began to gather your belongings, each item a painful reminder of the life you had built with Joel. Your hands trembled as you packed your clothes and personal effects, the tears flowing freely as you grappled with the reality of your shattered dreams.

In the midst of your turmoil, the sound of the door opening drew your attention, and you turned to see Joel standing in the doorway, his face a mask of desperation and remorse. "Please, don't leave," he pleaded, his voice breaking with emotion. "I'm sorry; I'll do anything to make things right."

But you couldn't bring yourself to look at him; you couldn't bear to see the pain and betrayal reflected in his eyes. With a heavy heart, you turned away, focusing on the task at hand as you continued to pack your things.

Suddenly, a voice broke through the haze of your thoughts, and you looked up to see Sarah standing in the doorway, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. "What's going on?" she asked, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

But before you could respond, Joel stepped forward, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. "Sarah, we had a disagreement," he began, his voice thick with emotion. "But I'll do whatever it takes to make things right."

You hesitated, unsure of how to explain the situation to her, but you squared your shoulders and turned to face Joel and Sarah. "I'm leaving," you said, your voice steady despite the tumult of emotions raging within you. "I need some time to figure things out, but I'll always be here for Sarah.”

With that, you gathered your belongings and made your way to the door, leaving behind the shattered remnants of the life you had once known. As you stepped out into the night, the weight of your decision hung heavy around you, but deep down, you knew that it was the only choice you could make.

As you stepped outside, the cool night air washed over you, but there was no relief from the turmoil raging within. Joel's footsteps echoed behind you, his desperate pleas falling on deaf ears as you continued to walk away.

"Please, just listen to me," Joel begged, his voice thick with emotion.

But you couldn't bear to hear his words; you couldn't stand the sight of him after his betrayal. With a surge of anger and frustration, you whirled around to face him, your hand connecting with his cheek in a sharp slap.

The sound of the slap echoed in the stillness of the night, a resounding declaration of your pain and betrayal. Joel staggered back, his hand flying to his stinging cheek as he stared at you in shock.

"How dare you?" You spat, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. "How dare you come after me, after what you've done?"

You turned away from Joel, refusing to let him see the depth of your pain. Without another word, you continued to walk away, leaving him standing alone in the darkness.

As you disappeared into the night, the sting of your slap still lingering on his cheek, Joel knew that he had lost you for good.

Your prayers have been answered by God.

472 notes · View notes

smartkookiee · 2 months ago

Text

How to Lose A Guy in 30 Days! || Ch.2 — jjk.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。 ❥pairing: Jungkook x Reader (she/her, afab) ❥genre/rating: strangers to lovers, 18+ ❥chapter warnings/tags: software engineer!Jungkook, writer!Reader, fluff (tooth rot worthy), yay first date woohooooo, Jungkook having an immense knowledge about fish(like a nerd), rom com clichés left and right, cute Jungkook, early 2000’s rom com vibes??, kissing, drinking (if you squint), ❥word-count: 8.6k ❥Series Masterlist Previous Chapter ||❥|| Next chapter fic is cross posted to ao3 - send an ask or comment on post to be added to the tag list. ❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

“I can’t believe you’re going out with him tomorrow.” Ronnie bumped her hip against yours as she sat down on your couch next to you, “And on a Sunday.”

It was the night after. Jungkook sent you a nice good morning text and asked if you were available tomorrow to go out. You had tried–really tried–to come up with any possible excuse to put off the date but alas fell short. So you agreed, you thought sooner this got started the sooner you could be done with it.

“Well we have to start somewhere.” Which wasn’t a lie, Jungkook’s text was a surprise. “I actually didn’t expect him to act so soon.”

Ronnie laughed, clearly amused, “What are you guys going to do? Dinner? Dancing? Skydiving?”

“I don’t know.” You slumped back further into the cushions. “He said he was planning something. I made a jab about him about not being a serious guy, and now he’s all, I’ll show you how serious I can be.”

“How serious he can be? It’s a first date not a proposal.”

“We’ll see, I guess. Honestly, I have no idea how to go about this. I’m supposed to date him, but then, you know... gradually become annoying.” You gestured vaguely, not even sure what annoying would look like yet.

“I know just who can help with that.” Ronnie patted you on the knee and then immediately started typing frantically on her phone.

“Oh no,” You knew immediately what she was doing.

Twenty minutes later, a myriad of knocks came from your front door. Opening your door, and in walked Jin with a flourish, his signature grin plastered across his face. In one hand, he held a bottle of wine, and in the other, a notepad that looked suspiciously like it had been used for devious plans before. He paused dramatically in the doorway, like a game show host about to reveal a grand prize.

“I’ve been summoned.” Jin declared, his voice as grand as his entrance.

An already exhausted sigh leaves you, “Oh hi. So good to see you, come on in.” Your voice drips with sarcasm. You let your door close and you make your way back onto the couch next to Ronnie. Settling in for whatever Jin clearly had prepared

Jin had placed himself in the front of your living room, like he had prepared a full presentation just for this occasion. “I was told my assistance was needed so I am here to grant it.” He did a small bow before the two of you and you roll your eyes

“Here we go.” You tease but Jin looked a little offended.

“You,” He hits your leg with his note pad, and your mouth falls open at the gesture. “My dear, have a tendency to stray from the goal. You’re going on a date with this guy–”

“You told him?” You gave a side eye to Ronnie, you were of course going to tell Jin but probably after.

Innocently, Ronnie shrugged. "You need a strong team to help you, who better than Jin to have around.”

“Exactly.” Jin perked up and you decided to surrender and listen. “As your coach I am going to make sure we get make to the end game…” He gestures to you like he is expecting your answer.

“To lose the guy in 30 days.”

“Correct!” Jin pulls a pen seemingly out of nowhere, Marking something down on his notepad. “One point for you.”

“Wait, we are getting points?” Ronnie perked up, her clear competitive side showing through.

“Indeed!” Jin confirmed with a grin, enjoying the theatrics. “Anyways—”

“Hold on.” You cut him off, curiosity getting the better of you. “What do we get if we win?”

Jin paused, clearly not expecting this twist. He groaned, tapping his pen against his chin, deep in thought. After a moment, he dramatically sighed. “Fine. I’ll buy your dinner next time we go out.”

“Deal,” You and Ronnie said in unison, sharing a knowing look. Giving each other a sportsmanlike handshake.

Jin waits for a moment like he is a teacher in class, “ May I begin?” You and Ronnie both nod and settle back into the couch. “Firstly we need to go over your big rules for this.”

“Rules?”

“Important things to remember!” Jin cleared his throat. With a quick flip of his notepad, he glanced down, all business now. “Rule number one—”

“You made some already?” You interrupt him again.

He cut you off with a finger to his lips, “Number one. We will not be falling in love with Jungkook.”

“I’m not going to fall in love with him. I don’t even know him!” You sit up with some protest.

Jin narrowed his eyes, his glare accusing. “You have a tendency to fall a little too easily for wit and charm! Remember, Jungkook is a serial fuck boy!.” Jin paused for effect and turns around his notepad and underlines the note he has that says, in all caps: SERIAL FUCKBOY. Followed by other rules and scribbles along the rest of the page.

Ronnie let’s out a small laugh and you resign yourself back, “Okay fair point.”

“What’s the first rule?” Jin repeats pointing his pen back at you.

“We will not fall in love with Jungkook!” Ronnie raises her hand but blurts it out and you just huff. Although this rule was fair, you knew it but it didn’t feel great to be called out on it.

“Point to Ronnie. Rule number two.” Jin waves his pen around in the air like its a wand, “Be annoying at any given opportunity but not too annoying. So sending too many texts, memes,, calling him at inappropriate times.”

“Or calling one too many times!” Ronnie added on to the end of his statement.

“Half point for adding an idea.” Jin scribbled on his pad for a moment.

You scratched the side of your head, feeling a twinge of discomfort. “Okay, this one might actually be hard.”

Jin arched a brow. “Why?”

You shifted a little, pulling your knees up onto the couch. “I’m not really the overbearing type. I usually let people have their space, give them time... It’s just not who I am.”

Jin clicked his tongue, wagging his finger at you like a disappointed parent. “This is why you need to fight your people-pleasing instincts! A delicate task, but one you must master.”

You sighed, already feeling the internal battle. “I know, I know. I’ll try.”

“Good girl,” Jin praised, patting your head dramatically. “If it’s too hard, just let one of us take over. We’ve got no skin in the game, so we can be as obnoxious as we want.” He gestured to himself and then Ronnie, who had an evil expression across her face.

“I’ll take any opportunity to torture a man.” Ronnie wiggled her eyebrows at you, and nudged her with your shoulder.

Jin clapped his hands together, refocusing the energy in the room. “Now, what’s rule number two?”

“Be annoying at any given opportunity.” You sigh and repeat it back to him.

“Point to Y/N.” Jin marked down on his notepad again, “Rule number three. This is not going to be a serious relationship. Period.”

“This is a rule?”

“More like a reminder.” Jin looked a bit more serious, “You have a tendency to fall into the I can fix him trap. That is not the case here, this guy does not want anything long term. So you have to avoid your natural attachment instincts.”

“As well as your situation will be starting on false pretenses.” Ronnie pointed out, which was true. All of this was starting on a lie. An experiment.

“Okay that’s fair.”

Funny enough though, this is the most detached you had ever felt going into a first date. Other first dates you had been really nervous or really excited and you were thinking through every word and every touch a little too deeply. This time felt totally laid back and different. Like it might be easy and you could keep yourself from falling into your usual habits.

“Rule number three?” Jin waved, waiting for the answer.

Both you and Ronnie repeated at the same time, “This is not going to become a serious relationship.”

“Point to you both.”

The game continued for a while, with Jin rattling off a mixture of absurd, funny, and surprisingly thoughtful rules. Some had you rolling your eyes, others made you laugh.. There was something about the way Jin played this out—keeping you focused on the goal without letting the seriousness of it weigh you down.

In the back of your mind, you realized what he was doing. Jin was good at that, pulling you out of your overthinking spiral and making everything feel lighter. It wasn’t about figuring out all the answers now—it was just a date. All the complicated stuff? You could deal with that later. He had this way of turning every dilemma into something manageable, even fun.

Jungkook wasn’t some life-altering mystery; he was just a random guy. By the end of this, it would be nothing but a funny story. One of those "remember when" tales you'd laugh about over drinks. Difficult? Maybe. But funny? Definitely.

However much you were planning a sabotage, Jungkook was trying to plan the greatest first date ever. Except it wasn’t going quite as planned. Jungkook had not been on a real first date in years. What did people do on first dates anymore?

“Fun things to do on first dates… reddit.” Jungkook muttered to himself, typing on his phone.. Hoseok didn’t quite hear what Jungkook was muttering and looking over his shoulder to see what he was searching for.

“Don’t tell me you are consulting reddit for date ideas.” He chuckled but stopped when he realized how serious Jungkook looked. “Dude, come on. Since when do you care this much about a first date?”.

Jungkook groaned, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t remember the last time I was on a real one, Hobi. It’s been... a while. Every date I’ve been on, we both knew what it was about, well you know. No expectations.” He frowned at his phone, closing the tab in frustration. “I don’t want it to be lame.”

“If I didn’t know you better I would think you cared or something." Hoseok pinched Jungkook’s cheek with some exaggerated affection, but Jungkook pushed him away.

“Well that’s the thing. We have to be able to talk and get to know each other. Which I suck at.” To Hoseok, Jungkook actually looked to be concerned and it seemed important. Hoseok would almost believe Jungkook wanted to prove a bigger point by winning this bet against Jimin and Taehyung.

“And usually you spend your time what… not really talking?” Hoseok thought but felt stupid for even questioning it. “Right. I forgot who I was talking too.”

Jungkook shifted uncomfortably. “Okay, okay, I get it. I don’t exactly… excel in the conversation department.”

“Excel in other things apparently.” Hoseok laughed and Jungkook rubbed his face.

“Well now I need to change my ways.” Jungkook groaned before thinking, “You know, a really good friend would help me in my time of need.”

“No.”

“Please?”

Hoseok looked straight ahead, trying to ignore the pleading. “No way. I’m not getting sucked into that ridiculous group bet you guys cooked up. I have standards, you know.” Hoseok held his ground, knowing he will fold if he saw Jungkook’s pathetic face. Jungkook was giving him that sad little pouty face anyways.

“Please Hobi. I’ll owe you big time.” Jungkook whined and shook Hoseok by the shoulders. "Plus you are great on first dates.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You always have these great date stories. You’re really good at this stuff.” Jungkook settled back and let Hoseok go.

Hoseok sighed and gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re not as hopeless as you think, you know. You’re just out of practice.”

Jungkook instantly perked up. “I knew you couldn’t resist helping me.”

“Yeah yeah whatever, but this is the last time I will help you with any of this.” Hoseok gave a warning finger to Jungkook, “I’m only doing this for this poor girl.”

“Deal.” Jungkook nodded quickly, ready to move on, but Hoseok wasn’t done.

“Be honest with me though.” Hoseok’s tone was even more serious now and Jungkook gave his full attention, “Are you going to tell this girl the truth when this is all over? It’s messed up if you’re just dating her to win the money and then dump her.”

Jungkook froze for a second. The thought hadn’t fully crossed his mind in detail before now, which, in itself, was a red flag. He had been so focused on the logistics of the bet and the potential payoff that he hadn’t considered the real impact on you. Which, Hoseok was right, made him kind of a jerk by default.

“Yeah. I’ll tell her the truth. I’ll be completely honest once it’s all over. And then… she can decide what she wants to do.” “Okay… just feels really weird. If you are only dating her for the money.” Hoseok pointed out, not fully convinced by Jungkook’s statement.

Jungkook bit his lip. Hoseok had a point, and now that it was out in the open, it ate at him. The bet really felt harmless in nature. A chance to see if Jungkook was even built for dating anymore. The money was a nice bonus, sure, and getting to date an attractive woman didn’t hurt either. But now, he was starting to see the faults in all of this.

It had been… longer than he liked to admit since he’d dated someone seriously. Even longer since he’d genuinely liked someone. He didn’t want this to turn into some shallow game where feelings got stomped on in the process.

“I promise I am going to give this a real shot. Beyond the money.” Jungkook was sure and confident in his answer. Even if he wasn’t so confident in how he was feeling about dating again.

Hoseok studied Jungkook for a moment, but found he was satisfied with the answer. “Who knows maybe this will turn out really great for you. If you take it seriously, maybe this could be something really great.”

“Okay let’s not jump too far ahead.” Jungkook nervously laughed, “Let’s get past the first date.” After all, Jungkook still had plenty of time to mess this up and it could all be for nothing.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Day 1

Leaving the train station, all the nerves you thought you didn’t have about all of this rushed through you. Your heart thudded in your chest as you made your way up unfamiliar streets. You checked in with Jungkook this morning the plan and he had sent you and address to what looked to be a café. That’s what you’d seen when you pulled it up on Maps, and yet, it felt like more than just a casual coffee date. A sense of unease tugged at you.

You had tried subtly fishing for details earlier, asking what you should wear, but he only responded vaguely with a simple dress nice. No clues. Just…nice. So, you were left to mull over your wardrobe, trying not to overthink it, but of course that did not work.

Yesterday, you had convinced yourself this would be no big deal, but now? It felt like you were walking yourself into a trap you laid yourself. Yes this was for work but you couldn’t help but feel so strange with all of it. You had to keep reminding yourself, this was all business. This is for your professional career.

It was the only thing that kept you grounded, instead of daydreaming.

When you rounded the final corner and spotted the café, your stomach did a sharp flip. There he was, Jungkook. Standing by the door, leaning ever so casually against the wall. He looked different, so different that for a second, you almost didn’t realize it was him. He wasn’t the guy you’d run into casually at the bar anymore. No, he looked polished. Adult.

He wore a pair of well-tailored black slacks that hugged his hips, and a white button-up with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, showing off his tattoos in a way that made your heart skip. You didn’t really see his tattoos at the bar so now you had a chance to actually see them.

Two buttons were left undone at the top, and you caught a glimpse of a silver chain against his skin. His dark hair, usually so relaxed, was flipped out at the ends, styled deliberately but effortlessly. He had on sunglasses, so you couldn’t quite read his expression.

Oh no. Oh no no no.

Because this Jungkook and the Jungkook at the bar were suddenly two completely different people. Jungkook at the bar was a guy you could easily mess with… this Jungkook… was exactly your type.

Shit.

You pull out your phone and send a frantic text.

:ABORT!

Ronnie: The date hasn’t even started!

Ronnie: YOU CAN DO THIS!

:I can’t. He cleaned up. You were right I can’t do this.

Ronnie: NO

Ronnie: REMEMBER YOUR RULES

This is not a serious relationship. You will not fall in love with Jungkook. He is a serial fuck boy.

You could hear Jin’s words clearly in your mind. So clearly in fact, but another part of your mind and heart were speaking louder. That little part of you that liked that he put some thought into how he dressed for this. He actually took careful consideration into how he should present himself for you. It made that little pink heart of yours flutter with excitement.

Snap out of it. He’s just a guy.

You shake your head, and ground yourself. You are a writer. You are doing this in the name of research and science. You can do this. This is just a date. A date.

You force one foot in front of you, going over to him, “Jungkook.” flashing your best smile, the one you hope masks the unease swirling in your stomach.

Jungkook’s eyes snap up to meet yours, and his entire face lights up with a warm, easy grin that disarms you for a moment. He pushes a hand through his hair, letting the dark strands fall effortlessly back into place.

Jungkook found himself a little disarmed as well. He had gotten a lot of tips from Hoseok the night before about how he should act and carry himself if he wanted to do this right… but he didn’t expect you to look so cute. You’re dressed in something simple—casual but still pretty. Your smile was so warm and inviting he immediately felt that desire to pull any of his usual lines, but he fought that urge.

This is not a hookup, this is a real date.

“I’ve gotta hand it to you,” Jungkook says, his tone teasing. “I thought for sure you’d ditch me.”

You force a laugh, though it’s a little shaky, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your nerves are still very much present. “Had to see for myself if you could actually step up.”

He chuckles and steps back, spreading his arms out to his sides as if presenting himself for inspection. His confidence is palpable, and it makes it worse? Better? No, definitely worse. “Told you I could take this seriously.”

And he had. Hoseok actually decided Jungkook should go for dressy but simple. Simpler the better. Means you are seeing him and not a façade. Hoseok had warned him to not carry himself too high because it could come off as arrogant. So he retreated from his normal confident stance, trying to pull his natural instinct back a bit. Why was this so hard?

“That’s for me to judge,” You say, lifting your chin and tilting your head at him playfully. “Date’s barely begun.”

“Well,” Jungkook held the café door open for you, “I thought a quick coffee and a short train ride wouldn’t hurt to start.”

“Do I get to know where we are going now?”

“Now why ruin the magic?” Jungkook's tone is a little more flirtatious now. You couldn’t help it when it makes you blush, but you try to shake it off.

The two of you grabbed your drinks to-go and quickly left the café, heading toward the train station. The conversation so far had been light—small pleasantries exchanged, but nothing too deep. It felt like you were both easing into the moment, cautiously testing the waters. Jungkook, however, was doing a surprisingly good job of keeping things moving, keeping the energy up. He seemed determined to make sure this date went well, as if he had something to prove—not just to you, but maybe even to himself.

The city blurred past the windows, concrete and steel flashing by, though your mind wasn’t really on the view. The train rumbled beneath your feet, the soft hum of people chattering fading into the background. You were acutely aware of Jungkook standing so close, his presence hard to ignore.

“So here we are,” Jungkook said with a small smirk, leaning in just enough to catch your eye.

“Here we are,” you echoed, a smile tugging at your lips.

“I know we’ve got to do the usual first-date dance,” he continued, taking a casual sip of his drink. “So feel free to ask me whatever you want.”

“Anything?” You smirked, sensing an opportunity for fun.

“Anything at all,” Jungkook replied, mirroring your playful tone. “I’m a completely open book.”

You paused for a beat, keeping the moment light. “Alright, let’s start simple. Job?”

“Engineer,” he replied confidently. “You?”

“Writer.” Your response was met with a raised brow from him.

“Very interesting,” Jungkook remarked, almost like he hadn’t expected that answer.

You tilted your head slightly. “How so?”

“I just don’t meet many writers. Journalist?”

“Correct.” You smirked, impressed with his deduction. “Okay, your turn. Hobbies?”

Jungkook's eyes brightened at the question, and he leaned in closer, his hand still gripping the pole above. “Photography.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Really? What kind of work do you do?”

“Street photography,” He shot you a grin, clearly pleased. He didn’t get to talk about his photography very much these days. “Mostly just day to day things. People living their lives or things that I find pretty. I like how raw it feels.”

He didn’t think he would be sharing this but Hoseok did say he should be less afraid to share the more vulnerable sides of his personality.

“That’s... actually really cool,” you admitted, genuinely impressed. It was clear this hobby wasn’t just for show. It was something he cared about. “Do you ever share your work?”

He looked down for a moment, a shy laugh escaping him. “Not really. I mean, I’ve shown a few to close friends, but it’s more for me. A way to... I don’t know, relax, I guess. Focus.”

You hadn’t realized it but you had become so laser focused on him now. You shook your head and had to remind yourself to come back to reality. Remember, he’s only saying these things to impress you; it’s not real.

Jungkook continued, “What about you?”

“Painting. It’s a new hobby so I’m really terrible.” You laugh thinking about your really sad first attempt at watercolor sitting on your dining table at home. You had tried to just do a simple flower but it definitely looks like a small creature instead.

“Anything I could see?”

“God no,” you laugh a little too loud and embarrassed, “Trust me they are terrible.” You pause for a second and think, “Okay, how about your favorite food?”

“Easy. Fried chicken.” His answer was quick, like it was non-negotiable. “Yours?”

“Pasta. Any kind, really.”

“Oh I make a really good carbonara.” He threw the comment out there seeing if you would bite.

“Is this your invitation at a second date?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“We’ll have to find out.”

You brush past his comment, “What’s the last movie you watched?”

“Interstellar.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Not bad. So you’re into space stuff?”

“Who isn’t?” Jungkook's expression softened, eyes glinting with a bit of excitement. “You?”

“10 things I hate about you.”

“Romance fan?”

“I’m a sucker for a good love story.” You shrug.

Jungkook laughed, glancing around the train as if to make sure no one else was eavesdropping on your banter. “Alright, one more from me: What’s something people don’t know about you?”

You leaned back in your seat, tapping your chin like you were really pondering it. “I’m embarrassingly bad at bowling.”

Jungkook laughed again, his grin wide and easy. “Awe so you’re saying our second date should be bowling?”

“Only if you’re okay with watching me throw gutter balls all night,” you teased.

“I’ll just have to teach you,” Jungkook quipped, his flirtation bubbling back to the surface. The playful tension between you building.

Jungkook was surprised at himself, because he was actually good at this. Keeping things light, fun, yet somehow engaging enough to make you feel at ease. The back-and-forth flowed effortlessly, and before you knew it, the train slowed for your stop.

“So how am I doing so far?” Jungkook asked, as you both hopped off the train.

You took a slow sip of your coffee, drawing out the silence to keep him in suspense. Humming, you finally raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, the coffee’s good, so points there.” you mused, “but the scenery? It left a lot to be desired.” You teased, gesturing subtly to the less-than-charming view from the train window.

“Well our next location will have a much better view I promise.” Jungkook assured.

Before long, the two of you arrived at your destination—the aquarium. To your surprise, despite the cliché of an aquarium being a typical first-date spot, there was something about it that immediately felt special. Jungkook had already secured the passes online, casually pulling them up on his phone as you neared the entrance. His relaxed demeanor seemed to contrast with your initial nerves, but seeing him here, comfortable in a place like this was calming in itself.

“I’ve never been here, actually,” you mused, taking in the murals that adorned the entrance. Sea creatures, some extinct and some from modern day stretched up toward the high ceilings. It was both beautiful and intriguing, the imagery setting the tone for what lay inside.

Jungkook followed your gaze, a small smile tugging at his lips as he leaned closer. “Well, you’re in good hands. You’re with the foremost aquarium expert in the city,” he said with a playful glint in his eyes. “I’ve been coming here since I was a kid, so I can probably tell you more about the fish than the staff can.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused by his confidence. “Oh? A fish expert, huh? I’m expecting a seriously educated tour then. I want to walk away knowing everything about aquatic life.”

Jungkook chuckled, his grin widening. “Trust me, by the time we leave, you’ll be able to name at least three species of jellyfish without googling it.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “That’s quite the promise.”

Jungkook then guided you inside, the cool, dimly lit interior of the aquarium enveloped the both of you, contrasting sharply with the bright, bustling world outside. The gentle hum of water filtering through the tanks that expanded both walls of the exhibit, mixed with the occasional murmur of other visitors, created a serene atmosphere. It was pretty busy, most with other families and some teenagers running around. Jungkook led the way confidently through everyone, his playful energy still very present, but with an ease that was contagious.

Jungkook caught a glimpse of your profile as you took in the vibrant sea creatures. She looks intrigued, he thought. His heart raced a little, and he couldn’t help but smile at the thought. Maybe I’m doing a good job so far.

“Alright, let’s start here,” He pointed towards the first exhibit, a massive floor-to-ceiling tank filled with vibrant schools of tropical fish darting through the corals. “Fun fact—most of these fish are native to the Indo-Pacific region.”

“Impressive,” you replied, glancing between him and the fish, already intrigued. “What else?”

Jungkook’s grin widened as he launched into an impromptu lecture about the ecosystem of coral reefs, his enthusiasm making it hard not to be drawn in. As much as you were supposed to be trying to find little annoyances for your plan, you couldn’t help but enjoy the flow of the conversation. It didn’t feel forced. Instead, it was comfortable—lighthearted, but surprisingly informative.

“Okay, okay,” you interrupted at one point, leaning slightly into him as you looked up at the jellyfish exhibit. The tank glowed softly with blue and purple lights, jellyfish gracefully floating like little underwater ghosts. “What about these? Teach me about jellyfish, Mr. Expert.”

“Ah, jellyfish,” Jungkook said dramatically, pausing like he was about to unveil a great mystery. “Jellyfish have what are called hydrostatic skeleton.”

“And what are those?” You blinked, you expression clearly saying you had no idea what that meant.

“They have no bones, they have circular muscles and they have to contract their muscles to move along the ocean.” he nodded. “There is also a species that is essentially immortal. Turritopsis dohrnii. They can reset to their juvenile form after reaching maturity, which allows them to avoid dying of old age. So, yeah, immortal jellyfish.”

You stared at him for a second, half-expecting him to say he was joking, but the serious expression on his face told you otherwise. “Okay, that’s actually super cool. You weren’t kidding about being an expert.”

As the two of you wandered through the aquarium, it surprise you how easily the conversation flowed between the both of you. Jungkook pointed out different fish, talked about their unique traits, and asked you questions too, like what your favorite animal was or whether you had any pets growing up. It didn’t feel like an interrogation, but more like a genuine curiosity, and that put you more at ease.

You reached the penguin exhibit, and Jungkook stopped in front of the glass, his eyes lighting up as a group of penguins waddled by. “Penguins are the best,” he declared, “They mate for life, you know?”

“Now that I did know. I’ve seen march of the penguins.” To be fair is was when you were extremely young and that may be the only fact you could pull from the movie.

“I used to sit here and watch the penguins for hours. I just thought they were so cool when they would slide along on their bellies.” Jungkook mused and realized he had been guiding the conversation for a while now. “Seriously stop me anytime though. I can go on and on about animal facts.”

“Don’t stop! I think it’s cute,” you said, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. The moment felt light and playful, and you liked it.

“Oh, so you think I’m cute?” Jungkook smirked, wiggling his brows. The thought sent a flutter through your chest, and you felt heat creeping up your cheeks.

