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luvvixu · 8 months ago

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mind over matter pt. 2

synopsis: witness how your marriage was bound to fall apart with you on the front seat and your husband gojo had missed the show—now, he gotta figure out the story on his own.

content: arrange marriage au, angst, husband!gojo, mean!gojo, mention of blood, strong languages, some unsettling scenarios, emotional trauma, read at your own risk

a/n: couldn't still believe that this ff blew up like tysm for all of your support! and thank you so much for waiting~ and like always, this is not proofread lol

previous / masterlist / next

“if i'm not mistaken, the mission would take at least three to four business days.” yaga passes satoru a sheet of paper where it contains all of the information he needed to know and what kind of things he should focus on investigating.

satoru looked at his former teacher in uncertainty despite the blindfold in his eyes. he's very hesitant to take the mission not because he cannot beat this curse, but because he still needs to apologize to you as soon as possible.

“yaga, c—can i not…” satoru was about to continue when he suddenly trailed off.

“not what?” yaga raises his eyebrow.

but to think that it's all his fault, he must have really hurted you this time, and you wouldn't probably hear him out that easily. that is why satoru thinks that it is best to just give you some space as of now, and when he comes back from his mission, that is the time when he would bother you with his presence.

“it's nothing. i’ll be taking my leave now.”

“very well—” before yaga could even finish his sentence, satoru already vanished in thin air.

the duo, yuuji and megumi, was on their way to visit you just like what they had promised to themselves a while ago.

it was around eight o'clock in the evening and here they are, kind of tiptoeing through the hallway where your room is located.

“i think it's better to let her know our presence first.” megumi said quietly to the pink haired male while holding out a basket with foods that are suitable for digestion of a pregnant lady.

“then it wouldn't be a surprise if we told her.” yuuji then answered. he was carrying two board games on his left arm and a uno card on his right hand. you actually once told them that you were exceptionally good at these kinds of games, so yuuji wanted to test that out.

suddenly, the two boys stopped in front of a door where they immediately froze at the smell of something oddly familiar. “me…megumi, is this y/n sensei’s room?” yuuji slowly mumbles out a word, his eyes going wide.

however, megumi didn't answer him. instead, he immediately tries to open the door without any hesitation just to know that it is locked.

panic slashed across their faces as the smell of blood coming out of your room becomes the leading factor of their franticness behavior.

“y/n sensei! are you there?!” yuuji keeps on calling out to you while megumi does the door breaking.

“it's locked! i can’t break the door!” curse these doors in jujutsu high. megumi could not help but to mumble profanities when he remembered that the doors in jujutsu high are purposely made this strong so any invading curses could not sneak in especially during sleeping hours where most of the sorcerers are vulnerable.

“itadori! call yaga sensei and shoko-san, quick!” megumi screamed at the other boy, whom he instantly obliged.

a weave of panic surge on their bodies because you are involved in this situation. not to mention, you are pregnant on top of that and that puts the situation into a more nerve-wracking experience.

sweat drips on megumi’s forehead as he still tries to break the door. kicks and punches were made but still the door wouldn't flinch his attacks. the idea of using his curse technique came into his mind but he's afraid that it would worsen the situation.

sooner and faster, yuuji came back with the two elders running faster than before. both also have a panic flash on their faces as yaga begins to break the door with his insane force. and after countless tries, he successfully invades the door.

everybody froze at the sight, because there they saw you, lying unconsciously in a pool of your blood that trickled down on your lower body.

“shit! what happened?!” shoko was the first to react and immediately came closer to you to check your pulse, it was there but weak. then shoko proceeds to check your baby's heartbeat, and to her disappointment, there was none that she could detect.

“yaga sensei, please help me get y/n to my clinic. now!” without a further do, yaga carefully lifted up your body and then proceeded to follow the frantic shoko to her said clinic.

on the other hand, yuuji and megumi watch the two elders quickly move away from the scene and that leaves the two. they had been quiet all the time, probably still traumatized because they just saw one of their teachers (plus with an unborn child) on the literal verge of dying.

megumi's eyes trailed on the pool of blood that had been sitting on your floor. he could tell that you had been unconscious for like way past an hour now due to some parts of the blood being fresh while some parts were dried.

“what the hell just happened…?” yuuji was still flabbergasted. he would never expect that this would happen when he just visualizes this night as a fun one because he got everything ready for a surprise mini party to cheer you up.

“i don't know.” megumi solemnly answered.

“...do you think y/n sensei and her baby would be alright?” yuuji added, totally worried about your situation.

for the first time in his life, megumi didn't think he that would utter the same word but with a different tone, different meaning, and in a different situation.

“i…i don't know.”

satoru gojo was busy walking through the busy street of roppongi despite the sky being nighttime. the whole atmosphere was still so lively from bright signage up to crowded night market stalls. this makes a perfect night for a perfect leisure.

but satoru isn't here to do that. he was supposed to do a job and finish it as soon as possible so he could get back to you and finally do the right thing.

he was about to enter an abandoned building when he received a phone call. without looking at the caller, he answered.

“what?”

“where are you?” it was his corporate friend, nanami.

a teasing smile made it into his demeanor. “oh wow! here is my underclassmen calling me first—!”

“i am asking you, where are you?” nanami was clearly not in the mood for his bullshit. his tone was beyond serious and it made satoru wonder if something happened.

“i'm in roppongi. somewhere behind a luxurious night bar.” gojo said.

the moment he said his address, the phone suddenly dropped. confused, the six eyes looked at his phone then just shrugged it off. for the second time, he was about to enter the said building when someone appeared from behind.

“you should go back.” there he saw nanami, breathless as he tried to catch his breath. looks like he ran his way towards his location.

“yo, my man! what are you doing he—”

“go back to the jujutsu high. i’ll be taking your mission here.” nanami explained like he was .

did something happen? was on satoru's mind.

“why?” satoru dropped all of his mischievousness as it was replaced by his unhidden worry—you were literally there at the jujutsu high.

there was a pause on nanami, he seemed very hesitant to say it and satoru was growing impatient.

“just say it nanami—”

“yaga asked me to take your mission on your behalf after something happened. it's about your wife. she was found unconscious in her room.”

never ever in his life he could feel the quickest adrenaline rush in his body as nanami didn't even manage to utter the last syllables of his sentence when satoru already uses his technique and teleports himself towards your room back in jujutsu high.

and there, he was welcomed by the janitors of the said school, mopping the dried liquid on the floor. the smell was so familiar that it made his body tremble in a span of a second.

“w-what the fuck happened here?” he asked the janitor who looked at him in pity as he continued to solemnly wipe the floor.

“miss y/n was found unconscious and there was blood…in her lower area.”

blood, y/n, unconscious, my wife, danger, the baby…my baby!

that was the only thing that came into his mind as he went out of the hallway and ran somewhere he wasn't aware of. his mind raced with negative thoughts.

and since his life is not always about sugarcoating—he thought that probably you just had a miscarriage, got attacked by some curses, or worse, you're dead. his wife, you, were hurt when he was away and not even there to at least protect you.

unbeknownst, to the man, tears were threatening to slip down his six eyes, making his blindfold become wet as it was being absorbed by his tears constantly. satoru could feel that his body was filled with self-loathing, guilt, and regret all over his system.

“satoru.” a voice called him from behind. satoru does not need to turn around to know who it was. it was yaga.

“come to my office.” without waiting for him, yaga already left with satoru trailing behind him. taking off his blindfold, satoru wiped the tears that were about to fall.

when they arrived at yaga’s office, he saw his two students, yuuji and megumi, sitting quietly by the couch. they were both acting quietly odd, like they knew what was going on too.

“where's y/n?” satoru asked.

“do you want to know what happened first?” yaga avoided his question for now. instead, he goes into the other aspect that he's been wondering too. satoru fell quiet, so yaga took it as a yes.

the principal looked at the two students who were already looking at him. sighing deeply, yaga then proceeds to start explaining.

“y/n was found unconscious by these two. it has been over an hour since she's been in that situation judging by the dryness of her blood. right now, we still had no idea about her state since shoko's the one who's been handling the situation. and it's been a while too since we have seen her.”

“and the baby…i'm sorry, gojo. but we have no idea either.” yaga sighed heavily. satoru was all silent, he couldn't bring himself to utter any word. he was too caught up about the situation that he had so many things to say to the point that he couldn't figure out where to start.

“i know it's not my business to interfere but…did something happen that leads to this?” the principal asked the strongest. the next moment was something that everyone expected—they did not receive any response from the man.

suddenly, the door burst open, revealing the tired doctor. her eyes landed on your husband who's still frozen about your condition. on the other hand, satoru was too busy drowning himself with his thoughts to notice shoko in the room.

“itadori, megumi…go back to your dorm for now. it's getting late and i’ll just update you two tomorrow.” shoko scurry the two younger boys and they obliged.

as the door in yaga's office closed, the three grown-ups fell into a silent atmosphere, only the sound of the air ventilation could be heard inside.

“h-how’s y/n and the child?” yaga was the first one to speak among the three. but shoko's attention was drawn to gojo only and gojo was still unable to move.

“her situation was so severe that we needed to put her into a hospital as soon as possible.” shoko said quietly and directed to gojo only. her eyes were trailed to him, and only him. she wants him to taste the bitter medicine of his aftermath and she is going to make sure he's taking it.

call her brutal and cruel, but in your realm of marriage where her role is only being a worried close friend, she would choose you over everything. that's how much she cares for you. shoko could see what kind of person you are, and she believes that you deserve better than what you are right now.

sure, gojo was right when he said that she'd only known you for a short period of time. but that is enough for her to determine that she is going to stick by your side whatever may happen. because she knows how a gojo satoru works, she knows what kind of person he could be.

if gojo can manage to leave shoko out in his life, then he could do it to y/n too.

“she was bleeding too much, i'm afraid it has to do with the child. so if we don't act fast, we might have to choose who to save—are we going to save y/n and lose the baby? are we going to save the baby and lose y/n? or…what if we lose them both—”

*boogsh!*

a sudden explosion was seen. the four walls inside yaga’s office have officially become three when satoru couldn't handle his emotions that he let his cursed energy slip and create a hole into one of yaga’s walls. the impact was so strong that it literally shook the whole jujutsu high.

and surprisingly, none of the three inside the scene was scratched, just emotionally taken aback. the once gojo satoru who couldn't even utter a word earlier, was now looking at shoko with a mixture of menace, trouble, anger, grief, and…extreme sadness.

shoko ties his stare, looking equivalently. “did you hear what i said, gojo? your wife and your baby are currently facing the grim reaper. do you understand that?” she said calmly but there is a hit or hardness into her tone.

“shut up! fucking shut up!” another surge of curse energy flows in different directions, making yaga and shoko feel goosebumps on how strong it is.

“satoru!” yaga yelled in panic.

“where is she? where the fuck is she?! show me where she is!” satoru screamed at the doctor. shoko, whose face is now back to emotionless, decides to subside her annoyance to the man as she knows you are the top priority right now.

“i will let you see her. but once you see her, you have to teleport us into the hospital immediately if you still want to see her open her eyes.” shoko said seriously. thankfully, satoru managed to calm himself alone and just stared at shoko, waiting for her to continue.

“y/n was experiencing placenta abruption. it's a very serious complication in her case because the placenta in the inner wall of her uterus is completely detached. it greatly affects the baby’s supply of oxygen and nutrients and the situation causes her to bleed heavily.”

“i immediately minimize the bleeding but i cannot guarantee the two's safety, especially the baby, since it is not worth the risk to imply cursed energy to an unborn child—” before shoko could even finished explaining, satoru already stormed out of the room and just proceeds to the room where his guts tell you where. he was being followed by shoko who was screaming at him.

opening one of the doors, there he saw you all pale. he could feel your cursed energy barely beating, and that scared the shit out of him because that indicates your weakness.

“o-oh god…” satoru couldn't help but to feel his breathing pattern becoming irregular as a single tear followed by another drop from his gorgeous powerful blue eyes.

this can't be happening. you were just fine a while ago!

“y/n, oh my g-god! my wife…” gojo satoru, known by his title as the strongest sorcerer in his generation, was seen crying over his dying wife and dying unborn child. his tall figure was trembling in tangled emotions that he couldn't even determine the two ends.

“sorry to ruin your moment, but if you want to save your family, it's better for us to keep moving now.” shoko followed the suit, still savage as ever.

gojo does what she said and teleports the three of you into the bestest hospital that he knows. ignoring the toll on his cursed energy as it took more, more than the usual usage, satoru believes that your well-being should be his priority rather than his.

when they arrived, shoko immediately started to bump the people out of the way and started to call for help. “someone! get us to an emergency!” she screamed.

meanwhile, satoru keeps your body close to him. hugging your frame ever so delicately, scared that you might break or disappear.

a man like satoru gojo, whom to some called him a man-god, find himself crying out to every gods and deities out there to help you, to help him get this through. he prays and prays to keep you safe and how he's sorry for all of the things he would do.

for sure, he knew this sudden care for you is not born out of pity or regret, it is a late realization on how much he couldn't bear to see you like this. because deep inside him, satoru couldn't deny the warm feeling of having someone that was waiting for him to come home, provide him service, and even give him a bundle of joy.

the words he swore to himself that he doesn't need a wife to console his woes as he is completely capable of being by himself was getting eaten by his current self. served on a silver platter, satoru didn't mind eating his own words.

a stretcher was bought on sight and shoko instructed him to put your body there and watch the series of doctors rush your body into the emergency room. satoru watches the light above the door where you were in turns red, signaling that it requires immediate medical attention.

placing his traumatized body on one of the cold walls of the hospital, sliding his man shoulders and crumbling himself into small pieces to make himself as small as possible. never he would have thought that the night would end with him continuing to pray for your safety.

satoru didn't realize that he dozed off within the walls of a random corner of a hospital where he brought you in. he only realized his current situation when he could feel someone kicking his lower body constantly.

opening his tired eyes, he saw shoko eyeing him while still continuing to nudge him. “good, you're awake.” she said.

it feels like a surge of energy flows to his body and it immediately makes him rise up faster than he could. that was also when he started to feel all of the aches in his body just from sleeping in that kind of position.

“fuck, my whole body aches.” he mumbles to himself. satoru was about to stretch himself when he saw the time on the wall.

5:05 AM

and then his eyes landed on the door.

there was no red light anymore.

“y/n. shoko, where's y/n?!” anxiousness washed all over his body. he didn't know what to expect on what answers he's about to receive regarding his family condition.

meanwhile, shoko thinks that gojo looked like a lost puppy on how his eyes literally beg for a positive answer. despite his six foot frame, he looks like a poor and desperate child.

“the operation ended an hour ago. y/n was now stable and goy transferred into one of the private rooms. while the baby…” she pauses.

“w-what? what happened to my baby?” shoko almost grimaces the way satoru addresses the unborn child, wondering where the hell did he get the guts to say that.

the doctor was this close to brutally and savagely roast this man until he flew in shame—that’s how mad, angry, and upset shoko from what satoru did to you. but today is not the suitable day for that, she may be cruel but she had limits. so, shoko forcefully swallowed the harsh words and decided to just put it aside.

“the baby was delivered early through cesarean, it's the only way to save y/n and the child. the baby is currently in a neonatal intensive care unit where the bestest doctors monitor the child until it reaches mature development.”

so basically, you give birth to his child. satoru couldn't explain what he's feeling right now. he's happy for the baby, and yet at the same time, he feels really undeserving, but he still wants to be part of the child's life—this is too complicated for him.

and besides, this is not the right time to contemplate. because as a husband and father, he needed to stay with his family to provide them love, support, and to patch that once had been wounded. and he's going to start with…

“can i go and see y/n?” deep inside him, satoru felt ridiculous for asking that question since he is the literal husband! or was he? after everything he had done to her for five years?

shoko then tiredly pointed at the room at the end of the hallway and satoru, with the help of his long legs, never ran faster than his whole life.

gently opening the door in your room, satoru was greeted by your peaceful and sleeping form with all of the tubes connected on the back of your hand. closing the door behind him, satoru finally let go of the tears he's been holding the whole time, ranging from the confrontation with you until to to this situation.

sitting on the chair beside your bed, satoru weeps as he holds your arm. at this moment, the strongest no longer exists, it was just gojo satoru who couldn't stop himself from muttering an apology to his wife that he did so wrong.

they say, you would only realize the importance of something when it's now late. satoru would absolutely agree to that statement and he could even provide proofs and evidence. at first, he's being a total dick and douchebag to his wife who clearly doesn't even do anything wrong to him. then his own wife endured all of his actions for the whole five years and still remained as if their relationship could be only determined on a sheet of paper.

“i'm sorry. i'm so sorry.” satoru may not know what would happen the moment you would open your eyes. would you send him away? or would you let him stay despite all of the pain and trauma he caused you? for now, he can never know.

but one thing he's going to let you know, he's going to change for you and for his baby. he's done doing things for himself, and now, he should focus on you.

and he's going to start with cutting all of his ties to his mistress.