“Or just a nerd.” You pull yourself away in front of the exhibit and start to press on to the next section. “Come on geek!”

It was hard to remember you were supposed to be finding ways to be annoying or difficult when things were going this smoothly. Maybe Jin and Ronnie would have to help more with that later because, right now, this was actually...fun. More fun than you had expected.

As you both continued on through the aquarium, the awkwardness that often accompanies first dates seemed to non existent. By the time you reached the final exhibit—an enormous tank filled with sharks and stingrays gliding overhead. It surrounded the entire room and there were section you could go and stand and watch fish swim above you. You and Jungkook found a nice spot to sit and to just watch. You had a found a fascination with a rather large stingray floating around the tank.

“I’m in heavy anticipation for your shark facts.” You kick your feet back and forth and glance to your side at Jungkook who was enraptured with the tank.

“Maybe not a fun fact, but hammerheads will trap sting rays with their heads to the seafloor to catch and eat them.”

“Huh,” he was correct not so fun but still interesting, “I always wondered what their heads we good for.”

Jungkook hummed, a smile on his face. He had started the day nervous but he felt so comfortable now. The aquarium was actually Hoseok's idea, told Jungkook he should go somewhere where he could be at ease and maybe show off a bit. Now showing off fish facts may have been unconventional, it was working here. You seemed to be really enjoying yourself, and laughing at most of his little jokes.

In that moment of silence, as he observed a sleek shark swim by, he glanced over at you, his voice softening. “So, how am I doing so far? Honestly.”

You looked at him, taking a beat before answering. “Well, I’ll admit I didn’t expect you to actually be this...interesting.” You teased, keeping it light. “But you’ve definitely surprised me.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his expression. “Surprised you in a good way, I hope?”

It was good, but horribly horribly bad. Because you weren’t sure if you could go through with this, Jungkook was nice and goofy. He took you somewhere he clearly really enjoyed and spent his day trying to make you laugh and smile. It was one of the best first dates you had been on in a long time. Maybe Jin had the completely wrong idea about Jungkook? Maybe this was all a mistake? Maybe you could find something real with Jungkook.

You would have to find a different guy for your experiment, not ideal but you admittedly were already having a small crush on Jungkook. A small voice in the back of your mind was screaming, I told you so. I knew you couldn’t do this. You are too much of a gooey romantic to pull this off.

“Good so far.” You smile, and turn your body to face him, “Okay, ask me anything you want. My turn to be an open book.”

“Oh really?” Jungkook raised an eyebrow but also adjusted to face you. “Okay. What made you become a writer?”

“Oh, good question.” You thought for a moment, “I used to be a mini reporter when I was younger. I used to dress up like an old 40’s style detective or journalist and I would write news stories about things happening in my neighborhood.”

“Did you pick up anything juicy?”

You shook your head, laughing at the memory. “Not at all. It was usually just anything I saw happen. Like breaking news: Ryan fell off his bike, or Mrs. Johnson bought apples and milk from the store. It was never anything groundbreaking, but I loved it.” Excitement seeped into your tone. “As I got older, I realized I liked reporting and journalism of any kind, even trashy magazine writing. I just wanted to be one of them. Have my name on something like that.”

Jungkook listened intently, fascinated. He found himself wrapped up in how animated and alive you looked talking about your passion. He admired the way your hands danced through the air as you spoke, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to picture you living out your dreams, pen in hand, telling the stories of the world.

“So what are you writing now?” Jungkook wanted to hear more, hear more about what made you excited.

You paused, because even though Jungkook didn’t know, that was a heavy question. “The promotion I mentioned the other night? I’m getting promoted from research to an actual writer for the magazine I’m at.”

Jungkook eyebrows shot up, “That’s incredible.”

“I know. It’s a huge deal and the piece I’m working on is… well.” You chewed on your lip, “It’s a research heavy piece and requires me to go out and do some actual field work.”

“I want to read it when it’s done.” Jungkook had a genuine smile on his face and he hadn’t taken his eyes off of you since you started. You had just now noticed and all of those first date nerves came bubbling up in you.

“Oh, no.” You let out a breathy laugh, “It’ll be just a silly little think piece when it’s done.”

“So?” Jungkook tilted his head trying to meet your eyes, “I want to be your first reader when it’s published. Then I can walk around and brag about it.”

You nervously laugh to yourself, “I’ll make sure you get the first copy.”

Even though inside you were thinking, absolutely no way in hell is that happening.

“Perfect,” he said, nodding eagerly. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The two of you settled back into a comfortable silence, your gaze drifting back to the mesmerizing display of fish swimming above. You couldn’t help but feel lighter.

“So what do you think your ultimate goal as a writer is?” It surprised you little when he continued, you didn’t think he would want to know more about it.

“I think…” You said for a moment, watching a school of fish go by in the glass. “I want to be a funny writer but also someone who makes you think. I want my work to feel real but also force you to really examine yourself.”

“Well when you get famous and stuff,” Jungkook stood from his seat, “I get to say I knew you.” He extended a hand out to you. He hadn’t offered his hand the entire date, but he felt like now was appropriate.

You stared at it for a moment, he's just helping you up that's all, then you slipped your hand into his and stood with him. So to your own surprise, he didn’t let you go. Jungkook lacing his fingers into yours, and it made your heart race in your chest. Goosebumps rising on your skin.

“Now we still have plenty of other things left to see.” With a swift movement Jungkook began to pull you along into the rest of the aquarium.

You both bounced around exhibits you had already seen and joked around a lot along the way. Jungkook also had plenty of more fish facts to throw out when you would encounter something you may have missed before. After a while the both of you managed to make it back to the front of the aquarium and found the gift shop.

“Oh these are cute.” You pull up a pair of tiny penguins that had magnets in the fins that held them together. “I think you can split them up so you can give one to someone.”

“That’s really cute.” Jungkook really wasn’t looking at anything, he was having more fun watching you look around at the items. Everything a bit too overpriced.

You had a thought in mind, and took the penguins up to the counter. After the cashier rung you up and you took the penguins out of their package and gave one to Jungkook. He looked confused.

“One for you.” you smiled, “For such a nice first date.”

“They mate for life, you can’t split them up.” Jungkook fake pointed and you rolled your eyes, you eyes the pocket on the front of his button up and tucked the penguin into his pocket. It fit perfectly so the head was sticking out.

You giggle a little at it and Jungkook smiles at your amusement, you then stick the other penguin to the shirt to see if the magnets would still stick and to your surprise they do indeed stick together. Jungkook also laughs at the gesture and then hands the other penguin back to you.

As Jungkook handed you the second penguin, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth at his playful smile. It felt like a secret shared between the two of you, an inside joke that was unique to this moment. You turned the penguin over in your hands, admiring the tiny details.

“These little guys can be a reminder of our first adventure together,” you said, glancing up at him. “Every time I see mine, I’ll think of you and all your random fish facts.”

“I knew all of this aquatic knowledge would come in handy some day.”

The both of you made your way out to the entrance of the aquarium. You weren’t even really sure what time it was but the sun was starting to set and it was raining outside to both of your surprise. You and Jungkook had been so wrapped up in the day you hadn't even thought to even check your phones or check the weather for the day. Jungkook hadn’t either, he really hadn’t expected to enjoy himself this much but here he was. He really didn’t want the date to end.

“We might have to make a run for the subway.” Jungkook glanced out the windows, it was really coming down hard now.

“I’m so going to get sick.” You laugh, but with some confidence and you push the exit door open, stepping into the rain and looking back waiting for Jungkook to follow. The rain hitting you and icy cold hug it made you gasp.

Jungkook laughed too, the sound brightening the dreary weather. Without a second thought, he dashed out into the rain after you, grabbing your hand as you both braved the elements. The rain was relentless, and you quickly found yourselves sprinting up the street toward the nearest subway station.

The air was crisp, and the rain felt like little stinging needles against your skin. “Definitely an unexpected twist for a first date.” You called to him, the sound of the rain was deafening.

“What do you mean? Running in the rain? It’s a totally rom com cliché.” Jungkook calling back to your love for romance movies.

The both of you kept moving but began to shiver a bit. The only heat between the both of you coming from your hands wrapped in each other.

The both of you could see the station just up ahead. The both of you trying to keep a quick pace so you could get in and catch the train. You and Jungkook and you spotting a puddle you both try to gracefully jump over, but the slickness of the ground betraying Jungkook. He slips a little and almost takes you with him. laughter spilled from your lips, mixing with the sound of rain splashing against the pavement. It was pure chaos, but it felt exhilarating. Jungkook’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he glanced at you, and for a moment, all the worries of the world faded away.

“An interesting way to close out the date.” You try wiping away some water from your face but it was useless at this point. “My outfit is definitely ruined.”

“I don’t know, I think the wet look is in.” his hair was sticking to the side of his face an forehead, he was clearly shivering but was still managing to have a boyish grin on his face. As you both reached the subway entrance, you paused, leaning against the wall, your laughter dying down into soft giggles. The rain still poured down around you, but it felt different now—intimate, almost magical. Jungkook’s eyes were bright, his expression softening as he looked at you.

For a moment, everything else faded away. The world around you blurred, and it felt like it was just the two of you in that cocoon of raindrops and laughter. Despite the biting chill of the rain soaking through your clothes, a warmth blossomed within you, igniting a spark that felt impossibly bright. Your heart pounded in your ears, drowning out everything else.

Jungkook stepped closer, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. You felt your own gaze drawn to his, mesmerized by the way his pink lips glistened in the dim light, kissed by the rain. He looked so cute, his expression a mix of surprise and delight. Before you could think about it, you closed the distance and pressed your lips to his.

Initially, Jungkook seemed taken aback, but the moment was electric, and he quickly melted into the kiss. What had started as a tentative peck transformed into something more quickly. He responded with surprising warmth, his hand gently cradling your cheek as he kissed you again, pulling you closer as if he wanted to shield you from the cold.

That kiss was sweet and tender, a balm against the rain. The warmth spread through you, wrapping around your heart like a cozy blanket.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, your cheeks flushed from both the cold and the moment. Jungkook’s eyes sparkled with a mix of surprise and happiness, a wide grin breaking across his face.

“I’m pretty sure kissing in the rain is the biggest cliché of them all.” Jungkook broke the tension in the air and is made you roll your eyes, you taking his hand again and pulling him into the station.

You both managed to make it to your train in time. You weren’t sure if Jungkook also lived this direction but he was coming with you nonetheless. The two of you were leaving puddles behind the both of you everywhere you went.

When you got off at the right station you realized how hungry you actually were now. Starving in fact, you and Jungkook had so wrapped up in the aquarium food was the last thing on your mind, “Are you hungry?”

“Really hungry actually.” Jungkook was now realizing he was beginning to fade away with the lack of food.

“You want to get something to eat?”

The two of you found the closest place you could find to eat nearby and there was a crowded restaurant. The two of you managed to get a table really easily and settled it. You both got a series of weird looks at the state the two of you were in, but the two of you didn’t really care.

As you excused yourself to the bathroom, your heart was still racing from the high of the day. You needed a moment away from the intensity, a breath of space to gather your thoughts. The date had been so easy, so natural. Nothing like what you’d imagined when you first got involved in this whole thing. But you couldn’t let yourself get lost in the fantasy.

Once inside the bathroom, you didn’t even bother to check the mirror. You pulled out your phone, pacing frantically as you called Ronnie and Jin, knowing they’d be waiting for an update.

“Guys,” you blurted out, your voice low but panicked, “I can’t go through with this. I swear he’s just… a regular guy. This isn’t what we thought!”

There was a pause before Jin’s voice came through loud and clear. “Bad writer!” he scolded you. “Do not waver now. He’s playing you, just like we suspected.”

“I’m telling you, Jin, it feels real. The way he’s acting… he’s not some player. This all feels too genuine.” You caught your reflection in the mirror and grimaced, frustrated with yourself for even saying it out loud.

Ronnie chimed in, clearly less invested in your emotional rollercoaster, but supportive nonetheless. “Sounds too good to be true if you ask me. Stay strong, Y/N. This guy’s probably a master at making things feel real. That’s what they do. You’ve got this.”

You sighed, adjusting your hair with your free hand as you continued pacing. “You guys aren’t here with me! You didn’t see him today—he’s been amazing. It’s not like other dates where it’s all surface-level stuff. We were wrong.”

“I’m never wrong,” Jin insisted with that trademark smugness of his. “Trust me, his true colors will show soon. Stick to the plan.”

With some more arguments. They forced you to not give up and continue, Jin convinced he is still correct about Jungkook.

He didn’t see him today though.

You rejoined Jungkook back at your booth and you were sitting right next to each other. Jungkook was typing on his phone, which managed to survive the downpour. You were also surprised that your phone somehow managed to survive it. Right not though, Jin and Ronnie were completely blowing it up with messages following your call.

“What is it?” Jungkook’s curiosity getting the better of him, glancing to your phone briefly but then looking away.

You shake your head, “Nothing my friends were just worried about me because I wasn’t responding. They thought you might have murdered me or something.” A lie but it would disarm his curiosity.

“How do they know you haven’t killed me?” Jungkook joked, and you smiled.

You shrug and set you phone down on the table. “Nights still young. That could very well happen.”

“Fun.” Jungkook laughed at your obvious sarcasm. “I’ll be right back.”

Jungkook placed his phone down next to yours and excused himself away. Probably to go to the bathroom. You felt a warm glow in your chest just from the day. Everything was so nice and so fun, and easy. Jungkook was not what you were expecting, he probably wasn’t what your friends thought either.

It would be just your luck to accidentally pick a really great guy.

Or so you hoped.

At that moment a buzz came from the table and you thought it came from your phone since Jin and Ronnie were blowing up your phone with reminders to stick to the plan. You glanced down and in an instant you wish you hadn’t. You really wished you hadn’t. Because the text did not come from your phone, it came from Jungkook's phone.

It wasn’t a text from just a friend either.

You looked away as fast as you saw it but it immediately brought you back to reality.

Hey baby, are you free tonight? I really want to do that thing again…

You really wished you hadn’t looked. You didn’t even register the name because you flipped Jungkook's phone over. For a moment, everything inside you froze. It felt like someone had just yanked you out of a dream, dropping you back into reality with a crash. The words, the suggestive tone—it wasn’t just a friendly text. This was someone else, someone calling him “baby,” someone who clearly thought they had plans with him tonight.

Because this is who he was, and why you set all those rules.

Of course Jungkook was texting another girl. Because that is the guy he is. He could be dreamy all day long but this was his nature. Not whatever façade he put on for your benefit today. For a second, your mind spun with questions: Who was she? What did they do? But no matter how many answers you wanted, one fact remained: this perfect day wasn’t as perfect as it seemed.

Your waitress brought over the drinks you two had ordered. You sipped it so you could give your hands something to do. The disappointment swirled in your stomach for a moment before you pulled yourself together.

You were here for your own reasons.

That texted just proved why you picked Jungkook in the first place. He is a playboy, and you had a goal. Day one, twenty-nine more to go.

You spotted Jungkook returning to the table and he had a big smile on his face. You put back on a big smile yourself. Acting as if nothing had changed and nothing was different. You took a quick moment to send a quick text to Ronnie and Jin.

:Nevermind. You guys were right. I can do this.

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dragon-kazansky · 8 months ago

Text

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Nine - Late night scandals

♡♡♡

"What do you think Bridgerton?"

Benedict turns around to find the artist he had accidentally offended at the gallery the other night.

"This one more to your liking?"

"Mr. Granville--" Benedict raises from his chair to approach the man.

"Perhaps they should take it over to Somerset House so it can be skyed right next to mine."

"I believe I owe you an apology, sir." Benedict says, feeling rather embarrassed.

"Unnecessary. I actually quite enjoy the eloquent stings of your critique. So?" He gestures back to the painting on the wall.

"A touch morose for my tastes," Benedict says.

Henry points to the next one.

"A tragedy. The hound deserved better," Benedict comments.

Granville laughs. "Where is yours?"

"My..."

"Your work," Granville clarifies. "Are you tell me you're not an artist yourself?"

"Well, I-- I suppose sometimes I like to... Well, I mean, I almost--"

"I believe 'yes' and 'thank you' are the words you seek. But either way, you should come by my studio." Mr Granville holds out a small card to Benedict, who accepts it. "The pieces I do for myself are there, and I think you will find my real work far less, um... Oh, how did you put it? 'Cold and lacking inner life?'"

Benedict scrunched up his face as he nodded, still burning with embarrassment. "I shall never live that down, shall I?"

Mr Granville leaves.

Benedict returns to his table where he had been absentmindedly doodling. Eyes. He was sketching out a pair of eyes. Pretty ones. From memory.

He sighs and closes the sketchbook.

♡♡♡

As you sit in the drawing room of the Bridgerton house, as invited by Violet, you discover that she had no idea about the boxing match, or that Daphne had been there.

You keep your eyes focused on the latest Whistledown paper, though you had stopped reading it.

Daphne was playing the piano while her mother interrogated her.

"A boxing match is no place for any young lady." Violet sighs.

"Is it a place for a prince? Was he at today's match, sister?" Hyacinth asks.

"He certainly was."

"It is a loathsome and barbarous form of entertainment," Violet was very displeased.

That was when Daphne took the opportunity to mention you had gone as well, which had Violet looking at you.

"You too?"

You glare softly at Daphne, who gives you a smug little look. Crafty one, she is.

"Anthony invited me," you admit.

Violet looked terribly ill all of a sudden. You were sure she would being this up with her eldest son at some point.

"What about the duke?" Hyacinth asks.

"What about the duke?" Both Violet and Daphne ask at the same time. You eye Daphne curiously from your seat.

"Was he also present?" Hyacinth asked, less enthusiastic now.

"I do not know," Daphne says. "If the duke was there, I did not see him."

Hyacinth leaves the piano to go see what Eloise is up to. She had been scribbling away in her book since you arrived.

You put the Whistledown column down and rose from your seat to seek entertainment near the window. Watching the street was surely more entertainment than listening in on that conversation.

Anthony enters the room and greets both his mother and his sister. You turn and he greets you too.

"Did you truly take your sister to a boxing match?" Violet hounds him.

"Your admonishment will have to wait. I have news," he cuts her lecture short. "Prince Friedrich has asked for my permission to propose." He looks at Daphne.

She stops playing. "So soon?"

"Well, what did you tell him?" Violet asks.

"That I know better than to answer for my sister. I have no objections to the man. People speak well of him. Whatever you decide, Daph, you shall have my support."

You look at Daphne quietly.

"I... uh... I..." She doesn't know what to say.

"You need not decide now," Violet tells her. "You certainly have no known him long."

"Let me know when you have an answer, and I shall convey it." Anthony says to his sister.

"Indeed." Daphne looks at him.

Anthony leaves as quickly as he came in. It was clear Daphne needed time to think.

♡♡♡

When Daphne had pleaded with you to attend the next ball with her, you couldn't say no. There was a sadness to her gaze, and you wondered from where it had risen.

Something had happened between her and the duke, and she had been off kilter ever since.

The ball, like all had been so far, was wonderful. The theme was a little more out there this time, but everyone was behaving quite perfectly.

You were standing with Daphne as she scanned the crowd. Exactly who she was looking for, you weren't quite certain. You would suggest the prince on the account that the duke was apparently leaving London tonight.

The prince could be seen across the room. He was in conversation with someone. You glance toward Daphne, but your gaze shifts as Cressida Cowper comes over. You give Daphne a gentle nudge.

"Daphne." Cressida chuckles. "You look beautiful, as always."

"Thank you, Cressida," Daphne says politely.

"You could have chosen anyone," Cressida says. "You have gentlemen lined up to pay you tribute. Yet you did not hesitate to steal my chance for happiness away, did you? I knew the marriage market would make rivals of us, but I never thought youcapable of being my enemy."

"The man made his choice, Cressida. What did you expect me to do?" Daphne asks.

Daphne walks off in the direction of the prince. You look at Cressida and then walk off in the other direction.

There is nothing you could ever say to her.

You begin to walk alongside the dance floor, watching the couples dance. A hand comes into view, and you turn to see a friendly looking young man smiling at you.

"May I have this dance?"

You take a moment to gather yourself. You had hoped one of the Bridgerton boys would be here to dance with you, but you supposed you couldn't rely on them every time.

"You may."

You go with him to dance.

It seemed Benedict wasn't here.

♡♡♡

Benedict was, in fact, making his way to the studio of Mr. Granville. He was intrigued by the artist.

He finds the address and knocks on the door. Henry Granville answers.

"Mr. Bridgerton."

Benedict stands there a little awkwardly.

"Come in, come in."

Granville lets him in. Benedict enters and follows him. He is led further inside and finds himself in a large room. A circle of easels presented around two nude models.

"I do not know what I was expecting, but it surely was not this." Benedict says.

"Oh, simply a gathering of like-minded souls." Henry tells him. "Here, let me show you what I've been working on."

Benedict is led further inside the studio. He passes a couple of painters discussing war so causally.

"What do you think?" Henry asks.

Benedict walks over and takes a look at the canvas.

"Hmm. It's a far cry from Somerset House, I must say."

"I shall take that a compliment."

They both chuckle.

"And I must say, I'm truly jealous. Is this your life?" Benedict asks.

"There are advantages to being the second-born." Henry tells him. "Heirs have the responsibility. Second sons have the fun."

They both chuckle again.

"So... why not go have some fun?" Henry gestures to the models. He's giving Benedict the chance to epress himself through art.

Benedict picks an easel and sits down.

♡♡♡

As you dance once again tonight, you spot Anthony standing off to the side. He's staring at the opera singer.

You hard heard whispers about him being infatuated with an opera singer, but had no idea if there lay any truth to them.

You continue dancing with your partner.

Benedict was still a no-show tonight, which you found to be rather disappointing. You had been looking forward to another evening of his little quips and teasing.

When the dance ends, you curtsy to your partner and head in the direction of Anthony and Violet. Lady Bridgerton had tries to introduce her son to a rather pretty young lady, but he showed no interest.

"Shall we dance, Lord Bridgerton?" You ask, looking at Anthony.

He turns and looks at you, for half a second, thinking you were another lady his mother was intent on pushing on him.

"Yes, let's." He offers his arm, and you take it. Violet watches you both go. Even if he chose you, she would be pleased, but she knows her son will not take you as his wife. You're his friend who has come to rescue him from her for a while.

Violet downs a third glass of champagne.

"She is persistent," you say.

"Hm?"

"Your mother."

Anthony chuckles softly. "Yes. Quite."

"The opera singer..."

He looks at you.

"Nevermind. Its not my business."

Anthony's expression softens. "I was - am - found of her."

"Yes. I assumed as much."

Anthony sighs. "It's complicated.

You nod and say no more on the matter. Anthony spins you around elegantly.

"Is Benedict not here tonight?" You ask, twirling with him.

"Benedict? No." He gazes at you. "Why do you ask?"

"I just noticed his absence."

"Missing your dance partner?" He teases.

You chuckle. "Am I that obvious?"

He winks at you, and you shake your head with a smile. "I'm fond of you boys. I can't help it when I notice one of you is missing."

Anthony grins. "How lucky we are to have gained such a special friend such as you."

As Anthony gives you another turn around the floor, you spot Colin speaking with Penelope. You smile softly at the sight and then turn your attention back to the eldest brother.

At least you'll have one Bridgerton on your dance card tonight.

As the next dance begins, Anthony keeps your company longer. You're aware this may catch attention from others, especially Lady Whistledown should she be here, but none the less, you dance with him twice.

You soon see that Colin has left Penelope on the sidelines to dance with Miss Thompson, and you also find the prince talking to Daphne amidst their dance.

The dance ends, and you manage to catch sight of Daphne fleeing the ballroom.

Anthony bows, and you curtsy.

"Until next time." He nods his head at you. You smile and nod, taking your leave. You worry about Daphne and intend to go check on her, but you're stopped by another gentleman.

You sigh and realise you'll have to dance with him before you can flee again.

The dance feels like it drags on, and on, and on. You smile, you listen to your partner talk, but your mind is focused on Daphne. She did not look well when she fled.

When the dance ends, you spot Anthony leaving the ballroom. You waste no more time and follow him.

He heads outside. You follow.

"Anthony?"

He turns and looks at you. "Go back inside."

"What's the matter? What's happening?"

"Did you see him?" Anthony asks urgently.

"Who?"

"The duke."

"He is here?"

"He was, and now I can't find Daphne." You realise he's concerned about his sister.

You hear something further in the garden, and Anthony hurries off. You follow him, close on his heels.

What you find is not what you ever expected to see.

Simon and Daphne were not just kissing. His hands were all over her. Her dress had been pulled down. You cover your mouth, though you can not hide the gasp that escapes you.

Anthony runs at Simon.

"Bastard!"

Simon receives a strong punch to the face. He falls to the ground, and Anthony takes another swing. He punches him a third time and then stands beside his sister. You hurry to her other side and checks her over.

"Daphne..."

She is speechless. She has no words for you. They have been caught in a compromising position.

"You will marry her," Anthony declares.

"What?" Daphne looks at her brother.

"Immediately. We can only hope no one saw you take such liberties, and my sister is saved further mortification. You will marry her!"

Anthony is angry.

"Brother!"

"I cannot marry her," Simon says.

"You have defiled her innocence, and now you refuse her hand? I knew you were a rake, Hastings, I never thought you a villain."

"I cannot marry her," Simon states more firmly.

Daphne looks hurt.

"Then you leave me no choice. I must demand satisfaction."

"A duel? Anthony, you cannot--" Daphne begins.

"He dishonours you, sister." Anthony looks at her. "He dishonours you and me and the very Bridgerton name. I have misjudged you, indeed. You have duped us both, but I shall not see my sister pay for my own misdeeds. We will settle this as gentlemen."

"I understand," Simon agrees. "I shall see you at dawn."

"I do not understand," Daphne says softly. "You would rather die than marry me?"

You look at Simon quietly.

"I am truly sorry."

"We need to go, Daph. Before anyone should see us." Anthony says softly.

You reach out for her arm gently and pull her away, Anthony follows you both.

Daphne takes her brother's arm after he begs of you not to say a word about anything. You swear by it, looking him in the eye. Anthony thanks you.

You drift off from them as you enter the ballroom once again.

Anthony approaches Colin and tells him he is taking her home. He asks Colin to take care of their mother. You decide to step in and help. Anthony looks grateful.

Anthony and Daphne leave.

Colin looks at you, but you just smile softly at him and ask him to help you with Violet. He doesn't say anything about Daphne or Anthony.

Neither do you.

♡♡♡

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@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173

@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

@hopshusushi - @katherinejess - @nannabug - @afunkyfreshblog - @f0x33 - @dd122004dd

@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @captainlunaxmen - @winchestersimpalababy - @acupnoodle

@ms-fandomgirl - @fablesrose - @anyaisinyourcloset - @meowzerzstuff - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @crazymar15

@cosmixstar - @bree3parchen -

#Bridgerton shade of blue #benedict bridgerton x reader #Bridgerton #female reader #dragon writes

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ultravi0lence14 · 28 days ago

Text

Cherry Flavoured

sam winchester x fairy!reader

1.5k | fluff

summary: whenever sam finds himself on a case, he can’t stop himself from thinking of his fairy that waited for him back home.

it had only been a week since you had moved into the bunker with sam, and he fully believed that you were going to be the death of him.

he didn’t mean that in a bad way, he just didn’t know how he was supposed to control himself, or even be away from you on hunts for days on end without going crazy. you were the perfect girl for him, and he was starting to think that he couldn’t last a minute without you.

the two of you had met a couple months prior. sam and dean had been on a hunt a couple states away from home, and they happened to run into you as they were making their way throughout the town.

instantly you knew who they were; the winchester brothers, the most notorious hunters in all of the country. why were they in your town? did they know you were a supernatural creature? did they come to kill you? you didn’t know what the reason was, but you knew you were going to steer clear of them at all costs.

sam and dean didn’t know what they were dealing with, but as they caught on to your suspicious behaviour, the two decided to follow you home and see if their suspicions of you were correct.

though they didn’t expect to find you tending to your garden out front, communicating with a deer and fluttering onto your roof so you could water the ivy that grew from the top.

after a long, well needed conversation, they found out you were a fairy. you ended up helping with the case they were on, deducing it to a another ghastly creature in town and directing them to the person accountable.

the whole time during the case, sam felt a connection between you two. so with shaky hands — and a small push from dean, sam gave you his phone number before he went back to the bunker.

you two had been talking 24/7, and when sam drove to your house so he could take you on a proper date, you knew that you were in way too deep.

now, you resided in sam and dean’s bunker in kansas, sharing a room with the youngest winchester and trying your best to accommodate from living in a whimsical garden cottage to a 1950’s underground bunker.

sam had recently walked into your shared room to find copious amounts of plants and flowers placed around the surfaces. you said that tending to them gave you peace of mind, and sam really couldn’t argue with that.

in the couple of days you’d lived with him, sam realized that you two had a lot in common. you enjoyed researching cases with him, cuddling by his side as he read books on creatures and beasts alike.

each night, you two would cuddle up in bed together and read your own respective books, both taking sometime to relay the information after you’d finish a chapter or so.

the two of you were getting along so well, and sam found himself yearning to here your sweet voice and random facts on fairies and woodland creatures any time of the day.

alongside your budding love for literature, he also noticed how you had a knack for cherries, whether it be the food itself or the deep colour that adorned the fruit.

walking into the kitchen, he would always find you sucking on a cherry in your mouth. twirling the stem between your teeth and carefully pulling the pit from in between your lips. sam didn’t know if it was a fairy thing or not, but he wasn’t really complaining.

your favourite pair of high top converse were a deep cherry red. always paired with a short skirt or dress that had sam not being able to look away from your legs that seemed to go for miles.

dean would always make fun of his younger brother when he caught him staring. the eldest winchester would always smack sam on the back, jolting the man out of his stupor and making a sly comment around the lines of, “got a little drool on your chin there, sammy.”

after a while, sam stopped referring to you by your actual name and only called you ‘cherry’, a nickname you didn’t really understand at first but ended up not really minding at all. throughout his little endearing pet names, sam would throw it in every once in a while, especially when he saw you eating the messy fruit.

it would always stain your lips, and sam wouldn’t be able to stop himself from kissing them senselessly when he saw the light red tint. he’d pounce at you like a man starved, kissing your cherry stained lips until the delicious flavour was transferred from your tongue to his.

that was all he could think about when he and dean were driving home from a case in nebraska; your cherry lips and cherry sweet attitude.

sam didn’t even wait for dean when he pulled up outside of the bunker. he rushed out of the impala, hightailing it towards your room where he knew you would be.

to his surprise, sam walked in to find you resting on your bed and lying on your stomach. you had a bowl of cherries in front of you, book in hand as you sucked the fruit in between your lips. the small, denim skirt you wore wasn’t what had sam’s breath catching in his throat. it was the fairy wings that fluttered against your back that caught his attention.

sam had never seen them before, but he was glad that the wait took a little while. he almost fucking passed out when he saw the iridescent shimmer of cherry red in the wings. flecks of the red colour and veins of sparkly cherry decorated your back, and sam felt himself go to heaven and back.

they rested behind you, glittery sparkles and reflections of a deep red flowing around the room as sam felt his knees buckle underneath him. he couldn’t take this any longer. walking towards you like a love driven fool, he collapsed to his knees where your head was perched in your palm, starting to leave feather like kisses up your arm.

you squeaked out a huff of surprise, dropping your book on the bed and turning your head towards where sam kneeled on the floor. you didn’t even here him come inside, and you felt a small shred of embarrassment wash over you as you remembered that your wings were fully on display.

showing your wings to other people was something viewed as very intimate from where you came from. and yes, you loved sam, and you viewed him as one of the most important people in your life. but you weren’t prepared for it to happen today.

“sam,” you breathed out, hand resting in his mop of hair. “i didn’t know you were home already.”

you got up from your position and sat down on the edge of the mattress. your hand guided sam up to sit beside you, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. “i missed you so much, my love.”

sam reciprocated the hug ten folds, hugging you with all his mite as his lips found purchase in the soft skin of your collarbone. “i missed you too, so fucking much.” he spoke between kisses, eliciting a dopey smile on your lips. “and i’m missing the sight of those gorgeous wings even more.”

you just blushed at his words, feeling your wings retract as you pushed at sam’s shoulder. “stop lying to me.” you spoke with a grin, watching as a look of shock took over the winchester’s delicate features.

“i’m not, cherry.” he gasped out, brushing his hands over the part of your back where the wings were. “they were fucking beautiful. made you look prettier if that’s even possible.”

a blush dusted on your cheeks, matching the bowl of cherries that sat idle on your bed. “stop playing around sam, they are so unnecessary. always getting in the way, making me look like a freak.”

sam’s mouth just opened in a gape, looking at you like you had two heads. “well if they make you look like a freak, than the angels were right for calling me an abomination. they were unbelievable, cherry. unlike anything i’ve ever seen before.”

a wicked grin took over sam’s face after he spoke, hands reaching out to grab your face and pull it closer to his. “well,” he breathed out, lips brushing against yours as he caressed your cherry coloured cheeks. “second to you of course.”

you didn’t even have time to scold him for being so cheesy before his lips connected with yours, relishing in the plush warmth of your mouth while the taste of cherries invaded his senses.

the bowl of cherries on your bed was long forgotten, sam being able to taste it on his tongue as it explored the decadent flavour inside of your mouth.

when you fell back against the bed, your wings came back into view, revealing themselves from under your arms and around your upper half like a halo. and when sam noticed them, he couldn’t stop the smirk from dancing across his lips.

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #imagine #supernatural x reader #fluff #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester oneshot #sam winchester fanfiction

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venusandsaturnsrings · 24 days ago

Text

★彡 theoretic exposé.

summery: he had intended to wiggle is way into your life and by a stroke of luck, discovered the perfect way to keep you in his palm.

contains: post 2.7 tb mission, blackmailing, power dynamics, halovian reader, afab/fem reader, sadistic sunday, aftercare at the end, and this was supposed to be a small blurb but turned into a 3k words whoops!!

it was quiet. you sat amongst the books of an overfilled library on one of the Xianzhou ships glossing over various titles as you digested all of the recent happenings aboard the Astral Express. much of it was far too difficult to fully grasp, despite pestering Mr. Yang with endless questions, so you settled for sticking your nose into some light novels; surely the rest of the crew wouldn’t mind? well, Dan Heng might but when you brought up the idea to both March and Stelle they had brushed it off in favour of various games around the dreamscape. not that it bothered you, of course, some alone time never hurt and you weren’t too keen on spending it with the newest passenger as some reservations of your own remained alongside burgeoning desires.

picking up one of the books you read the title, ‘A Mages Lessons in Rope; Magic and Arousal?!’, and though you scoffed at the typical tacky wording you couldn’t help but tuck it under your arm. without prying eyes no one could judge you for wanting to read something so… mature, for lack of better words. glancing over the shelves you picked up two other novels of similar content before shyly approaching the cashier who rung you up without a second glance, perhaps used to people buying erotica and not wanting to further embarrass them which brought you peace of mind. sliding them into your bag after paying, you walked down the streets and enjoyed the fresh air. the calm and nearly homely atmosphere was soothing after all the chaos and you opted to snag a bubble tea before returning to the express.

heading to your room without delay you unwinded with a bath before settling down in your aptly proclaimed reading chair and cracking open the first of the books with knees almost to your chin.

crude and sufficiently embarrassing to read, you made your way through the first handful of chapters before warmth began to swirl in your stomach at the descriptions of many intimate encounters between the mage and her trusted albeit mysterious companion before an even and self-assured knock came from your door. you jolted up and shoved the book beneath a pillow after mentally noting your page number before opening the door in a flustered state; this was supposed to be your alone time with nothing but these tacky novels and maybe a hand down your shorts! who dares to knock? low and behold, behind the door was none other than the fresh passenger, Sunday. you shifted nervously as you greeted him and he returned it coupled with a practiced nod, ever so formal.

“apologies for interrupting any preoccupations, but i don’t believe we’ve made acquaintances yet. Sunday, the pleasure is truly mine,” he smiled in a manner that could only be described as an attempt to be casual but lined with a stiffness he clearly couldn’t shake. you returned the greeting and filled him in on your name though you knew he already was aware as you were of his. he hummed pensively and looked over your shoulder for a moment, “would you be offended should i ask to come in? i’d quite like the honourable chance to know you better,” and though you weren’t entirely pleased at the idea you nodded and side stepped to allow his entry.

his steps were smooth and straight to an unnatural degree as it wasn’t something anyone would usually notice and you forbid the thought that you cared. he turned his head this way and that to take in your space and all the decor you had taken the time to gather and put up. his gaze held a hint of calculation as he ascertained his thoughts though he didn’t voice approval or lack of. it wasn’t exactly comfortable to know a man so obsessed with perfection as Sunday was sizing up your room for anything askew but if he noticed anything, he didn’t voice it in favour of walking further in with the rhythmic clicks of his shoes on the hardwood. you almost screamed watching him approach the chair you had previously sat in and put himself there instead. his eyebrows furrowed and your shoulders raised, ready to squeak out some sort of excuse for him to actually please not look at what he’s sitting on but he was simply faster. a gloved hand retrieved the book and he dusted off the cover, though there was certainly no dust to accumulate in all of sixty seconds, before his face hardened even further and his cheeks flushed bright vermillion.

“this is…” Sunday trailed off not knowing how exactly to broach the subject of your reading material. he flipped the novel over in his hands to read the back and you almost died; hopefully the floor would soon swallow you up. “quite the choice. fascinating, i’d go so far to say,” he cleared his throat and you could swear the corners of his lips were quirked up for a moment, “are the other Nameless familiar with your taste in writing? or is this perhaps a naughty secret of yours? i’m beyond curious and this is seemingly better than any light chatter i could’ve produced on my own to pick your brain.” you fumbled over every word in your vocabulary before opting just to shake your head, eyes wide and palms suddenly damp. “i see. they’d be curious to know, i’d think,” Sunday stood back up from the chair and easily made it across the room once more, “a precious member of theirs indulging in grossly sinful material. perhaps we should take this to the parlour car for all to judge.”

after making a couple choked noises of protest, you slapped a hand on his chest rapidly shaking your head, “n-no!! they definitely do not need to see it!!” given your unfamiliarity with the man you really couldn’t tell if he was serious or not and certainly didn’t want to take the risk. he hummed at your desperate response and brought a hand to his chin to fake contemplate his next action. his nonchalance bordered on infuriating as if he hadn’t just threatened to put you as some sort of gross pervert to all of your dear companions. the embarrassment of such a thing would surely leave you with no choice but to depart the plane of the living. what a nuisance.

“the perhaps repenting for such things would be your best choice. as the former Bronze Melodia, i’m the perfect person for such a task, no?” Sunday seemed even more smug at his own suggestion, “i’m a very good listener, i’ll have you know.” you hesitated briefly, mortified at his suggestion, but if this was what you needed to do to avoid everyone knowing then so be it. dropping your head so you didn’t have to bear looking at him you responded in the form of a nod and he hummed in a pleased tone. “very good choice, little vixen. i expect you to follow my every word.”

with that, he lead you back to the same chair and once more seated himself before beckoning you to kneel between his legs. an indignant huff left your mouth but you listened to him anyways and dropped to the floor making sure your posture was perfection; you expect he’d scold you otherwise. he cleared his throat before speaking, “you must be honest with every answer you provide me. firstly tell me why you were drawn to such literature and secondly tell me how many novels of this variety you’ve read before.” you fiddled with your fingers and pretended to ponder his questions to put off having to answer but he snapped his fingers and arched one flawless brow, signalling you to hurry up.

“i… isn’t it obvious why i’d be reading that? the content is arousing,” you cringed at the admission and poor imitation of his speech, “and does it matter how many i’ve read? i honestly couldn’t give you a number if i tried…” Sunday chuckles at your response, amused at your flustered state and obviously enjoying exercising his power over you. he nodded in acknowledgment with an expression that could only be described as pitying as if he hadn’t put you in this position himself.

“very interesting. you’ve got quite fascinating hobbies, little dove,” with his words he leaned forwards to twirl a strand of your hair before grabbing your chin to keep your gaze on him alone. “i’m curious still. when you read such things, where do you imagine yourself? and who do you imagine it with? is it Dan Heng? or maybe you like your partners older, Mr. Yang perhaps? are you more interested in girls and is your taste more suited to miss March or miss Himeko?” his eyes seemed to shine with satisfaction at the way your jaw dropped in shock and your own wings twitched, curling in to attempt to cover your face. Sunday simply brushed them away and took great pleasure in knowing the touch was so very intimate. left with no choice you mumbled out a teary eyed answer.

“this is humiliating and invasive but i… i’m always on the submissive end. and i definitely don’t have any interest in my friends, they’re friends and nothing more,” you let your eye wander elsewhere with a thick swallow and attempt to stave off the impending sobs, “i wouldn’t consider us friends though… and i can’t help that i think of you.” he broke into a grin that read as predatory like a wolf that finally caught the deer. perhaps more akin to the peregrine and dove. Sunday only held your chin tighter.

“i had assumed as much. your face truthfully reveals all emotions and thought regardless of any attempts to conceal. it’s quite adorable,” he seemed to think for a moment before speaking again, “maybe we should test out your fantasies. compare your thoughts to reality and maybe it’ll be a sweet dream in its own right.” left with no room to argue, you wouldn’t anyways as even thought it was mortifying, how could you turn down a chance to be with a man you’d listed after over simple glances.

he helped your rise from the ground before settling you in his lap. through your shameful admirations of his face and form you’d always noticed how sultry his eyes naturally seemed to be with low lids and a firm gaze but he seemed even more sharp than anytime before. Sundays hands landed on your thighs where he smoothed over your skin and seemed pleased though a touch unsatisfied. you felt near humiliated at his lack of praise but your heart jumped as he coolly removed his gloves and set them along the arm of the chair before lowering his hands once more and nearly purred at the feeling. you felt like a victorian maiden seeing his bare hands for the first time as he appreciated the soft plush skin, palming and dragging his hands along everywhere he saw fit; not a spot was left untouched. his hands slowly slid up further to dip beneath the edge of your skirt and play with the trim along the bloomers you always wore beneath. it seemed as though he got off on layers of clothing if his own outfit was any indication paired with the melodic noises he made at every new piece of fabric. his hands easily slipped around you to undo the zipper and clasp of your skirt, helping you manoeuvre it off followed closely by the shorts. he turned his attention to your top, playing with the neckline before peeling it off as well and leaving you in nothing but your undergarments and jewellery atop his fully clothed lap.

he turned himself to your neck and licked his leo’s before leaning down to place soft kisses and to gently suckle and lick along your skin. you whimpered and shifted in his lap with and air of desperation, earning a chuckle against your throat, hands sliding along your stomach and waist, and a muttered praise you didn’t catch due to the fog swimming in your brain. Sunday gently rocked you back and forth along his lap, the stiffness beneath his trousers evident with every drag. bruises now speckled your skin like diamonds and he leaned back with a sigh to admire his painting. you reached to slide the jacket from his shoulders but he caught your wrists and disapprovingly tsked at you with a faux expression of disappointment.

“none of that, little dove. you’ll take me with only my cock pulled from my trousers. a befitting coupling for us, considering there’s not a doubt in my mind you take pleasure in this humiliation. for a little birdie you most certainly act like a dog in heat,” his fingers danced along your wings and drew a full body shiver from you. Sunday shifted his hips slightly to undo the button and zipper keeping you apart before fishing down his pants to pull out the dick you’d been longing for. he was just as pretty as his face and the tip shone with the evidence of his own arousal. you had to catch yourself before you started actually drooling and making a further fool of yourself. tender hands tugged you upwards to align himself with your needy and weeping hole, brushing himself back and forth teasingly. you almost smacked his chest at the action but he was quick to ease you down before you could. the sighs you both let out synchronized perfectly to create a private duet.

he was a perfect fit inside you. his cock nudged along every oh so sensitive place and curved just right to prod against each delicious spot. Sunday gently gripped your hips to set a rhythm that was intimate and deep, every thrust placed perfectly. you had assumed he was a virgin but his skill seemed to say otherwise. praise flowed from his mouth like a fountain between every delicate sigh and moan as you bounced atop him. you couldn’t help the desperate cries and sobs that left you. one of his hands left your hips to instead dip between your folds and quickly find the pretty bud with his fingertips to play with in tune.

“simply gorgeous. tight, warm, and dripping. you fit me like a glove,” he panted out, “you’re so beautiful above me like this. perhaps i’ve found something new to worship.” Sunday mindlessly let his mouth run and with every sweet phrase you tipped closer and closer to the edge. he felt you clenching clear as day and your hips move slightly more sloppy and desperate. he cooed gently, fingertips moving faster against you to encourage your peak and when you finally tipped over your back arched and your wings fluttered with each pleasured cry and squeeze of your insides. he followed closely behind and warmth spread through your guts. you could’ve sworn he glowed with the force of his own end, every drop seeping inside.

pulling you close to his chest, he smoothed one hand over your back as the other came to dance through your hair. Sunday hummed a tune you couldn’t recognize but was stunning nonetheless. spent and satisfied, you let your eyes shut and bathed in the afterglow until he gently prodded you to go wash up. your whole body was sticky with sweat and when you slid off him with a whimper pearly globs of his seed dripped out of you. you truthfully didn’t want to imagine how he felt through all those layers of clothes but you took pride in every wrinkle staining his typical flawless appearance; it was symbolic of your own victory.

he didn’t hold back, bathing along with you and gently cleaning you of everything between peppered kisses. you hadn’t expected romance to come so easy from Sunday himself but he was evidently well versed in the art. you took time to memorize every freckle and detail of his body finally getting to see him bare. you didn’t miss the flush that rose to his cheeks or the way his wings curled inwards to hide his flustered state and you felt proud to finally get him to feel embarrassed. he was beautiful and you hoped many more encounters would come. maybe you hoped for the relationship to bloom into something deeper too.

#cw: blackmailing #cw: power imbalance #2.7 spoilers #sunday x reader #sunday x you #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you

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dkfile · 1 year ago

Text

gold rush

❛ everybody wants you, everybody wonders what it would be like to love you. ❜ ━gold rush, taylor swift

word count | 19.2k (19,220) genre | fluff, angst, slowburn, exes to lovers, summer au ━ gn!reader

though there is no denying that kim mingyu was once a big part of your life, you believe that the pain he’s left you with is long gone; he is a memory, and that is all he will ever be. but then you get home, and he’s there, and maybe you have to reconsider just how much you’ve moved on.

★ warnings | brief mention of injury/scars/blood, alcohol consumption, suggestive if u squint, seokmin and minghao meddling, i think thats it tell me if i missed anything ★ author’s note | it’s finally here!!! this took me longer than i thought it would, i really thought it’d only be on the shorter side (shorter side in dkfile means >10k words) but. this is literally 19k. i lied to myself i guess. hope u guys enjoy tho !! lmk your thoughts :D

In movies, summer signifies new beginnings. The sun’s radiance is bright enough to blind, the ocean glimmers underneath its attention, the sand is warm to the touch. Ice cream drips down your fingers and makes them uncomfortably sticky against the humid breeze. Some people come home, others leave, but they all have the intent of starting their new chapter right. Summer is about growth. It is about moving on.

It is not supposed to be about Kim Mingyu.

seok ☀️ > can you pls pick up the phone > i’m sorryyyyy that i lied to you ☹️ > forgive me!! 😓💔🙏 > do you need me to grovel? because i will

You scowl.

When you came back from college, welcomed home with open arms by your family and childhood friends, you were reassured that a certain boy — with golden skin, starry eyes, and your crushed heart in the palm of his hand — would not be back in town. Foolishly, you looked past the mischievous quirk of Minghao’s eyebrow, and the sheepish wince painted across Seokmin’s face when you expressed your delight at having them all to yourself.

There would be no ex-boyfriend to thwart your plans, no boy to drown your summer in gasoline and set it aflame.

But then your shopping cart bumps into someone else’s at the store, and when you look up, the bane of your existence is staring at you, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.

You vaguely remember the rather sharp inhale Seokmin took from behind you before you scoffed, incredulous and irritated, and harshly stated that Seokmin could finish grocery shopping by himself. You do not want to associate yourself with the traitor and the liar your so-called best friend has become.

Seokmin claims you’re being rather overdramatic. He swears he didn’t know Mingyu would be home so soon.

(“So soon?” you repeated when you picked up Seokmin’s fifteenth call ten minutes ago. “What does that mean? That you knew he was always going to be coming home?”

“…Listen—”

You hung up).

You find yourself sitting in the skatepark a few blocks from the mart, legs curled up on the bench and your chin resting on your knees. As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, the occupants slowly pack up and leave, until the sounds of wheels against concrete is replaced with the murmur of cicadas and the laughter from the occasional passerby.

The warmth of the wood seeps through your denim shorts, percolating across your body until you are hot underneath your clothes. Despite the heat of the day giving way to the mellow cool of the evening, sweat forms on your upper lip and hairline, an indicator that it’s too hot to sit out here and contemplate every choice you’ve made up until this moment.

Still, you stay; you’re not sure why. You never quite liked it here, had only enjoyed it when you were surrounded by your friends and their saccharine laughter. The scars on your leg are painful reminders of the multiple falls you took when he was teaching you how to skate.

(Sometimes, on bad nights, you still feel the ghost of his fingers on your waist and your wrist, guiding you on his board while children much younger than you zoom by).

You never left this area without a new injury, whether it be a bruise on the shin or a scrape on the knee.

Memories of what once was linger.

You do not remember what you had for breakfast this morning, or what show Seokmin recommended to you a few hours ago, or what car your dad was planning on buying.

But you remember Mingyu. You remember his smile and his sweet cologne and the way his hair fell into his eyes whenever his shoulders shook with laughter. You remember what it feels like to be in his bubble; it feels like you’ve been dumped into molasses — you become aware of your every move, and time begins to move just a little slower, as if you are trying to savour every moment before he disappears.

You feel him before you hear him.

That’s why you’re not surprised when he talks, his voice soft from where he stands behind the bench. You imagine him with his hands tucked into his pockets, staring at the empty ramps (he is not looking at you. You would know if he was looking at you. His gaze would burn more than a thousand wildfires).

“I thought they told you.”

Your voice comes out hoarse. “They told me you weren’t coming home.”

“Oh,” he doesn’t sound surprised, but he stills offers an apology. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? You’re not the one who lied.”

A quiet heartbeat passes. “Right.”

Your fingers drum against your calf. “How did you find me, anyway? Did Seokmin track my location?”

“No,” he murmurs. His voice has been quiet ever since he arrived. “I just… figured you’d be here.”

You swallow a large lump in your throat. “Oh,” you say weakly.

“Yeah,” he responds. There’s a brief moment of contemplation. He knows there’s a line he cannot cross, but he tries anyway. “Do you want a ride home?”

Your response is immediate and firm, and its harshness is enough to break the calm façade he unintentionally built around the both of you. “No. I’ll walk.”

“It’s hot,” he argues.

“I don’t need you, Mingyu,” you bite back. He clamps his mouth shut as unease settles in the pit of your stomach. “I don’t— I’ll be fine.”

He seems to hesitate; you aren’t sure how long he stands behind you, searching for a response.

Then, as if it pains him to say: “Okay.”

“Damn,” Minghao falls into Seokmin’s shoulder as they both laugh at your stumbling, “You suck!”

“Hey,” Mingyu barks, though he looks more like a puppy than the intimidating boy he imagines himself to be, “it’s not like you’re any better!”

You know Mingyu’s only saying this to make you feel better — Minghao is, arguably, the best on wheels out of the four of you — but the sentiment still warms your heart. At your smile, Mingyu’s annoyed mien is replaced with a grin of his own. He reaches over to squeeze your cheek.

“I believe in you,” he declares.

“As much as I appreciate what you’re doing,” you begin, stretching out your arms to balance on the board, “I don’t think I’m ever going to master this.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Mingyu huffs, hands hovering over your sides once the skateboard begins to move, eyes trained on your feet. “By the time we get out of here, you’re gonna give Minghao a run for his money.”

You sigh. Mingyu was always one for wishful thinking.

“You really think I’ll be able to do this by myself in half an hour?”

Mingyu hums hopefully.

The sun has already begun to set, and you had promised your parents you’d be home for dinner. With fall around the corner, the days are slowly becoming shorter, a constant reminder that your last year of school is upon you. Next are college applications, then admissions, and conversations about your future that you aren’t quite ready to have.

But you’ll worry about that when you need to.

Because right now, there is the skate park, the late summer breeze, and Mingyu, who shrieks along with you when you lose balance. His arms grab onto your waist, bringing you back to the ground as the skateboard continues to roll down the concrete. Right now, there is the furrow of his eyebrows, the mixture of disappointment and amusement swirling in his eyes, and his forehead pressed against yours.

“I thought I told you not to zone out,” he says with a slight shake of his head. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

You shrug, pecking his nose before pulling away to chase after the skateboard. “You’re so dramatic. The worst I could’ve gotten was a scraped knee.”

Mingyu scoffs. “So? I don’t want you getting hurt under my watch.”

“You’re my boyfriend, not my babysitter.”

“Well, I might as well be,” he argues. “You’re more accident prone than me.”

Laughing, you jokingly say, “Guess that means you’ve finally met your match, Kim.”

People used to say you and Mingyu were made for each other.

It is something you’ve tried to forget, but the fact follows you around like a shadow. This town, small and aware of the breakup, can’t seem to wrap their heads around the fact that you and Mingyu are no longer extensions of one another.

At some point, you hoped that people would understand your discomfort whenever he’s mentioned, but the fact of the matter is that you and Mingyu had been a package deal from when you were in diapers up until the end of senior year, and when you’re intertwined with someone for that long, it’s just as hard for you as it is for everyone to forget that part of yourself.

When you stop by the pharmacy, you don’t ask about him (you have no reason to), but the pharmacist still informs you that you’ve just missed him; when you see your mother’s colleague, she gushes about how nice it must be to see him after all this time (you do not have the heart to tell her otherwise); when you buy a pack of Sprite bottles for Mrs. Boo’s annual summer barbecue, the clerk asks if you know if he’s going to be in attendance (you say you have not talked to him in three years, and the clerk tilts his head in confusion).

Your patience has been worn thin by the time you arrive at Seokmin’s house.

“Hello, sunshine,” Minghao drawls when his attention settles on you. He watches you scowl before setting your bag on the armchair and taking a seat beside him on the couch. “How was your morning?”

“I’m ditching,” you declare, brushing off his question.

“Ditching what?”

“The barbecue,” you deadpan. “What else?”

“Now, why the hell would you do that?”

“Minghao,” you say blankly, “would it kill you to use your brain for once?”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

Seokmin enters the living room, carrying three cans of iced tea, all of which he places on the coffee table. He throws you and Minghao a look of annoyance. “If you guys are going to argue, please don’t do it under my roof,” he gestures around the room, “it kills the vibes.”

You roll your eyes but mutter an apology under your breath. Beside you, Minghao quips, “Y/N decided ditching the barbecue would be a good idea.”

You’re used to Seokmin’s mannerisms by now, so you don’t even flinch when he waves his arms around in disbelief. “What?” he exclaims, crouching in front of your legs and taking your hands into his. “Why the hell would you do that?”

Minghao hums. “That’s what I said.”