[part 3 is now posted! for those who wanted to be tagged, just say it on the comments — ©luvvixu2024]

taglists: @mistymuii @kalopsia-flaneur @sherryuki-callmeyuki @tttttttf @slyhersophia @rirk-ke @username23345 @lvstru @neteyxms

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notiddygothgf · 12 days ago

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SEX IS FREE (her)

★ pairings: nanami kento x f! reader

★ synopsis: In the search for solace, Nanami stumbles right into the arms of an exotic dancer. In the search for money, an exotic dancer finds more than she bargained for. In the heat of the moment, a contractual relationship turns into something more. (or; the one where sugar daddy!nanami is sweet on his girl)

★ c.w.: nanami being sexy asf, suggestive content, mentions of sex (more content warnings and tags)

★ a/n: HIIIIII omg so i can explain the hiatus lol.... it was totally unintentional. i wound up getting super depressed over school and then fell into a chainsaw man hyperfixation (read shameless, its an aki ff i wrote youll love it). I FINALLY PICKED THIS STORY UP AGAIN because for some reason it's been getting a lot of attention recently??? lol anyway! your comments inspired me to continue writing it (though i cant promise that i'll update quickly, i AM a full time student so #bepatientwithme).

I was salivating over Nanami in this chapter if you couldnt tell lol.... but enjoy!!! keep those comments coming! who knows, maybe i have another chapter stored away and will update a little earlier....... x

★ w.c.; 5.6k

my kinda love; chapter index

‘AND I’M BAD LIKE THE BARBIE. I’m a doll, but I still wanna party,’

“Donnie, baby, you in there?”

“Yeah!” You called back, loud enough for your coworker to hear through the door. You pressed the tube of red lipstick against your bottom lip, peering into the mirror, filling in the outline you had done in black. When you didn’t receive an immediate answer, you continued humming along to the song playing quietly from your phone. “Pink vette like I’m ready to bend. ‘Imma ten so I’m pullin a ken, likeee.”

Your coworker entered the dressing room – you were the only one there. Most of the other girls from the afternoon shift had gone home already.

“Some dude wants to rent you,” She told you.

“No. I don’t do private rooms,” You replied without even looking back. You knew who she was. You weren’t the biggest fan. “I’m good, Mandy.”

“He asked specifically for you,” She added. “Offered a lotta money, too. Helluva lot more than we normally charge.”

You froze up at that. Initially, your first thought was to send her off a second time. Then, you thought of her running off with your money.

“Is he one of them greasy, sleazy old guys?” You asked. It was wild, how quickly you perked up when you heard that. “Last guy was throwin’ himself onto me. I should’ve filed a police report.”

“Oh, stop your ‘bitchin,” The girl sighed. “He’s paying 200 just to see your ass.”

If you had a tail, it would have started wagging.

What? A girl had bills to pay. “So he is a greasy old pervert.”

“No, actually. He’s a fine, young thing. Well, not young, but younger than most of the guys we usually get back here,” She trailed off in thought. You watched her body move in the corner of the mirror. “Sexy as hell. Serious, businessman type. Tall, blond, handsome, a jawline that could cut paper,” here, she bent over, leaning over you and muttering the next words into your ear, “I could always take him off your hands, y’know.”

“As if,” You replied. Spinning the chair back around, you got up. “Better not be expecting nothing extravagant. I’m considering this overtime.”

With a deep breath, standing in front of the cherry red door, your heart began to pound against you chest. It was some strange mixture of nerves and excitement you felt as you raised your hand to knock.

Here goes nothing. You reached for the doorknob and entered the private room, turning back only to lock it behind you.

“Special delivery!” you crooned, trying to embody a playful tone to mask the jittery feeling within. When you turned around to face the client, you were caught by surprise.

Your wide eyes traced over a familiar silhouette – broad shoulders, perfectly-fitted, navy blue two-piece suit that clung to his large arms, and matching slacks that clung to his legs – his widespread, casual position hinted at sophistication. A pretty, sharp, angular face framed by neatly-cropped blond hair. A tasteful timepiece on his wrist caught your eye.

Narrow eyes obscured by peculiar glasses, chiseled cheekbones and jawline. His blond hair – framing his apricot skin – was done up carefully, perfectly, sweeping over his head like a ray of sunlight. You recognized him by his signature scowl.

He came back for more?

You liked your lips, trying to play it cool (like you hadn’t been waiting for him to come back). “Oh, hey, it’s you again,” you said with a smirk. Strutting over to him, you cooed, “Couldn’t stay away?”

He’s so fucking hot.

Though his response wasn’t verbal, the pink hue that dusted his face was not lost on you. You swayed your hips from side to side. “Can you give me somethin’ to work with? I don’t usually do these rooms, you know.”

The devastatingly handsome man swallowed, fixing his gaze on the door – the one you had locked on the way in. As you worked your way between his legs, teasingly dragging your hands up and down your body, his gaze wandered back to you. Shamelessly, you reveled in the attention – studying his reaction.

You could smell his cologne from here – again – and, shit, it made your head spin all over again. The warm notes lingered beneath the collar of his dress shirt. Amber. Wood. Musk. Something dark?

“So I’ve heard,” The man replied, finally breaking his silence. His voice was a revelation – deep, mellow, and smooth, carrying a certain tone of weariness that seemed to add to his enigmatic charm. Charm? Yes, you supposed he charmed you.

He loosened his tie and undid the top button on his shirt to let some fresh air in. The action drew your attention to his neck, provoking you to take a moment to appreciate the details your coworker had emphasized: Tall, blond, with a jawline that could indeed cut paper.

You were wretched. You had to have been. This is so wrong.

“You seem tense,” You remark, making your second attempt at breaking the ice. “You’re new to the scene, aren’t you?”

The handsome stranger – Nanami, if you remembered correctly – licked his lips, drawing mindless shapes over the deep-toned fabric that covered his knee. “Is it that obvious?” he asks, a faint smile playing on his lips.

The movement did not go unnoticed.

“A little,” You huffed out a quiet laugh. “Do you want a dance? We could just sit and chat, too, if you want. I don’t mind. I know your type tend’ta like talking.”

You couldn’t control the way your eyes flitted down over his toned thighs – mind hazy with unwelcome thoughts. The temptation to crawl into his lap a second time was strong, but you reminded yourself of the situation – he was your roommate’s teacher, for fuck’s sake. Your roommate’s handsome… muscular… expensive-looking teacher… with a deep, sexy voice that you could hardly resist.

You must have been ovulating. That was the only excuse.

“I won’t make you put on a show for me,” Nobara’s professor trailed off, eyes distant, clearly lost in thought. He seemed to snap out of it after a moment, pretty brown eyes peering into yours – they looked so dark up close. “As crazy as it sounds, I only wanted to speak to you.”

Your sultry facade cracked a bit at that, surprised by the sudden turn of the conversation. From your experience, men usually came here with only one thing in mind. He wanted to talk… to you. Oh my god.

You nearly squealed. Clearing your throat and pressing your legs together, you turned to hide your flustered face from the older man. “Alright,” you said. “You have 30 minutes.” Plopping down on the couch next to him, you threw your legs over his lap. “What’s your name, handsome stranger?”

You already knew his name. Still, to keep up appearances, you played coy with him. You knew that, reasonably, there was no reason you should be continuing to entertain him — financial commpensation aside, though you could always reimburse him. You should have turned back the moment you realized it was him.

Then again… he had come to see you. It wasn’t like he knew you were his student’s roommate, but that was besides the point. That alone was moral justification enough for you.

The stiff man had his eyes trained on the spot where your legs had been thrown haphazardly over his. Then, nervously, he answered, “Nanami. Kento.”

Kento. You liked that name. It rolled off the tongue real easy — a buttery smooth name for a man as composed as him.

“Nice to meet you Nanami… Kento,” You chipped, mimicking his prose. “Donetta DiVine. I’m sure you already knew that, though. Do you wanna start, or should I?”

Nanami Kento knitted his brows. “Start…?”

You rolled your eyes rather playfully, giving his leg a nudge with your heel. You had ditched the stage platforms for a smaller pair of stilettos. “What do you do for a living?”

He licked his lips. After a brief pause, he answered, “I can’t really say, but I teach on the side.”

“Ooh— mysterious…” You grinned. Leaning into the couch, you braced your chin on your hand, staring into his eyes. It didn’t take much effort to play the role of the ‘interested’ siren like it normally did. Not with him. “You already know what I do,” You added, “You look tired.”

His brown eyes widened with surprise.

Shit, I overstepped.

You took your statement back quickly, “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s not—“ He trailed off. Something in his harsh expression softened. “You’re right. Just the first person to notice.”

If your attraction to the man had been any more obvious, you would’ve been waving a sign around with his name on it.

“Really? You’ve got such tired eyes,” You continued anyway. You figured you would at least try to make the most of this half hour with him. “Wanna talk about it?”

He sighed, “Where would I even begin?”

“Your week?” You answered, making a rolling gesture with your spare hand. “How… how was it?”

He looked equal parts confused and intrigued by you, quirking a perfecftly arched brow before clearing his throat. “My week was alright. I started work again after taking a leave of absence for a few months.”

“No kidding…” You trailed off. It didn’t take much to make your interested tone seem real, as you felt nothing but the most genuine sense of interest while listening to him drone on in that deep, raspy voice of his. You could have listened to it for hours. “What happened?”

Something flashed in his eyes. It was quick, fleeting – you almost missed it. “Workplace injury,” He sighed. “If it’s alright, I’d rather not go into detail about it.”

This guy’s like a brick wall.

“Did you heal up okay?” You asked, eyes wide and prying.

He didn’t seem to mind you much. That was a good sign.

“Had to undergo some minor surgery but, yes, I’m fine. Thank you for asking,” He smiled, actually smiled, and it made your chest stir with something unfamiliar. He was devastatingly handsome – the kind of handsome you kept in a little locket in your pocket when you went to war, or something like that. “My bosses have been pressuring me to come back ever since I left. One superior of mine in particular… has been a nuisance. I was under the impression that sick leave was supposed to be a period of peace… but I guess I thought wrong.”

You laughed at his attempt at humor. It came easily to you. Too easily. “I know how you feel. I busted my ass a few months ago. Twisted my ankle real bad,” You raised your leg off of his lap, twirling your stiletto heel around in the air, cutting through it like a knife. “These things are deadly. Boss gave me a solid two days before he started blowing up my phone asking when I was going to be back. It’s like… can you let me live?”

He laughed, then – really laughed, the kind that made his chest rumble, head thrown back against the cushiony couch. And as he released the melodious sound that made your head spin, his eyes creased at the corners. The experience gap between the two you couldn’t have been more apparent. He was a grown man, hardened by years of trials and tribulations – a mysterious one, at that. And there you were, a naive little dancer with your legs strewn over his lap like he was a partner and not a client. He seemed so wise beyond his years, something only accentuated by the tiredness in his eyes. You longed to hear him drone on about his life a little longer, 30 minutes be damned.

“My superior and I actually went to highschool together. He’s been up my ass as long as I can remember,” He hummed, licking his lips, and you followed the path of his tongue as it wet the skin like a hungry feline.

“Which superior?” You asked, mindlessly picking at the fabric of the velour couch beneath you. “The one you were here with last time? With the white hair?”

When the man knit his brows together, you froze up. Shit. I just gave myself away.

There was a brief, tense pause, during which you tried to focus on the music playing from the speakers, the jazzy tune, the faint remnants of a song playing in the showroom outside and up the hall, the wallpaper – anything but him.

“Yes, that would be him,” He answered, finally. He seemed to be… intrigued by you. Yes, that’s what it was – his half-lidded amber gaze lingered on your face for a moment too long. “You’re very perceptive.”

You cleared your throat. “So, this job of yours… do you like it?”

“I despise it,” He sighed, like he had been waiting his entire life to confess those words. “But, at least, I figure I’m doing something meaningful with my life. You could say I’m a professor on the side.”

I already know that, You thought. Still, he didn’t have to know you knew.

“It’s a demanding job, but I enjoy feeling like I’ve made a difference,” He continued on. “Unfortunately, after the incident, I had to take some time away from the kids to recover.”

“You seem to enjoy teaching,” You answered back, perching your chin on your hand against the back of the couch.

“Sometimes,” He replied. “Other times, the work can be unbearable,” He looked up, then, pretty brown eyes on yours in a way that had your heart skipping more than a couple of beats. You could practically feel the way they burned right through your extroverted facade, saw past the layers of glitter and scanty clothes and deep into the abyss in your chest. See who you really were.

It was him who turned to you, then, asking you, “What about you?”

“Me?” You asked, just to make sure you’d heard him correctly. A client? Caring about your experience at work? That was… dizzyingly rare.

“Yes, you,” He reiterated with the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “Do you enjoy working here?”

Do I…? You took a moment to consider your answer. You could lie to him – preserve the perfect, sexual image the women in your company were expected to uphold. That was always an option. But, the moment you peered into those all-knowing, tired eyes of his, you found that you didn’t have it in you to lie to him. No, not when he had been so honest with you.

No one’s ever asked me that before.

Before you could catch yourself, the words were already leaving your lips. “Not really, but it pays the bills.”

His eyes softened at that. He didn’t look the least bit upset by your words. If anything, he looked as if he had grown suddenly tender with a sense of understanding. Women didn’t often join your line of work. Not unless they were desperate for money. He seemed mature enough to realize that – to see right past the fantasy you were supposed to paint for him and peer into your eyes like windows into your soul. One look at him, and you knew he didn’t see you as a dancer.

He saw you as a person. As a woman.

You broke the moment with a hum, “Why don’t you keep telling me about your week?” You asked, changing the subject, shifting the conversation back into comfortable territory.

The rest of the half-hour with Nanami flew by like a fleeting dream. He spoke with a quiet ease, his voice low and steady, yet somehow captivating. He complained about the inefficiencies at work—endless meetings that led nowhere, piles of paperwork that seemed to multiply overnight, and colleagues who turned simple tasks into impossible challenges. Yet, when he talked about his students, something in his tone softened, revealing a warmth that made your chest ache. You found yourself asking questions, small ones at first, but each answer drew him out more. The way he spoke—measured, thoughtful, with just the faintest edge of weariness—made you want to listen forever. For someone who seemed so guarded, he had a surprising amount to say, and you realized how much you liked hearing him talk.

You didn’t even notice how much time had passed until a sharp knock interrupted the quiet cocoon of your conversation.

“Donnie? You okay in there? Your 30 was up ten minutes ago.”

It was your coworker.

“I’m good!” You called back, swinging your legs off of Nanami’s lap, turning to him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I completely lost track of time.”

“No, it’s alright. I should have been checking my watch,” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, long fingers combing through the buzzed, blonde strands of his undercut like wind blowing through a field of wheat. Then, after glancing down at his watch, he stood up, cleared his throat, and straightened out his suit jacket. “Thank you for your time.”

You hadn’t moved from your spot on the couch, brows furrowed. “That’s it?”

You had half expected him to extend the time. The conversation was going so well, you had silently found yourself hoping that he would lean over and do something – place his strong hand on your thigh, brush his fingers up your arm, anything. No-touching policy be damned.

You would make an exception for him. Men that fine don’t just grow on trees.

So, trying your best to lure him back in, you kicked one leg over the other, crawling into a sexy pose on the couch. In the most sultry tone you could manage, you breathed, “Is that really all you wanted?”

Please ask me for a lapdance, You found yourself wishing internally.

He paused, looking back at you like he wasn’t the least bit phased by the sexy pose or the outfit or… well, anything. “Yes, why?”

“Nothing, I don’t know, I just… You spent so much money tonight to be here,” You uttered, suddenly bashful when he was peering down at you like that – he was so much taller than you, a height gap that was only emphasized by your seated position on the couch below him. You imagined you would have to stand on the tips of your toes to be at eye level with his neck, maybe his chin. Mindlessly, you caressed the couch. “I figured you would have at least wanted a lap dance, or something.”

“I’m not going to make you do something that neither of us are interested in doing,” He said, sliding his hands down over his slacks to straighten out the creases that had formed in them where your legs had been resting only a moment earlier. “Sex is free. It’s rare to find someone who’s willing to listen.”

You sat there, stunned into silence, still in that sexy pose on the couch, your body frozen in the aftermath of his words. His calm, unbothered demeanor completely threw you off balance, leaving you scrambling to make sense of what had just happened. Men like him didn’t come in here looking for conversation. They came in here for fantasies, for attention, for touch. But not him.

“Thank you for everything,” he said softly, bowing his head slightly in a gesture so gentlemanly it made your stomach twist. Then, without another word, he moved to the door, unlocking it with smooth precision.

You didn’t even have time to gather yourself before he slipped out, leaving you sitting there in your sultry pose, legs crossed, mouth slightly open. The sound of the door closing behind him echoed in the room, final and undeniable.

You blinked, your mind racing, the moment replaying over and over in your head. Did I just get… emotionally blue-balled?

The thought hit you like a ton of bricks, both incredulous and a little amused at how absurdly fitting it was. You flopped back against the couch, your sultry act forgotten, staring up at the ceiling as the jazzy tune from the speakers drifted lazily through the air.

For the first time, a client had left you feeling something you couldn’t quite put into words. You couldn’t decide if you were more annoyed, intrigued, or just completely thrown off your game.

All you knew was that you wanted more.

DARREN: Hey imu.

DARREN: U busy tn?

YOU: I’m working but I get out early. Y.