“Put that brain of yours to good use.”

“They said that to me, too.”

Seokmin huffs, knowing better than to let your quips deter him. “Please don’t tell me this is about Mingyu.”

You quirk an eyebrow, to which Seokmin scoffs, letting go of your hands before plopping down in front of you, even though there’s a free spot on the other side of Minghao. They scrutinize you for a moment, Seokmin’s eyes narrowed and lips twisted into a frown while Minghao stares blankly, showing no emotion or an indication of what’s going on inside his head.

It does nothing to make you feel comfortable.

You aren’t a stranger to Minghao and Seokmin’s examinations — they’re experts when it comes to breaking you down with analyzations and calculating eyes. But you haven’t been home in three years, and being on the receiving end of something as intense as this is startling, if not a little troubling.

(Being the only one enduring this, absent of a certain boy, is unsettling as well, though you’d rather die than admit that).

Seokmin nudges your ankle with his knee. “You know you’ll regret not going to this thing,” he says, eyes sparkling with amusement when you bristle. “You haven’t seen the Boo’s in forever, too. They’d be sad if you miss it.”

“Imagine how Seungkwan would feel,” Minghao adds, poking your arm to look at him, and continues to do so when you don’t. “He’d be miserable.”

You pout. “I doubt it.”

“You were in the same badminton club for five years,” Minghao argues softly, “I think he would be.”

Seokmin states, “And you’re not the type of person to let someone down, are you?” He pauses for a moment before adding, “Well, other than me and Minghao, on occasion.”

You cross your arms, leaning further into the couch as you avoid eye contact. You’re adamant on skipping, but Seokmin and Minghao know you better than anyone else, so they know exactly how to word their sentences and fabricate their bribes to get you to agree. They know, as long as you keep this up, the entirety of your summer will be spent in the four walls in your house, the only place in town guaranteed to not have Kim Mingyu.

And it may be pathetic, really, to continue letting him affect you like this.

(But it has always been you and Mingyu, Mingyu and you. He is part of your soul. There is a void in your chest that’s the shape of him. How are you supposed to erase all memory of someone like that?)

A painted fingernail pokes your side, a knee bumps your shin. Your friends look at you, hopeful.

A sigh.

“Okay, fine.”

“Can I ask you something?”

You hum, collapsing on the bench beside Seungkwan, his newly dyed platinum blonde hair appearing orange under the setting sun. Sweat trinkles down his frame but his breathing remains even, showing no sign that he just finished playing a rather intense badminton game a few minutes prior.

“What are you guys doing after you graduate?”

You take a sip from your water bottle in hopes the liquid will make it easier to swallow the lump forming in your throat. You have never minded these types of conversations, though the reminder of the future creates a pit in your stomach that only continues to grow larger with each passing day. And, knowing Seungkwan, you know there is more to his question than college applications and major declarations.

“What do you mean?”

“You, Mingyu, Minghao, and Seokmin,” Seungkwan elaborates. “You’re all going to different colleges, right?”

Pursing your lips, you risk a glance at him, only to find that he’s staring ahead. “Minghao’s going abroad, yeah, and Seokmin’s thinking of staying here,” you explain, voice low. “Mingyu and I are going to be together, though.”

At this, Seungkwan turns to you, eyebrows furrowed. “You two are going to the same university?”

There is something about the way he asks this — unsure, withdrawn, and cautious. You see the flare of uncertainty in his eyes, and it’s enough for your heartrate to quicken.

“Yeah. Why?”

He opens and closes his mouth. There is war in his head. Very rarely do you see Seungkwan at a loss for words. He is usually so quick on his feet, so witty, so talkative, and the silence that falls between you both is painful and nerve-wracking.

Should you be worried?

“Nothing,” he eventually settles for, ignoring the silent question in your eyes. “I was just thinking about how nice that would be.”

You decide to believe him. It is so much easier to be ignorant, you think.

(But it is also much more painful later. You do not allow yourself to dwell).

“Why’d you ask, anyway?”

“I was just talking to Vernon and Chan, and I realized we all want different things,” Seungkwan sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. “We won’t all be together much longer. It feels… weird.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think you guys will be able to stay in touch?”

You shrug hopefully. “I think so,” you say, shifting your gaze to the horizon, “we’ve been friends forever. It’d take a lot to break that up.”

The scent of tangerines and aftershave fill your nose as you’re ambushed by a boy bursting with energy, bouncing on the balls of his feet while he resides in your arms, squeezing you tight as he spews angry statements that all come from a place of love.

Seungkwan is grinning by the time you pull away, grabbing you by your wrist and dragging you further into the backyard to catch up with other people. He doesn’t dare leave your side — he’s convinced you’ll slip away and disappear if he does — and you’re thankful; you don’t have the energy to steamroll through conversations today.

Though it’s humid, the warmth you’re engulfed in is a product of the Boo household. It is homely and welcoming and an embodiment of everything you’ve ever missed about home all in one lot. You should be happy to be here, surrounded by people you haven’t seen in years as a consequence of your avoidance, pulled into an endless pool of memories and nostalgia.

But you cannot shake it, the uneasiness.

You feel it as soon as the gate swings open and he enters, carrying two large Tupperware containers, one filled with brownies and the other with lemon squares. You feel it when he flashes his signature smile, canines as pearly white and blinding as you remember, and it still fills you with a sickening sense of joy.

“I’m gonna go get a brownie,” Seungkwan announces, loud enough to snap you out of it. “Do you want one?”

“No,” you decline, forcing yourself to smile even when you feel a burning sensation at the back of your head. “Thank you, though.”

Seungkwan nods and makes his way to the refreshments table, but not before wagging a finger in warning, “Don’t leave without saying goodbye!”

You frantically search the backyard, looking for any sign of Minghao or Seokmin, or maybe a superhero of some sorts to pull you away so you don’t disintegrate in the presence of Mingyu.

In your periphery, you see him excuse himself from conversations, eyes flickering towards you with a determination you aren’t unfamiliar with. It’s remorseful and desperate, and it reminds you of an instance in the skatepark a few years ago, you in his sweater and drowning in heartbreak and sorrow.

Someone swings their arm over your shoulder.

“Hey,” Minghao murmurs, steering you further into the backyard, away. You can’t help the sigh of relief that escapes you. “You okay?”

“Fine,” you grit your teeth.

“You’re gonna have to talk to him at some point,” he says, dropping his arm once he’s decided you’re far enough. “I feel like it’d do the both of you some good.”

“I have nothing to say to him,” you protest. “And I’m sure he has nothing to say to me.”

“I really don’t think that’s the truth.”

“It is.”

“You were in love with him,” he says. It slips out of his lips so easily, as if he were talking about the weather or the shapes of the clouds. You wish you could mutter an admission like that — accept something like that — the way he had. “And he was in love with you, and it ended badly. That is more than enough of a reason to talk.”

It ended badly. You always associated a statement like that with relationships that ended in screaming matches or slamming doors. Ones where a simple argument escalated into one that finalized a conclusion, ones where there was nothing in the room but anger and exhaustion that overpowered the love.

You’ve never associated it with how your relationship with Mingyu ended. The sun was rising, and birds were chirping, and you were standing in the same spot you asked him out, the same spot he asked you to prom, the same spot he murmured three simple words into your ear before you fell asleep on his shoulder on the park bench.

It didn’t end because of a fight. Sometimes, you wish it had — maybe then you’d feel differently about everything, about him.

It just came to a halt, and he had been the one to step on the brakes.

“Talk to him,” Minghao urges again, sympathetic but firm. “You don’t have to do it now, but just do it before you leave. Don’t you think you deserve some closure?”

You find him talking to some of your classmates from your graduating class. They hang onto every word he says, face alit with curiosity and admiration, because some things never change, and he has been put on a pedestal since birth. In the hallways of the high school, his name is on the trophies, he’s beaming in most of the pages in the yearbook, he is this town’s pride and joy.

But you know him.

You see him smile and you’re not blind to the discomfort and falseness behind it. He doesn’t want to be there, you think, and your thoughts are proven correct when he glances up to look at you, and his mask slips by a fraction. For a moment, you see sincerity, a glimpse of the Mingyu you once knew.

Someone taps him on the shoulder and, as you predicted, he puts the mask back on.

You hate that you still know him like the back of your hand.

He is leaning against your frame, playing with your fingers, when he asks the question.

“How do you do it?” he wonders, looking up briefly to meet your questioning gaze before returning his focus on your hands, tapping them to the beat of an overplayed pop song.

His head has dipped down, allowing you to rest your cheek against it. “Do what?”

“Talk to everyone like that,” he says, using his free hand to gesture towards the backyard filled with the people you’re currently hiding from. The both of you sit on the staircase by the front entrance, away from any prying eyes. “They were hanging onto every word you said. They’re practically in love with you.”

You snicker. “What, don’t tell me you’re jealous?”

Mingyu matches your teasing tone with a playful lilt of his own. “Oh, I am. I’ve got some competition.”

You nudge him with your shoulder. “Don’t be too upset when I pick Mrs. Boo over you.”

He hums. “No promises.”

A blanket of comfortable silence falls over you. He fidgets with your hands, brushing his thumb over your nails, and tracing the lines of your palms with his index finger. You close your eyes, listening to the fading chatter of the town and the faint sizzling of meat on the grill.

“I should be asking you that, y’know,” you eventually mumble. Mingyu’s movements stop. “You’ve got the whole town wrapped around your finger. I’m pretty sure everybody loves you.”

To get you to open your eyes, he pokes your cheek. “The same could be said about you,” he responds. “Besides, people only like the idea of me. What would they say if they found out my room’s never clean and I cycle through the same two pairs of socks year-round?”

You wrinkle your nose. “God, remind me to buy you a pack of socks from the store next time I’m at the mall.”

He laughs, an unpleasant snort involuntarily escaping his nose. “I’m serious. They don’t like me. They like the illusion.”

You finally look at him, meeting his softened gaze and mellow smile. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

“No, not really,” he shrugs, but there is a minuscule halt in his voice that you don’t catch. “The only opinion that matters to me is yours.”

You’re convinced Seokmin and Minghao are saints.

(You would never admit this, though. They would never shut up if you did).

For the entire 40-minute car ride, they manage to keep the calm, filling the silence with anecdotes about people you have only heard about through irregular video calls, and arguments about who should be in control of the music. Eventually, they settle for handing the aux over to Mingyu, who meets your gaze through the rearview mirror before clicking on a familiar playlist and looking out the window.

After the first five songs, your face heats up as you remember bashfully making him a playlist back in high school. You settle into your spot, hoping the battered polyester of Seokmin’s car seats will swallow you whole.

When you agreed to tag along on their trip out of town and into the city, Minghao and Seokmin didn’t bother hiding their surprise, especially since they made it clear Mingyu was going to be in attendance. Seungkwan even offered to let you carpool with him, Vernon, and Chan, but you declined — you might as well suck it up, seeing as you and Mingyu are going to be in the same vicinity for the rest of the summer.

Still, you can’t help but regret your decisions as you squirm in the backseat behind Seokmin, who’s fiddling with the A/C, listening intently to a story Minghao’s telling about some scandal involving two classmates he’s never talked to before. You’re thankful for their nosiness, because it gives you some level of comfort and helps you ignore Mingyu’s fleeting glances from the passenger seat.

“The professor’s a hardass so everyone was convinced they were fucking,” Minghao says, leaning forward in his seat. “Turns out he was just her stepdad, who suffered from a chronic case of favouritism.”

Seokmin snorts. “Out of all the conclusions to jump to, that’s the one they picked?”

Minghao quirks an eyebrow. “You of all people should not be saying that.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

As Seokmin and Minghao begin to bicker for the nth time that evening, your gaze slides from the window to the Snoopy trinket hanging from the rearview mirror to the mirror itself, and you can’t find it in you to be surprised when you see Mingyu already looking at you. An unsaid question dances in his eyes, wary and timid.

Are you sure this is okay?

You gulp, worrying your lips between your teeth before shrugging. Yes, it’s fine.

He raises his eyebrow. This is the first time you’ve acknowledged him tonight.

Really?

You shrug again. Really.

And you leave it at that, turning again to look outside.

Seokmin takes fifteen minutes to find a decent parking spot, so when you finally enter the nightclub, you’re prepared for the scowl on Seungkwan’s face when he spots the four of you. He scolds Seokmin first and receives a flick to his forehead in response, which only angers him more. Before you can meet his wrath, you slip away, moving to enter the booth and letting Mingyu and Minghao get the brunt of Seungkwan’s rage and disappointment.

“Y/N!” Chan exclaims when you settle next to him, wrapping his arms around your torso to give you a brief hug before sliding you his unfinished pint of beer. “I haven’t talked to you in forever!”

When you take a sip of the alcohol, you try your best to hide your grimace when the lukewarm liquid hits your tongue. “I talked to you at the barbecue two days ago.”

“Well, I missed you. Sue me,” he throws his hands up in exasperation. Across from you, Vernon hides his amused smile behind his own pint. “You come home after, what, three years? Forgive me if I’ve become clingy.”

“Didn’t know you missed me so much.”

Vernon’s eyes are dripping with mirth. “He went broke from using all his coins at the fountain in town square,” he says, laughing when Chan shoots him daggers. “He went there whenever he was free and was wishing you’d come back—”

“He’s exaggerating,” Chan huffs. In retaliation to Vernon’s teasing, Chan takes his friend’s pint of beer and chugs it down until there is nothing left. “I only wished whenever Mingyu was home, he was so mopey, he would’ve been happier if you were here.”

You freeze.

“Okay,” Vernon interjects, pushing himself out of his seat to move all the empty glasses away from Chan, as if doing so will help the situation. He throws you an apologetic look, though it lacks his usual sincerity. “That’s enough for tonight.”

Chan whines. “But I wanted to do tequila shots with everyone.”

“Drink this first,” Vernon instructs.

Chan grumbles but accepts the glass of water Vernon gives him.

Before you can say something about Chan’s offhanded comment, the rest of your friends climb into the booth, and Vernon and Chan ease their way into their conversation as soon as everyone’s seated. You lean back, cowering behind Minghao and Chan’s frames as Seungkwan makes a joke you barely catch and Minghao repeats every story he told on the journey here.

You try your best to engage in the conversation, really, but it’s been so long since you’ve been with this group of people. As they discuss events you were never there for, snippets of a summer you weren’t part of, the awkwardness begins to build in your stomach, because it was never supposed to be like this, you were never supposed to feel left out.

If the person you were a few years ago saw you now, you know they’d be a little disappointed. Maybe they’d pity you, too.

The consequences, you suppose, of never coming home.

Sighing, you gesture for Minghao to slip out of the booth so you can get out. You say something about going to the bar to get another drink, and he nods, squeezing your shoulder — his silent way of telling you to stay safe — before letting you go.

You try your best to avoid any stumbling individuals, wrinkling your nose and murmuring apologies that get lost in the noise when you can’t avoid bumping into someone. With a glance over your shoulder, you make sure your friends aren’t paying any attention to you before making your way towards the exit.

It’s a warm evening, but it’s cooler than it is inside, and you relish in the temporary peace before you have to inevitably make your way back. They’ll notice if you’re gone too long, and they’ve always been easy to worry.

“Hey.”

A tall frame enters your periphery, clad in a loose white t-shirt and light-washed jeans, staring ahead at the passing cars. You ignore the way his face falls when you shuffle further to the side, away from him.

Your history aside, Kim Mingyu has always run hot. Before, you wouldn’t mind — before, you would’ve been clinging onto him — but time has passed, and you aren’t the same people you were back in high school.

A part of you misses it. There is something so comfortable about Mingyu that you can only describe in insignificant memories, like when he moves you to the side furthest from the road, or when he wraps his scarf around your neck because the cold is nipping at your nose, or when he buys mini versions of your skincare products to keep in his house for when you’re too tired to drive back home.

It's almost homely. Like a hug, maybe.

(You missed it a lot, at first, his aura. Whenever you needed it most, you’d lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, and instead of sheep lulling you into slumber, it’s him. Way back when, he’d rub circles into your wrist to help you fall asleep, and you think of it then, because it used to bring you so much comfort).

(In your dreams, you murmur his name — Mingyu, Mingyu, Mingyu — like a prayer, like an incantation).

“I’m sorry.”

You jolt in surprise. Not at his voice, but at the apology. “Why?”

“You’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m not,” you protest with a frown. “I’m just… I couldn’t think of how to contribute to the conversation, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Mingyu says gently. He looks relieved. “So, you’re okay that I’m here?”

“Yeah, I mean, they’re your friends, too.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

A quiet moment passes, and you see the relief begin to crumble.

“Yeah, I don’t mind that you’re here,” you offer. The next sentence slips out before you can stop it, “I’m glad, actually.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “You are?”

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, wincing. “A little. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Before this month, you only saw him through Instagram, glimpses of his life that were curated to make his life seem special and happy and void of any worries. You only heard about him — the real him — when his name accidentally slipped out of your friends’ or your family’s mouths.

You can’t help but think that it wasn’t enough.

“How’s school?” he asks, subtly moving so he’s slightly facing you.

“It’s alright,” you answer. “Stressful, but that’s a given. My roommate got a boyfriend, though. He leaves his shit everywhere and he acts like he lives there.”

A soft chuckle leaves his lips. “Yeah, I know, Minghao told me.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Oh? Why would he tell you that?”

“I asked,” he shrugs. You finally, really look at him now, and your confusion is evident. He seems unfazed by it, but you can see the crimson slowly climbing up his neck. “I ask about you sometimes.”

“Why?”

You know why, you think. What’s the point in asking when you already know the reason behind his actions and intentions? Your soul is intertwined with his, it has been for a while, but you can’t seem to accept it.

You still hurt.

Minghao’s right. Maybe the closure is needed.

“Because I care about you,” he confesses, trying his best to hide his yearning. “You were my best friend, and I want to know if you’re still doing okay.”

Your fingers shake, so you stuff them into the pockets of your sweater. “And what do they tell you when you ask?”

He hesitates, scanning your face while he plans his best course of action. The wounds haven’t closed, the stitches were poorly sewn, and blood spills out of the cuts he left like the damage he’s done is fresh.

“They tell me that I should ask you myself,” he says, “But sometimes they take pity on me, and they’ll tell me things you’ve told them. Like the roommate situation, or the barista who fucked up your order, or how you scored the highest on an exam— congratulations, by the way.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Thank you,” you reply meekly.

“It’s no problem,” he responds. Contemplation flickers across his face before he adds, rather reluctantly, “I’m proud of you, you know.”

You feel the same way you did when he first confessed, like an immature and blubbering teenager, full of hope and optimism and dreams of what could be.

“Mingyu—”

“I mean it,” he interrupts. “I’ve seen the stuff you’ve posted, and I should’ve congratulated you then, I know that, but—”

You give him a small smile. “Better late than never.”

He flashes you a grin, the same one you’d longed to see, the one you used to humiliate yourself for. You would’ve done anything to see him smile like that — a smile that isn’t put on just for show, but one that’s genuine and blinding. It’s something reserved for certain people, those who have seen through the illusion that was created for him, those who have seen it and still love him for who he is, despite his faults and imperfections.

He nods. “Better late than never.”

Despite your best efforts to squash your delight, your heart escapes your desperate grip, and it soars.

It’s cold.

The ground has frozen over, leaving jagged pieces of ice all over the concrete. The snow, previously a crisp white, has turned brown due to its contact with cars. The wind is cold, persistent, it refuses to let you forget about its existence with each gust.

On the other side of the parking lot, you see your friends whisper amongst themselves before one of them throws his hands up in exasperation and stomps over to his car, a beat-up vehicle with torn polyester seats and discarded bubblegum wrappers on the floor. He’s grumbling something under his breath as he settles into the driver’s seat and leaves without so much as a goodbye.

It’s cold, and something’s wrong.

Your eyes find Mingyu’s and your stomach sinks.

Something’s wrong, but you’re unsure whether you’ll find out what it is tonight.

“Hey,” you say once he’s in earshot. He stiffens at the sound of your voice. “Is Seokmin okay?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu says. “I’ll just apologize tomorrow morning.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing big.” He tightens the scarf around his neck and turns to walk towards his car. You follow, because with Mingyu you always do, and look at him over the roof as he digs in his pockets for his keys.

You clench your jaw, uncomfortable (when was the last time you’ve felt unpleasant around him? Things have started getting weirder since everyone started sending in their college applications). You wonder if you should push for answers, but you stop yourself before you can open your mouth. You’ve never done something like this before — Mingyu has always told you everything; secrets between the two of you are scarce.

He unlocks the doors. “Is it okay if we stop by the convenience store before I bring you home? I gotta buy some ramen for my sister.”

He looks tired. Maybe you can ask him about what happened another day.

“Yeah, sure.”

He nods in thanks and enters before another gust of wind hits — it’s harsher this time, as if it’s sending you a warning.

You really should’ve brought your own scarf.

When your family yells for you to open the door, the last thing you expect to see on the other side of it is Kim Mingyu.

Your ire is gone in a flash.

“Um…”

Mingyu winces. “Hi. Sorry, I— your brother called me, he said it was an emergency, and I was worried, so—”

“Mingyu!” your brother yells excitedly, running out of the kitchen before throwing his arms around Mingyu’s torso. “You’re here! Thank God, Y/N was ruining the cake—”

You scoff loudly. “What the fuck, Daeshim? You’re the one who put in salt instead of sugar—"

“Get in, get in!” Daeshim says cheerily, throwing you a glare. You narrow your eyes in return, ignoring how Mingyu’s hands brush against yours when he makes his way towards the kitchen after toeing off his shoes. Daeshim pokes you. “I’m telling Mom you swore.”

“What are you, five?”

Daeshim sticks his tongue out. “Add some money in the swear jar.”

“I hate you,” you deadpan. Your eyes flicker to the white sneakers neatly placed by the other footwear, worn from years of use. “Why did you ask him to come here?”

Your brother shrugs. “He usually stops by, anyway, to help for Mom’s birthday.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” he says sarcastically, gesturing for you to move so he can shut the front door. “Are you sure you guys broke up? Cause when you didn’t come home for the summer, he would still check up on us and stuff, and he’d always ask about you. It was so weird. It felt like I was a child of divorce.”

You smack him on the head. “Can you not say that about my relationship?”

“Well, it’s not a relationship anymore,” he quips.

You tense, crossing your arms so you don’t give Daeshim the delight of seeing your clenched fists. “You know what I meant.”

“If you don’t want to stay, then go. But he’s not going anywhere until Mom’s cake is done.”

“Why not? We were doing just fine without him.”

“Are you serious? You know he’s better at baking than you ever will be.”

“Okay, rude.”

“It’s true—”

“Uh, guys?” Both of your heads snap to wear Mingyu peeks around the corner, his amusement thinly veiled behind his distress. “Your kitchen’s a mess.”

Daeshim grins, pointing his finger at you. “Y/N’s fault!” he exclaims before heading to the kitchen.

You poke your cheek with your tongue in annoyance, watching your sibling nonchalantly disappear from your line of sight before you focus on Mingyu. He’s leaning against the wall now, hands shoved in his sweatpants and his head tilted to the side. He looks at you like he’s studying you, trying to find a sign of any kind that he needs to leave.

He must’ve found nothing because he stays.

You clear your throat, straightening your posture. “It was not my fault.”

His lips quirk up. “Oh, I’m sure.”

He disappears before you can retort.

(He’s always been good at that — leaving before you have a chance to fight).

When you finally join them in the kitchen, there’s a familiar baby pink apron around Mingyu’s neck, already splattered with cake batter as he whisks something in a steel bowl. Daeshim is crouched in front of the fridge, putting containers of leftovers on the floor in search of something. You kick his leg with your foot, throwing him off balance, and you both give each other matching scowls.

“Don’t put the Tupperware on the floor.”

He rolls his eyes but picks them up without argument, placing them on the empty counter by the fridge. You don’t understand why he couldn’t have done that in the first place, but Daeshim is notorious for making terrible decisions.

You don’t miss the way Mingyu’s eyes soften when he sees you. “You’re gonna help?”

“I came with the intention to supervise Daeshim and make sure he doesn’t accidentally set something on fire, but…” you shrug, “I could help, yeah.”

“Perfect,” Mingyu grins. “Can you get the baking pan?”

You do as he asks, handing it over to him over the kitchen island. “You’re gonna put it in the oven already? Daeshim was complaining about the batter so much he almost convinced me there was no saving it.”

Mingyu snorts as he cautiously pours the mixture into the pan. “He was just being overdramatic—”

Daeshim snaps from his spot near the fridge. “Are you guys just gonna talk about me as if I’m not here?”

“—it was only a little runny,” he assures, making sure not a drop of batter ends up on the floor or the countertop. Once he’s done, he brushes his hands on the apron and wipes his forehead with his arm. “Can you put it in the oven? You guys preheated it, right?”

You hum in confirmation, carefully placing the tin in the oven as Mingyu steps over Daeshim to try and get to the sink. You frown at your brother, who’s been scouring for something since you walked in. “What the hell are you even looking for?”

“Strawberry milk.”

“I drank it all.”

Daeshim huffs. “Of course you did.” He stands, slamming the fridge door with a dramatic flick of his wrist before hastily making his way out of the kitchen and towards the exit. “I’m gonna go to the convenience store to get some.”

“Wha— No, you have to help clean—”

“Can’t hear you!”

There’s a few more footsteps and the sound of Daeshim struggling to put his shoes on before the door inevitably slams shut.

You don’t let the shock of your brother’s irritating audacity bother you for too long. The way your fingers swipe through your phone to find his contact is lightning quick, but the first call is sent to voicemail and before you can even try his cell a second time, you find that you’re blocked.

Prick.

Mingyu’s humming catches your attention. You look up from your phone to find him with his back against the sink. “Voicemail?”

“Blocked.”

Mingyu snorts. “Of course.”

You send him an awkward smile before turning away so you don’t have to face him. You and Mingyu haven’t spoken since last week on that trip out of town; after the two of you slipped back inside, no words were exchanged except for an apprehensive goodnight when Seokmin dropped you off at home.

With friends as nosy as your own, privacy is hard to come by, but now, in their absence, there’s nothing more you want than a buffer. The tension’s become more palpable without a third party, and your palms are getting clammy at just the thought of searching for an excuse to kick Mingyu out of the house without hurting his feelings.

(Why do you care? He hurt you first, didn’t he?)

“Hey,” Mingyu calls out tentatively. “Do you want me to help clean up? It’s a mess in here.” When you don’t reply, he adds, “I don’t want you to do this all by yourself.”

You take a look at the kitchen around you and decide that you don’t want him to leave, either.

“Okay.”

Mingyu grins. “Okay.”

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to find a system that’s not messy or chaotic or involves stepping into the other’s path — you and Mingyu have always been like that, like a cohesive unit. The feeling that shoots through your veins at the realization that you still are is nothing short of euphoric.

Before you know it, the kitchen is clean. The surface sparkles as Mingyu swipes a finger at it to see if there’s anything he’s missed, looking up at you with fleeting disappointment.

You think he’s about to announce that it’s time for him to go, but he surprises you when what comes out of his mouth is a question instead.

“Can I ask you something?”

You press yourself against the counter, thankful for the kitchen island acting as a barrier between you both. “Sure.”

“If we…” he pauses. Regret already begins to fester in his skin, pulled down by the weight of his frown and the pinch in his eyebrows. “Uh, never mind.”

Your heart lurches in your ribcage. “Mingyu—”

“It’s fine,” he assures but his smile is tight, and his tone says otherwise, “I should probably head back. I’ll — uh — I’ll see you?”

You gnaw at your bottom lip. “Yeah,” you say, ignoring the way your heart begins to crack as Mingyu unties the apron and slips it over his head. “Yeah, I’ll see you.”

A worrying cloud has attached itself to you, nibbling on every last bit of your sanity like a parasite. Because something is wrong, you’re sure of it, even if everyone around you acts otherwise. Seokmin still laughs and makes bad jokes, Minghao still scolds you for not bundling up more when it’s so cold outside, and Mingyu still attracts attention and reaches for your hand and pokes your cheek whenever you’re not paying enough attention to him.

Everything is normal.

(But…)

“Does this look stupid?” Mingyu asks, staring at the banner he’s hung up.

Minghao grabs a macaroon from the table and rearranges the assortment, so it looks like he never laid a finger on it. “Yes.”

Mingyu huffs before turning to you. “Is it really?”

“It’s a little crooked,” you say, taking your eyes off him for a moment when Minghao presses the macaroon into your palm after making a face to suggest he doesn’t like it.

As Mingyu assesses the best way to fix the Happy Birthday! banner, Minghao starts poking at the pile of presents. You frown, kicking his ankle with your foot in an attempt to get him to stop. He only flicks your shoulder in response.

“Don’t touch those,” you hiss.

“I’m just trying to guess what other people got him,” Minghao retorts.

You deadpan, “You’re sizing up the competition.”

“Yes,” he confirms, “I need to make sure my present is better than all of these.”

“You got him a gift card to Party City. I didn’t even know they had those.”

“He can use it for Halloween!”

“Halloween is nine months away.”

“Oh, whatever,” Minghao grumbles. “Seungkwan will find some sort of use for it. All that matters is that my present isn’t the worst one.” He turns to you, jabbing a finger at your shoulder. “Hey, wait, what did you get him?”

You push his wrist as a scowl takes over your previous amused expression. “What’s it to you?”

“You’re a horrible gift-giver.”

“That’s not true!” you object, immediately turning to walk over to Mingyu, who’s staring at the banner in distress. “Gyu! I need to ask you something—”

“Nuh-uh, you can’t ask him, he’ll agree with you!”

You mockingly pout at Minghao before tugging Mingyu’s sleeve. “Hey, babe, question.”

Mingyu’s more than happy to have his attention on something else, letting his hands that were previously taping up the banner fall onto your shoulders. “What’s up?”

“I’m a good gift-giver, right?”

A moment passes. You scoff. Minghao cackles.

“Listen—”

“What the hell?”

“I love you and everything,” Mingyu begins, “but you really aren’t.”

“I hate you.”

“You don’t,” he says quickly. “You love me. Even though you gave me a terrible birthday present last year.”

“You said you liked that apron!”

Minghao pipes up, “There’s a reason why he leaves it at your house, Y/N.”

You gasp, pointing an accusing finger at your boyfriend’s chest. Before you have a chance to defend your honour, Seokmin comes barrelling into the rented community centre, carrying two boxes of used decorations.

“Hey, guys,” he exhales, out of breath, dropping the large containers on the floor with a relieved huff. “So, the guests are coming in, like, twenty minutes, and Chan’s getting Seungkwan here in forty-five, so that should give us enough time to finish decorating… Mingyu, I thought I told you to deal with the banner?”

“It’s not cooperating with me,” your boyfriend whines.

Seokmin rolls his eyes before stomping over to the wall to fix the banner himself. Mingyu follows, grabbing the tape on his way so he can help. They don’t talk, at least not at a volume that allows you to hear what they’re saying — it’s only heated whispers that are exchanged, and you catch a glimpse of Mingyu’s nervous expression before it disappears completely.

He looks over his shoulder and flashes you a smile and it’s the same one you’ve seen him give everyone else. It’s a mask.

This isn’t something you should be on the receiving end of.

You open your mouth to say something — to say what, exactly, you aren’t sure — but Minghao tugs at your wrists and holds up a packet of balloons.

“We should start doing something before Seokmin gets mad,” he says before dragging you out of Seokmin and Mingyu’s earshot.

It’ll be okay, you think. This will pass over and your friend group will still be as close as you can be once university comes and you and Mingyu pack your bags, leaving this small town behind.

(But your worries refuse to let go; they’ve seeped into your bones, and you think their weight may crush you until you’re broken beyond repair. But ignorance is bliss, isn’t it? That’s what you’ve always said to yourself. And you’ve never needed to worry about something like this, whatever it is, before).

Everything will be fine.

Everything will not be fine, and you aren’t sure why Minghao thought it would be, but he was unbelievably wrong.

A rainy day has caused a picnic in the park to turn into a board game night at Seokmin’s house, and a homicidal game of Monopoly (a skit between Chan and Seokmin had been the last straw before Minghao flipped the board over) quickly transformed into a homicidal game of Twister. Before you is a jungle of limbs, and you’re glad that you were fast enough to volunteer to spin the wheel so you wouldn’t be caught in the inevitable crossfire.

“Left hand, red.”

Chan’s complaints come immediately.

“Chan,” Seungkwan warns, “I will kill you if you try to push me off.”

“I haven’t even moved yet.”

Seungkwan mocks his words with a high-pitched tone that barely resembles Chan’s voice before Minghao scolds them to cut it out and hurry up. Chan scoffs indignantly before moving his hand to a free red circle, struggling to find his balance.

“Are you good?” you ask blankly.

“Fine,” he grits out, “Just go so it gets to my turn faster.”

“Go slower!” Vernon exclaims from beside you, the first to be eliminated with his phone in one hand and a handful of popcorn in the other.

“Fuck you, Vernon!”

You spin the wheel. “Hao, right foot, green.”

Minghao huffs, but his new position, although uncomfortable, has given him the perfect opportunity to sabotage Seokmin. Almost as if they can sense your thoughts, your friends look at each other, one mischievous and the other in warning, before Minghao fakes a move, successfully luring Seokmin into his trap when the latter flinches and flails like a fish out of water before landing on his side.

Seokmin groans, sitting up and rubbing his ribcage as everyone laughs. He looks to you, giving you those puppy-dog eyes that always manage to worm him out of any undesirable situation he’s ever found himself in, but you only shrug helplessly in response. Seokmin sighs, flicking Minghao’s forehead, before making he settles beside you in all his pouty, wronged glory.

“It’s okay,” Vernon says from your other side, phone speaker pressed against his ear as a video of what just occurred plays on the phone. The sound of Seokmin’s yelp of surprise from 30 seconds ago causes your lips to twitch upwards. “You’ll get them next time!”

Seokmin leans into your shoulder. “Y/N! He’s making fun of me!”

You pat him reassuringly. “You’ll survive, don’t worry.”

“Hey!” Seungkwan interrupts. “Spin the wheel! It’s my turn.”

“Okay, okay! Right foot, blue.”

Much to your surprise, the rest of the game goes by smoothly with Seungkwan as the victor. Chan is beside himself, grumbling with his arms crossed as Seungkwan mimics the fall that led to his demise. When Chan opens his mouth to snap back, Minghao reaches over Vernon’s lap for the remote to increase the volume of the TV.

Once their argument has died down, Chan suggests, “Does anyone want to play Cards Against Humanity?”

“Lame, absolutely not,” Seokmin replies instantly. “I’m hungry.”

Seungkwan makes himself comfortable on the armchair. “Pizza should be coming soon. Who ordered it, anyway?” Mingyu raises his hand. “What did you get?”

“One cheese, one pepperoni.”

Chan boos, making a comment about the mediocre order which Mingyu skillfully brushes off, immune to his friends’ instigations after years of receiving them.

Minghao pokes Mingyu with his foot. “Can you check to see what time it’ll get here?”

Mingyu unlocks his phone while Vernon begins complaining about having to register for classes first thing tomorrow morning. His whines are halted, however, when Mingyu sharply inhales a breath and clears his throat sheepishly.

You raise an eyebrow. Everyone in the room knows what that means.

“Oh, what did you do now?”

“Seungkwan! What makes you think I did something wrong?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

Mingyu shakes his head before turning his phone so the screen is facing all of you. The screen says the order’s been good to go for the past five minutes, but— “I accidentally ordered for pick-up, not delivery.”

Chan rolls his eyes. “Then go pick it up.”

“What?”

“Well, it says the order’s ready, right? Go pick it up.”

“But I’m so comfortable here.”

“And we’re hungry.”

“Why does it have to be me?”

“Whose fault is it that the pizza guy isn’t on Seokmin’s doorstep right now?”

Mingyu huffs, clearly having run out of retorts. He’s quick to admit defeat, pushing himself off the couch and adjusting the hoodie that’s ridden up his torso. You watch his every move, ignoring Minghao’s gaze.

Just as he begins searching for his car keys, Minghao pipes up, “You shouldn’t go alone, though.”

Mingyu frowns. “Huh? Why not?”

“Because you’re clumsy and you’ll drop something.”

“Can’t you guys put some faith in me—?”

“Y/N could go with you.”

Mingyu closes his mouth, trapping any more complaints behind his teeth. You stare at Minghao like a deer caught in headlights.

Vernon is the first to protest, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “I don’t—”

“Mingyu’s clumsy and he’ll drop something,” Minghao repeats impatiently. He shares a glance with Seokmin, who seems to understand Minghao’s intentions in milliseconds.

“Yeah, and we can’t let Y/N go by themselves because the last time they drove they ran over my mailbox.”

You squawk in protest. “That was when I was sixteen, I—”

“And I’ve feared you every time you’ve gotten behind a wheel ever since,” Seokmin says. He swiftly dodges Seungkwan’s questioning nudge and Chan’s panic, giving you the biggest smile he can muster before letting his eyes land back on Minghao.

Minghao looks at you, apologetic and stern all at once. “The ride will only be, like, ten minutes. Five minutes there and back,” he shrugs, turning away to face the TV. “You’re both adults, you’ll be fine.”

You think you might strangle them.

“Okay,” Mingyu says from behind you. You look at him, he stares back. “We’ll be okay. Right?”

He’s offering you one last final chance to back out. Your fingers twitch at your side before you gulp, nodding. “Yeah, we’ll be okay.”

You’re shoved out the door before you can even blink, wearing Seokmin’s old Crocs instead of the sneakers you had arrived with (“These are faster to put on, make haste, make haste! Get out of here, I want my pizza!”). You sink further and further into the passenger seat as Mingyu pulls out of the driveway, trying your best to focus on anything besides him.

But it proves to be impossible. The air freshener is the same as it was all those years ago, the same cheap dog bobblehead is on the dashboard, the pack of gum he’s left in the cupholder is the same one he used to buy in bulk at the supermarket. Nothing in here has changed, as if the vehicle is stuck in time, refusing to move forward despite all the years that have passed.

Mingyu must’ve noticed you staring at the gum because he picks it up and hands it to you in silent offering. You shake your head, and he puts it down.

The awkwardness might as well eat you whole.

The radio does nothing to ease the tension when the next song that plays is about heartbreak and being left behind while everyone moves on. Your sanity is hanging on by a thread that might snap if you’re in this car any longer.

In the corner of your eye, Mingyu opens his mouth to speak, but he decides against it when the pizza parlour comes into view. He swiftly parks by the front entrance, and once you get out, you notice that the car is centred perfectly between the lines.

You suppose he’s gotten better at driving over the years. The last time you were here, he’d parked so crookedly your stomach hurt from laughing.

“Hey,” Mingyu says, staring at you quizzically. “Are you good?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, slipping past him when he holds the door open for you. “Thanks.”

He walks up to the counter, saying his order number to the employee and nodding understandingly when she explains that one of the pizzas had been dropped on the floor and they’ve gone to remake the order. He returns to you — beside you, as if it has always been his rightful place — hands tucked into his pockets as he sways on the balls of his feet.

This must be some form of torture, you think. Minghao and Seokmin have done this in retaliation for every bad thing you’ve ever done to them.

(“Seokmin and I love you both,” Minghao confesses over the phone, face blurry due to your unpredictable wi-fi, “You know that, right?”

“I do.”

“And we really think you should talk to each other,” he says, and even though you’re not looking at your phone, you can tell he’s staring at you in that analytical way of his while you try to finish an assignment. “Maybe it’ll do you some good.”

You sigh. “Hao—”

“It’s been three months. Let him explain.”

“I did,” you hiss. “He was the one that left.”

Silence. You rub your temples.

When you finally look at Minghao, he’s remorseful. “Sorry,” he murmurs, flopping onto his bed and letting his camera pan up to the ceiling. You can no longer see his face, but you can hear the despair in his voice. “It’s just hard, being in the middle of this.”

“I’m not asking you to pick sides.”

“I know that,” he argues softly. “I just want everything to go back to normal.”)

You dig your nails into your skin as Mingyu begins humming to a song playing over the speakers. It’s one that they’ve been playing for years, a pop song that will have to be pried out of a radio host’s dead, cold hands.

It’s a song Mingyu despises.

(It’s so catchy, though, he used to tell you, ashamed. You need to save me from it).

When Daeshim had called you at the end of the semester, the first thing out of his lips was a question about your return. You had agreed with reluctance, and he said something about how long it’s been, how time heals all wounds, that nothing should hurt anymore.

But three years cannot erase a lifetime.

You foolishly thought it could. When you arrived, you pretended you didn’t see an old photo of him taped on your closet door. When you first saw him at the supermarket, you ignored the way his hand twitched to reach over to you. When he talked to you outside of that nightclub, you evaded the familiarity of his warmth like it was a virus.

You foolishly thought it was enough. You built a wall of indifference around yourself, but it had begun to chip away just as quickly as you constructed it. It was never foolproof. It was never made of stone, but of cards.

One glance from Mingyu and it all comes tumbling down.

“Minghao told me a few days ago that you wanted to talk,” Mingyu says once the song has ended.

“Yeah.”

“But you don’t want to.”

“Not yet, no.”

“Well,” he says, taking a step towards the counter when the employee calls out his order number, “whenever you’re ready to, I’m here.”

“Something’s wrong.”

He understands what you mean. You’re not referring to the TV that won’t play the movie or the takeout that tastes a little off. You look at him nervously, afraid to break the flimsy spell of calm he’s enchanted on everything he touches.

“Yeah,” he replies, gripping the armrest tightly.

You blink at him, waiting for something he won’t offer. For a moment, he thinks you might push, but you have never been one to do so; you have always believed that doing something like that only throws you down a road of hurt.

So, he shouldn’t be surprised when you eventually nod in defeat.

“Well,” you say with a smile reserved for strangers you can only pretend to care about, “if you need to talk about it, I’m here.”

Four friends occupy a small corner of the skatepark. One of them is on the ramps, appearing in the air to do a trick before disappearing from sight. Another is rolling down the concrete, hands stretched out to maintain balance.

Two sit in the shade, watching.

“Do you think they’ll talk soon?” one of them asks, a taller boy with light brown hair and a beauty mark near the apple of his cheek.

The other, dressed in all black despite the sweltering heat, runs a hand through his mullet. “I don’t know, Seokmin. Probably. Hopefully.”

“Do you think they’re mad at us for forcing them to get the pizza?”

“Yes.”

Seokmin snorts, but his amusement is short-lived. He continues to observe his friends as they stray further and further from each other. He catches the way they glance over their shoulders in concern.

“They’re stupid, aren’t they, Minghao?” he finally says. The boy beside him hums in agreement. “Were they always like this in high school?”

“I don’t think so,” Minghao replies. “If they were, I don’t know how I managed to survive.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“Hypocrite.”

Seokmin sticks his tongue out. Then, quietly, as if the other two friends will hear, he says, “Well, they need to hurry up and talk. I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” he grumbles. “Maybe if I just told Y/N about it sooner, or pushed Mingyu—”

“Probably,” Minghao interrupts before Seokmin can concoct any more what-ifs from his brain. His stomach churns at the numerous possibilities he will never see. “But there’s nothing we can do it about it now.”

“Maybe things would be better if we did things differently.”

“Yeah, but the past is the past. Besides,” he sighs, watching one friend trip on his way towards them and the other struggle to stop themselves on the board, “this isn’t our problem to fix. I don’t think it ever was. We’ll just leave it to them.”

“You really think they’ll work it out?”

“God. I really hope so. It would put all of us out of our misery.”

Spring has long since bled into winter when you find yourself at the skatepark, wearing a sweater that was never yours with your heart dangling from its sleeve. It’s chilly at this hour of the morning when the world is quiet and your denial is prominent, and it gets even colder when your name falls from Mingyu’s lips and his touch is uncharacteristically icy against your skin.

You rip your wrist from his grasp and hurt flashes across his face before he takes a step back.

“I—” he gulps, “you shouldn’t run out like that.”

He purses his lips, and you notice how chapped they’ve gotten over the past few days. Everything about him has roughened up — it goes farther than his dry hands and the unruly state of his hair; he’s grown distant. He looks at you with a mixture of emotions you can’t explain, his words have are clipped, and you aren’t sure how long this behaviour would’ve gone on for if you hadn’t caught him signing up for classes at a university he never told you he was going to attend.

“You lied to me.”

He exhales shakily. “I know. I’m sorry, I—” he rubs a hand over his face because he doesn’t know what to say. Mingyu isn’t like this. People would kill to own even a sliver of his charisma; it’s so easy for him to talk himself out of things, but the words have died in his mouth before they even reached the tip of his tongue.

“You—You should’ve told me,” you stammer. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Mingyu has never felt this moronic before, standing before you and stretching his hand in your direction only to watch how, every time without fail, you take a step back as if any contact from him will result in third-degree burns.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “But you were already so worried about all of us growing apart after graduation, and I didn’t want to add onto that stress. So I kept putting it off, and I shouldn’t have, I know that, I just—” his face falls, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

It takes everything in him not to flinch when your anger flares. Your resolve is rotting away to dissolve into the morning air; he thinks, offhandedly, that the molecules of your decaying calm have collided once again and found purchase over his head. A cloud to loom over him, made up of your melancholy and his guilt.

“You didn’t want to hurt me,” you say incredulously, in a tone so hurt that Mingyu’s heart drops. “Well, look where we are now, Mingyu.”

He doesn’t like the position he’s put the both of you in. He doesn’t like how this conversation is tainting every happy memory he ever had at this skatepark. He wonders if he’ll see your hurt expression every time he closes his eyes.

This could’ve been avoided, he’s aware of that. Seokmin made sure to voice his disapproval every time they crossed paths, Minghao’s veil of indifference was slowly crumbling with each passing day, and Seungkwan — who made the mistake of being around when Mingyu let it slip that his post-graduation plans didn’t match yours — grew more nervous than all of them combined.

For as long as he can remember, everyone he knows has never done well with secrets. He’s always been a firm believer that they’re parasitic, the reason behind every downfall he’s ever had the displeasure of witnessing. But that was before he had a secret worth keeping.

(It does not matter if it’s worth it or not. At the end of the day, he was right all along. They are infectious, deadly little things).

Soon after he was born, it was common belief amongst townsfolk that he would change the world. It did not matter how; they would support him regardless. He thinks his entire being may as well have been made from diamonds with how he was created to be the star of something he never asked to be part of.

It’s exhausting.

The university you two had chosen at fifteen-years-old was perfect for you. When you took the virtual tours and exchanged messages with its students, you looked like you had stepped right out of a fairy tale. But it was two hours away from this town, so far yet so close to the very thing that’s been draining him of energy, and he quickly came to realize last summer that your dream school was the last thing he wanted.

But you would’ve followed him anywhere. If it weren’t for his, Minghao, and Seokmin’s insistence, you would’ve chosen to stay at home, because you never liked the idea of leaving everything behind.

That’s where you and he differ.

And he couldn’t take that from you.

Because you and him were always believed to be cut from the same cloth — model students, the perfect fit — but everything he touched tarnished and everything you touched turned to gold dust. He’s hidden behind an illusion all his life, but he knows for a fact that you’re meant to go above and beyond every expectation that’s ever been set for you.

Who is he to get in the way of that?

(He’s sure the only thing that’s setting you back is him. It has always been him. It’s only a matter of time before you realize it, too).

“I love you,” he confesses suddenly, startling you to your core. “And I’m so sorry.”

You look at him warily. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I fucked up,” he says.

“Yeah, you did.”

“But…” he trails off. When your eyes meet, something ignites inside of you.

(You have always known him better than any of them ever could).

“Mingyu—”

“Maybe it’s for the best if we—”

“Mingyu.”

He closes his eyes and hopes it’s enough to push the tears back. “I love you,” he says again, but his lips are quivering, and a sob threatens to escape the confines of his throat. “I love you so much that it physically hurt to do that to you, but it was for the better��”

Disbelief engulfs you in an instant, and you take a spontaneous step towards him in your surprise. “You’re not making a lot of sense right now,” you say, frantic, “I’m still really fucking mad at you, but we can talk this out, because I have no idea what you’re—”

“Just listen to me, Y/N, I don’t think—”

“You listen to me, because—”

“You deserve so much better than this, don’t you know that?” he snaps, shrinking into himself seconds later. His voice shakes with frustration. This hurts him beyond your imagination, but he’d do anything for you, even if it ends with him sporting wounds that will never heal. “And I’m holding you back, and I— I can’t do that to you. Not anymore.”

A sob melts into your words before you can stop it. “So you think the best way to fix that is to move across the country?”

“There were better ways to go about it,” he admits. “Ways that wouldn’t have ended like this, but I stand by what I said, Y/N.”

“Don’t do this, Mingyu. You don’t get to—” you stutter, inhaling hastily to regain your composure before looking him through your teary vision, “—you don’t get to break up with me over something as stupid as this.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he says it like a mantra, like it’s engraved into his brain and there’s no use trying to rid him of it.

“You don’t get to decide that!” you exclaim. “And even if that was true, it doesn’t matter to me. We love each other, Mingyu, isn’t that enough?”

You go to cup his face. This time, it’s he who takes a step back, and his heart screeches in pain at the sight of your crestfallen face.

“Maybe if I—” he runs a hand through his hair and tugs at the strands, forcing himself to continue, “Maybe if I loved you less, I’d let myself be selfish. But that’s not the case. That’s never been the case.”

That day you do not leave the skatepark with a scrape on your knee or a new bruise on your shins. But you don’t leave unscathed, either.

Your heart has been ripped from your chest, and Kim Mingyu carries the remnants of it with him.

Mingyu always liked people-watching.

He’d tell you it was nice to be on the other side of the microscope; to observe, not be observed. On the trips out of town, he’d sit anywhere that was bustling with people and make up stories about anyone who caught his eye: he’s cheating on his wife with his high school sweetheart, or she’s talking to her estranged cousin and she’s threatening to get a restraining order, or that little boy was meant to be a twin but he ate his sibling in the womb.

“That guy’s still in love with his ex-girlfriend even though they broke up a decade ago,” Mingyu says, subtly nodding towards a man supervising his child on the ramps.

The snort that escapes you dents the discomfort hanging in the air. “He reached out to her on Facebook, and it turns out she’s coming to visit.”

“They’re going to meet in the city. He told his wife he has work stuff.”

“His wife’s suspicious. She’s definitely hiring a PI.”

“But the PI sucks, he’s a fake and a scammer. He ends up tailing the wrong guy.”

“And the wife spent good money on him, too.”

“But she doesn’t really care since she paid the investigator using her husband’s money.”

“Good for her! It’s what he deserves for cheating.”

You smile, pressing your legs against your chest as you watch the kid soar through the park on her rollerskates. Her laughter’s loud, and you allow it to ring in your ears to momentarily distract yourself from Mingyu.

It’s overwhelming being here next to him. You’ve been here multiple times since you’ve come home, but the nostalgia and ache of watching him from afar does not compare to what you feel now that he’s by your side, sitting stiff on the park bench with his hands clasped in his lap. The dull throb in your chest becomes more prominent when he glances and catches your eye, hiding his yearning beneath a thin veil of indifference.

You turn away, and that’s enough for him to adorn the last bit of confidence he has. “Why’d you call me here?”

Resting your cheek against your knee, you murmur, “You know why I called you here.”

It does not matter that he’s known you almost as long as you’ve been alive — a room full of newborns would realize that he’s here because you want an explanation.

Closure really would be nice.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Ask me anything.”

When you slipped out of your house this morning, full of anticipation, you thought that it’d be hard for you to find the words. But you’ve stuffed the curiosity down your throat long enough. For years, all you could feel was a weight on your esophagus; the air you’ve been inhaling and expelling is nothing if not tainted with heartbreak, and you crave the feeling of fresh air again — something that’s free from the insecurities and the anguish and everything in between.

“Back then, did you tell Minghao we fought?” you ask. “Because he seems to think that we did. Every time he called me that’s all he would ask. Have you and Mingyu stopped fighting?”

He tilts his head. “Would you not say that was a fight?”

“Well, no,” you reply. “You just ended it, and I was trying to get you not to.”

Mingyu flinches but he’s quick to recover. “Nothing could’ve changed my mind back then.”

“Why?” you demand, unable to hide your despair.

Mingyu finally looks at you without tearing his gaze away. He’s exhausted, and you aren’t sure if it’s because of how early it is or if he’s just as drained from all of this as you are. The limbo between forgiveness and disdain was never made for the weak.

“Listen, I—”

“You told me you didn’t deserve me,” you say, “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I thought I could’ve been enough for you — I tried to be. But you always had everything planned out and I didn’t, I was living with a façade and you weren’t, and I— I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

Clenching your jaw, you say, “So, you moved.”

“I loved you,” he says quickly before you have the chance to ask him otherwise. “That was never the problem. I was scared. I guess part of me wanted to let go while you still thought I was worth it.”

“Don’t say that, Mingyu.”

“I know, I know,” he replies. “I’m working on the self-worth. It’s hard to come by.”

It hits you then, like you’re standing in the ocean as a large wave of water looms over your figure. You used to watch as everyone fawned over Mingyu as if he was untouchable, a divinity amongst men. You used to watch and lust for the days where you would turn out to be exactly the person he deserved to love.

But while Mingyu ached to be the person everyone made him out to be, you saw past your own desires and those who desired him. Through all that was carefully crafted, you saw him for who he truly was.

And you loved every inch of him. So much so that you’re convinced you’ll never be able to feel this way for anybody else.

“For what it’s worth,” you say, “back then, you were it for me. I would’ve loved you regardless.”

His gaze softens and, for a moment, sitting next to you is the same boy from all those years ago, who accepted your proposal for a date, who asked you to prom, who tattooed eight letters into your skin before slumber took you over.

“If we…” he begins carefully, “If I did things differently, do you think we could’ve made it?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’d like to think that we would’ve,” you nudge his shoulder in hopes that being playful will lighten the mood. “But none of that matters. We’re here now, and we talked.”

“We talked,” he nods. “We used to be terrible at that.”

“Not the best at communication, sure,” you smile softly. “But at least we fixed it. Better late than never.”

He bites the inside of his cheek to stop his own smile from growing any larger. “Better late than never.”

The sun envelopes you in a warm hug the moment you sit down, a companion in the serene summer’s day. Sand sticks to your skin, adhered to it by the sweat, clinging to you as if you’re its last hope to live.

The tranquility is interrupted by a screech, and you bet with closed eyes that it’s either Mingyu, who left a while back to get some ice cream and probably dropped it, or Chan, who decided to build a sandcastle close to the ocean despite the various protests he received in response.

You crack an eye open just as the water retreats from the shore. Chan stands before his unfinished monstrosity, staring in distress, while Vernon gives him a look as if to say I told you so.

From where he lies beside you, Seokmin announces, “If it makes you feel any better, it was a little ugly.”

“You said five minutes ago that it was good!”

“I was lying to you.”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan agrees, toeing the area where the castle once resided. “The moat was fucked up, too.”

“It was a moat.”

“And yet you fucked it up.”

Chan gives them an unsavoury gesture before instructing both Vernon and Seungkwan to help him make another. Reluctant but compliant, they take the pails you’d bought last minute at the dollar store and settle themselves farther away from the shore.

Seokmin salutes them for good luck before glancing at his phone. “Is Mingyu still at the boardwalk?"

Minghao hums. “Yeah, the line for ice cream’s probably long.”