DARREN: let me pick u up after work

DARREN: maybe i can help you ease some of that stress.

Darren rolled off of you with a huff and an exhale, proud of himself. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the backside of his elbow, sighing, “That was great. Did you cum?”

“Yeah,” You liked straight through your teeth. Feeling vulnerable, you reached for your shirt and slipped it back on. There was a point in time where the two of you would sleep skin-to-skin after sex. A point in time long ago, of course, but you couldn’t help but reflect. Now, all that was left was a feeling of discomfort where the intimacy used to be.

He flopped down onto the bed next to you, throwing his arm around your waist. Not moving a muscle, you trained your gaze on the ceiling above, hoping that maybe, if you spent enough time counting the dots in his popcorn ceiling, he would see that you did not, in fact, enjoy the experience. You doubted he would do anything to fix it even if he did know.

52, 53, 54.

You had been counting for the past five minutes – thirty seconds after he had grunted the words, “Let’s do missionary” into your ear before flipping you over. Truthfully, you hadn’t wanted to do missionary. That would mean that he could see you and, more importantly, that you had to look at him. So, to pass time and to avoid his gaze, you looked up at the ceiling, allowing yourself to be carried away by the tides of pleasure that his strokes gave you.

55, 56, 57.

He buried his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling. “You smell like a man’s cologne.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “I work at a strip club.”

With a groan, Darren rolled onto his back, finally putting a comfortable distance between you and him. “Don’t remind me. I’ve been telling you that you’re wasting your talents at a place like that.”

Your jaw tightened. There it was, the same old Darren: judgment wrapped in concern, but laced with the unspoken assumption that he knew what was best for you.

You slipped off the bed, grabbing your phone from the nightstand. The cool floor against your bare feet helped ground you.

Unlocking your phone, you typed a message to Nobara, your roommate:

Can you come get me? I’m at my ex’s.

The response came almost instantly:

Girl, r u srs?

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard before you replied:

I’ll explain later, ik, just pls… I wanna gtfo of here.

Sliding the phone into the pocket of your hoodie, you turned back to Darren. He was staring at the ceiling now, one arm slung across his chest, his fingers idly tapping against his bicep. For a moment, you hesitated. The familiarity of this scene—him in his sweatpants, you in one of his old T-shirts—was a cruel reminder of how things used to be. But you weren’t that girl anymore.

“I think I should go,” you said, breaking the silence.

Darren’s head snapped toward you. “No, wait,” he said, sitting up. His hair was tousled, his expression almost pleading. “Please… I really want you to stay.”

You crossed your arms, keeping your distance. “Why?”

“Because…” He raked a hand through his hair, his voice quieter now. “I don’t know. I thought things were going good between us.”

You blinked, then let out a short, humorless laugh. “Things? Darren, I come here, we have sex, and then I leave. That’s it. That’s all this is.”

“Is that all I am to you?” His voice carried a tinge of desperation, his eyes searching yours.

You tilted your head, studying him. “Or maybe,” you said slowly, “you’re asking if there’s any chance of us getting back together.”

“Yeah.” His voice cracked slightly, and he swallowed hard. “Is there?”

You laughed again, colder this time, shaking your head. “No. There isn’t.”

His jaw clenched, and he looked away for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was sharp. “That’s not fair. I’ve done so much for you—”

“Done so much?” Your voice rose, and you stepped closer, anger bubbling to the surface. “You don’t give me shit but dick and attitude, Darren.”

He flinched, but you didn’t stop. “You wanna know what’s not fair? The fact that you went and knocked me up and then forced me to have an abortion. Where the hell were you during that, huh? Seeing as you’ve done so much for me?”

He sat frozen, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. His eyes darted toward the floor, guilt pooling in their depths.

“And you wanna know what’s really unfair?” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. The words spilled out like a flood you couldn’t contain. “The fact that you fucking cheated on me when I needed you the most. That’s what’s not fair, Darren.”

Darren stared at you, his face contorted with frustration. “That’s not fucking fair,” he snapped, his voice rising.

“Oh, fuck you, Darren,” you shot back, your hands trembling as you pointed at him. “What else do I have to do to show you I’m done? What else do I have to say?”

“I’m trying!” he yelled, stepping closer. “I’ve been fucking trying! But nothing I do is ever good enough for you, is it? You’re so goddamn impossible!”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “You call this trying? You call cheating, lying, and gaslighting me trying?”

“God, you’re such a fucking idiot,” he spat, his words sharp enough to cut. “You act like you’re perfect, like you’ve never made a mistake in your goddamn life.”

“I’m not perfect, Darren,” you hissed, stepping forward, your voice shaking with anger. “But at least I own my shit. At least I don’t treat the people I love like they’re disposable!”

“Oh?” he scoffed, throwing his hands in the air. “You think you’re so much better than me? You’re the one who keeps coming back. So what does that make you, huh?”

The room was thick with tension, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then he muttered under his breath, “Pathetic.”

Your blood boiled. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me,” he said, his tone dripping with venom.

“Fuck you, Darren!” you screamed, shoving him hard against the chest.

His expression darkened. “You don’t get to do that,” he snarled.

Before you could react, he grabbed your wrist and pushed you away. The force of it sent you stumbling back, and you hit the edge of the dresser, pain shooting up your arm as you fell to the floor.

“Wait, I…” His face shifted, panic flickering in his eyes. He took a step toward you, his hand outstretched.

You scrambled to your feet, holding your arm where it throbbed. “You know what? I’m done.” Your voice was quieter now, but no less firm. “I’m done, Darren.”

“Wait—”

“No!” you shouted, cutting him off. “Go fuck yourself!”

“Please,” he said, his voice cracking. “Don’t let us go. We had something special. You know that.”

You stared at him, disbelief flooding your chest. Then you laughed—a cruel, hollow sound. “If you thought this was anything more than sex, then you’re the fucking idiot.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you were already grabbing your stiletto boots from the floor.

“We can make it work,” he said desperately, following you as you stormed out of his apartment.

“Make it work?” you echoed, spinning around to face him as you reached his car. “Make it work?” You hefted one of your boots in your hand. “Make this fucking work!”

Before he could respond, you hurled the boot at his car window. The glass shattered on impact, the sound ringing out like a scream in the still night.

The car alarm blared, its shrill wailing cutting through the silence. Darren stood frozen, his mouth agape.

“Shit,” he muttered, rushing toward the car.

You grabbed your other boot and slung it over your shoulder. “Fix that, asshole!” you yelled as you walked away, the sound of the alarm trailing behind you.

“Her!” Darren called after you, but you didn’t turn around.

You kept walking, the cold air biting at your skin, the adrenaline coursing through you keeping you upright. Your arm throbbed where you’d hit it, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t look back.

You made it about halfway home before the exhaustion hit you like a freight train. Your legs wobbled, and you collapsed onto the curb, cradling your arm as the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over.

Your phone buzzed weakly in your pocket. Nobara’s name lit up the screen.

“Where the hell are you?” she demanded as you answered, her voice sharp but tinged with worry.

You gave her your location, your words slurred with exhaustion and pain. “I can’t— I just can’t walk anymore.”

“Stay put,” she said firmly. “I’m coming to get you.”

By the time her car pulled up, you were slumped against a lamppost, your eyes half-closed. Nobara jumped out, wrapping her jacket around your shoulders as she helped you to your feet.

“What the hell happened?” she asked, her tone softer now.

You shook your head, too drained to explain. “I’m hungry. I’ll tell you later.”

“Let’s stop and get you something to eat,” She didn’t press further, guiding you into the car. As the city lights blurred past, you stared out the window, the events of the night replaying in your mind like a bad dream.

The car was warm, the quiet hum of the heater and the golden glow of streetlights spilling through the windshield easing the tension in your chest. You cradled your injured arm as Nobara maneuvered through the drive-thru, shooting you occasional glances.

“You want the usual?” she asked as she pulled up to the intercom.

“Yeah. Large fries, nuggets, and a Coke,” you murmured, leaning your head back against the seat.

She placed the order, and soon you were pulling into a parking spot under the dim glow of the lot’s overhead lights. The smell of greasy goodness filled the car as she handed you the bag, cracking open a box of nuggets for herself.

“So,” she said, dipping a nugget into a cup of barbecue sauce. “You gonna tell me what the hell happened back there, or do I just have to assume you went full-on ‘Carrie’ at prom?”

You snorted, the first genuine laugh you’d had all night. “Something like that.”

“Well, shit.” She popped the nugget into her mouth. “Guess I missed a show.”

You sighed, staring at the fries in your lap. “It’s over. For real this time.”

“Good,” Nobara said firmly. “That guy was a walking red flag.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Speaking of red flags…” You smirked as an idea popped into your head. “You’ll never believe what happened at work today.”

Her eyes narrowed as she dunked another nugget. “Oh, this should be good. Spill.”

You leaned back, a grin playing on your lips. “I got booked for a private room.”

Nobara froze mid-bite. “I thought you didn’t do those?”

“I don’t,” you said, shrugging. “But they offered me a shit ton of money. Guess who it was.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “Who?”

You couldn’t help but draw it out for dramatic effect. “Your teacher.”

Her jaw dropped, and the nugget in her hand fell back into the box. “No way, Bitch.”

You nodded, trying to keep a straight face.

“What did he want? Is he, like, a total pervert or something?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, actually. He just wanted someone to talk to.”

Nobara blinked, clearly baffled. “Huh.”

“I know, right?” you said, grabbing a nugget. “Easiest money I’ve ever made.”

“Damn,” she muttered, chewing thoughtfully. “I never took him as the emotional type.”

“Don’t go telling your friends, though,” you warned, wagging a finger at her. “He told me some pretty heavy shit.”

Nobara tensed, her expression flickering with something you didn’t catch as you reached for your Coke. “Like what?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Like hell if I’d tell you.”

“Oh, come on!” she said, pouting dramatically. “I won’t tell anyone!”

You smirked, leaning back in your seat. “I’m not risking it. Client confidentiality or whatever.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun,” she groaned, but there was a smile tugging at her lips.

You both sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the car filled with the sound of crinkling wrappers and occasional laughter.

“Hey,” Nobara said suddenly, looking at you out of the corner of her eye. “You’re okay, right?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I think I will be.”

She smiled, a small, genuine one. “Good. ‘Cause if you ever go back to that asshole, I’m slashing his tires.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling up before you could stop it. “Deal.”

As you both dug into the last of the nuggets, the weight of the night seemed to lift, replaced by the warmth of greasy food and a friend who always had your back.

a/n: and there she is! my first update in like a year lol. lmk what you thought! tell me what you would like to see in the story, who knows, i might be able to incorporate it in! Thank you all for your lovely comments. I loveee reading them.

comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

I obviously do not own jjk or anything related to it. I can't find the artist, but if you know them pls dm for credits!!! please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

taglist: @missphanosaur18 , @bontensbabygirl, @megumissunshine, @chocoyanchan, @littlelovebug98, @lucisimpongod, @xochyw, @jaegerstan222 , @electro-supremacy, @mellytheteddy, @clover0310 , @soraya-daydreams, @priussy, @insanehumantinker, @staygoldsquatchling02, @nonksity, @hinata7346, @chososwhoresblog, @ynjimenez , @soraya-daydreams , @nonksity , @hinata7346 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @sad-darksoul , @sasuke-slut , @yuunie135 , @bratkuna , @aydene , @mshope16 , @pretentiousteentrash , @galactict3a , @kokos-property , @moonriseoverkyoto , @lyn-soso , @arilostie , @violetmatcha , @markleeisdabestdrug , @erensdior , @hp-simp505 , @fushiguro-kyuuuuuu , @bontensbabygirl , @switch-godess , @honey-yuh , @ddotsie

wanna join the taglist? | my kinda love; chapter index

#notiddygxthgf ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚#my kinda love ʕ•㉨•ʔ #nanami x you #nanami x reader #nanami smut #nanami fluff #nanami angst #kento nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n

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novaursa · 1 month ago

Text

The Wolf Who Challenged Fire

- Summary: A short story where Brandon Stark steals you and starts the Rebellion.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Brandon Stark (The Wild Wolf)

- Note: Lyanna Stark does not exist in this AU.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (for the death scenes)

- Next part: extra chapter

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The crowd's roar of excitement feels almost suffocating as you sit upon the high dais, a living ornament of regal grace and Targaryen beauty. The silk of your gown, dyed a deep shade of crimson and embroidered with silver thread, glints faintly in the sunlight. Beside you sits your father, King Aerys II, his nails clawing into the armrests of his ornate chair. His pale hair falls in unkempt strands over his shoulder, and his violet eyes dart between the two knights below with a mixture of irritation and suspicion.

Your mother, Queen Rhaella, sits on the other side, her hands trembling as they clutch the edge of her cloak. She looks far too frail to be attending a tourney, her pallor nearly blending into the ivory silk she wears. Her gentle whispers to you earlier—pleas to keep your head down and avoid catching undue attention—linger in your ears.

But avoiding attention has never been your gift, not when your lilac eyes gleam like polished amethysts beneath the sunlight and your hair catches the wind like a cascade of molten silver and gold. The eyes of the realm are always on you, including, it seems, those of Brandon Stark.

You try not to meet his gaze as he sits astride his stallion, his broad shoulders and wolf's-head cloak making him look every bit the Stark heir that he is. Yet, the air crackles with unspoken words as his gray eyes flicker to you once, twice, before shifting back to his opponent: your older brother, Rhaegar.

Rhaegar looks serene, as always, the perfect picture of a prince. His armor is brilliant in the sunlight, polished to perfection, and his hair silver falls in elegant waves. His hands grip the lance as if it were merely an extension of himself. The dragon and the wolf, facing each other on the field, as if the gods themselves had orchestrated this moment.

“Do you see how the Stark boy stares at you, daughter?” Aerys mutters, leaning toward you. His voice is a rasp, low and sharp like a dagger drawn across stone. “He thinks himself worthy of what is mine.”

Your chest tightens, but you do not answer. You know better than to draw your father’s wrath in public, even though your heart hammers with dread at what he might do later. Instead, you keep your gaze fixed on the jousting field below, willing yourself to stay calm.

“Brandon Stark is a fool,” Aerys continues under his breath, though his tone is low enough that only you can hear. “Like his father. Wolves do not belong in the company of dragons.”

Rhaella shifts uncomfortably beside you, her hand trembling as it rests briefly on yours. A silent plea: endure this.

The herald’s voice rings out, announcing the final tilt. The crowd erupts as Rhaegar and Brandon lower their lances and spur their horses forward.

You grip the armrests of your chair tightly, your breath catching as their steeds charge toward each other. The earth beneath them trembles with the force of their gallop, and your heart clenches as Rhaegar’s lance strikes Brandon’s shield with a deafening crack. But Brandon’s aim is truer. His lance collides with Rhaegar’s chest plate, shattering upon impact and sending your brother tumbling from his horse.

The crowd gasps. You shoot to your feet, your hands clenching the edge of your seat.

“Rhaegar!” you call, fear lacing your voice.

Rhaegar moves almost immediately, pushing himself to his feet with a grimace but no visible injury. Relief floods you as he raises a hand to signal his well-being, and the crowd erupts into cheers.

Brandon wheels his horse around, his expression victorious yet restrained. He dismounts smoothly, handing off his shattered lance and accepting the victor’s crown from the herald. It is a wreath of blue roses, the color vibrant and fresh against the dusty field.

You expect him to crown his betrothed, Lady Catelyn Tully, seated among the northern contingent. But he does not. Instead, Brandon mounts his horse once more, his wolf’s-head cloak billowing behind him as he rides toward the royal dais.

The murmurs in the crowd swell into a crescendo of astonishment as Brandon halts directly before you. His steel-gray eyes meet yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“My queen of love and beauty,” he declares, his voice carrying over the stunned silence. Slowly, deliberately, he reaches out and places the crown of blue roses in your lap.

Your heart stops. The world around you seems to blur as the enormity of what he’s done settles over you. This is no simple act of admiration—it is a public claim, a defiance of the natural order. He has passed over his betrothed, and he has chosen you.

“Brandon, no,” you whisper under your breath, your voice barely audible. But it is too late.

Beside you, Aerys stiffens. His nails dig into the armrest, and his eyes narrow with barely-contained fury. “He dares,” he hisses, so quietly that only you and Rhaella can hear. “That wolf dares.”

Rhaella’s trembling hand grips yours tightly, silently urging you to keep your composure. Across the field, you see Lord Rickard Stark rise from his seat, his face pale and drawn. He descends the stairs quickly, presumably to speak with his son in private. But the damage is already done. The crown in your lap feels like a brand, scorching you with the weight of its implications.

Brandon inclines his head slightly, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips as he turns his horse and rides away.

The crowd erupts into cheers once more, but you barely hear it over the sound of your own pounding heart. You glance at Rhaegar, who has remounted his horse. His expression is unreadable, though his gaze flickers to you briefly before he turns his attention back to the field.

Aerys leans closer, his breath hot against your ear. “He has signed his death warrant,” he mutters, his voice laced with venom. “And his father’s. I will see to it.”

You swallow hard, your hands trembling as you clutch the blue roses in your lap. Brandon Stark’s defiance may have ignited the spark, but it is your father’s madness that will set the realm aflame.