“Okay, good,” Seokmin says before poking your shoulder aggressively, ignoring your complaints about how easily you bruise. “Gives me time to interrogate you.”

“Interrogate me?” you ask incredulously. “About what?”

He raises his hand, and you prepare yourself for the worst. It’s over for you the moment Seokmin begins listing things off his fingers. “You willingly sat in the backseat with Mingyu on the way here, you willingly talked to him for the entire car ride, and you willingly offered to go with him to get ice cream.”

“Hardly things to interrogate me over.”

“Hardly things to interrogate me over,” he mimics. “Don’t be ridiculous. Are you guys dating again?”

“What?”

“Ah. Have you two eloped?”

Minghao snorts as he opens the cap to his sunscreen. “Don’t be ridiculous. They’re just engaged.”

Seokmin places a hand on his chest. “Oh, thank goodness—”

“Are you guys insane?” you shriek, briefly scanning the beach in hopes nobody heard your friends’ remarks. “We just talked yesterday.”

“Oh,” Minghao muses, throwing the sunscreen over your head for Seokmin to catch. “And that’s it?”

“That’s it,” you confirm. “What else would there be?”

Minghao shrugs as he rubs the cream onto his arms. “Nothing, I guess.”

A noise escapes Seokmin’s throat, something akin to disagreement. You whip your head to face him as he raises his hands up in defence. “What is it?” you ask him.

“I just…” he waves his hand in the air with a small pout on his lips. “I’m confused, I guess. Everything’s resolved now? Just like that? We’re all friends again?”

“I wouldn’t say we’re friends,” you huff. “I don’t know what we are, either. But we have the rest of the summer to figure that out, so why the rush?”

Seokmin leans back on his elbows. “Well, whatever the two of you are, I’m glad you two talked, it was long overdue.”

Minghao nods in agreement.

From a few feet away, Seungkwan’s voice is loud amongst the waves crashing onto shore, the families relaxing under beach umbrellas, and the seagulls soaring through the sky. “Mingyu!” he exclaims in disbelief. “You didn’t drop any!”

You can’t catch a good glimpse of him without craning your neck, but his voice alone is enough to quicken your heartbeat. “Yeah, I know,” you hear him say, “I told you guys I’m not completely hopeless. Seven Drumsticks, all in perfect condition. Vernon, did you want the original flavour?”

It only takes a couple moments before he’s in your line of sight, standing in front of you with the sun’s blinding rays crowning his head like a halo. He grins, letting his sunglasses slip down his nose so you can see his eyes, and hands you a cone.

“Thanks,” you say.

His grin widens, just a little. “Don’t mention it. Hao, which one do you want?”

Once everyone’s finished their ice cream (and after a long debate that occurred due to Chan innocently asking for advice on what to do about his roommates back at his on-campus apartment), Seungkwan manages to find a beach volleyball court that’s unoccupied and persuades everyone to participate.

One set to ten points turns into the best out of three, and when your team begins to buckle under the pressure, Seungkwan suggests something with a sinister grin. “Losing team has to get buried under the sand and stay there for fifteen minutes.”

“Ten,” Seokmin negotiates.

“Twelve.”

“Five.”

Seungkwan squints. “You can’t go lower, that’s not how a negotiation works.”

“One person from the losing team gets buried under the sand for ten minutes and has to pay for dinner,” Chan says.

Seungkwan snaps his fingers before pointing to him. “Deal.”

It all ends, as expected, with Seungkwan’s team victorious. The three boys on the other side of the net exchange high-fives before returning to you and your sullen teammates with cocky grins. Minghao urges all of you to play a game of rock, paper, scissors to decide the true loser of today, and though you feigned indifference when you fumbled the last ball, the mask speedily cracks when the last two people left is you and Mingyu.

(“A duel between lovers,” Chan sighs dramatically. Minghao pinches his side).

Your eyes meet his, and something flickers in his expression. Gone too quick for you to decipher, but something in the back of your mind tells you that you should know exactly what he’s about to do.

Seokmin booms, “Rock, paper, scissors!”

You ball your hand into a fist and Mingyu curls his fingers into his palm except for two.

“Scissors beats rock,” Vernon slaps him on the back sympathetically before pointing at the ground. “Get comfortable, dude.”

With the amount of eagerness your friends exhibit, Mingyu is buried in minutes, stiff under the copious warm dust he’s under. Seokmin, with sand sticking to his hands, ruffles Mingyu’s hair and laughs when the latter crinkles his nose in disgust. Taking his sunglasses from his bag, you place them on the bridge of nose and brush off anything that got on his face.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Don’t mention it,” you echo. “I’m sure you’ll have fun here.”

He kisses his teeth in annoyance. “Oh, I bet. Once I get out of here, I’m gonna have tan lines on my collarbone.”

You smile. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I can stay here with you.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

“You’re here for ten minutes by yourself and the reason we lost is because of me,” you say, wincing at the memory of Seokmin and Chan shouting for you to retrieve the ball despite it being too far away for you to save. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Maybe,” he murmurs. “Since I let you win rock, paper, scissors.”

You blink at him. “I’m sorry?”

“You always choose rock.”

“What? Then why’d you choose scissors?”

Mingyu attempts to shrug and scowls when he can’t.

You flick his forehead. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“I wanted to.”

“Of course,” you snicker. “And how are you finding it underneath all that sand?”

He doesn’t even bother to pretend to be nonchalant. “Oh, it’s the worst. It’s slightly better with you here, though.”

You turn to look at the sea. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not?” he pouts. “I thought we were going to tell each other stuff from now on. You know, communicate better.”

“Well, still.”

“I’m just saying what I’m thinking!”

“You’re ridiculous.”

He laughs, loud and boisterous and it heals something in your very being. There’s a mirth in his eyes you haven’t seen in a long time, and you yearn to hear it again. Mingyu has always been beautiful, but he’s even more so when he’s happy, a boy so golden he could rival the sun and the stars in its beauty.

And he would win, you think.

(What you don’t know is that Mingyu thinks the same of you. Many things have changed, but one thing that never will is how much you shine. The sky and all its confidants, try as they might, would never rid you of your luster. To him, they’ll never prevail).

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you question.

He smiles. “No reason.”

Considering the fact that you spent a good part of your childhood running around the mall and giving into the urge of buying things you’ll never need, it’s a surprise that you forgot just how busy it gets during the summer.

(“Wow,” Mingyu had said. “You avoid me and this town for three years and suddenly you forget everything about it?”)

(He, along with everyone you’ve grown up with, will never let you live this down).

It’s a miracle the four of you even found somewhere to sit in the food court — a booth, no less. Part of you wonders if Seokmin sweet-talked a family into giving up this table for him, and you feel only a sliver of pity for whoever has to eat in an area that’s affected by the vibrant rays of the sun.

Once Minghao and Seokmin have returned from buying their food, they send you and Mingyu off to get your lunch with the promise that they’ll wait for you both before they start eating. Mingyu walks ahead, careful not to trip over anyone as he observes the signs of each food joint you pass, and glances over his shoulder to make sure you haven’t gotten lost in the crowd amid his indecision.

“What are you getting?” he asks once the two of you can hear each other above the many mallgoers.

“Don’t know. Pad Thai, maybe.”

“Nice. I was thinking getting a burger at Burger King, but…” he gestures towards the long line and winces. “I don’t have the patience for that.”

“So?”

“So, what?”

“What are you going to eat then?”

“Oh,” Mingyu frowns before shrugging nonchalantly. “Pad Thai it is, then. I think that has the shortest line.”

“Really? When we passed by KFC it didn’t look too bad—”

Mingyu turns, pointing to the Thai place across from you. “Pad Thai! Let’s go before the line gets any longer,” he proclaims, wrapping a hand around your elbow and gently tugging you towards the smell of stir-fry.

It’s easy to fall back into rhythm with Mingyu — so much so that it scares you, just a little. While you assumed it wouldn’t have been too weird once the barrier of the old relationship was removed, you hadn’t thought it would’ve been this comfortable. You assumed everything would be stilted for a short period before the puzzle pieces returned to their places, but this was unpredictable. This is familiar (everything with Mingyu always is); more familiar than riding a bike, or the scar on your knee, or your mom’s tendency to hover over you now that you’ve returned.

His skin against yours all while offering to lend you his jacket and pay for your food could be seen as simple acts of friendship — and if it were anybody else, you would agree, but your ties with each other, since the beginning of time, have regularly toed the line of romantic. It is a fact you cannot deny, and trying to do so would be like saying the sky is green or oxygen isn’t a requirement for survival.

The void in your chest used to be in the shape of him — freshly eighteen and brought down by his expectations along with everybody else’s — and you have tried other remedies to heal it: avoidance, sinking into other people’s sheets, tossing every physical memory you have of him in a box that you never ended up donating.

Who knew that the void would be filled by the same boy who caused it? Only this time, he’s standing in front of you, a little taller, sporting a different haircut, and learning how to live on his own terms.

“Fuck,” he says as he digs through his wallet. “I think I don’t have any cash to pay with. Man, I really didn’t want to use my credit card today.”

“It’s fine,” you say. “I’ll pay. You already gave me your jacket even though I said you didn’t have to.”

“You were cold,” he argues. “If you didn’t want me to give it to you, then maybe don’t get cold next time.”

You scoff. “Well, tell whoever’s managing the A/C to turn it down. It’s like stepping into a freezer in here.”

Mingyu mutters — something along the lines of so dramatic — before he shifts the position of his open wallet in his hands and continues digging for bills that aren’t there. What is there, however, is a photo all too familiar.

You place a hand on his wrist to stop him from moving. “Hey, is that a picture of me?”

Mingyu freezes. Then, he pulls away from your grip. “No.”

“Okay. Then who was it?”

You stare at each other for a beat too long, interrupted by someone asking if you can move up the line, and it’s only then that Mingyu turns away, bashful, and murmuring, “Okay, fine. It’s you.”

You try not to let the giddiness get to you. “And why, exactly, do you have a picture of me in there?”

“It’s not just you,” he lies. “Minghao and Seokmin are also in there.”

“No, I don’t think so,” you reply matter-of-factly. “I got a good glimpse, and I think it was just me.”

He tuts. “Believe what you want to believe.”

“I’m choosing to believe the truth.”

He sulks, taking another step towards the register. “You’re finding this too funny for my liking.”

“I’m not! I think it’s cute,” you object. “Why is it in there in the first place?”

“Maybe I just wanted to put it in there, it’s a good photo!”

“Of course.”

“You’re photogenic,” he adds. “Besides, what’s wrong with keeping a photo of my friend in my wallet?”

The question escapes you before you can think twice. “Is that what we are?”

Mingyu quietens, uncertain. Then, after rapidly fighting an internal battle, he says, “Before everything else, you’re my best friend.”

You nod because that’s the case for you, too. “But?”

His digs his teeth into his bottom lip before he opens his mouth, the answer on the tip of his tongue.

“I—”

“Next, please!”

Mingyu flinches, but it only takes a glance at the long line behind him before he’s grabbing his credit card. “C’mon,” he interlocks his pinky with yours. “Order what you want, it’s on me.”

“Mingyu—”

He gives you a smile. “It’s fine,” he assures quietly. “I want to.”

(In his wallet is a candid polaroid — a person on the beach, laughing at a joke made by someone who hasn’t been photographed. The picture has no crinkles, either because it’s deeply cherished or because it’s new — maybe both is the case.

It replaces an older photo, one that’s years old, taken while he was in high school of the same person. Still candid, still radiant, still laughing. He’s treasured it for years, but he decides it’s time to relocate it. Maybe when he gets back to his apartment, he’ll put it on his fridge. It was looking a little empty, anyway).

Mingyu doesn’t particularly like it here. It brings up old feelings he’s working to retire as well as a medley of insecurities and unease.

But he would be lying if he said that the bad was the only thing this town has to offer.

The skatepark brings comfort, a corner of the world where freedom comes from touching the sky in the seconds his board lifts from the ground, a playground of cement and ramps and splintered benches found under trees that have been alive far longer than he has. It comes from his friends’ homes; Seungkwan’s spacious backyard and Seokmin’s living room where drink rings litter the coffee table as a consequence of never using the coasters.

It comes from the people. It comes from his family, who hugs him tight and listens to every concern he has under the sun. It comes from his friends, a group of rambunctious people who he has too many inside jokes with, and who drag him into shenanigans he has no option of backing out of.

It comes from you. Comfort always comes from you.

From where he stands in the corner, he watches you scour the karaoke song book, protesting all of Chan’s suggestions before entering a number onto the TV. Then you squint at the lyrics on the screen before you begin singing.

The others in the living room are in awe, captivated despite your inability to hold a note. Your gleeful smile makes up for what you lack in the singing department, and Mingyu supposes he’s no different than everybody else when you meet his eyes in the crowd and his palms begin to sweat. You hold his gaze for far too long, causing you to lose your spot in the song, and you sheepishly turn away before trying to make up for your mistakes.

He stays until the end, the loudest to clap despite your score being nothing exciting (it’s exciting to him, and that’s all that matters), and raises his hand in greeting with a silent promise to see you later when you’re pulled into a conversation with someone you used to play badminton with.

He ducks into the kitchen before he’s forced to engage in more small talk with another person. His footsteps quicken along with his growing desire to grab another beer, hidden behind the soda cans Seungkwan shoved inside for the party.

(Mingyu doesn’t entirely know what or who this party is for. He only recalls the texts between him and Minghao three days prior:

hao 👨‍🎨 > party at seungkwan’s on saturday

mingyu > not coming

hao 👨‍🎨 > 😐 ok ur loss > y/n is tho

mingyu > … i’ll bring my mom’s brownies).

Mingyu opens the can the moment it’s in his hands, relishing in the temporary sound of fizzing before taking a sip. The only straggler in the kitchen is him; everyone gathered in the living room the moment Seungkwan turned the karaoke machine on. He situates himself so he can see just through the threshold, keeping an eye out for the moment you’re free so he can pull you aside to talk.

About what, he doesn’t know. Winging it has always been his thing.

“Yo, Mingyu,” Seokmin greets as he makes his way to the fridge. “What are you doing in here?”

“Hiding.”

“It’s nice to know some things haven’t changed,” Seokmin quips, digging through the variety of drinks, “you’re still a loser.”

“You love me.”

“Oh, of course, that was never in question. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re a loser.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “I hate you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Sprite for me, beer for Vernon.” He stands to his full height and cranes his neck to look at Mingyu around the fridge door. “Was that the last of it?”

“I think so, yeah.”

Seokmin doesn’t look that defeated when he grabs two cans of Sprite. “Maybe that’s for the best. He’s drunk enough as it is.” Off Mingyu’s confusion, Seokmin adds, “I know, he never gets wasted, but he’s on the waitlist for a screenwriting class, so he’s upset beyond repair.”

“And he’s always saying everyone else is more dramatic than he is.”

“Right? He’s only second on the waitlist, too.”

Mingyu laughs but his eyes involuntarily flicker back to the door to see if you’re still talking to other people. He frowns when he notices you’ve disappeared from where he spotted you last, and he debates taking out his phone and texting you to ask where you are.

Seokmin kisses his teeth. “Are you sure you want to stay in here by yourself? Y/N probably wants to talk to you.”

“They’re talking to other people. I’m fine waiting it out.”

Seokmin looks like he’s going to oppose Mingyu’s decisions, but he opts for shrugging instead. “Alright, if you say so. Don’t wait too long, though.”

“I won’t,” Mingyu promises. Seokmin begins his trek back to the living room, one soda dangling from each hand, when Mingyu suddenly calls out, “Hey, wait.”

Seokmin falters awkwardly in his step before turning around with furrowed eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“I, uh,” Mingyu rubs his neck, wincing. “I don’t think I ever apologized.”

The confusion on Seokmin’s face is wiped away to be replaced with triumph. He points an accusatory finger at his friend while his voice echoes in the four walls of the Boo kitchen. “I knew it! You did steal my beanie, you liar, the next time I visit you, I’m taking it back, and it better be in good condition! I can’t believe you took it with you across the country, that’s so fucked up—”

“Huh? No, what?” Mingyu says in disbelief. “For the last time, I didn’t steal your beanie—”

“Okay, sure, then who was it, then?”

“I don’t know!”

“Then what are you apologizing for?”

“For not listening to you!” Mingyu exclaims. “Back then, you told me to tell Y/N the truth and I didn’t listen when I should have. If I did, you and Hao wouldn’t have been put in the middle of everything.”

“Oh,” Seokmin makes a face and waves him off. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But—”

“You made a mistake. A stupid one, yeah, and I’m probably never going to let you live it down, but,” he smiles gently, “we’re okay now. Just focus on what you’ll do about… you know.”

“…What?”

“You know,” Seokmin parrots. “Y/N. I mean, you still love them, don’t you?”

Without hesitation, Mingyu responds, “Well, no fucking shit.”

Seokmin makes a noise of satisfaction before turning on his heel. Over his shoulder, he singsongs, “Don’t fuck anything up!”

Mingyu scoffs. “I won’t!”

With each passing minute, the night gets livelier, and Mingyu ends up re-entering the living room and talking to other people despite his internal insistence not to. It keeps him busy, momentarily distracting him from the way his heartrate spikes at the thought of speaking to you tonight.

In the middle of his conversation with a former basketball teammate, a microphone ends up in his hands, and before he can blink, he’s pushed in front of the TV. It takes him a moment too long before he realizes that he’s been forced to sing a duet with you.

(Behind the couch, Minghao snorts at Seokmin’s devilish grin.

“I thought I told you to stay out of it.”

“I am!” Seokmin says, “I’m only giving them a slight push in the right direction!”)

The timer begins counting down.

Five.

“Just so you know,” you begin, “Seungkwan and Chan are going after us. We have to score as high as possible.”

Four.

“I don’t think we can manage that, to be honest.”

Three.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re great at singing, so you can make up for how bad I am.”

Two.

“I don’t—”

One.

“Believe in yourself, Mingyu.”

You bring the microphone up to your lips and begin to sing, and he can only follow your movements.

It takes an unfathomable amount of willpower to stop himself from staring at you for the song’s entirety. He clenches his fist as he recites the lyrics, but when it gets to the bridge and it’s your turn to take the reins, Mingyu lets his guard down, his hand falling limply to his side as you laugh through your part.

He has never been an expert in love — few of the decisions he’s made in the name of it have seldom ended well — and when he was younger, the only thing he ever knew regarding it was you. Before, he thought that wouldn’t have been enough, that in order to be the person you deserved, he had to know more.

However, he’s older now, and things change with time.

You glance at him and the butterfly in his stomach rapidly flaps its wings.

(Other things don’t).

He doesn’t even know the song’s ended until arms wrap around his neck. He stumbles backwards before he forces himself to find his footing so he can properly return your excited hug. Mingyu pays no mind to the score flashing onscreen, nor the claps coming from everyone else; all he can smell is your shampoo, he feels your breath on his skin, and that is much more important than a karaoke score ever will be.

Seungkwan says, “That’s not even a good score.”

You loosen your grip around Mingyu so you can look at Seungkwan, and he immediately yearns for more. “Be quiet, this is the best I’ve gotten all night,” you retort. You turn to face Mingyu again, shaking him by the shoulders. “We did good! I told you to believe in yourself!”

Before he can reply, you’re pulled apart by Chan, who’s itching to take his turn. He rips the mics from his and your hands, and you slip from Mingyu’s fingers once again when Vernon asks you if you can help him look for another can of beer.

He exhales in defeat, accepts Chan shooing him away with grace, and slips outside.

He leans over the porch railing, staring at the watercolour sky, a mixture of pink and orange and yellow.

Mingyu hangs his head, wondering just how many more times you’ll get whisked away before he even has a chance to utter a word. He prefers smaller gatherings, because at least then he’d be able to talk to you with ease.

He’s not quite sure how many more times he’ll be able to stand by and watch you go before he loses his mind.

Behind him, the door slides open, and he assumes it’s Seokmin telling him to get a move on. But the footsteps sound different than his friend’s, and he immediately perks up when a familiar scent reaches his nose.

“Hey.”

Your frame enters his periphery, your university jacket hanging on your shoulders with the sleeves covering your hands.

Mingyu straightens. “Hi.”

You settle beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and Mingyu immediately relaxes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, “what makes you think I’m not?”

“You’ve been hiding from everyone since the night began,” you answer. “You don’t wanna be here, huh?”

“Of course I want to be here.” You raise an eyebrow at his lie. “Okay, fine, I don’t really want to be here.”

“Then why’d you come?”

“…I thought it would’ve been fun.”

“Really?” you snort. “Do you even know what this party is for?”

“Well… no.”

He expects you to roll your eyes, but instead you sigh in relief. “Okay, that makes me feel better, because I don’t either.”

“Well, I only came because Minghao told me you’d be coming,” he confesses.

You tilt your head in confusion. “I only came because Seokmin told me you’d be coming.”

He furrows his eyebrows and spares a glance through the glass doors at his friends. “…Huh.”

You huff, following his gaze. “I swear they always have their nose in our business.”

Mingyu looks back at you. “You have to admit, though, they’re pretty good at luring us into parties we don’t want to attend,” he smirks good-naturedly. “Who knew you still had a soft spot for me?”

Turning away from him, flustered, you grumble, “Shut up, don’t act like you didn’t come here because you wanted to see me.”

“I’m not!” he proclaims. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I make it pretty obvious that I like seeing you.”

“You’re so cheesy.”

“Only for you.”

You lightly punch his arm when the laughs that escape his lips grow louder. “I thought I told you that you can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not?” he hums. “I mean what I say, Y/N.”

“I’m not saying you don’t, it’s just…” you place your arms on the railing, leaning forward to avoid eye contact, “It’s confusing, that’s all.”

Mingyu faces you while you face away, watches how you stare at the setting sun instead of him, and his heart clenches. When you went your separate ways, he craved to be near you again, but even next to him, you still feel so far away.

(In hindsight, maybe he should’ve planned out how to go about this beforehand).

“You used to say stuff like that all the time,” you explain. “You know, before, uh—”

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

A million scenarios flash through his mind; different results depending on what he says next. He’s typically so good at saying the right thing — his words got him out of trouble and charmed his neighbours — but he’s found that his voice fails him whenever he needs it the most. When he tried to muster the courage to tell you about everything, he was never able to, and he gave into the false reassurances his mind offered that all would be alright in the end.

But none of that matters, you had said. We’re here now.

“You know what I never understood?” you ask.

“What?”

“You don’t like it here. Not a lot, anyway,” you start, “so why did you keep coming back?”

“Well, my family’s here, you know. So are our friends,” he gulps. “And I thought you would be, too.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He nudges your elbow. “Can I ask you something?”

You chance a glance at him. “Sure, yeah.”

“What you said the other day,” he murmurs, unblinking, “about how I would’ve been it for you, has that changed?”

“Why are you asking?”

He bites the inside of his cheek as his cheeks begin to redden. “Do you really need me to say it?”

You frown. “Say what—?”

“I love you,” he blurts out. “And I know that might be kind of weird, since a lot’s changed since we last saw each other, but that’s the one thing I haven’t been able to shake. Not that— not that I ever wanted to— I just… I think it’s a part of me. Like I was born with it.”

You look at him, eyes glassy, unable to speak.

“But y’know what’s weirder?” he adds. “I’m pretty sure I’ll never get sick of it.”

It’s his turn to face away, turning towards the sun as you stare at the side of his face. The silence drenches the backyard like sudden, thunderous rainfall. For him, it’s unwelcome, and his eardrums echo with his confession.

He tries his best to hide his lovesickness, but the intensity of his longing prevents him from doing so. For the entire summer — perhaps for years, really — he’s been pushing it all down. He’s tired of it all. Of hiding, of pretending, of brushing off his esurient desire for you.

“It’s not weird,” you say, finally, saving him from his misery.

“Sorry?”

“You said it’s weird that you still love me,” you muse. “But I don’t think it is. It wouldn’t be fair of me to.”

His lips part. “What do you—?”

“Of course you’re it for me, Mingyu,” you tell him frustratedly. “You have been since the beginning of time. I don’t want you to go a day without believing it. I know what it’s like to live with you and to live without you, and I really prefer the first option.”

Mingyu’s pretty sure his brain short-circuits.

With quick movements, he inches closer to you, eyes flickering down to your lips before he asks, “Really?”

“What do you mean, really? Why would I—?”

“Can I kiss you?” he interrupts, slowly moving his hands closer to your face. “Please?”

He’s sure the longing in your eyes is wild enough to rival his.

(What an odd turn of events, is it not? Despite being on opposite sides of the country, you used to believe there weren’t enough miles between you and Mingyu for you to heal properly. But now, with his lips hovering over yours, you’re beginning to think that he is not close enough).

You take his face into your hands, and you kiss him.

Mingyu stumbles, surprised by your fervor, but matches it with ease. His hands move from your face to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he moves to have his back against the railing. Your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck, and he surprises himself with a moan at just how much he’s missed it — your hands pulling at his locks, his lips against yours.

He used to pray for this.

When you pull away to catch your breath, he chases you, too dazed to acknowledge your amused mien. You go to peck his lips to soothe him, but he makes sure to hold you against him, his hunger far from satiated.

He stops himself for a moment, breath hot on your skin. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

You smile against his mouth. “I think that’s the best idea you’ve had all night.”

“I feel like you’ve been faking it.”

“I have not.”

“You definitely have. Skateboarding isn’t that hard.”

Mingyu throws his arm around you in defence. “Hey, give them a break, Minghao.”

“Yeah!” Seokmin pipes up, “Y/N was just terrible at it because they can’t balance at all.”

“You know,” you grunt, crossing your arms, “I thought you guys would be proud of me for finally managing to skate across the park without actually falling.”

“I’m proud of you,” Mingyu says, pecking the side of your head. “And I think that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, I can always count on you having my back,” you say, leaning further into him and pointedly glaring at the other two boys in front of you.

Seokmin waves you off. “Hey, I think this might be the first time ever you didn’t get injured at the skatepark.”

You go to protest before frowning. “…I think you’re right, actually. That’s so weird.”

Minghao snorts. “Maybe we should teach you some tricks then.”

You glance at Mingyu, and he seems to really be considering it. “Oh, absolutely not. Are you trying to kill me?”

“I’ll teach you the easy ones!” Mingyu begins, standing in front of you so he’s all you see. He places his hands on your shoulders and squeezes them in reassurance. “You’re already a pro at just skating around, so this should be a piece of cake!”

“Mingyu,” you whine.

“Please,” he matches your tone. “I like teaching you stuff! It’ll be fun!” he lets go of your shoulders and rolls the board so it’s by your feet and offers you his hand as if you’ll need help getting on. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Your wariness is squashed the moment he flashes you a soothing smile.

You sigh. “You promise?”

He crosses his heart. “With everything that I have.”

Without a second thought, you place your hand in his.

He squeezes it immediately in a silent vow:

I’ll be here to catch you if you fall.

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damn-stark · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 23 Mother I’m tired

Chapter 23 of Moonlight

A/N- Daemon you big softy

Warning- swearing, some violence, talks of pregnancy and blood, angst!!, fluff!!!, SPOILERS FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 463-465

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

“Dear Princess,

I hope this finds you well.

Well, actually, I hope this finds you at all—

You scoff in amusement and muster a faint smile.

—We're separated by two different sides of this war so I find writing to you quite difficult, but if you ever find yourself back with your mother you’ll read this and know that you’re on my mind with every step I take throughout this relentless war.

The truth is I want rid of you. You are a married woman and no matter how much I desire the death of your perfect husband, life is cruel and may spit in the face of my desires. It already stomped on it when you had to leave to marry him, so it may pierce its hateful blade in my heart and hurt me even more so.

Alas even if I know I’m in world pain clinging onto a fragment of hope that fate will unite us for the rest of our lives, I still hope. I still wait for any word from you, or about you like a hopeless fool. Which is why when I got the message you sent with the brother from the Night’s Watch, my breath got caught. I’m gladdened by the fact that you’re doing okay, I hope it is true, words from the mouths of others can only assure me so much, and I know you too, I know the mask you put on in front of the masses.

Then again I suppose it’s necessary for people like us, now more than ever, but that is why I hope that you continue to be okay. Or really as okay as one can be after losing so much.

I am sorry, darling. My heart and my thoughts are with you. I know how much you loved your brother. He was a great and honorable man—

No matter how much you wanted to hold back, tears break out of your eyes and pour down your face, staining the silks that cover your pillows. Tears that come from a deep and great sorrow that you have refused to feel since Jacaerys death, but bombard you now over old words from a man you adore. Because of course he out of everyone you know can break the shell that shielded you from feeling deep and heavy grief that you didn’t want to feel.

And why would you want to feel it? You had already endured so much pain, why would you want to deal with a much greater one? One you could possibly never recover from?

But he made you feel it. Him, and being back with your family made you feel all the hurt.

Ever since you’ve stepped foot in King’s Landing all you have felt is a great and paralyzing depression. Ever since you fell into bed it seems like you can’t will yourself to get out of it, or will yourself to get even a short nap. You’re just awake staring at the ceiling thinking about who you lost and who you love. It’s as if being with Aemond, being away from all that reminds you of who you can’t see anymore helped you avoid the pain, but now that you’re away from Aemond and away from any excuse to distract yourself, the pain has increased tenfold.

It makes you want to stop reading the letter to at least avoid feeling a sliver of pain even though you have already been hit with stormy wave after stormy wave with no clearing in sight.

Then again how can you stop mid-way when he took time to write to you and took a risk for him and yourself?

—He did not deserve the fate he got. He deserved a good and long life, I believe that and I am sorry he didn’t get it. I’m sorry you had to watch him take his last breath, but then again I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted anyone else by his side. He loved you, I saw that. He cared deeply for you, I saw that too. Jacaerys loved you, I hope you know that darling.

Just like I hope you know that I wish I could relate to your pain, it would make your suffering a little less, but I can’t even fathom your pain. Even still I want to try, please let me try. Don't isolate yourself, please. If not me, confide in someone else, I just don’t wish you to be alone, okay?

With that said I do hope you keep making a name for yourself, My Princess.

I hope that fate puts us on the same side so we can fight side by side, that would be the greatest honor of my life.

Until then, or until we win this war.

Cregan.”

More tears stream down the curve of your cheeks, tears that bring out sob after sob and choke you up until you have to bring yourself to a stop to catch your breath.

After that, when you can find a way to stop, you stay in bed and Vanessa lets you, giving you space to wallow in your sorrow even though she worries. She tries to get you to eat, but a bite is all you take, choosing instead to lay back in bed with the balcony door and every window open, welcoming in the brisk autumn air that blows the curtains inwards and only makes you snuggle deeper in your blankets as the flowing curtains blow in all around you.

Vanessa thought the letter from Cregan would lift your spirits, but it only worked to sink you deeper, to the point she feels helpless on how to help you at least get up and get dressed or to at least go visit Helaena since she oftentimes finds a way to make you smile without as much as trying.

She almost finds herself thinking that Aemond is the solution. Yet even if he is, he could never join your side to console you, so she has to make your mother your solution. She needs you to make up because it’s something she knows you both desperately need. After all, she’s seen how much your mother has missed you, and she oftentimes finds her carrying one of your rings, or an object that reminds her of you since she doesn’t have you. So she knows you both need each other more than you both can say with words or simple aching looks.

Nevertheless, just as she tries to leave the room to go find the Queen, a knock raps on the door, piquing your interest.

“Come,” you welcome the visitor and push yourself to sit up as the visitor opens the door and reveals that it’s Rhaena and Baela.

“Cousin…” Baela’s greeting trails off as she sees you still in your nightgown. “You missed breakfast,” she says so slowly as she shares a worried glance with Rhaena that you miss since your attention drifts to Ser Jason.

“Ser please come in,” you order, making him stiffen and look at Vanessa with confusion before he very slowly and awkwardly makes his way inside whilst you finally get out of bed.

“It's cold in here,” Rhaena points out as she studies you and is quicker to make out why you’re caught under such a gloomy spell. “Let me close the windows and the balcony door.”

You pass her a mindless hum and meet Ser Jason halfway to study his neck right away, finding the bruises Aemond left him less prominent, but still marked on his skin.

“How’s your head?” You ask as you let your fingers hover over the bruise, causing him to swallow back nervously.

“Uh, I-it’s fine,” he stammers as his eyes are glued to you. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. Spending my time in the cell at Harrenhal let me heal without strain.”

You meet his gaze with concern and let your hand fall on his shoulder, which he follows and keeps watching.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him softly. “He…” you trail off and can’t find it in yourself to say that Aemond didn’t mean to because deep inside you know he did. You can’t defend what he did. “He hurt you, and I know that you’re going to say it means nothing, but you are my sworn protector, not his. He shouldn’t have treated you like that, I’m sorry.”

Ser Jason quickly parts his lips but just as he draws in a breath to retort, he doesn’t, instead he drops his gaze and says, “thank you.”

He then proceeds to lift his gaze to your belly and frowns. “Are you alright? Alys said you had a scrape on your side.”

You breathe out deeply and nod. “I’m fine. It was just a stumble.”

“You fell?” Baela blurts, bringing a tense silence to the room that you don’t fill and don’t want Ser Jason to fill, but alas, he does.

“Prince Aemond pushed her.”

You shoot him a threatening glare, but he doesn’t falter. He’s proud.

“He did what?” Rhaena snaps and steps forward. “When? Why?”

“Is that why you left?” Baela bounces off her sister.

“You said you caught yourself on something,” Vanessa also adds her two cents, making you clench your jaw before you rebuttal.

“It was an accident,” you defend yourself but Baela cuts in.

“That’s what they all say. Where is he?”

You shake your head and quickly interject. “No, it was. Harrenhal…has a way of playing tricks on one’s mind. He wasn’t himself. He would never hurt me. Never.”

Baela scoffs and rolls her eyes and just before she can argue Rhaena clutches onto her arm and gives her a warning squeeze that makes her keep her mouth shut.

“I’m fine,” you assure all three women. “And the twins are fine, so please leave it be.”

Baela draws in a breath to argue, but alas Rhaena forces her to stay quiet, letting you return your attention to Ser Jason.

“If you need it, rest, alright?” You cut the conversation short since he found a way to annoy you. “Thank you, Ser.”

He bows his head and turns around on his heels to walk off, making Vanessa do the same to leave you be with your cousins. Yet once you are alone you ruminate in a tense silence that no one can find a way to break.

You all get closer to each other but the silence lingers and mingles for a while until Rhaena is the first one to break the silence. “Are you okay?” She directs at you.

You spare her a glance and nod. “Yes, I am. It was just a scrape.”

“No,” she quickly counters. “I mean are you okay?”

There’s no need for clarification, you realize she’s referring to the puffy eyes, the nightgown you still sport, the unmade bed, and the untouched breakfast Vanessa left in hopes you would finish.

“I,” your voice trembles. “I will be. I think. I just…I miss Jacaerys,” you let yourself say out loud for the first time, causing tears to well up in your eyes and start to sting in both Baela and Rhaena’s eyes since they too feel the same way—“I really miss my brother,” you add with a quiver in your voice, making Baela nod softly before she interjects with a crack in her voice.

“Me too.”

You meet her gaze and hold it, finding the same grief in her eyes and in the eyes of Rhaena.

You all share the same grief and now that you all know and see that you all feel the same way, you mindlessly come together and embrace, finding a sense of relief in your shared grief, in the shared tears you all shed, in the warmth of your embrace, and in your beating hearts thumping in sync against each other.

For so long the grief you held was shoved back. You were more mad than sad for so long, and even if you had wanted to be sad one day, you would have cried by yourself when you wanted to be comforted because Aemond would never get it. He hated your brothers, he hated what and who they were. He would have hugged you if you asked, he would kiss your head and rub your back, but you wouldn’t share the grief you share with the girls now. You would have grieved alone in the arms of the man you loved while he probably thought Jacaerys death was good riddance.

Not Baela or Rhaena though. You all understand each other and genuinely comfort each other in the silence that stays until you break it with a question you can’t hold back. “You’re not mad at me, are you? For leaving?”

You would ask if they’re mad at what you’ve done to House Strong and to support Aemond, but you wouldn’t care if they were because it’s not something that you give any doubting thought to. It happened and it’s in the past. All you care about is if they’re still mad that you left.

“No,” Rhaena reassures you, and then Baela adds her own thoughts.

“Not anymore.”

You chuckle softly and pull away to share a very faint but relieved smile. “I’m happy to be with you two again.”

Rhaena grabs your shoulder and offers you a much sweeter smile. “I’m happy you’re back where you belong too.”

Baela hums in agreement before her smile widens. “Why don’t we help you get ready for the day, hm? Get you out of your nightgown so you may feel better.”

You scoff but can’t help but let them do what they please, finding yourself enjoying the moment. It’s like a clearing in the dark storm, especially when Aerion is brought to you and joins you and the girls.

Yet a small clearing is all it is, a beam of light that breaks through the dark clouds but doesn’t rid the storm. The storm still swirls and keeps your mind and spirit dim. You still want to sulk in your bed and not do a single thing, but alas you’re distracted and thankful for it.

A part of you forgets the war happening past the city. You’re making a sweet memory with your cousins and live in the obliviousness for a short moment until the door opens and your mother walks in, bringing in the reminder of the travesty of war.

“Ma!” Aerion exclaims and grins as he points at your mother making her way into the room. “Ma!”

Your lips twitch to a smile at the reaction your son gives your mother, and you can’t help but press a gentle kiss on the back of his head before you look at your mother with a fading smile and growing concern.

“Your Grace,” Rhaena, Baela, and you greet your mother, bringing a short smile to her face before she directs her attention at just you.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she interjects as she comes to a stop a few feet before you.

“No, we’re done,” Baela responds. “We wanted to braid her hair but we left it for later so we didn’t take up her entire day.”

Your mother hums in comprehension and lets out a deep breath before she continues. “Then I hope you don’t mind that I steal the princess from your company.”

“Of course not,” Rhaena doesn’t hesitate, bringing an awkward smile to your lips—“I can take Aerion,” she adds and doesn’t linger back before she walks over and takes your son from you. Which he doesn’t mind, he goes willingly and passes your mother a happy smile.

“We’ll see you later,” Baela directs at you and then turns to your mother to curtsy before she follows Rhaena out, leaving you and your mother alone in your chambers that is riddled with a very deafening silence that neither of you know how to break. Should you linger in the silence until the tension leaves? Or just break it altogether?

What should you say first?

There’s so much you need to say—

“You look well in silver and black,” your mother breaks the silence, drifting your gaze to her and then back to your gown to stroke over the wrinkles.

“Thank you,” you respond softly and blink to slowly look back up at her, finding one of your rings attached to a gold necklace around her neck but not daring to comment on it.

“Could you accompany me to where we keep Balerion’s skull?” She finally starts to clue you in as to why she’s here, making you nod softly in agreement before following her out of your chambers and toward your destination, ending up in another deafening silence that lasts longer than before.

“I hope you don’t mind that I let Alicent see Aerion every day at dinner time,” your mother brings up, answering that certain question that you had in mind. “She requested spending time with him and she’s behaved so I let her. I hope that’s alright with you.”

You quickly respond with a nod and then follow up with a reassuring response. “Of course, that’s fine, after all, she’s also his grandmother and regardless of how she’s behaved with me she does treat him well and loves him. Besides, he loves her to bits, so I know he loves spending his time with her.”

Your mother scoffs. “That’s perhaps one of the only redeemable things about her,” she adds. “She loves her grandchildren and seems to treat them far better than she does her children.”

You hum and add an agreeing statement. “Yes, I agree.”

Silence follows after that and accompanies you the entire way to where Balerion’s skull is kept. Even when you come to a stop before the skull of the great dragon, the silence lingers with neither of you knowing what to say first. You just watch the flames dancing on the candles that surround the skull until a candle sitting in front of you dies, letting the smoke rise in an attempt to touch the high ceiling.

“Is it true that you are immune to fire?” Your mother finally asks something she’s been anticipating asking since the first whisper was heard.

“Uh, yes,” you give her a clear answer and avert your gaze. “I…didn’t mean to keep it a secret, I just…wanted to know what I was exactly before I told anyone.”

“The books,” your mother whispers as she shares the dots she connected some time ago. “That’s why you wanted to know about our histories.”

You nod gently. “Yes, but they contained nothing useful,” you say and slowly meet her gaze, finding her eyes full of wonder before they’re stricken with a flicker of sadness.

“I’m sorry I did not know before,” she interjects and glances at one of the dancing flames. “I should have. I’m your mother.”

You shift closer to her and tilt your head to the side to find her gaze and quickly console her. “No, I only recently found out myself. I would have told you. You would be the first person I would have told, but I was scared of what I was. I thought I was some curse, some demon,” you pause and can’t help but smile at the irony of that word because now you embrace such a name. But alas your smile then fades and your face returns to your previous expression. “I have learned to embrace it now though. Watch…” you trail off and lift your hand to tug the sleeve down and then put your fingers in the small candlelight.

Your mother gasps out of instinct, but when you don’t flinch and your flesh doesn’t burn, an awestruck breath gets caught in her throat whilst her eyes glimmer with the same awe.

“The Smallfolk only got to spread what I am because…I burnt a house down,” you admit with some embarrassment. “And Aemond, well he caught me, but it was actually such a relief for him to know…” you trail off and pull your hand back, letting your sleeve fall back in place.

“He made me feel seen and understood, he continued to love me for it and made me feel strong and untouchable…until…all it came to that day at the Gullet,” you didn’t mean to take the conversation to such a dark place, but you couldn’t help it. You can’t help the feelings you’re hit with, and you can’t stop them either. You don’t even try now, not now, not here because you’re with her, your own weakness that lets you let go of this invincible person that you want everyone to know you by as the moment slowly embraces you with a comfort you ached to feel.

“I left the moment I found out what was transcending,” you continue and look at the candlelight before you, unknowingly bringing light to your guilt and grief that rolls in like an angry wave—“I only stopped once to fix my armor but I continued after that and I was still…I was,” you stammer as a thick ball of emotions start to form in your throat. “I was still late. I tried to be there on time.” You nod and snap your watery gaze at her, seeing that her own eyes are starting to water.

“I did. I tried to help him. I got him out of the water, but I-I couldn’t save him, but I tried. You have to believe that I did. You have to believe I wanted to find Viserys. I would never hurt them, mama,” you cry and clutch onto your own hands to plead with all that you are. “I tried so hard. I did. I did. Mama, you have to believe me.”

Tears break out of your mother's eyes and her heart, what little is left, breaks for you, for the way you break down and beg her to believe you even though she never ever blamed you for a thing, or even thought that you had something to do with what happened at the Gullet. It’s why it’s easy for her to finally close that space between you and grab ahold of your face.

“I-I,” you can’t even continue because your tears are choking you and making it hard to breathe.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she says words you barely believe but don’t take for granted. It’s like music to your wounded soul. “And I never thought it was. You tried, I know that. I heard it, and I appreciate it with every inch of my heart.”

“You do?” You question her, making her nod gently with a wobbly smile before she slides her hands down to grab your shoulders first and then slide them back to pull you in for an embrace that makes you stiffen and question if it’s real.

For so long you thought you would never feel her embrace, for so long you thought she turned her back on you, and for so long have you been mad at her. So now that you feel her arms wrapped around you, keeping you protected against her, you’re caught in disbelief.

“Mama,” you mewl, and after you realize that she really is hugging you and that it really is given with so much love, you return her embrace with a tight hold. “I…really miss them.”

Your mother nods in agreement and her shoulders shake as she does, letting you know with that alone that you’re sharing the same grief. You’re estranged souls finally connect and comfort each other in your sorrow. You only break the moment so you can pull back and continue sharing what you need to tell her.

“I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’m sorry I have been such a bad daughter. I’m sorry.”

Your mother draws in shaky breath before she shakes her head and breathes out so she can share what has been weighing her down too. “The fault is not on you alone. I have some blame too. I should have told you about your father, I trust you, he trusted you and I should have not kept that from you out of all people. I’m sorry I did, and you have every right to be mad at me for it.”

“No,” you cut in and bring your hands down to hold hers. “No. I'm not mad anymore. I forgive you, I do.”

A smile twitches on her lips but she’s far from feeling content so she continues. “And I’m sorry it made you feel the way it did. You, My Love, are loved beyond measure. Your father and I,” she says and strokes your cheek. “Have loved you since we found out we were expecting you. You are my first love and my strength. I love you in more ways than I could ever put into words.”

Tears accompany her words, making you lift your hands to wipe them off her cheeks as you cry too.

“I love you my Sweet girl. I love you so much. I could never forsake you, never. You need to know that, you need to remember that,” she presses, causing you to let out a sob as you nod in comprehension.

“I love you too mama,” you muster between sobs. “I know I don’t say it as much as I should, but I do. I Iove you.”

She grins before she presses her forehead against yours and leaves you both finding comfort in your silence and in your presence until your tears dry and your breaths don’t shutter anymore.

“Besides apologizing, I also came to tell you something else,” your mother fills the silence, piquing your curiosity even though you have a clue as to where she’s heading.

“It's a choice that I should have always chosen since the beginning but I let myself get controlled by the men around me,” she continues and grabs your hands firmly. “But I am Queen now. Things are as I say and no one will change my mind or manipulate my choice. I want you to be my heir.”

There it is, right in your reach, all you ever wanted. At long last.

No more wishing, no more questioning what and who you are. You will be heir now. You will be Queen. It’s all you ever wanted and as every word echoes in your head, and you realize that your desires are finally becoming true, you are fascinated by the proposal, by the idea that will no longer just live in your head. It will be real and how can you not be fascinated? How can you be anything but happy and proud?

You’re taken by the moment, by the joy of it all that you’re blinded by your bliss and can’t think of anything else. Not there, not yet.

“Okay,” you whisper with a sweet smile. “I will be your heir.”

Your mother grins and cups your cheek to caress it.

“But what of Aegon and Joffrey? Won’t daemon be upset that you’re picking me over Aegon?” You can’t help but ask, making her scoff as she brings her hands down to grab yours.

“No, we talked about it. He doesn’t mind. He…cares about you, you know? In his own way,” she says, making you scrunch your nose—“just…try and be friendly. He’s really turned over a new leaf. He wants to try.”

You hold her gaze with disgust, but he also didn’t do what you thought he did so you perhaps have judged him too harshly, so it wouldn't hurt to try. For her though! Only because she wants you to.

“Alright,” you reassure her and make her eyes glimmer with joy. “And before we go,” she continues. “There’s something else. Something that I need to pass down to you now that you’re my heir.”

Your eyebrows pinch together and you wait in silence for her to answer your curiosity.

“It’s about a prophecy passed down from ruler to heir since the reign of Aegon the Conqueror. It's a prophecy about the Prince that was Promised—”

“They will help defeat the dead that comes with a long winter,” you cut in after you recognize that famous name, causing your mother's eyes to widen with shock—“Yes, I have heard of them. We must help her, we must light the way for her.”

Your mother’s eyebrows furrow in confusion before she expresses it. “How do you know?”

You glance down for a brief second and scoff softly. “Friends. A red priestess, and Alys, a witch friend who resides at Harrenhal.”

Your mother huffs. “So you know her too? Daemon knows her too.”

You meet her gaze and flash her an amused smile. “She’s great, she helped me. And she let me see the Prince that was Promised. It’s why we need to win this war.”

Your mother nods. “Yes, we can only defeat the dead if the realm is united. It’s why our victory is dire. We need to do what we must to guarantee our blood continues so there’s hope in the future.”

You swallow nervously as you know what she’s referring to when she says, ‘we need to do what we must’. You know she’s referring to Aemond when says those words, and knowing it makes your chest heavy.

No matter what happened, regardless of why you left, you…still love him.

“I know,” you whisper and avert your gaze for a second before you meet hers again and offer her a faint assuring smile. “I know what we need to do.”

Your mother draws in a deep breath and holds your gaze with pity for a second before she nods and leans in to press a kiss on your head.

“Get ready for dinner later, okay? I want you to meet the dragon riders and I want to present you as my heir,” she lets you know in which you can’t help but nod in comprehension before you bring up one last thing.

“May I invite Helaena to dinner? I know she’s your prisoner but she's also your sister, and besides my aunt, she is very dear to me, so may I invite her to dinner?” You ask and bat your lashes, causing your mother to sigh even though she wasn’t going to choose anything else but to agree with you.

“Thank you.”

Now with the apologies and the unspoken words that were hidden in the depths of your souls, and shared out loud and over with, you then make your way to Helaena before you can return to your quarters.

“Helaena, sweetling it’s me, may I come in?” You speak against the door, and not so long later a voice echoes.

“Come.”

The guards open the doors for you, letting you be greeted with the sight of not only Helaena but Alicent in golden chains that are clasped around her ankles and wrists.

“Helaena,” you greet her as you rip your eyes from Alicent to look at your aunt with a warm smile whilst she quickly gets up from her cushioned seat in front of some insect cages and meets you halfway to grab your arms.

“I knew you would return,” she whispers, making you grab her elbows.

“It's good to see you again,” you say back before you step back, letting her study your belly.

“Look at you,” she points out and pats your belly. “So big.”

You grin and nod before your face falls as you bring up her situation. “Are you okay? Have they been treating you well?”

Helaena nods before stepping back and then returning to where she was. “Yes. I’m not allowed to see Dreamfyre, but I can roam the Red Keep, and stay in the gardens as much as I like. And Daemon has been kind as well.”

Daemon?

You look at her with confusion before you share your emotions with Alicent with a shared glance, and then address her only because you have to. “Alicent,” you bow your head and then look at the little girl reading by the fire. “Jaehaera.”

Said girl lifts her eyes off her book and flashes you a grin. “Hello! You returned!”

You nod and head over to her. “I have and you have gotten bigger it seems.”

She nods eagerly. “Yes! I grew an inch, mother says!”

You grin. “I see that. I hope Aerion has been well-behaved. You have watched out for him have you?”

“Yes,” she agrees. “I try, but he always wants to be with grandmother. But she does let me help her feed him. The only bad thing is that he always gets messy.” She pouts and stands up to put her little hand on your belly. “I suppose if you have girls they won’t be so messy.”

You giggle. “All babies are messy at one point. You were too.”

“Was I?!” She exclaims giddly. “I do not remember, but then if my cousins are girls will they play dolls with me when they’re older? Grandmother says Aerion will have to train with swords and sailing instead of playing with dolls.”

Considering she'll probably phase out of playing with dolls when the twins are old enough to play with her you don’t think so, but you don’t want to break her little heart so you let her hear what she wants. “If they’re girls I’m sure they will, but I’m sure you and Aerion can bond over dragons when he’s old enough, hm? Or books like me and your uncle Aemond.”

She shakes her head with a disgusted face. “That would be boring.” She retorts, making you snort and get reminded of her father as she makes that facial expression.

“Well, dragons it is then.”

“They’ll be the same age!” She points out and you nod in agreement.

Jaehaera then slides her hand off your belly and falls back in her cushion, letting you make your way back to Helaena, but addressing Alicent. “I hope you are well.”

She looks at her chains and then meets your gaze and mutters. “At least I can be with my family.”

You have so much that comes to the tip of your tongue but you manage to bite your tongue to avoid arguing.

“You and the twins?” Alicent asks.

You caress your belly and nod softly. “We’re fine. Healthy.”

Alicent’s gaze drifts to one of Helaena’s insect cages and hesitantly brings up a question. “And Aemond? If you’re here then that means something is wrong.”

You sigh and hesitate before you give her a curt answer. “He’s not hurt, he just seems to be descending into something that’s gotten out of control.”

Alicent nods stiffly as she blinks repeatedly and doesn’t answer, letting you then give your attention to Helaena. “I wanted to ask if you wanted to come to dinner later. My mother wants to present me as her heir to her court at dinner so if you would like to come you’re more than welcome.”

Helaena drifts her gaze from the insect she’s inspecting and sighs deeply. “Thank you, but no. There will be people I don’t know and who will all look at me. I would not be comfortable, besides, I enjoy dinner with my mother, Jaehaera, and Aerion. You can tell me what happened on the following day,” she doesn’t try to put it nicely, she’s abrupt and unforgiving. Which doesn’t bother you, it’s just the way she is.

“Alright,” you breathe out and take a seat beside her to ask her what she’s collected, but Alicent then sits across from you and reaches over to take your arm.

“Will you not stop him?” She blurts with a widened look spewing fear and concern. “Help him? This descent into madness will only make Daemon or one of the others go after him, and we both know that Vhagar is not invincible. Not when it comes to Daemon.” She throws out desperately as she sinks her nails in your arm.

“He wants Daemon to go after him, don’t you think I have tried to warn him? To try and lead him to a different path?” You counter as you yank her hand off your arm. “I have tried,” you press with annoyance that was quick to form. “But he doesn’t listen. He wants this path because of you. The path Aegon, Daeron, and Aemond are walking down is because of you. Not me, you,” you hiss, making Alicent pull her head back as she seems to get offended and surprised at your blunt accusation.

“If you hadn’t been so hell-bent on undermining my mother my brothers would be alive and your son’s lives would not be put at risk,” you spat with your gaze narrowing as your annoyance turns to frustration that’s been building up. You don’t know why exactly, perhaps it’s just your own gloom, but you have been feeling it forming within you, wanting out but now knowing how.

“But you set them down this path, and now that it’s gotten out of control you fall to your knees and beg for mercy?” You grimace with the corner of your lip curled. “Face the reality, Alicent. Face your mistakes or—”

“So you wish to see Aemond dead?” She cuts you off abruptly and leans toward you. “Do you wish to accept that reality?”

You have given that reality much thought. It consumes you a lot of the time and you know that it’s a possibility. You would be ignorant if you didn’t, but when it comes to accepting it you do act ignorant.

“If your love for him is real, that is.”

“Of course it is!” You snap back with tears in your eyes. “I love him, how dare you throw that at my face? You out of all people?”

Alicent gasps and blinks repeatedly in disbelief as if she had been smacked across the face, ending up speechless, much like you. Albeit you’re not quiet out of shock, your anger makes you quiet and makes you pierce a glare into her before you stand up and turn to Helaena.

“I will come see you tomorrow, Helaena. Maybe we can go for a walk in the gardens, hm?” You ask and she slowly looks at you without meeting your gaze to give you her response with a nod, letting you then turn and storm out of her chambers with a tormenting ache that you thought you got rid of. At least for the rest of today, but no, Alicent helped it come back and this time it hits you with so much more force that if it wasn’t for the dinner you need to attend, it would have knocked you down, but alas even if you waver, you don’t stumble, you don��t fall, and you don’t break.

——

*LATER*

“…I intended to save this gown for after the war. When the Queen won and was crowned before the masses, but alas, you are heir and will be named heir. There’s no other time to wear this gown like now,” Vanessa rambles excitedly as she doesn’t even help you with the gown anymore, she had already helped you put it on, she is currently applying your makeup, but she can't stop talking about the gown. She’s perhaps more excited than you are that you’re wearing it. And you’re trying. You’re trying to be excited and shake off what plagues you, but you’re tormented by your own agony, your grief, your guilt, and your sorrow that you can’t forget.

But the question is why? Why do you have to feel so unhappy now that you have what you wanted? You’re no longer reaching for it, you have it in your grasp, and now that you do, now that you feel its beating heart in your grasp you can’t muster a genuine smile. You can’t feel the warmth of bliss and excitement.