Brandon barely dismounts his horse before his father, Lord Rickard Stark, strides toward him with long, purposeful steps. His cloak of gray wool lined with dark fur trailing behind him, and his expression is as cold as the snow of his homeland. The crowd’s cheers fade into a dull hum as Rickard seizes Brandon by the arm, his grip firm but not violent, and pulls him toward a quieter corner behind the pavilion.

“What were you thinking, boy?” Rickard’s voice is low but cutting, the tone that always made Brandon feel like a chastised pup.

Brandon shrugs off his father’s grip, his gray eyes fierce and unyielding. “I was thinking of her,” he says simply, his voice steady but firm. “Y/N deserves better than to be caged in King’s Landing, surrounded by her father’s madness. She deserves—”

Rickard cuts him off with a sharp gesture. “You crowned a Targaryen princess as Queen of Love and Beauty in full view of the court and her father, the Mad King! Do you realize what you’ve done? This isn’t the North, Brandon. Down here, every word, every gesture is a weapon.”

Brandon’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away. “You think I don’t know that? I don’t care. I won today, Father. Me, not Rhaegar. And when I saw her sitting there, looking like something out of a song, I knew I couldn’t let it pass. She’s more than just a Targaryen—she’s the woman I—”

Rickard raises a hand, his eyes darkening. “Don’t finish that sentence. Not here. Not now.” He glances around, his instincts honed from years of navigating court politics. “You may have won the tilt, but you’ve dragged our house into dangerous waters. Aerys won’t forget this, nor will Rhaegar.”

Brandon smirks, a flash of his wolfish grin showing. “Let Aerys stew in his madness. And as for Rhaegar—he knows he’s lost her. That’s why he tilted against me so fiercely.”

Rickard’s expression softens slightly, a glimmer of concern breaking through his stern facade. “Brandon, this isn’t just about her. It’s about the North, about our family. You’ve made enemies today, powerful ones. And you’ve slighted Catelyn Tully in the process. Have you thought of that?”

The mention of Catelyn makes Brandon’s grin fade. He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. “I didn’t mean to dishonor her. But I can’t pretend to love someone I barely know, not when—” He hesitates, lowering his voice. “Not when my heart belongs to Y/N.”

Rickard steps closer, lowering his voice as well. “And do you think Aerys will simply allow you to take her? That he’ll overlook what you’ve done today? The man burned his own courtiers for less, Brandon. He’s mad, yes, but not stupid. He’ll see this as a challenge to his power.”

Brandon’s defiance wavers for a moment, the weight of his father’s words sinking in. “Then what should I have done? Sit back and let Rhaegar crown her? Let her be his, or worse, left to wither in her father’s shadow?”

Rickard exhales heavily, his hand briefly resting on Brandon’s shoulder. “I know you think you’re protecting her, but you’ve made things more dangerous for her, for all of us. The court is a viper’s nest, and you’ve kicked it. Now we’ll all feel the venom.”

Brandon’s eyes harden again, his stubbornness flaring up. “I’d face a hundred vipers for her. You know that.”

Rickard studies his son for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. “You’ve always been headstrong, Brandon. Too much like your mother. But headstrong doesn’t win wars, and make no mistake—war is what you’ve invited today.”

“I’ll face it,” Brandon says, his voice steady. “I’ll face whatever comes. For her.”

Rickard doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he steps back, his gaze shifting toward the royal dais, where King Aerys still sits, his expression unreadable but his violet eyes burning with something dangerous. The old wolf’s instincts scream at him to act, to salvage what he can before it’s too late.

“Come,” Rickard says finally, his voice quieter now. “We need to leave this place before more damage is done.”

Brandon hesitates, his gaze flickering back toward the dais. Your lilac eyes meet his for a brief moment, filled with worry and something unspoken. He nods slightly, a silent promise passing between you.

Rickard notices the exchange and sighs. “The heart of a wolf will always defy reason,” he mutters under his breath. “Let’s pray it doesn’t cost us all.”

With that, he steers his son away from the pavilion, the blue roses in your lap the only lingering reminder of what Brandon Stark has done.

The night is heavy with the lingering scents of spilled ale and crushed flowers, the din of the tourney fading as lords and ladies retreat to their pavilions. You walk alone through the dimly lit garden adjoining Harrenhal’s grand hall, your heart pounding in your chest as you glance over your shoulder. The festival atmosphere still hums faintly in the distance, but here, surrounded by ancient stone walls and shadowed paths, the air is hushed, conspiratorial.

The blue roses Brandon placed in your lap earlier remain tucked into the crook of your arm, their delicate petals bruised from your grip. You press deeper into the garden, past hedges and fountains, until you reach a secluded alcove where the lanterns do not reach. The moonlight filters through the overhanging branches, casting silvery shadows on the ground. You wait, the stillness broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and the distant murmurs of drunken revelers.

“Y/N.”

The voice is low but unmistakable. You turn swiftly to find him emerging from the shadows, his wolf’s-head cloak blending into the darkness. Brandon moves with a predatory grace, his broad shoulders framed by the dim light as he approaches. There is no hesitation in his stride, no hint of regret in his eyes, only determination.

“You shouldn’t have come,” you whisper, though your voice lacks conviction. “If anyone sees us—”

“They won’t,” he interrupts, his voice steady but fierce. He steps closer, his gray eyes locking onto yours. “I couldn’t leave without seeing you.”

The intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch, but you quickly avert your eyes, clutching the roses tighter. “Brandon, do you have any idea what you’ve done? My father—he’s furious. He didn’t say much, but I could see it in his eyes. He’s plotting something. And Rhaegar—” You pause, your voice trembling. “Rhaegar won’t forget this insult.”

Brandon reaches out, his hand brushing against yours, his touch warm despite the chill of the night. “Let him plot. Let Rhaegar brood. None of it matters.”

You shake your head, stepping back from him even as your heart aches to stay close. “It does matter. You’ve put yourself—and your family—in danger. My father is mad, Brandon. Truly mad. He’s burned men alive for less than what you did today.”

“I’d do it again,” he says without hesitation. “A hundred times over. I won that tilt, and I wasn’t about to hand that crown to anyone else. You deserve better than this—better than being paraded around as some prize in a mad king’s court.”

“Better than being the reason your father and brothers suffer?” you retort sharply, your voice cracking with the weight of your fear. “Do you think Aerys will stop at just you? He’ll find a way to punish all of you for your defiance. And me? He’ll—he’ll—” Your voice falters, and you look away, tears threatening to spill.

Brandon’s hand cups your cheek gently, his thumb brushing away a tear that escapes despite your best efforts. “I won’t let him hurt you,” he says softly, his voice steady but laced with unyielding resolve. “Whatever comes, I’ll protect you. I swear it.”

“You can’t make that promise,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “You’re just one man, Brandon. You can’t fight a king.”

“I’ll fight a hundred kings if it means keeping you safe,” he replies fiercely, his grip on your cheek firm but tender. “You’re worth it, Y/N. You’ve always been worth it.”

Your resolve crumbles under the weight of his words, and you lean into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment. “You’re a fool,” you murmur. “A brave, stubborn fool.”

“And you love me for it,” he says, a hint of a grin breaking through his intensity.

You open your eyes, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the weight of the world fades. In the moonlight, he looks like the wolf you’ve always known him to be—wild, fierce, and unrelenting. Your lips part to respond, but before you can, he leans in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that is both tender and desperate.

The roses fall from your arms, forgotten, as you cling to him, your fingers tangling in his cloak. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as if he can shield you from everything beyond this moment. The kiss deepens, a silent promise of love and defiance, of everything you wish the world could allow you to have.

When you finally part, both of you breathless, he rests his forehead against yours, his voice a whisper. “Say the word, and I’ll take you away from all of this. Tonight. Now.”

You shake your head, tears spilling freely this time. “And where would we go? My father would hunt us to the ends of the earth. Your family—your brothers—they’d pay the price.”

He closes his eyes, his jaw clenching in frustration. “Then what? Do we just keep sneaking around like this? Hiding in shadows?”

“For now, we survive,” you say softly, placing a hand against his chest. “For now, we love in secret. Until we can find a way to be together without bringing ruin to everyone we care about.”

His hand covers yours, his warmth grounding you despite the chill of the night. “Then I’ll wait. For however long it takes.”

You nod, your voice trembling as you reply, “And I’ll hold you to that.”

The two of you linger a moment longer, stealing what little time you can before the weight of the world presses down once more. Then, reluctantly, Brandon steps back, his eyes lingering on you as if memorizing every detail.

“Go,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Before someone sees us.”

He hesitates, then nods, pulling the wolf’s-head cloak tighter around him as he slips back into the shadows. You watch until he disappears, your heart aching with every step he takes away from you. Only when you are certain he is gone do you stoop to pick up the blue roses, their petals crushed but still fragrant.

As you make your way back to the hall, the weight of his love and your fears settles heavily on your shoulders. You know this affair is dangerous, reckless even. But you also know that for Brandon Stark, you would face every shadow in this world.

The journey to King’s Landing was supposed to be routine—a formality, Lord Rickard Stark had said, though there was tension behind his words. Aerys had summoned them to court after Brandon’s brash actions at Harrenhal moons prior. The blue roses, the crown, the whispered conversations in shadowed corners—it had all led to this.

Brandon Stark, the Wild Wolf of Winterfell, had ridden alongside his father with his jaw clenched, his mind racing. He had not shared his full plan with anyone, not even his father. But now, as the Red Keep loomed like a blood-red sentinel in the morning sun, he knew there was no turning back.

The Red Keep’s air was stifling, heavy with the weight of unseen eyes and whispered schemes. Servants scurried about like mice, their heads bowed, while guards in Targaryen black stood like statues, their hands resting on their swords. Brandon walked alongside his father, his cloak trailing behind him, the leather of his boots scuffing against the cold stone floors.

"Keep your head down," Rickard muttered under his breath, his voice low and firm. "This isn’t the time for your pride, boy."

Brandon bristled but said nothing. He wasn’t here to grovel, not when so much was at stake. The thought of you—your lilac eyes filled with fear as you clutched your stomach, your voice trembling as you begged him to leave you behind—gnawed at him. He had promised to protect you, and this was the only way.

As they turned a corner, Brandon's steps faltered, his hand brushing against the hilt of his sword. He glanced over his shoulder, his keen eyes scanning for any sign of pursuit.

"You’re distracted," Rickard observed, his voice sharp. "What have you done, Brandon?"

Brandon hesitated, his heart pounding. He could feel his father’s eyes on him, piercing and unyielding, demanding the truth. But he couldn’t tell him. Not yet.

"Nothing you wouldn’t have done in my place," Brandon replied cryptically, his voice tight. "Just trust me, Father."

Rickard frowned but said nothing, though his suspicion was visible.

It wasn’t until they reached the small chamber set aside for them that Rickard cornered his son. The room was sparse, the only furnishings a table, two chairs, and a narrow bed. A single window overlooked the city, its sprawling streets winding toward the distant horizon.

Rickard shut the door firmly, his face grim. "Out with it. What madness have you brought upon us this time?"

Brandon leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his expression defiant. "I did what needed to be done."

Rickard’s patience snapped. "Stop dancing around it, boy! What did you do?"

Brandon pushed off the wall, his voice rising. "I sent her away."

Rickard’s eyes widened, his jaw tightening. "You what?"

"I smuggled her out of the Red Keep last night," Brandon confessed, his voice steady but his heart racing. "She’s gone, safe, far from here."

Rickard took a step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "And where, exactly, have you sent the princess of the Seven Kingdoms? With whom?"

Brandon shook his head. "I won’t tell you. It’s better if you don’t know."

Rickard stared at him, his disbelief turning into fury. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Aerys will see this as treason! You’ve not only defied him but stolen his daughter from under his nose. You’ve doomed us all."

"I had to," Brandon said, his voice breaking slightly. "Don’t you understand? They would have hurt her. Or worse."

Rickard’s anger faltered for a moment, replaced by confusion. "Hurt her? What are you talking about?"

Brandon’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He looked away, his voice barely above a whisper. "She’s with child."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking like a stone into the air. Rickard’s face paled, his breath catching. "By the gods… Brandon, is it—?"

"Mine," Brandon said firmly, meeting his father’s gaze. "The child is mine. And I wasn’t going to let them use her—or our child—as pawns in their games."

Rickard staggered back a step, his hand gripping the back of the chair for support. "Do you know what this means? Aerys will burn us for this. Both of us. And when he finds her—"

"He won’t," Brandon interrupted, his voice steel. "She’s gone, and no one will find her unless I want them to. I made sure of it."

Rickard’s eyes narrowed, his anger rekindling. "You arrogant fool. You think you can outmaneuver a king? Aerys will burn the North to ash to get to her."

"I couldn’t leave her here!" Brandon snapped, his voice echoing in the small room. "Not when I knew what he’d do to her. Not when I knew they’d take our child—use them, hurt them. I won’t let that happen, Father."

Rickard stared at his son, a mix of anger, disbelief, and something resembling admiration flickering in his eyes. He shook his head slowly, his voice heavy. "You’ve set the realm on fire, Brandon. And we’ll both pay the price for it."

Brandon’s jaw tightened, his gray eyes unwavering. "I’ll pay whatever price I have to. But I won’t let them touch her—or my child."

A knock at the door shattered the moment, and a guard’s voice called out from the other side. "Lord Rickard, Prince Rhaegar requests your presence in the great hall. His Grace awaits."

Rickard straightened, his face hardening as he turned toward the door. "This is it," he said quietly, his voice tinged with resignation. "We’ll die in that hall, you know that."

Brandon squared his shoulders, his wolfish defiance returning. "Then so be it."

Rickard hesitated for a moment, then nodded, opening the door. Together, they stepped into the corridor, the sound of the guards’ boots echoing around them as they were escorted toward the great hall—and their fate.

The great hall of the Red Keep is a cavern of shadows and firelight, its high vaulted ceiling seeming to echo the weight of the accusations hurled across the chamber. Rows of courtiers, guards, and lords line the walls, their faces painted with a mixture of curiosity, fear, and malice. At the far end of the room, the Iron Throne rises like a jagged mountain, its ominous blades reflective in the flickering torchlight.

Seated atop the throne is King Aerys II, his frail frame nearly swallowed by the massive seat of power. His silver hair falls in wild, tangled strands around his gaunt face, his violet eyes blazing with an unholy fire. His nails, long and yellowed, tap erratically against the armrests, the sound reverberating in the sinister silence.

At the base of the throne stands Prince Rhaegar, his expression carefully composed. His indigo eyes flicker to Brandon and Rickard Stark as they are led into the hall, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Brandon walks with his head high, his wolf’s-head cloak draped across his broad shoulders, his jaw clenched in defiance. Beside him, Rickard Stark’s face is a mask of stoic calm, though his eyes betray the storm brewing within. They are the embodiment of the North—unyielding, proud, and unbroken.

Aerys leans forward on the throne, his voice slicing through the silence like a dagger. "Rickard Stark," he hisses, the words dripping with venom. "You come before your king as a traitor. As a thief."

Rickard steps forward, his voice calm but firm. "I am no traitor, Your Grace. I have come to answer your summons and to demand justice for my son."

Aerys’s laughter erupts, high-pitched and manic, echoing through the hall. "Justice? Justice? You speak of justice, yet your wild wolf has stolen what is mine!"

Brandon steps forward before his father can reply, his gray eyes blazing. "She is not yours!" he snarls. The words reverberate through the hall, causing a ripple of gasps from the gathered courtiers. "Y/N is not a prize to be kept in a cage. She’s free now, far from your madness."

Aerys’s face contorts with rage, his nails clawing at the armrests of the throne. "You dare defy me, boy? You dare steal my daughter and think there will be no consequence?"

Rhaegar’s expression tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides, but he says nothing. His eyes, however, flicker briefly to Brandon, a flicker of suspicion passing through his gaze.

Rickard steps forward, his voice rising over the chaos. "Your Grace, I came to King’s Landing in good faith, to answer your summons. My son’s actions were not sanctioned by me. I demand trial by combat, as is my right."

Aerys’s lips curl into a cruel smile, his eyes alight with glee. "Trial by combat, is it? Very well. You shall have your combat, Stark." He gestures to the pyromancers standing by the walls. "Bring the wildfire."

The room erupts into murmurs as pyromancers begin to move, fetching the green liquid that glows with a sickly light. Rickard’s calm demeanor does not waver, though Brandon stiffens beside him, his fists clenching.

"You call this justice?" Brandon spits, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "This is madness!"

Aerys’s laughter cuts him off, a shrill and terrible sound. "Madness, you say? No, boy. This is power. This is the price of treason."

Two guards seize Rickard, dragging him toward the pyre set in the center of the hall. The wildfire is poured into the brazier, its noxious fumes filling the air. Rickard glances back at his son, his eyes calm and steady. "Brandon," he says quietly, his voice firm. "Do not lose yourself."

Brandon shakes his head, his voice breaking. "Father—"

The guards tie Rickard to the pyre, stepping back as the wildfire is lit. Green flames roar to life, climbing hungrily around Rickard’s form. The heat is unbearable, the air thick with the stench of burning flesh. But Rickard does not scream. His eyes remain fixed on his son, unyielding to the very end.

"Father!" Brandon roars, his voice raw with anguish. He surges forward, but guards grab him, forcing him back. Aerys gestures with a flick of his hand, and a noose of Tyroshi rope is brought forth. It is looped around Brandon’s neck and tied to the brazier.

"Let the wolf choke on his own defiance," Aerys says with a sneer.

The guards begin to tighten the rope, pulling it taut. Brandon fights, his hands clawing at the noose, his boots skidding against the stone floor as he struggles to reach his father. His face turns red, veins bulging as the rope cuts into his neck.

Through the haze of pain and fire, Brandon’s gaze finds Rhaegar, who stands motionless at the base of the throne. His lips move, a whisper barely audible over the crackling flames and Aerys’s mad laughter.

"Y/N," Brandon whispers, his voice hoarse. The name carries through the hall like a ghost, reaching Rhaegar’s ears.

Rhaegar’s eyes widen, his composure cracking for the first time. He takes a step forward, his gaze flickering to his father, who is too consumed by his triumph to notice. The name lingers in the air, a spark in the dry kindling of the North’s fury.

Brandon’s struggles slow, his strength ebbing away as the noose tightens. His vision blurs, the last thing he sees the green flames consuming his father. With one final, ragged breath, he collapses, his body limp against the restraints.

The hall falls silent, the only sounds the crackling of the wildfire and Aerys’s quiet, satisfied laughter.

Rhaegar’s fists clench at his sides as he stares at the lifeless form of Brandon Stark. The name whispered in death echoes in his mind. Y/N.

The North will not forget. And neither will he.

The gates of Winterfell groaned open as Eddard Stark rode through, his grim face framed by the gray fur of his cloak. The chill wind of the North cut through the courtyard, carrying whispers of his return as servants hurried to greet their lord. His bannermen followed close behind, their horses weary from the long ride. At the center of the company, wrapped tightly in thick furs, was the child.

The infant stirred, his small cries barely audible over the clatter of hooves and the rustle of banners. Eddard held him protectively, his jaw clenched, his expression as cold and unreadable as the snow-dusted landscape around him.

At the top of the stairs leading into the great hall, Lady Catelyn Stark stood waiting. Her auburn hair spilled down over her shoulders, a stark contrast to the pale blue of her gown. Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line as she watched her husband dismount.

The sight of the bundled infant in Eddard’s arms was like a blow. Her heart sank, dread pooling in her stomach as the truth dawned on her. A bastard. He’s brought a bastard into our home.

When Eddard finally reached her, the tension between them was palpable. He paused, cradling the child, and looked into her eyes. “Catelyn,” he said softly, his voice steady but distant. “We need to talk.”

Her gaze flickered to the child, then back to him, her expression tight with fury. “You dare to bring him here? After everything?”

“Not here,” Eddard said firmly, nodding toward the doors of the great hall. “Inside.”

The warmth of the great hall was nothing to the frost in Catelyn’s glare. She stood rigid near the hearth, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as Eddard laid the baby in a cradle brought by a servant. The child, with dark hair and pale skin, cooed softly, unaware of the storm brewing around him.

Catelyn’s voice trembled with barely contained anger. “You bring this… this boy into my home, and you expect me to accept him? To raise him among our children, as if he were one of them?”

Eddard turned to face her, his expression unreadable but resolute. “He is my blood.”

“Your blood,” she repeated bitterly, her voice rising. “A bastard! Do you know what they will say, Eddard? What they will whisper behind my back? They already called me the jilted bride of The Wild Wolf. Brandon’s betrayal humiliated me before the realm, and now this?” She gestured toward the cradle. “Another Stark disgrace for me to bear?”

Eddard’s face hardened, his voice sharp. “I will not let this child suffer for the choices of men.”

“Choices you made!” she snapped, her voice echoing in the hall. “What of me, Eddard? What of your wife? Did you think of me when you lay with another woman? When you fathered a child out of wedlock?”

Eddard flinched, but his resolve did not waver. “You know nothing of what I’ve done,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with unspoken pain. “And you never will.”

Catelyn stared at him, her chest rising and falling with the force of her emotions. “You owe me more than that, Eddard. I am your wife. The mother of your heir.”

“You are,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “And I will never dishonor you again. But Jon is here now, and he will stay. He is innocent in all of this.”

“Innocent,” she repeated bitterly, her gaze flickering to the cradle. “And what of Robb? What of our son? What will he think when he grows older and learns his father brought a bastard into his home? How do I explain this to him?”

Eddard sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You will tell them the truth—that Jon is my son. That he is their brother, no matter the circumstances of his birth.”

Catelyn shook her head, her voice trembling with anger and pain. “You ask too much of me, Eddard. Too much.”

Eddard stepped closer, his gray eyes meeting hers. “I ask only for your kindness. For the sake of the boy.”

Catelyn’s throat tightened, her nails digging into her palms. “You’ve already asked for my forgiveness. Don’t ask for my kindness too.”

Eddard’s face remained impassive, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of sorrow. He nodded once, then turned back to the cradle, his hand resting on the edge as he looked down at the child.

“This is Jon,” he said softly. “He will be raised as a Stark. And I will ensure he knows he is loved, no matter what the world says.”

Catelyn turned away, unable to bear the sight of her husband and his bastard child. The pain of betrayal cut deep, the wounds still raw. She knew she had no choice but to endure, for the sake of her family, but the bitterness in her heart was a cold comfort.

As Eddard stood by the cradle, the weight of his decisions pressing heavily on his shoulders, Catelyn left the hall, her footsteps echoing through the empty corridors of Winterfell.

#game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #got #got/asoiaf #asoiaf x reader #brandon stark #house stark #house targaryen #the wild wolf #brandon x reader #brandon x you #brandon x y/n #x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #fire and blood

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quixotical-lymbo · 4 months ago

Note

Hi I really love your transformers one fics and I was hoping if you could write a fic about B-127 meeting a predacon like dragon fem s/o in the surface while searching for the metrix with his friends, I would love that 😊

Pairing: B-127/Bee x fem!predacon!Reader Rating: SFW Summary: B-127 meets an unlikely stranger, and you meet an odd group of bots for the first time in a long time. Warnings/Tags: first meetings, reader has a bad time picking up social cues, hehe B-127 is silly, has no concept of personal space, but he's also up in ur grill, size difference, D-16, Orion, and Elita are like 'damn not another one ffs'. A/N: I'mma not put spoilers anymore since I feel like everyone has watched TFO at this point. Ty for the love!! Word Count: 800+ words

"Uhh, guys what is that?"

"What is what-"

A loud crash made the group of four turn towards one of the dilapidated structures. A gaping hole could be seen in the roof as dust rose from the damaged part.

"....we should go," Elita muttered as she began inching away while not taking her optics off of the building. D-16 nodded silently and followed the pink femme's lead. Orion and Bee, however, wanted to investigate.

"Pax." A warning hiss came from Elita as she noticed the hesitancy from the two. "Let's go."

"Yeahhh, I'm with Elita on this one," Bee began turning around when Orion stepped toward the building instead.

"I just wanna get another look." Orion spoke as he walked toward the entrance of the building. He peered inside the darkness and leaned forward, nothing seemed to be moving or inside the structure. After a few more nanoklicks had passed, Orion hummed and backed away.��

Only something big popped out and tackled him to the ground.

Orion screamed as well as the B-127.

"Orion!" D-16 was quick to act and rushed over to his friend. Elita groaned and ran after D-16 to aid in saving Orion.

"It's eating his face! It's eating his face!" Bee shrieked as he pointed at the weird beast thing on top of Orion. It wasn't that big, just a few sizes bigger than Orion and the more Orion examined the beast on him the more he recognized what it was. Seeing that Orion wasn't struggling anymore, the beast also stopped snapping it's maw at him.

"Hehe!" A strange laugh came from the beast as it began transforming. Before anyone knew it, a femme appeared where the beast was and sat on Orion.

"You lot sure are funny-!" You didn't have time to introduce yourself before two bodies slammed into yours. You blinked and glanced down at the bots who were attempting to..shove you off?

"Get off of him!" The silver mech demanded.

"Oh! Yeah, sorry, sometimes I forget I'm stronger than most bots, but then again I haven't seen any bot for a long, longggg time so maybe I just haven't had any strong bot to test my strength against and-"

"JUST GET OFF."

"Okay! Okay! Geez," You raised your servos up and got off of their friend. "Better?"

"B-better," Orion hadn't realized he was out of breath as he sat up and wheezed. "You're…a predacon?"

"What now?"

"A predacon," Elita's optics widened as she took in your form. "I thought…no, weren't they supposed to be dead?"

"Who said that? I'm alive and well, thank you very much," You crossed your arms and huffed.

"Wait, what's a predacon, guys? It sounds cool," Bee piped up as he bounced over to you. "You're like…really big and grrrr rahhh! What's that about?? What's your designation? Mine is B-127 but I like to call myself, b a d a s s a t r o n. Do you live here? How long have you been here? Hey, why are you living in this…lovely place? Hey, are you single-?"

You sat there stunned as the barrage of questions assaulted your processor too quickly for you to even remember the first one. You turned your helm to look at the trio who only shrugged.

"Uh, yes?"

The yellow mech let out a joyous laugh that was infectious, your previous confusion melted away as you leaned down to examine B-127 or 'Badassatron.'

"You're funny, I like it." You poked a claw at Bee's helm before picking at his arm.

"Well, you're gonna like me more since…being funny is my whole thing," Bee didn't seem to mind your touchy-feelyness and even went as far as to poke and prod at you too.

"Excuse me, sorry for interrupting the happy couple," Elita rose her voice. "But I think we have somewhere to be, let's go."

"Oh! Right…you can come with us!"

"What?"

"I don't…"

"Why not?" Orion shrugged. Elita gave Orion a hard stare and D-16 just gave in with a loop-sided smile.

"Eeeee! It's official!" Bee and you cheered as the two of you rushed ahead of the group.

"...I mean, at least they'll balance each other out."

"Yeah, now I won't have to entertain 'badassatron' anymore." Elita sighed but a small grin formed on her dermas.

"I think they're kind of cute?"

"Yeah, yeah, haul some aft, cupid." D-16 shoved Orion's arm and trailed after the chattering duo. Elita and Orion followed.

😼 - I do not give permission for anyone to translate, copy, republish, or plagiarize any of my written works. I provide no permission for any of my literary works to be used in artificial intelligence. like my writing? consider buying me a kofi :)

honeycomb banner(s) by @thecutestgrotto!!

#transformers one x reader #Tranformers one #b 127 #B 127 x reader #X reader #Predacon reader #Slight crack #fluff #first meeting

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amourcheol · 2 years ago

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the great war | (teaser)

❝Because the greatest war Seungcheol had ever waged was against your heart.❞

historical! au | enemies to lovers! au | smut, fluff | approx. 30k words

s u m m a r y : there was only one thing you hated more than your restricted life, and that was choi seungcheol—the greatest venetian general who has ever lived. when a marriage is arranged between the two of you, you were sure it would end in bloodshed. however, as you and seungcheol are forced to attend balls and share a few hard truths, you realise you have more in common with the mysterious general than you thought.

c o n t e n t : military commander! seungcheol, noblewoman! artist! mc, artist! minghao, artist! soonyoung who are both annoying (affectionate), cheol and mc absolutely hate each other because i need to see proper e2l, cheol is the hottest man who ever lived, he also has a scar on his lip (yes this needs a separate warning), this is set in renaissance venice so there will be artist references, the doge = basically ruler of venice, themes of sexism, constant arguing between mc and cheol, there is fluff, also angst ofc mature warnings -> tons of sexual tension, making out fuelled by hatred, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected sex (only because medieval contraception is vile), cheol says some very vile things during the deed, very slight corruption kink

p l a y l i s t : dangerous woman by ariana grande || war of the hearts by sade || love is stronger than pride by sade || i don’t understand but i luv u by seventeen

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @just-hear-to-read-01 @cherrycheolcoups @jeonwonwooscutie @i-dont-give-a-fok @mystikha @xcynthiaaa @ckline35 @enthralled-bandit @urfavtallgirl222 @swimmingkpopblog @areumyang @geniejunn @itsveronicaxxx @yoongischeeksluv @sojohns @capsiclesworld @hanniehoneyy @belladaises @listxn @cheolsbitch @atinycarat26 @moniece @foxdaisy @seventeensfave @yoozuku @hanicore @ishireads @kkooongie @huiiline @coralderae @deekayownsme @louvyves @writingsbybirdie @myjaeyunn @twogyuu @goldenhoney-cas @jonginstance @lurniere @vanishingboots @jub-jub @jjjzzzz @bee-beyond @ikeostormy @rubywonu @ncteez-replies @appt2235 @claireleem @ningwebs @gyuturn @sikebishes @antiv3nus @tyongff-ff @lxgus @forcoups @woozarts @smoooore @iwuzhere @asteriaskingdom @p-dwiddle @youre-on-your-ownkid @fragmentof-indifference @lilsafsafbooyah @9songbird19 @hibernatinghamster @norassimpingzone @parkchaeyoungsbish @foxinnie8 @idubutily @imatfrontrow @ellr07 @havetaeminforbreakfast @tacolombe @nomnom2001 @highkey-fangirling @nap-of-a-starr @pineartease @hwashiningstar @hybeboy @haoraecane @yestenano

(send an ask to be tagged <33)

a u t h o r ’ s n o t e : hello everyone i died on this account but i am back and better than ever especially since cheol has the nerve to be the finest man alive. just a warning, this fic is going to be so horrendously self-indulgent </3

SEUNGCHEOL ENTERED THE ROOM, AND YOU STILLED.

He was also wearing his wedding attire, but his cravat had been loosened, revealing a sliver of his neck. His curls were wild, as if he had been raking his hands through them. Even as a groom his sword was strapped at his side, the weapon absent at the actual ritual. You could have laughed at him if you were not so nervous—even on an apparent intimate night, he had only thoughts of murdering you.

His expression, on the other hand, revealed no humour.

You heard him sigh sharply, locking the door. That instantly had your nerves heightening. “Unlock the door,” you commanded, getting up from the bed. “I need to run away if you try to do something.”

“I shall have no drunk cousin or lecherous relative spying on us,” he refuted, stepping closer into the room.

“Spying?” your senses perked up. “Seungcheol, we are not doing anything worth spying on, do you understand?”

“What the hell do you mean?” he demanded, propping his gloved hands on his hips. He made to step closer to you but you raised your hand to stop him.

“I know a man has expectations,” you started, backing away from him, “Everyone expects us to seal the marriage, and I know that is the tradition, but I do not care…” you paused, and even the thought of such an action frightened you.

“If you try to touch me, Seungcheol, I will not hesitate to take your sword and stab myself with it.”

He parted his mouth to sneer, but he caught the look in your gaze. He had never seen such a promise ready to be fulfilled should your worst fears occur.

The man could not help but step back.

“Did you really think I would do that, _____?”

You smiled, albeit without any humour. “Well, first you declare that you would rather die by the hands of a Turk before marrying me, and here you stand as my husband.” You shook your head. “I cannot trust you.”

The accusation on his honour stung. “I stand by what I said. I did not want—do not want to marry you.”

“Then why did you say yes?!” you screamed.

He stood silent for a time, gritting his teeth.

It was the truth. Choi Seungcheol was the last man on earth who wished for your hand.

He, too, wanted to escape as the ceremony progressed. Even as you came into the church, dolled up in the height of fashion, he wished nothing more than to run out of God’s holy building, jump upon a gondola and row away from the city.

Despite his prowess, his popularity, his apparent undeniable power, he was unable to escape this marriage. There were exterior forces, beyond his control.

He said it to you truthfully.

“I was given no choice. I had to say yes.”

You did not believe him. “King of the Venetian military, the Republic’s favourite man and you could not control your choice of wife?” You almost wanted to laugh at him.

He could tell. “You would not understand,” he muttered, turning away from you. “All you have ever done is be a spoiled Doge’s daughter.”

That really ticked you off. “You have no idea what I have done for myself. You will never know of the burdens I carry for being a woman alone.” You crossed your arms, daring him to face you like a man. “All you have done is go to some foreign land and kill a few poor souls.”

Now that really ticked him off. “You speak of burdens as if I have none.” His voice dropping an octave had you blinking back. “You are not the only person who has struggled.”

You watched him as he finally deigned you a glance. There was something incredibly bleak in his usual stormy eyes. Not that you had never not seen him in a sour countenance, but this was possibly the first time you had seen him so hopeless.

“You are not the only person who has felt alone.”

A great part inside of you wished to cackle the ceiling down.

He should feel alone! You raged inside your mind, looking down at the ends of your wedding gown. He should feel something akin to loneliness so he could understand a fraction of your despair. The man was constantly surrounded by his men, his followers, hundreds of thousands of admirers from all over Europe.

You, on the other hand, had only yourself and your paint.

Even with that bitterness, no laughter spluttered from your lips.

You could only match his cruel stare, and hope he took you seriously.

A few more minutes passed before he sighed, taking off his loosened cravat from his neck, putting his sheathed sword on the set of drawers behind him. “We should sleep,” he said, stepping before the opposite side of the bed.