You want to, you try, but no amount of strain can make you recover that initial joy you felt.

“Perfect. Beautiful,” Vanessa praises you and then pinches your cheeks before she steps back to continue admiring her work. “I just need the necklaces. I left them in the other chambers. I will be back!” She throws out and then turns to run off.

Once Vanessa is out of your chambers you slowly turn your seat and face yourself on the vanity mirror to admire the way the golden dragon scales hug your torso and stretch over your belly. You admire the multiple white pearl chains that are hooked around your hips and cascade over the lavish black silk skirt, while also connecting to more chains that strap around your black hanging sleeves that are attached to the back of the gown so it looks like your sleeves are wings when you put your arms out.

You then slowly scale your eyes up to your face and look at the light makeup that decorates your face. You admire Vanessa’s work, causing the corner of your lips to twitch to a smile, however, your eyes then catch the lipstick smudged on your bottom lip just a smidge and you carefully fix it with your fingers.

Albeit when you try to wipe the mistake more lipstick smudges, making you scoff in annoyance before you press the tip of your fingers harder against your skin and wipe harsher.

However, the smudge only worsens and the mistake doesn’t get fixed so you wipe harder and harder, feeling your throat slowly starting to burn and your eyes filling with tears until you can’t take it anymore. You can’t hold back anymore. You can’t stay strong anymore. You fall, you stumble, and you break, dragging your hands off your lips and smacking your face again and again in attempts to wipe the light layer of makeup off your face because it’s all a mistake; you being heir, holding that title after years of yearning is a mistake because there’s no point.

What’s the point? You ask yourself before you scale your hands up and tear the golden pearl circlet off your head and mindlessly smash it against the vanity mirror out of agony, out of grief, and out of guilt, thinking over and over again what is being heir worth?

What is it all worth? What is it all worth?!

What is it all worth without them? Without Jacaerys? Without Luke? What is it all worth with no one to love you? And you don’t mean in the way your family loves you, but in the intimate way that Aemond loves you? And or the way Cregan loves you?

Being heir and then being Queen, is all you wanted. You dreamt of it, wished for it, but now that you have it you can admit that it’s worth nothing. All those years of longing to be acknowledged no longer exist within you because most of you is already dead. All that’s left is what?

You look at the mirror between your fingers after hitting it and breaking it, and after pressing your bleeding hands against your face, and slowly drag your fingers down before you pull your hands off your face and look at yourself. What you see beyond the blood-stained face is someone grief-stricken, someone angry, in agony, and some hollow husk of who you used to be.

That’s who and what you are. That’s all that’s left.

You miss who you used to be, just like you miss your life before the war tore it apart. You miss your brothers and the way Aemond was before his mind spiraled. You miss Cregan, and most of all you miss…being happy. You want life to go back to the way it was.

Alas…you have to move onward…it’s a harsh truth to face but there’s no other alternative you can take.

Thus you reach over to grab a damp towel off the bowl and wipe the blood off your face, realizing that you’re only damaging the towel even more with the bleeding cuts that the shards of glass made on your palms—Damn.

Before you can get something to tend to your wounds, however, Vanessa walks in and when she sees the state of things she comes to a quick stop and looks horrified. You mirror her look out of guilt for ruining her work and speak on it because you need to. “I’m sorry,” you mutter and look at her with a look of hurt. “I’m sorry.”

Vanessa swallows back thickly and then snaps out of her stupor to approach you hastily. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she assures you and cups your hands. “Let’s tend to your hands and do it again. We have time. It’s okay.”

You look at her in disbelief and she notices so she lifts her hand to stroke your cheek, reassuring you that she’s not really upset that you ruined her makeup but just playing it off for your sake. She’s genuine, and she’s more careful compared to before because before her eyes seemed to have been shielded since she failed to see your sadness so clearly clinging onto your face and painting such a vivid picture in your eyes.

“You look beautiful,” she speaks softly this time around once she finishes your makeup for a second time. “Eat okay? Mingle, I have found that Addam Velaryon is quite the charmer. Enjoy yourself. It’s what Jacaerys would’ve wanted.”

Your breath hitches but you don’t break, you simply nod faintly before you linger on your cushioned seat and then get up and leave, attempting as you go to get rid of the hold your sorrow has on your features and replace it with serenity and bliss so you can look grateful because you are, but usually there’s a glint of grace and arrogance in your eyes that you don’t feel ashamed for feeling, or feel ashamed to admit that you carry such feelings.

Alas, when you’re in the throne room, as your name and title are announced to the guests that turned out to be more than you thought, to your family that has turned into a small group, and to the musicians you didn’t think would play tonight, all you can muster is feigned nonchalance backed with a sadness that makes your eyes gleam against all the twinkling firelight that keeps the darkness away from the great hall.

They see you as you make your way to the main table, and you see them not even trying to feign their shock, their utter disapproval of you being able to waltz in without consequence after you sided with Aemond.

They have every right to disapprove of you, but they are not the Queen, they don’t make decisions, and they’re simply inferior. They're plebes compared to you and your family. They can shoot you as many dirty and disapproving looks as they want. They can whisper behind your back, but they have to bite their tongue and watch you sit beside the Queen as if you have been here supporting her the entire time.

“Your Grace,” you greet your mother one more time now that you’re seated. “You look very beautiful tonight.”

Your mother smiles softly and pats your hand. “As do you,” she doesn’t fail to redirect before she moves her hand down to stroke your belly before she reaches for her goblet and gets up, silencing the whispers that had already filtered the hall in such a short time.

“I would like to firstly, thank everyone for joining us tonight, it means a lot to me,” your mother addresses the guests, turning their heads and grabbing their attention. “And now I would like to present my daughter, my firstborn, and your Princess, as my heir,” she announces and looks down at you, catching your glimmering eyes expressing your appreciation and your affection. “There’s no one more graceful, more tactical, more smart, and strong as you. I’m proud of you, my girl. You will be great.”

Your eyes water, a genuine smile appears on your face, and there in your chest, you feel something jolt. “Thank you,” you whisper in such a soft way that only she and your grandfather next to you hear. She then raises her goblet and other people raise their cups, but your attention falls on a plump man overly decorated in shiny gold chains and rings and dressed in over-the-top expensive clothes.

You remember him from Dragonstone, he wanted you thrown in a dungeon. He’s the rider of Silverwing. It’s Ulf wearing all the money he’s received since he became a dragonrider. If only all that money could buy him class, he eats like a commoner.

Nevertheless, he catches your gaze, and when you know he’s looking as if springing back to life you slowly raise your nose in the air and look at him with a piercing glare under your lashes, like a predator looks at their prey before capturing them.

He swallows thickly and as if possessed by your husband's spirit, you shoot him a menacing glare and a wicked smile seconds before Daemon raises his up and grabs your attention.

“To the heir, I look forward to sharing the battlefield with you so I can see for myself what the Blood Dragon is really capable of,” he says with a growing grin, making you glance at your mother before you look back at him and offer him a smile that he mirrors, which is…weird, you’ll admit, but he’s making an attempt to make amends, so you don’t look away or let your disgust make an appearance, you take his smile. Once he’s back in his seat your grandfather doesn’t hesitate to rise from his seat and raise his goblet in the air, catching you by surprise.

“To the heir, and my Siren of Driftmark,” he says to the crowd before his eyes fall on you and a small smile tugs the corner of his lips. “I still tend to make Aerion my ward, but it seems now that he will be your heir, one of your twins will have to be my heir…”

He still plans to keep your children as heirs to Driftmark? But what of Addam and Alyn? Vanessa called Addam a Velaryon, so you were right, he is the bastard son of your grandfather and is now legitimized, so your grandfather could make any of the two the heir. Yet he kept his word, after all this time, after all you’ve done.

Perhaps you were quick to feel betrayed, and quicker to judge.

“To your health, and the health of my great-grandchildren,” your grandfather finishes, making you grin softly, and when he sits back down you pat his arm before you caress it, receiving a small smile from him in return.

This time rather than hearing mocking toasts filled with spite, breaking into a fight just before you can take your first bite of food like the last big dinner you were a part of, the music starts back up again, and the transition from toast to dinner is smooth. You’re thankful for it but also crave some mayhem in between your state of sorrow and the constant torment that you give Ulf every time you glance at him.

There does come a moment where your gaze finds a different pair of eyes that are darker than Ulf’s, kinder too, but you don’t attempt to make him squirm, nor do you threaten him with a piercing look alone. You actually avert your gaze out of shame for being so harsh on a man who was miles away when you spited him for being someone he had no control over. You let Aemond and your own insecurities get to your head. You admit that.

How shameful and stupid.

“You know, my sweet,” your mother interjects as she puts her goblet of wine down and you set your fork down. “I am Queen, which means I hold the power to…” she trails off and swallows back nervously before she continues hesitantly. “Annul your marriage to Aemond.”

You blink repeatedly in disbelief and look down at your plate of food to manage the shock that hits you as if you heard the most absurd thing in your life.

“We could marry you to someone kinder,” your mother continues to say through your obvious shock as if she wants to move forward with something that’s just meant as a suggestion. Is it not? “Someone worthy of you. Someone like…Lord Cregan Stark.”

You blink and look at her with your eyebrows softly pinched together, noticing a small playful smirk tugging on the corner of her lips as if this is some joke. And you understand where her joy comes from after all, you basically confessed your love for Cregan that time she snuck into King’s Landing, but doesn’t she know how hard it really is loving two people?

Does she know how hard it is to even fathom the thought of letting go of one to go to the other?

You’re torn between your love for Aemond and Cregan, doesn’t she know that? Doesn’t she know your conflict?

“Or she could marry a Martell prince,” Daemon suggests as he leans forward to be a part of the conversation. “They’d be idiots to turn down the proposal of an heir. And a marriage to Dorne would at last unite the kingdom, and give us all our strength for,” he pauses and passes you and your mother a glance. “…the future.”

You drop your gaze to your food and grab your fork with a tight grip. You don’t pick up any food, you just scrape it along the plate with your jaw clenched and your gaze pierced because even if they’re suggestions, it’s still your own life that they are so easily talking about. No matter how smart it would be to at last unite Dorne to the kingdoms, and or how much you once wanted to marry Cregan, is leaving Aemond really worth it?

You think of him, picture his face in your mind as clear as day and all you can imagine is how betrayed he’d be. You’d break his heart and him, is it really worth all of that? There’s still a fighting chance…minuscule maybe, but you have to believe there is no matter what the future has in store for you.

It’s a hopeless desire, but you are hopelessly in love with Aemond no matter what.

“I…” you interject with the attempt to reject your mother or just answer with something that would get her to abandon the conversation, but when she looks at you she does see your struggle and interrupts you.

“Think about it. I just wanted you to know that you’re not stuck, you have options, okay?”

You drift your gaze and let your jaw unclench and your eyes soften. “Okay.”

She offers you a reassuring look before she goes back to talking to Daemon, letting you stare back at your food and remind yourself to take deep breaths.

Being surrounded by so many people and such lively music is perhaps overwhelming after being cornered in Harrenhal for four months. Seeing your brother's seats be occupied by two men from the pits of the city is also perhaps too much for your mind to grasp. You look up from your plate on occasion and catch yourself expecting to see Lucerys and Jacaerys both laughing and talking with each other, or their respected partner, so when you see strangers on their seats it’s like…getting your breath ripped from your chest over and over again.

Perhaps this is why it was easier to stay with Aemond as long as you did, you remembered that they were gone when you were away from home but now that you’re home their ghosts haunt you at every corner.

But oh, you try to look content. You mingle with whoever wants to talk to you, your mother introduces you to Ser Hugh and officially introduces you to Ser Ulf, and you do note that Ser Hugh is much more etiquette than Ser Ulf, but they are both still low-born, they are not to be trusted. You can’t get yourself to trust them. As to Addam? Well, it’s complicated, but should you really trust him completely?

You can’t be sure yet.

“Is this not all you wanted?” Daemon startles you as he joins you in some lonely side of the hall.

“Once,” you sigh. “Once upon a time I wanted to be Queen, I wanted to be my mother's heir. Once upon a time, when life was…much more simple,” you find yourself sharing with him without straining or trying to find a way out.

“Good,” he surprises you by saying. “Not wanting to be a ruler doesn’t guarantee you will be good at it, but the crown is a heavy burden and when you don’t want it it’s easier to treat it that way.”

You scoff and the corner of your lips twitch to a teasing smile that he catches.

“What?”

You shake your head. “Nothing,” you mutter and look away to hide your smile.

Daemon huffs before he steps forward to stand in front of you now rather than at your side where you can’t meet eye to eye. “Your mother says we have a friend in common at Harrenhal.”

You flash him a smile but don’t respond with what he seeks. “Helaena mentioned…in a way that you talk. Why?”

A faint smirk twitches on the corner of his lips before he responds bluntly. “Much like our friend, she can see glimpses of the future. She appeared to me in a vision once, and now we're both here. I would be foolish to take her gift for granted.”

You nod softly and without a shift on your face you lean forward and at this particular moment disregard any attempt at reconciliation. “If I hear that you have hurt her in any way you will see for yourself why it is that they call me what they call me.”

Daemon doesn’t falter, nor does he get upset, he looks at you with a smirk that now spreads wider on his lips. “Noted.”

You huff and move away to stand beside him instead.

“Did she show you the future on that Weirwood tree?” Daemon asks, not letting you go just yet. “The witch?”

“Alys,” you clarify and turn to face the crowd. Daemon turns with you and you both catch your mother glancing over here and smiling when she sees you both interacting without looking upset—“yes. If only the glimpses of the future were clear.”

He hums in agreement as you both watch your mother from where you stand. “What did you see?” He probes.

“Myself, fighting for my mother. A son…born to me sometime in the future…he talked to me,” you muse with a growing smile of admiration. “Just like I'm talking to you now. I don’t know why…maybe he’s a dreamer or something else. Alys wouldn’t tell me, she said knowing too much is dangerous so that's what I am left with. That, along with the Prince that was Promised, and the dead that come with a long winter.”

“I saw her too,” Daemon interjects, making you shift your eyes to him. “She survived fire like you, but she didn’t look like you. Maybe—”

“No,” you cut him off. “It’s not me. What I have is unknown, Alys doesn’t even know. Blood magic perhaps, I don’t know.”

“But it’s something that will pass through our line,” Darmon says and meets your gaze with a serious gaze. “If you are not who was promised then it comes from our line. Yours, mine. We don’t know.”

You shake your head in agreement and then draw out a deep breath as you look ahead again. “We don’t know but we know she’s coming. My son said I would be the spark that would light a greater fire. Alys said it too, but…how can I? I’m with child and I can barely muster the energy to climb out of bed now that I’m here.”

Daemon stays quiet for a moment and in his silence you think perhaps you overshared. You didn’t mean to in the first place, but now that you know what you said perhaps you did and he doesn’t care.

“You’re already there,” he then fills the silence, stopping the worry of pouring your heart out on someone who couldn’t care, and stopping you before you can find an excuse to leave. “You just need to keep burning brighter, and the only way you can do that is thinking of who you’re fighting for.”

You look for them again. Jacaerys and Lucerys. You look at your mother, Baela, Rhaena, and your grandfather. You think of Aerion, your unborn children, Joffrey, and Aegon. And even Cregan comes to mind as you think about who it is you fight for.

“They will keep that fire alive. You must fight for their future. That’s why you need to keep getting out of bed. You can worry about the rest after we win,” he finishes, bringing tears to the corner of your eyes.

You don’t follow up with anything, but he knows you understand. He sees the tears crawling down your cheeks and he knows.

“You must know,” he speaks softly. “I am grateful that you saved Aegon and you tried to look for Viserys.”

More tears keep coming out as you hear what he mentions.

“You tried. You fought, and they sing about you like a great legendary dragon warrior…your father would be proud…just like I know your mother is.”

You inhale sharply and keep quiet, but he knows his words worked the way he wanted them to. He can walk away content after that even if he leaves you weeping.

Thus you walk away before someone can see you and think the wrong thing or worse, come and pester you with unnecessary questions.

When you find yourself outside of the hall you stand in front of the tall windows and try to calm yourself down before you return inside.

You can’t let yourself think of much or you’ll go down a spiral so you try and keep your mind off anything that will upset you at the moment, and hope not to take too long, but alas moments later someone carefully joins you in front of the window. At first, you think it’s your mother, but when you peek at your side you’re surprised to see Addam.

“Are you alright, your Grace, I saw you crying,” he says and proves you were not quick enough when you walked out.

“Uh, yes.” You nod and drop your hands from your face. “Yes I am Addam, thank you.”

Addam’s gaze lingers on you, you can feel it burning on your side before he slowly looks ahead, letting you steal a glance, and sigh out of guilt. “So…you are my grandfather's son?” You ask to get the rumors confirmed.

“Well,” he pauses and debates answering. “Yes. Bastard son.”

You shake your head and correct him. “You’re a Velaryon. You’re no longer a bastard under the law.”

“Perhaps,” he answers right away. “But I am. No law or name will change it.”

You hum and clasp your hands together, debating whether to apologize for a behavior he probably didn’t even notice, or leaving it be.

You feel like apologizing. He was so sweet the first time you met.

“I didn’t mean to steal your father's dragon,” he blurts and turns your gaze to him. “He came to me. I don’t want you to think that I did it on purpose.”

There it is again, that jolt in your chest.

“Addam,” you whisper. “My father is dead. My father died before you bonded with Seasmoke, he wouldn’t have bonded with you otherwise, so Seasmoke belonged to no one. We can’t own a dragon, we form a connection and they are loyal to us, we are one until either of us dies, but they’re not cattle or pets. He wasn’t ours to claim, so don’t apologize or even feel guilty. Feel special, he went out of his way to find you, I never heard of a dragon doing that.”

Addam scoffs as he drops his head, and a smile sneaks on his features.

“You should forgive me,” you chose to say. “I was upset at you and Alyn because I thought you would replace my son's inheritance. I was jealous and I spited you because of it.”

Addam’s gaze finds you and you find his. After a few seconds, he breaks out into a chuckle. “I didn’t even know,“ he admits. “So I suppose there’s nothing to forgive, besides you’re a princess you have every right to be—”

“No,” you cut him off before he can finish that statement. “Untrue. Being a princess doesn't mean that I’m above criticism. I mean sometimes I do feel entitled and have every right to be, but not when it comes to being cruel…to you. Good people.”

“You don’t know me,” he quickly rebuttals. “I could be cruel. The cruelest of cruel.”

You snort and chuckle. For the first time in so long you laugh from the depths of your stomach.

“I don’t believe that,” you say between laughs.

“How come?” He questions, making you take a deep breath to calm down and then answer genuinely.

“It’s in your eyes.”

As you say that his eyes soften and that grin falls to an awe-struck smile.

“And eyes never lie if you know how to read them,” you add. “I know. I see you now and through them, I see your good heart,” you say and gently tap his chest with your fist. “You’re good.”

“Thank you,” he whispers timidly.

You offer him a kind-hearted smile and then pull your hand away to drop your arm back at your side. When you’re both looking out the window and see how the night covers every aspect of the outside world, you stand in a…comfortable silence. It didn't last but no matter how short it was you still felt at ease.

“Can I ask why you left?” Addam asks. “Your mother was Queen, you had every chance to return to her side.”

You draw out a deep breath and mutter. “I was being selfish,” you avoid the truth to avoid problems. “I got upset at my mother and I was a selfish and bratty daughter, that's why I left…I'm a bad person.”

“If that made a person bad then the world would be full of bad people,” he gives his opinion as he doesn’t fear looking at you as he speaks up. “Regardless of the situation, it’s normal to get upset at parents. You’re young, and they make mistakes. Being upset doesn’t make you bad. Besides, you made up now right?”

You nod.

“See? That’s what matters.”

Your breath shutters but you don’t cry this time, you keep looking out at the window with a sense of bliss. Yes, that’s what it is, bliss.

“Can I ask you something now,” you don’t shy away from bringing up, maybe you should, but it feels right because he reminds you of your beloved brothers. “Why are you not dancing? There’s many fair ladies there. And there’s also beautiful Lady Rhaena. We won’t get many moments like these so it’s best to take advantage of them. Who knows maybe you’ll end up being wed by the time the week ends.”

He scoffs and then laughs before he tilts his head towards you. “Well, I don’t know how. I didn’t take dancing lessons like you.”

You scoff. “Okay, yes I took dancing lessons. I had to, and I liked them,” you share with a smile. “My uncle Aegon would annoy me, but luckily…my Aemond would always save me and always be my dance partner. So I can tell you that the most important thing is to not step on your dance partner.”

“That would be terrible,” he says and you hum before you skip over to stand before him and offer him your hand because you have that need to…enjoy yourself like you used to because of him. Because he’s such a sweet reminder of everything nice. “I’ll show you. Just follow my lead.”

Addam hesitates but he doesn’t overthink your offer, he places his hand over yours, letting you secure your warm hold over his before pulling yourself closer to him to firstly, grab his other hand and place it on your waist and then place your other hand on his shoulder.

“Now there’s many other dances, but this is the most common and basic one. This one will work fine for now,” you say before you step toward him first, noticing how he keeps his eyes focused on your feet.

“Alright,” he whispers under his breath.

“The second most important thing is to follow the beat of the music,” you follow by saying and listen to what’s playing in the hall, hearing a song with a fast beat so you grow mischievous and can’t help yourself. You move quickly to follow the rhythm and surprisingly enough Addam is quick to catch up and not stumble or step on you.

“Great!” You praise him.

“You tried to mess me up,” he points out with a half grin.

You shake your head and deny such claims. “No, I’m merely following the beat of the music.”

He hums as he nods before a teasing smirk tugs on his own lips and he doesn’t fail to match your enthusiasm by spinning you around, making you laugh. When you face each other as you only grab onto one hand now, it’s like you speechlessly come to an agreement before you dance wildly as if in tune with each other's dancing hearts. And since the corridor is alone you make the corridor your dance floor and dance up and down it.

You let yourself get carried away. You smile and laugh without guilt, without sorrow, and without agony clinging onto you. You let go for the night because of Addam.

——

*A COUPLE WEEKS LATER*

There’s…no sight of Astraea resting near the castle—she must be hunting.

Aemond descends from his dragon in some isolated space where his dragon can fit and strides toward the castle without worry at first. Yet as he gets closer and closer and doesn’t hear commotion echoing from within the walls he picks up his pace, finding his heart skipping a beat before that too picks up its pace.

But why should he worry? You’ll be here, he just didn’t leave enough men for the commotion to travel out, and Astraea is hunting…

With that repeating in his mind to reassure the growing pit in his stomach, he takes a deep breath and keeps his quickened pace. When he makes it within the castle walls he only has one objective in mind, seeing you, so he doesn’t go out of his way to search for any guards, he doesn’t check for the witch or Ser Jason, he makes a beeline where you’re supposed to be and already imagines how you would react when you see him.

You won't be happy, after all, he left you locked in your quarters. He did one of the worst things possible but all he needs is just to see you. He’s been on his own for far too long, all he needs is to look you in your captivating eyes, he just needs to feel your warmth, and hear your breath so he knows you’re alive. That’s all he wants, you don’t have to talk to him, he just needs to see you. That’s all his heart has ever yearned for.

Yet when he turns the corner to reach your quarters, he comes to an immediate halt when he sees the decaying bodies of your guards. The blood seems to be a stain on the ground now so the men weren’t just killed…they’re old…

He calls out your name and waits for a response. When he doesn’t hear your voice call out to him he races to the room and throws the doors open, finding two more bodies inside. One seems to have been wounded on his neck and the other was impaled. Was it you?

No, no, no…

He wants it to be you who killed these strange men that are not a part of the guards that he left behind, but his fears take control and his mind begins to make him think that someone else hurt you, so he quickly spins around on his heels and runs out. He calls out your name at every turn hoping you’ll be in another room, that someone else will hear and come out, but deafening silence is all that responds to his desperate calls and his thumping heart is all that fills his ears. It almost plays tricks on him. He swears he hears your voice travel through the corridors, but when he follows what he believes is your voice he finds nothing.

There’s no one. Nothing, but emptiness and a reminder of what was of this castle. That is until he runs into the Godswood and finds what he was looking for in the burnt bodies discarded on the ground, and the swinging bodies hanging from the white branches.

He doesn’t want to believe you left this lovely mess. He hopes something else did it so he can save you and find you, but what else could leave bodies black and nothing but bones? Who else would hang burnt bodies on the Weirwood tree, but you?

You followed the ways of the Old Gods after your stay in the North. You pray to the weeping tree and enjoy basking in your peace in the Godswood, so no one else would leave these bodies hanging from the tree but you.

You killed those strangers in your chambers, you had Astraea burn these bodies in the Godswood, you fought the trouble he meant to protect you from, and you lived.

There’s no other way around it. His mind places some doubt, but he knows you’re capable so he believes wholeheartedly that you lived through the ordeal. However, a part of him wishes you would have been in trouble so he could have came and saved you because at least if he came and saved you, that would guarantee you staying by his side. It would mean that you didn’t leave, but you did…you left.

YOU LEFT!

He tears his sword out of his sheath and swings at the weeping face again and again with more anger backing each swing every time, and with tears slowly clouding his eyes every time his blade would hit the Weirwood tree.

Once he’s panting and his tears stream down his face he lets his sword fall to the ground and he stands there mindlessly looking at the wounded tree with tears in his eyes and his eyebrows knitted together in anger whilst heavy pants leave past his lips.

A part of him expected you to find a way to leave. You’re restless, you don’t belong locked away in some tower, but he just wanted to protect you. He saw you die every night in his dreams while he was here, and he hurt you when he was lost in some trance, so all he wanted was to guarantee your safety. He didn’t want you to leave and leave him alone in this world. He…just wanted what was best. He didn’t mean to hurt you, he didn’t intend for you to leave him alone like his mother, his sister, and his brothers have.

“Damn it,” he hisses and falls to his knees in front of the Weirwood tree, feeling abandoned and betrayed, but still feeling a longing to see you. Even if you left him he still aches to feel your arms embracing him against you, he wants to hear your whispers against his ear and desires most of all to see you so you can meet his gaze as if nothing else existed in the world but him and you.

He searches for the memory of your enticing gaze in the Heart Tree, unbeknownst to the fact that you are looking at the Weirwood tree in the Red Keep’s Godswood, and also yearning to see him. You also search for the memory of his gaze in the Heart tree, as if the weeping face held the memory of each other's gaze.

“Exhausted from terrorizing my homelands already, Prince?” A voice breaks the silence, ripping him away from his thoughts and making him stand up rapidly and turn swiftly to find none other than the witch Alys.

“You!” He bellows and stomps over to her to grab her by the neck in order to be threatening, but she doesn’t flinch. She meets his gaze and snickers before she answers a question he doesn’t have time to ask.

“She left home. She’s where she belongs.”

Aemond swallows back thickly and looks at her with slight disbelief before he reaffirms his grip around her throat and sneers. “Bring her back. Tell her to come back.”

Alys wraps her hand around his wrist and yanks his hand off her throat before she deadpans. “No.”

Aemond scoffs but she interjects before he can snap back.

“She will be back. You will see her again.”

The corner of Aemond’s lips twitch to a smirk but she smirks back and that makes his fall as he grows uncomfortable.

“You will both return to this very place soon. She has to so she can continue down her destined path.”

Aemond is curious to ask more and ask what she truly means because she wouldn’t look so taunting if there wasn’t some deeper meaning, but alas he doesn’t ask because he doesn’t like her or trust her like you do.

“Girls,” Alys blurts and makes him blink out of shock. “You will have twin girls. I thought you should know.”

His lips part as a soft gasp escapes past his lips.

Does this revelation mean that Helaena was wrong? Will he live after all?

A/N- When you so badly want your sister to be wrong you become delusional 🤩

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