Watching his every move, you then shifted your gaze to the bed. “Yes…we should…”

His famous brow quirked inquisitively. “What are you thinking now?” he asked, clearly exasperated. He then continued dryly, “If you are still hesitant about the whole consummation, then I can assure you that I, too, would slice my head off if you suggested it.”

“Well, I am not suggesting it,” you muttered. “I am more puzzled about why you are getting into bed.”

His tiredness did not stop his stare turning sharp with sarcasm. “Because that is what a person does if they wish to sleep.”

“I am aware of that, thank you.” You put a hand to your chest. “But I wish to sleep as well, and I will be damned before I let you sleep in the same bed as me.”

Now his gaze turned mocking. “My God, you have some nerve saying such a thing.” He set the cravat down on the bedside table. “If you have a problem with me sleeping here, you can sleep somewhere else.”

“Excuse me!” you exclaimed, reaching out to clutch the bedsheets. “This is my bedroom. I have slept here my entire life!” You huffed, sitting on the plush mattress. “Besides, are you soldiers not accustomed to sleeping anywhere? I am sure my bedroom floor is a lavish upgrade from whatever hellsite you rested abroad.”

“Oh, you—” he brought his knee upon the bed, hands further placed as he leaned closer to you. “I care very little whether you have been sleeping here all your life. Your father brought me here, so I have a right to this space.”

You matched his vigour instantly, leaning just as close, sparking a fire in your expression. “And I care none if Papa brought you here—hell, if the Pope carried you to this very room.” His growing rage had no effect on your own. “Sleep. On. The. Floor.”

Mere inches away from each other, the general stared you down. Had the receiver of such a cruel eye been his soldiers, they would have run for the lakes, abandoned the army altogether. Seungcheol’s cold, calculating glares have had enemies shiver in their masses.

It irked him so ardently that his infamous tactics ceased to work on you.

He looked over your features: the manic, determined glint in your pupils, the flared nose, the pursed lips. No one, a woman, no less, had stood up to him like this.

Of course, he should not have been surprised. You had always been a sharp pain in his backside.

God, I cannot let her win, his voice rang, over and over in his head. She cannot have this over me.

But then he saw a glint in your usual mischievous gaze, and he knew you were about to commit a crime.

He was not wrong.

Because you did have an idea, and you smirked, fingers rising to the thin bow on the top of your dress.

Slowly, you began to untie the lace.

Seungcheol watched with no small amount of horror as your rigid wedding gown began to loosen at the top, its flared arms drooping around your shoulders.

You made to untie the second lace when he raised his hands, twisting his lips into a scowl. “What the hell are you doing?!” he demanded, getting off the bed.

“What does it look like?” You untied the string, dress falling further down till you needed your hands to hold it steady.

A single drop, and everything would be revealed.

The greatest general in the peninsula nearly squirmed at the thought.

Your fingers toyed with the last lace.

His eyes darted to your movements. Then, to your face, and you noticed the change of expression—it was as if he was thinking of a military strategy, a last-minute decision on the battlefield.

Once again, you pulled at the string.

But before the knot was fully untied you heard a savage growl escape his mouth.

“Oh, for God’s sake!”

Before you even let the dress fall, he swerved around, grabbing hold of his sword from the drawers. “Fine! Have your room!” The muscles on his back flexed as he raked a hand in his hair. “You are truly ridiculous!”

You could only laugh at the scene of him thundering to the door, vigorously unlocking it and storming out.

The laughter did not stop as you changed into your nightgown, shaking your head.

You did not care if Choi Seungcheol had become your husband.

You were not going to let anything of your life change.

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at1nys-blog · 5 months ago

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A change of heart

Pairing: Kakashi Hatake x Naruto mother figure!reader

Summary: Naruto has left to train with Jiraya and you are left to wonder if he is doing okay.

A/N: let me get this out of my system thanks a lot don’t know if is going to kill my writer’s block but I see what happens with the asks I have in my draft. I have no idea what this is, if is bad please pretend nothing was written🙃. This is the longer ff I have wrote and is just crazy to me lol @charming-cherry0 here the Kakashi’s ff I’ve talked about hope you like it

You gave up a life filled with missions; a life of notority for the love you had-and still have to this day-for the people that took you in and raised you when your family died. You had promised to Minato and Kushina that you would take care of their son if anything happened to them. You didn't expect to fill in the role of a mother this soon.

When they sacrified themselves for the security of Konoha you were initially mad at them, leaving you just like your biological family did. Of course it wasn't their plan to die this young, not when they just became partens for the second time. You had to live with the fact that you had a job do to, to take care of your little brother Naruto.

Time passed, Naruto grew up and you couldn't help but being reminded about that night. Mostly because the villagers would always bring it up when walking past you and the Jinchūriki, making the young ninja ask questions, and you had to tell him white lies about it, the Third Hokage had made everyone promise to never reveal the true identity of his parents.

It broke your heart to lie to him, keeping him in the shadows of his lineage, but you knew that if words spread he was the son of the famous Minato Namikaze, the Fourth Hokage of the Leaf Village, he was going to be in more danger than he already was for having a tailed beast sealed into him.

It broke your heart when Naruto would come home faking a smile. You noticed he had been secretly crying, his puffy red eyes giving away his secret, but you never commented on them, instead you made sure to remind him that there were more important metters than caring about what people had to say about it. It always brought a sincere smile on his beautiful features.

With time, his pranks and shenanigans never stopped, and so your profusely apologizes to the villagers, who only rolled their eyes to you and whispered under their breath what a terrible guardian you were to the kid. "If he doesn't know how to behave is because he is not getting a proper education" they always said and you had to control yourself and not yelling at them that you were doing your best as a young girl yourself. Sometimes Naruto would hear the adults making fun of you, and this was one of the reasons why he would be mean to them, throwing ramen leftovers on their face or sticking out his foot to make them trip.

"Naruto, what happened? Why would do that to them?" you would ask him once in confinement of your apartament, away from prying eyes and ears. He would only say that he felt like it, or that they had been making fun of him. He didn't want to make you doubt your skills as a parental figure, not when he too knew he wasn't an easy kid to take care of. You would scoff and tell him to got to his room and do some homeworks while you would make dinner.

With time, things started to get better. Naruto had came to you one day revealing that he was determined to befriend Sasuke Uchiha, at the mention of the clan that got massacred your mind went back to when you had met the boy's mother before the tragedies that took place at the village and you smiled at him. Assuring him that one day, the two of them would the best of friends, you didn't know that was taking them a long time to get there.

It was when Naruto failed the gennin exam that you felt like a failure, if he didn't came to you for help it had to be because you weren't doing a good job of reassuring the boy he could rely on you, but oh how wrong you were. Naruto loved you dearly, and was grateful to have you in his life so he couldn't let you down, he had to make you proud of him and he thought that coming to you for help was a sign of weakness for him and he didn't want to show you he was weak.

You cried, for the first time in front of him, that night after he had told you all of that. Hugging like your lives depended on that you assured him that it was okay to show weakness, for him he was just a kid. From that night he never kept sectres from you, well maybe just the fact that he knew that people still belittled you by doing a poor job raising him.

You never, in your life, were jealous of people but since Kakashi Hatake became the sensei assigned to Naruto's team you discovered a new emotion: jealousy.

You had heard about the shinobi in question, how could you not? He was famous because of his father and for his talents. While at the academy you never interacted much with him and he kept a distance from you too, the two of you had nothing in common but the fact that your adoptive father was his teacher, that was it. Nothing less, nothing more. One single person in common wasn't a reason strong enough to bring the two of you to talk to each other for more than five minutes. But now? How much you wished to be able to take off your ears, because honestly? You couldn't stand another day hearing about the man.

Naruto was smittered with him, sure Kakashi sometimes was harsh with him but he was a great teacher. He couldn't stop talking about him, not only that but the constant talk of the town on how lucky Naruto was to have such a mature and responsible teacher made all your hard work seem trivial. The villagers kept on belittling you by putting on a pedestal Kakashi Hatake, the gem of the Leaf Village.

It had been a week since Naruto left Konoha alongside Jiraya, a week without a single word from him informing you about his days with the legendary ninja and his training sessions, a week worrying about the boy. Was he eating enough? Was he resting enough? Is he spending his money wisely or is he spending it for useless things? You couldn't stop thinking about how he was doing away from you.

"Earth's calling Y/N." you heard the voice of Kakashi from the other side of the window of the shop. You rolled your eyes upon seeing him laying hands on the windowsill with his book on sight. You turn around, asking him what he needed in such a late hour at your store. "saw the light was on and decided to see if you needed anything"

"Nothing if it's coming from you." you simply said walking towards the register to collect your things before heading back home. You didn't hear him jump into the store, his movements always quiet as if he is always on a mission of some sorts, you didn't even hear him closing the window, only when you turned to leave the store you noticed what he has been doing. "you need anything?" you mocked him, your words harsh because why was he so suddenly paying you a visit after closing hour?

"I don't need anything. Again I saw the li-" you cut him off, taking out the keys you unlocked the door and invited him outside. He didn't say anything, just followed your silent instructions and waited next to you to lock the door again. "heading home?"

"What do you think?" his presence was annoying you, you didn't want to be seen with him walking around the village, who knew what terrible things people would say if they saw you with such loved shinobi like him. "Hatake you don't have to walk me home, I still remember how to protect myself" it was true, all those year of combat training were still present in your muscle memory so you could have managed just fine if something were to happen to you. He didn't care, keeping you company on your way home.

"I just want to catch up with an old friend, is that wrong?" you halted at his words? Friends? Since when did he consider you a friend? The last time you checked the two of you even spoke was during the attack of the Nine tailed fox on the village, and just because you had to inform him about a change in the original plans.

He noticed your absence a couple of seconds later, turning around he asked you what happened that got you to stop in your tracks.

"I'm sorry, since when are we friends?" Kakashi was about to answer but you didn't give him the chance to add anything. "Listen, just because you are Naruto's teacher does not mean you and me are friends. And before I say anything that I will regret later please go home. I don't need to be reminded that I am a pathetic excuse of a mother." you whispered the last part, you didn't need him to know how you felt.

Kakashi heard you, loud and clear. He knew you were critisized by the villagers. He came across a couple of people that would praise him by belittling you, the ninja had always took your side, defending you against the mean words spoke behind your back. He didn't fight you, he didn't comment on your sentence, he was sure whatever he said wasn't going to make you feel better.

That night you cried, alone in the apartament you shared with Naruto and that was going to feel cold until he was back from his training. You knew that those three years without him were going to be long.

The next morning you woke up tired, giving a quick look at the pillow you could tell you cried yourself to sleep. The sight in the bathroom's mirror could confirm your theory, not that it was that hard to come to the conclusion of that, after what happened last night it was either that or you had spilled some water on it. The latter being the last possible.

Once you were finally ready to go and open the doors of your shop, you were faced with a toad at your doorstep, you can tell is one of Jiraya's because the animal is too big to be a common one. Is only when you took a second look that you noticed it had an envelope between its hands, you asked permission to take it from the animal and when the envolope was in yours the toad disappeared. You smiled reading the name of Naruto on the paper. Today was going to be great.

Dear Y/N,

sorry if I haven't written to you sooner but this week my days were filled with learning new techniques with the Ero-sennin that I totally forgot to inform you about my days. You don't have to worry about me, the Toad Sage reminds me to not overwork myself. I am eating a lot of good and tasy food. My sleeping schedule is not the best but I always remember your words about how important a good sleep is to become stronger.

I miss you very much, take care of the shop and eat a lot of ramen for me too.

Love you, Naruto.

The letter finished with his signature thumb print and a smiley face next to it, you smiled thanking that he remembered you while away for training.

The door of the shop opened, and you looked up from the letter to invite in your first client of the day but upon seeing Kakashi you rolled your eyes annoyed by his presence already.

"I don't think rolling your eyes is a good way to make your costumers feel welcomed" he commented.

"Why are you here?" you asked walking in front of the your desk. "and don't you dare to say that you just want to have a talk with a friend because I'm pretty sure I made it clear yesterday that we aren't friends." your tone was calm but the point came across to the shinobi, you didn't want to have him around.

"I'm here in peace. I want to look for something to buy, that's all." he said, intertwining his hands behind the back of his head he started walking around the store.

"You do realize this is a store that has nothing for you, right?" your shop was filled with clothes and accessories for the female villagers, nothing that Kakashi could wear or use even if he wanted to. The sizes were too small for him and you could swear he is not the type to take a bag with him. You pictured him with a couple of hairpins but only in the secrecy of his apartament, never outside. You scoffed at the imagine of him securing his white hair with pretty pins.

"I never said it was for me. I said I'm looking for something to buy." he repeated, deciding to not ask you why were you scoffing so out of the blue. "Asuma wants to surprise Kurenai and I offered to help him find something that she might like" you were taken aback, you never imagined him to be someone that would offer his help to look for gifts. "oh by the way, do you know if Naruto is okay? That ungrateful kid didn't write me a letter yet." you totally missed the little smile that formed on his face, both because you were facing his back and because of the mask he never takes off his face.

"I, actually, got a letter from him this morning." you said happy that Naruto wrote to you first than Kakashi, even though he had wrote at the two of you simultaneously, but what you didn't know couldn't hurt you, right? and Kakashi kept that information for himself when he heard your teasing tone. He didn't want to ruin your day, not after what you had said yesterday.

"That kid, forgetting about his teacher like I mean nothing to him." he commented looking at some hair clips with a charm at the end, he took a couple of them and came to you asking for which one you prefered. You choose the wooden one with the red details reminding him that most of Kurenai's outfits involved the color red. He thanked you and paid for the object.

"You mean a lot to Naruto, more than I like to admit honestly." you told him before he could leave the store. "Thank you for everything you do and for taking care of him when I can't" you confessed. He only smiled at you, wishing you a good day and promising that he wasn't going to bother you for the rest of the day.

Months passed and once a week you would get a visit from one of Jiraya's toads delivering at your doorsteps a letter from Naruto informing you about his days with the Toads Sage and how much he is improving his ninja's skills and you, oh so wished to write to him how proud you were, but his safety came first and if you wrote to him the Akatsuki would probably find him, risking to get kidnapped. You just made a note to yourself to tell him that, the moment he was back to Konoha.

Naruto’s letters weren’t the only thing keeping you company and making you smile, Kakashi was another reason why your days weren’t too boring. He would come to your shop, pretending to look around and then waiting for you to close up so he could walk you home, asking about your day, asking what Naruto had told you in his letter that week, talking about his missions (if he was allowed) and about Guy. The stories about his friend were the one you anticipated the most if you had to be honest.

When he started to hang around more, you were annoyed at him, mostly because you knew people would talk behind your back, making comments questioning why Kakashi Hatake, one of the most renowned shinobi of the village was friend with someone like you. Someone that failed both as a shinobi and as a parental figure. Their words were just speculations, you knew that, everything was far away from the truth but they still hurt you.

"She was a great shinobi and gave up all of it just because of a kid." you heard someone commenting while walking past Ramen Ichiraku, his friend scoffed saying that if you gave up so easily to take care of Naruto it was because you weren't that good as a ninja to start with.

"She failed as a ninja and as a mother. If Naruto thinks he can do whatever he wants is all her fault." he added half drunk. You had to stop in your tracks, not because you wanted to know how the conversation would move on, you didn't care much, but you had to take a deep breath before breaking down in the middle of the street. The day didn’t start in the best way and it was going to end even worse if you were to show yourself weak in front of others.

"She was the only one that could keep up with me." you recognized the voice, how could you not? It was Kakashi. "and she could kick your asses if she only wanted." he stopped, you thought to eat some more portion of ramen or to drink some water. "She did her best considering her young age and the fact that everyone was against her. Leave her alone already, she went through so much and doesn't need such remarks from people that don't even know her." The other two ninjas didn’t talk back, and you headed back home assuming they dropped the conversation there. Nothing else to add after Kakashi called them out.

Walking down memory lane that night you rememberer how during your days at the academy you thought you didn’t like Kakashi, but with time you realized you hated him. Growing up you matured and came to the conclusion that hate was such a strong emotion to feel for someone that you had nothing to do with, it was jealousy, not hatred. It could never be hatred. Now, at the doorsteps of your thirties you had to admit you were envious of him.

You envied Kakashi because he was naturally talented; you envied him because every kid always talked about him; you envied him because he was liked by all the people of Konoha; you envied him because he was everything that you could have been if life didn’t throw you a tragedy after another. You went to sleep with Kakashi’s words still in your mind and with apologizing to Kakashi on your to-do list.

That morning was rather...calm, the sky being grey didn't allow the birds to fly away from their nests and you imagined today was going to be pretty slow since people didn't like to go out with such a weather.

Opening the door of your house you bumped into Kakashi, standing there with a Bangasa* umbrella in hand.

“What are you doing here?” You asked visibly, and rightly so, confused at his presence in front of your door.

“Walking you to work? I need to be gone for a mission after lunch so I thought that maybe I could spend some time with you before leaving. If you are fine with it, of course.” You were fine with the idea of him walking you to work but the fact that he was leaving for a mission wasn’t in your plans. You decided to wait when he was back to talk to him, you didn’t want to distract him while on a mission. “So…”

“Sorry. I’m… that’s okay and really, you don’t have to spend time with me.” You said locking your door.

“But I want to. And you know, we can’t tell if I’m coming back to Konoha in one piece.” He teased but you took it seriously, knowing that you had a conversation planned with him.

“You better come back in one piece I… I have something I would like to discuss with you.” Kakashi was curious and asking to explain further your words, you repeated that it had to wait when he was done with the mission. “I just don’t wanna distract you.”

“You would never distract me. Come on, tell me.” Giving in sounded so easy and it was. The apology rolling out your mouth in a second. “And it had to wait for the mission to be over because…” you didn’t know, it was stupid considering you just had to apologize to him. Maybe you thought he was going to add more than a simple ‘thank you’, what exactly were you expecting was a mystery to you too. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to tell me.” He added before you could express your reasoning, if there were any.

As he said he spent half the day at your shop, in the corner he made himself with time. He was quiet, reading his book and not exchanging words with the women that wanted to talk to him. They didn’t exist to him.

At lunch he stood up from his chair (yours but you never used it so he decided to claim it as his) and took out of the pocket of his vest a small white stone, you recognized it, it was an opal.

“I read it is good for protection. Never go out without it until I’m back.” You smiled at him and thanked him. “Or… don’t I don’t know. I was told… I thought you would like it.”

“I love it. Just, make sure to be back safe and sound. I don’t want to plan your funeral, I still don’t like you.” You joked. He smiled under the mask, his visible eye squinting a little bit.

“Don’t worry, Guy has everything planned for my funeral already.” He joked “see you when I’m back.” He added before leaving the shop. You watched him walk out when one of your costumers nudged at you.

“He is a good catch, confess already.” You blushed at her words and made sure she understood that you felt nothing more than admiration towards the ninja. “Whatever makes you sleep at night.” She said before paying for the necklace she had chosen.

The mission took longer than what you expected, and since your apologizes to Kakashi you bumped into his friends more than usual (Guy drunk told you he asked them to keep you company when possible) but you didn’t mind their presence. Since Naruto left you realized he was your only friend.

Kurenai was a sweet woman, always making sure you were doing fine and making sure if you had eaten enough for the day; Asuma was quiet, mostly sticking around Kurenai and promising you he would quit smoking (he never did); Guy was the funniest of the trio, telling you stories about when he and Kakashi were younger and even if you knew some of them already you let him talk.

Waking up, you looked at the calendar on your little desk, the day circled in orange was a reminder of the anniversary of the death of Minato and Kushina. It was the first time you went to their grave all by yourself and thinking about it you didn’t want to go anymore. Maybe staying all day home wasn’t a bad idea after all.

You wished Kakashi didn’t get his friends to be on your neck 24/7 because the second you laid down in bed you noticed the three ninjas outside your bedroom window.

“Why are you guys here?” You asked looking at them.

“Because we don’t want you to rot in your bed today.” Answered Guy “get off bed and get ready” he added.

“Ready for what?”

“We have a little surprise for you.” Asuma was the one answering your question. “Come on.” You sighed rolling your eyes before leaving the bed once again. “Good choice.”

Getting ready with your mind elsewhere wasn’t easy but you wouldn’t dare make the three ninjas outside your house tell you, once again, to move already.

Stepping out your apartment you wanted to go back in, whose idea was to blindfold you? And, most importantly, why would they blindfold you? Kurenai assured you it was her idea, you doubted that but there wasn’t time to fight if she was lying or not, and that you had to trust them.

Is not like you didn’t trust them but the fact that they just decided to take you out and blindfold you wasn’t helping at all. You decided to follow their instructions, without complaining.

The spot was a special one for you, not because it was anything secluded (if it was your friends couldn’t be able to find it) but because it was where Minato, Kushina and you liked to spend time together. It was your little piece of Heaven on Earth until…

“You didn’t had to” you told them, because they really didn’t had to prepare a picnic for you.

“We wanted to” replayed Kurenai “and besides what a best way to remember them than spending some time at their favorite secret place” she added up, smile on her face.

“If the dishes are not of your taste blame it on Kakashi, he suggested those” explained Guy

“Pretty sure he remembers his sensei’s favorite foods so I’m not even surprised.” You were, because those were mostly your favorite dishes (also some of Minato and Kushina’s).

The four of you started eating and in the mean time ended up talking about the Fourth Hogake and his wife, the three ninjas asking you about how the two deceased shinobi were in the privacy of their house and you laughed at the memories.

“Okay, okay let me just…” you cleared your throat and took a sip of sake before speaking again. “…I would tell you curious cats all about my lovely parents that died to save the village that hates me” everyone laughed at your tipsy words.

Standing up you try to stay as in equilibrium as possible before speaking again. And you started from the beginning, from when Kushina found you crying your eyes out over your parents’ dead bodies. She comforted you, telling you everything was going to be okay, and she took you with her, there is when you met Minato and Jiraya for the first time.

You told them how Minato was a lovely fiancée to Kushina and how he was always helping around the house without a sense of shame whatsoever, you admired him for that wishing for yourself a man that could help around the house without complaining that he shouldn’t do such things since ‘he is a man’

“That sounds like Kakashi if I have to be honest” cut you off Asuma and you laughed it off, maybe he was right but you and Kakashi? Engaged? No thank you. Talking about them some more you arrived at the day they sacrificed themselves and your happy smile dissolved from your features, leaving space to a more serious expression.

“No one knows, not even Kakashi I guess but I need to be honest about it. I hated them for quite a bit. They promised me to never leave me alone. That they would never do like my biological parents did and yet… but they didn’t leave me alone, no sir. They put the responsibility of raising a child on my shoulders and I was only 15 years old. I hated it, I couldn’t look at Naruto without thinking about them and for a couple of months I didn’t take care of him like I promised. Then one day I saw Kakashi…” another sip of sake “…and he looked like nothing was bothering him, he had moved on faster compared to me, he made it seems so easy and I hated him for that. I hated how fast he had moved on, I hated him so much that I felt like I had to prove a point. I still don’t know what the point was supposed to be, but I think it helped me come to my senses and do what I was supposed to do for the past three months.”

Asuma, Kurenai and Guy were left speechless at your words and you mentally thanked them for keeping their judgmental thoughts for themselves. Because if they spoke their minds you would have hated it.

You spent the whole day eating and training with the three shinobi and you are happy to be able to get back to the old days when you would train with them when you weren’t yet stripped of your position as a ninja of the Leaf Village.

You are a little rusty, I mean after 17 years of working in a jewelry shop everyone would be, but you managed to take down Guy and Asuma a couple of times. It was after the sun set that your friends decided it was time to go home and after your thank yous they left you alone with your thoughts.

You stayed some more, looking at the horizon with one thing in mind: Kakashi Hatake. You wished he was there with you, he was the only one, after you, to have spent the majority of his time alongside Minato. Rin was dead, to keep the village safe, Obito died to save Kakashi and he was away for a mission that would take his life away if he wasn’t careful enough.

Walking up the stairs you didn’t notice the “bread crumbs” left on the steps, only when you reached the top and see Kakashi in front of your door that you notice he is holding something in his hands.

You look back noticing the petals of Kushina’s favorite flower. Your eyes tear up at the memory and the fact that you didn’t allowed yourself to look at those flowers ever again.

“Surprise.” He said and when you turn around to face him his small smile disappeared and his expression turned worried. You don’t have the time to fall on your knees that he is holding your shaking body into his. Your cries filling the silent night. “Is okay, I’m here now.” And you keep crying holding into him for dear life.

It took you a couple of minutes to stop crying and even then you kept on sobbing every now and then. Kakashi took off his fingerless gloves and started wiping away the tears on your face.

“I miss them” you said hiccuping your words to him. He doesn’t say much, just that he understands the pain in your heart because he misses them too. “Please don’t you leave me too” his heart aches at your words and he keeps on drying up your face assuring you that he wasn’t going anywhere without you.

He helps you up and walks you to the door and you wished you were able to function but no. With shaky hands you dropped the keys on the floor but he is there, helping you in every way possible without judgement.

Entering he made you sit down at the dinner table and while you tried your best to recollect yourself he filled up a glass of water.

“Drink up everything you are drained” he commented and you listened to him (mostly because you were truly thirsty) and chunked the whole glass down. It was refreshing you though. “Sorry if I made you cry, it wasn’t my intention”

“It wasn’t your fault. I think it was the build up pain.” You didn’t mean to tell him about it but you did regardless. Telling him how you never properly mourned their death because first you hated them for leaving you and then you had a child to take care of and you couldn’t dwell in your pain.

“I hated Minato for a while too.” He confessed and you were speechless at the confession. You always thought he had moved on pretty fast after what he had been through, you imagined he was used to people leaving him behind. You were so wrong about all of it and you felt guilty you felt like crying again. But you didn’t, you couldn’t because Kakashi told you to get ready for bed. “If you need me here I can sleep over.”

You find yourself almost using the L word in that moment, if it was out of friendship love or romantic you didn’t know. You knew you were grateful for him in that moment. You tell him he could sleep in Naruto’s bed and he nods at your proposition. That night you had a good sleep, one you haven’t had in years and that you truly needed and you only had to thank Kakashi Hatake for that.

It was during dead time that you heard Konohamaru screaming from the top of his lungs that Naruto "big brother" was back from his three years training. You rushed outside, locking the shop as fast possible. Running behind the Third Hokage's grandchild on your way to see Naruto you almost bumped into Kakashi.

"where are you running to?" he asked, following behind you.

"Naruto is back" Konohamaru and you said in unison, Kakashi speeding up and catching up with the two of you. He wanted to meet his student because he too have been missing him lots during those three years.

Kakashi stayed behind, never passing by you. The shinobi wanted for you to be the first one to see Naruto, considering the relationship that binds the two of you and for the fact that the young ninja didn't write that week (Kakashi hopes that Naruto did it on purpose but he imagines the kid just genuinely forgot), and you did, between the three of you, you spot him first. He was talking with Sakura, the girl was mad at him for something you didn't even care to find out. It was when the kid you raised as your own spotted you that he ran to you. He hugged you, hands around your middle and lifted you making you squeal out of surprise.

"why didn't you wrote me you were coming at the village?" you said once he put you down. "I was going to think something had happen to you" he scratched the back of his head giving you a nervous smile. Before he could apologize properly Konohamaru was all over him asking him questions about the time he was away and reminding him about the promise the older ninja made before leaving (a stupid challenge about who performs better the Sexy Jutsu Naruto invented). You noticed Sakura rolling his eyes, Moegi doing the same.

You felt Kakashi lightly hugging you from the side, and you didn't mind the presence of the ninja, not when you apologized for your shitty behaviour. Since that day your relationship with Kakashi got better day after day to the point where you started having feelings for the man, romanic ones to be pricise.

"what is happening between the two of you?" he asked, looking confused to why you weren't at Kakashi's throat for being this close to your figure. "are you fucking my mom?" you were able to feel hear Kakashi stiffening at those words, who wouldn't when accused of such an intimate, and very personal, activity. "you know what? I don't actually want to know. Treat her right or I am coming for you, I know where you live" he threatened him and both you and Kakashi weren't able to say much back before he excused himself saying he had to report to Granda Tsunade frst thing first.

As you were left with Sakura, team Ebisu and Kakashi you cleared your throat ready to explain that the only thing that there was between Kakashi and you was pure frienship. Nothing more, nothing less.

"not to be that person..." started to speak Sakura "but I never, ever, saw Kakashi sensei interested in a woman like he is with you." she shrugged her shoulders when you gave her a death stare. "Just saying. By the way, gotta make sure Naruto doesn't get in trouble with the Hokage" you pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling deep to keep calm. When you opened back your eyes you noticed the younger ninjas looking at you.

"You three better get to training before I rat you out to Ebisu Sensei" Konohamaru wasn't didn't care, you could tell, the smirk selling away his thoughts on the entire situation.

"Kids those days, always telling lies" you tried your best to light up the mood but Kakashi's espression told you you were failing. "you don't... you don't think so?"

"totally, yeah. Kids teasing their teacher like there is no tomorrow." he said, heading back to his apartment avoiding any type of contact with you. You follow behind him, your shop being in the same direction as his house.

"I'm sorry for Naruto. I will make sure he apologizes to you as soon as possible." he doesn't answer, keeping his pace slow so you were able to keep up with him. "I would suggest he pays for whatever you would like, you know, as a little revenge" he chuckled a little and you were happy that he finally was able to let Naruto's words bahind him.

Kakashi kept you company at the shop, helping some costumers that mostly wanted to engage in a conversation with him. Mostly to ask him if he was single and what type of girls he liked, he nervously laghed at them trying his best to change the topic.

Looking at the interaction you couldn't help but smile at it. The way he softly smiled at those ladies trying to set him up. The way he would try and subtly change the subject. The way he would walk them out with gentle hands.

He scoffed, walking to the cash register he takes his head between his hands complaining about the ladies of the village doing whatever they were trying to achieve.

"I mean, you are old and never been seen with a partner of any sorts. You spend all your time with your students or out for missions." you tell him, pushing his elbows away from the desk. "they like you and they want to see you settled down. That's it" Kakashi and you were discussing about the fact that he doesn’t want to settle down with the first woman people would set him up with, he wants to meet someone and grew with them, embrancing their qualities but also their flaws and he does tell you that. Soft boy, was your first thought at his words.

The bell at the top of the door rang and shifting your gaze to the entrance you saw Naruto with his signature smile on display.

"Ehy mom, I came to tell you that I need to go first thing in the morning for a mission."

"So soon? But you just..." looking how his joyful look turned into a more serious one you knew it was about Sasuke, it had to be about him. "I get it. Do you at least have the time to eat with me before you leave?" he nodded and you told him, and Kakashi to wait for you outside so you could finish cleaning before closing the shop.

Walking to Ichiraku Naruto revealed some new details that he couldn't share before about his days with the Ero-Sennin and you had a good laugh with him. Kakashi didn't intrude much, for what reason you couldn't tell, but it didn't care at the moment becuase you were back with your favourite boy.

Teuchi welcomed the three of you and so did his daughter, a little smirk forming on his face at the sight of Kakashi.

"Introducing the boyfriend to the family?" she said earning a little spank on her back from her father.

"He is not my boyfriend Ayame, how many times do I have to tell you?" you complied at her statement.

"But you wished he was?" said the younger ones, you turned to Naruto looking at him in confusion, what gave him such an idea? "I mean I come back and you haven't yelled at him once."

"This doesn't mean I want him to be my boyfriend but just that me and Kakashi talked out our.."

"yours" he interjected and you rolled your eyes at him.

"Yeah, my problems..." you said looking at Kakashi "...we became friends with time. Nothing wrong with it" you said and then asked Teuchi for three ramens.

While Teuchi and Anyame prepare your food Naruto was curios to know how it happened, he clearly remembered you saying that there was no way you would change your mind on Kakashi, and here you were, sharing some ramen with the person you were supposed to hate the most in this world.

You told him about how everything changed between his sensei and you when you apologize to him and that you find out a different side of him when he helped you during your breakdown. Since then you did everything together, let it be a little stroll around Konoha or having lunch during your breaks at the shop.

“With time I started liking him.” You said “oh thank you for the food.” You take a spoonful of it and complimented Teuchi. “You see, with time you can understand who truly cares for you.” That was a little jab at Naruto because you never liked Sakura for him. Sure they were good friends now, but the way she treated him at the beginning ot their training times? It wasn’t what you had expected from a team mate.

“Don’t get all philosophical on the kid already.” Commented Kakashi. You gave him a side eye. “Sorry but he just arrived after three years with Jiraya what do you think he will understand if you use big words to him?”

“I’m not stupid”

“He is not stupid” Kakashi turned around when he heard Teuchi and Ayame defending Naruto as well. “The kid just ignores some things.” Carried on the owner of the ramen shop. “I mean a LOT of things but is not his problem. He took after his mother.” You laughed, remembering Kushina being just like him when you first met her. She calmed down a little bit, still being her silly self, now that you were under her care.

Naruto finally dropped the previous conversation, more interested in knowing more about his mother now that the man mentioned her. Sure you had talked to him about his parents but you didn’t know much about them before you became part of their family so while he is intrigued about stories of his young parents from Teuchi you kept an eye on him, smiling at his shiny eyes at the stories he is told.

Once you were done eating Kakashi payed for the three of us and you thanked him for the gesture. Naruto complained, if he knew his sensei would have been the one paying he would have got a second portion to take home for you just to rise the bill a little bit and annoy his sensei.

“You want us to walk you at the gates?” You asked making sure you weren’t too much of a burden for him since he had to be at the gates before sun rise. He “uhmed” in response and you are quite happy that you can spend some more time with him.

“I wouldn’t be too mad at Kakashi if he tried something.” Naruto spoke when he was able to see the gates of Konoha. You and Kakashi stopped in your tracks both looking at him with wide eyes. “I want you to be happy and if he makes you happy I’m okay.” He kissed you goodbye before sprinting away where his friends and team mates for the Sasuke rescue team were waiting for him.

You were left alone with Kakashi next to you, with nothing to say due to Naruto’s confession. What were you supposed to say? What were you supposed to do? You wished Kurenai was there to give you some advice on it but she wasn’t. And even if she was she wouldn’t be much of help because she would be too occupied teasing you.

“So… do I make you happy? Because you sure make me happy.” Kakashi cut the silence and you wished he didn’t, not like that at least.

“You annoy me, that’s different.” You rolled your eyes at him and started walking towards your apartment. It took him some minutes to realize your words and when he does, he runs behind you catching up with you almost immediately him and his stupid long legs.

“Ehy, what do you mean I annoy you? You said you started to like me.”

“Again, it doesn’t mean you don’t annoy me sometimes.” You keep teasing him and he missed the way you smiled at him. And you miss the way he does the same.

It was in front of your porch that he cups your face and looked deep into your eyes before asking permission to kiss you and you gave him the green light to do so. The kiss is gentle, and short lived but you didn’t care. You invite him inside and this time you let him sleep in your bed.

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valkyriexo · 7 months ago

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Invasion of Privacy | Ep. 8 -If the Shoe fits

ᑉ³SYNOPSIS; In the dazzling world of fame, you have it all—a beautiful home, devoted fans, and Chan, the love of your life. But when cryptic messages start arriving, the line between adoration and obsession blurs. With each note, you feel increasingly unsafe. Now, you're on a dangerous journey to uncover the truth before it's too late.

ᑉ³PAIRING; Chan x Idol! reader. Ft. Stray Kids

ᑉ³GENRE; Smau, FF , Angst, Hurt, Comfort, mystery

ᑉ³GENERAL WARNINGS ;Violence, Sasaeng (Stalker). Mentions of a knife, mentions of blood, Home invasion, cursing, Kissing, Pain, death, Implied female reader, Certain episodes may be Suggestive MDNI ᑉ³EPISODE WARNINGS : Violence, Sasaeng (Stalker). Mentions of a knife, Home invasion, cursing, Home invasion

EPISODE WORD COUNT; 7.9k Words

AUTHOR'S NOTE ; Thank you for joining me on this journey.<3 Your support and enthusiasm mean the world to me. I hope you've enjoyed the series as much as I've enjoyed creating it. I hope this is a resolution you'll enjoy... Happy season finale!!

If you enjoyed this episode, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Whether it's through comments, reblogs, or sending an ask, your feedback means the world to me. Remember, none of this is real. It is a story. It is fiction. You can choose not to read it if it will make you uncomfortable.

Master Post | Teaser | Suspect Cards

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, peeking through the blinds. You blinked awake, feeling Chan's steady breathing beside you. The events of the previous night rushed back, and your mind immediately began to churn with thoughts of the gift, the unsettling letters, and Hyunjin.

You turned to see Chan still asleep, his face relaxed in peaceful slumber. You carefully slipped out of bed, not wanting to wake him just yet, making your way to the bathroom to freshen up.

After getting dressed, you quietly made your way to the living room. You glanced at the clock—it was early, but you needed to reach out to Hyunjin and Minho and get some answers.

You picked up your phone and sent a quick text to both of them, separately.

You quickly grabbed your things, ensuring you had the letters you took from Hyunjin's room and the box Minho had left last night.

You left a note for Chan, letting him know you’d be back soon and that you were heading out for a moment.

The early morning air was cool and crisp as you stepped outside. You made your way to the dorms, your mind racing with thoughts and questions.

When you arrived, you found Hyunjin and Minho waiting outside, each looking concerned. They seemed surprised to see each other.

“What are you doing here?” Minho asked, glancing at Hyunjin.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Hyunjin replied, frowning.

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, looking at Minho with mock suspicion. "First you try to take over my dorm. Now your following me everywhere, huh?"

Minho chuckled, shaking his head. "Please, I have better things to do than follow you around."

Hyunjin crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. "Could've fooled me. What's next? You going to start stealing my clothes?"

Minho sighed. "I don't have time for this. Can you leave? I have a private meeting with Y/N."

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “No, I’m meeting with Y/N.”

You stepped between them before the tension could escalate. “Actually, I’m meeting with both of you.” They both looked at you, their expressions shifting from surprise to curiosity. “We need to talk about a few things and its important your both there."

Hyunjin and Minho exchanged glances before nodding in agreement. "Alright," Minho said, gesturing towards the entrance. "Let's go inside and talk."

Once inside, you were led into the living room, and Minho and Hyunjin sat next to each other, while you sat across from them.

You placed the box next to you, the letters hidden inside. You didn't know where else to start other than what you found in Hyunjin's room.

Hyunjin hesitated, glancing at you with a mixture of surprise and hurt. "You went through my things?" His voice was low, tinged with disappointment.

You swallowed, realizing your mistake. "I... I had to. After everything that's been happening, I needed to understand what was going on."

"You... read the letters, didn't you?"

You nodded, feeling a pang of guilt for invading his privacy. "I did... I'm sorry, Hyunjin. I had to understand what was going on."

Minho glanced between you and Hyunjin, sensing the need to clear things up. "What letters are you talking about?"

Hyunjin's expression was a mix of surprise and embarrassment, his cheeks faintly flushed as he glanced at Minho.

You took a deep breath, then reached into the box, retrieving the letters carefully. You handed them to Minho, who took them with a furrowed brow, his eyes scanning the elegant handwriting on the pages.

Hyunjin covered his face briefly with his hand, his embarrassment evident. "I can't believe you found those," he murmured, voice muffled against his palm.

Minho glanced up from the letters, his expression shifting from curiosity to concern as he realized the implications. "Hyunjin..."

You nodded quietly, understanding the weight of the moment. "I found them while trying to piece together everything that's been happening."

Hyunjin shifted uncomfortably under the collective gaze of everyone present.

"Hyunjin… youve been… helping Stay?"

Hyunjin glanced up, meeting your eyes with a mix of confusion and frustration. His earlier embarrassment now gave way to a defensive stance, his arms crossed tightly against his chest. "Helping STAY? No, I haven't been helping them," he replied firmly. "I've been trying to figure out who they are just as much as you."

Minho's eyebrows furrowed deeply, skepticism evident in his expression. He held the letters out towards Hyunjin. "Then how do you explain these letters, Hyunjin? They talk about your feelings for Y/N... your actions... What do you know? Who is STAY?!"

Hyunjin's eyes darted to the letters, his hands visibly trembling as he hesitated to take them out of Minho's hands. "I... I don't know," he stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of Minho's accusation. "I... I swear, I don't know who 'STAY' is. I've never met them," he insisted.

"What did you do?" you asked, your voice edged with concern.

Hyunjin remained quiet, his gaze fixed on the floor, clearly struggling to find the right words.

"You better start talking," Minho threatened, his tone sharp and demanding. He moved closer to Hyunjin, his frustration palpable.

Hyunjin swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. "I never wanted you to find out like this," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't know who STAY was. They... they found out about my feelings...and my drawings. They threatened to expose everything if I didn't do what they said. They would send me messages, telling me to put letters in specific places or go to certain locations.... I never knew what they were planning, but they made it clear they could ruin everything if I didn't cooperate."

Minho's frustration turned into disbelief mixed with anger. "So, you let yourself be blackmailed? You didn't think to come to me? Or any of us?!"

Hyunjin shook his head, his shoulders tense with guilt. "I was scared, Minho. I didn't want to drag you into this mess. I thought I could handle it on my own."

Minho paced back and forth, running a hand through his hair. "Handling it on your own nearly got all of us into deeper trouble," he muttered, more to himself than to Hyunjin.

You stood beside Minho, feeling torn between anger at the situation and sympathy for Hyunjin's predicament. "Hyunjin, why didn't you tell me?" you asked softly, trying to understand.

Hyunjin looked up at you, his eyes filled with regret. "I didn't want to lose your trust," he admitted. "I didn't want you to see me like this, or for us to lose our friendship."

Minho exhaled sharply, his features softening slightly as he glanced at you. "We need to figure out who STAY is," he said firmly, refocusing on the task at hand. "We can't let them continue to manipulate us."

"We?" You turned and looked at him. "We need to figure out who STAY is?"

Minho looked at you with confusion. "Yes, we. Why wouldn't I help you?"

"Oh yeah?" you replied in disbelief. "I think you've done more than enough helping."

"What are you talking about, Y/N?"

You pulled out your phone, navigating to the security footage from the previous night. "Last night, someone was at my door. I have it on camera."

As the video played, it showed a figure approaching your doorstep. The dim light revealed enough to identify Minho's distinct features.

Minho's eyes widened as he watched himself on the screen, caught in the act. He ran a hand through his hair, his face flushing with embarrassment and guilt. "I... I was there," he admitted quietly, avoiding your gaze.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "And seconds after you left, I received a text from STAY about the gift," you continued, showing him the message on your phone. "How do you explain that?"

"The box appeared on my bed with your name on it. I thought you had forgotten it there because you stayed at the dorm the night Seungmin went to the hospital. Maybe you had slept in my bed? I don't know… so I brought it over. I didn't open it or know anything about it."

You frowned, processing his explanation. It made sense, but .... did it?

"So you weren't involved with STAY at all?" you asked, wanting to clarify.

Minho shook his head vehemently. "No, I swear," he replied earnestly. "I had no idea about STAY or the letters. I just wanted to return the box because I thought it was a mix-up."

Hyunjin, who had been listening intently, spoke up cautiously. "Wait, so you didn't know about the text from STAY either?"

Minho looked genuinely surprised. "No," he said, "I had no idea. I just thought I was helping out."

"You better not be lying to me. So help me God...." you snap at him.

Minho's expression turned solemn as he met your gaze, his eyes reflecting a mix of hurt and determination. "I swear, I'm not lying," he insisted. "I didn't know anything about it. I was just trying to do what I thought was right."

You studied him for a moment, searching his eyes for any sign of deception. After a tense pause, you nodded slowly. "Alright," you said firmly, though the uncertainty still lingered. "Let's focus on finding out who STAY is. We need to put an end to this."

Hyunjin nodded in agreement, his earlier defensiveness now replaced with a shared sentiment. "We'll need to be careful," he cautioned, glancing between you and Minho. "STAY seems to know a lot about us."

"If we're going to work together, you have to be honest. What else do you two know? You can't hide anything from me. Who else received letters?"

Minho and Hyunjin exchanged a glance, silently communicating their shared concern. Minho spoke up first, his voice measured. "I... don't know who else received letters," he admitted, his brows furrowing with worry. "I didn't even know about these until now."

Suddenly the attention was suddenly diverted by the arrival of Felix.

"Good Morning everyone!" he said walking by. Then he hesitated, sensing the seriousness in the air. "Why's everyone so serious? Am I interrupting something?" Felix asked, looking around with curiosity.

"You're not interrupting," you said firmly, motioning for Felix to sit down. "Come. Lets chat."

Felix took a seat, his brow furrowing slightly at the atmosphere. "Okay... What's going on?"

"Felix, do you remember the day we went to the warehouse?" you say to him.

"Yes.. why?" he replied cautiously.

"Why did you show up there?" you said. Felix shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting around the room as he avoided direct eye contact. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly.

"Was there a letter telling you to go there?" you continued.

His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, twisting the fabric nervously. Felix's usual easygoing demeanor was replaced with a tense, uneasy energy. His shoulders were slightly hunched, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other as if he wanted to get up and leave but was forcing himself to stay put.

"No... no letter," he said, his voice wavering.

You relaxed slightly, feeling a bit of relief. Maybe Felix was telling the truth. Maybe you could trust him and all his actions.

"I....I-I got a text," Felix added, his voice barely above a whisper.

Just kidding! He's a liar just like the others.

"OH?? SO FOR YOU THEY TOOK THE MODERN ROUTE," Hyunjin said with a bitter laugh. "I had to keep letters like we were fucking pen pals."

"You got a text?!" you exclaimed, your shock evident in your tone.

Felix nodded reluctantly, his gaze darting between you, Minho, and Hyunjin. "It just said to go to Y/N's house, that there was something she wanted to tell me."

You blinked, surprised by Felix's revelation. The implications sank in as you exchanged looks with Minho and Hyunjin, all equally puzzled by this new development.

"To my house?" you repeated, trying to process it.

"Yeah. That's when I saw all of you dressed in black heading out."

"Did you get any more texts after that?" you asked.

"No, I didn't. I didn't know anything else. That's when we went to the warehouse and we saw all of Hyunjin's things there. Which, by the way, why is he here if it's clearly him?" Felix said, his voice now tinged with suspicion.

"Excuse me?" Hyunjin said, his eyes narrowing. "Me? You're saying this is my fault?"

"Your camera was at the crime scene, your drawings were at the crime scene… two plus two definitely equals four," Felix shot back, his voice rising.

Hyunjin's frustration boiled over at Felix's accusation. His hands clenched into fists, ready to confront Felix, but Minho swiftly stepped in, holding Hyunjin back.

"Hey, calm down," Minho said firmly, his voice cutting through the rising tension.

"Felix, think about it," Minho continued, keeping a firm grip on Hyunjin's shoulder. "If Hyunjin was behind this, why would he be here trying to help us figure out who STAY is? He’s been manipulated just like the rest of us."

"He could be lying." He said.

Minho shook his head. "Maybe, but Hyunjin has an alibi. Right, Hyunjin?"

Hyunjin's face went pale, and he looked down, unable to meet anyone's gaze. The room fell silent, the tension palpable.

"Hyunjin?" you prompted, your voice a mix of concern and confusion.

Hyunjin swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. "I… I was at the warehouse. But it wasn't what you think. STAY told me to set the stuff up for someone to view. I didn't know all of you would show up....." he said. "I thought I had more time to leave.... Then I saw someone chasing after me, so I ran."

"You?" you said, your voice barely above a whisper yet filled with disbelief. "It was you?"

Hyunjin froze, the weight of your words hitting him hard. He met your gaze, his expression a mix of guilt and remorse, knowing what would come next.

"You're the one who hurt Seungmin?" The question hung in the air, heavy with accusation and the need for clarity.

Hyunjin swallowed hard, his jaw tight as he struggled to find the right words. "I... I didn't mean for any of this to happen," he finally admitted, his voice strained with emotion. "STAY told me to set things up, but I never intended for anyone to get hurt... God I'm sorry..."

His eyes pleaded for understanding, but the pain in your heart overshadowed any immediate forgiveness. " Please dont tell any of this to Chan." he said quietly.

You took a step back, needing to distance yourself from the situation. The room felt suffocating, filled with accusations and revelations that shattered the fragile peace you had desperately clung to.

"I can't," you managed to say, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. "I need to go."

Minho reached out, trying to stop you. "Y/N, please, we need to figure this out together. You can't just—"

You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. "I just... I can't right now," your tone final as you turned away, unable to bear the weight of their presence any longer. Your mind raced with unanswered questions and the painful realization that everything you thought you knew had been turned upside down.

Without another word, you took the box and hurried out of the dorm, the sound of their voices fading behind you, each one grappling with their own guilt and the devastating consequences of their actions. The truth had finally surfaced, but it had come at a cost none of them could have anticipated. The world outside seemed distant and surreal as you walked in the direction of your house.

You arrived home feeling utterly devastated. Every step felt heavier as you walked through the door, the familiar comfort of your home offering little solace in the face of betrayal and deceit.

Chan was in the living room, a wide smile spreading across his face as he saw you enter. "Good afteroon, Y/N!" he exclaimed cheerfully, his eyes bright with happiness. "Where did you disappear off to?"

You couldn't find the words to answer immediately. The truth threatened to spill out, but the pain was still too raw, too overwhelming to articulate.

"I just needed a breather," you replied with a fake smile. "Nothing too adventurous, I promise."

You collapsed onto the nearest couch. Chan's gaze shifted back to the box in your hands, his brow furrowing slightly. "What's in your hands there?" he asked gently, noticing your hesitation.

You looked down at the box in your hands and then back up at Chan with a small smile. "Just what I'm wearing for the date," you replied softly, hoping to steer the conversation away from the heavier thoughts weighing on your mind.

Chan's eyes widened slightly in surprise, his expression turning curious. "Oh, really?" he asked, his tone filled with interest. I've been looking forward to our date tonight. Are you excited?"

His enthusiasm was contagious, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to be swept up in his positivity.

"Yeah," you replied softly, managing a more genuine smile now. "I am. It'll be nice to just relax and enjoy some time together."

"That's great to hear. I can't wait." As he continued talking, his excitement filled the room. "I actually need to head out soon. I have a photoshoot in a few minutes," he explained apologetically, glancing at the clock. "But I'll meet you at the restaurant tonight, okay?"

Despite the heaviness in your heart, Chan's genuine enthusiasm lifted your spirits.

"Sounds perfect," you replied, grateful for his understanding and support. "I'll see you there."

Chan leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead before heading towards the door. "Take care of yourself, Y/N. I love you."

With that, he left, his infectious positivity lingering in the air.

As Chan left, his words echoed in your mind. "I love you." The weight of those three words mingled with the sea of emotions you were feeling. You wanted to believe in the simplicity of his love, in the comfort it promised amidst the chaos.

But the truth you had just confronted threatened to overshadow everything. The betrayal, the deceit—it was a shadow you couldn't escape, even in Chan's loving embrace.

You set the box down on the coffee table, its contents a reminder of the tangled web of lies and secrets. With a heavy sigh, you sank deeper into the couch, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over you.

Minutes passed like hours as you sat there, lost in thoughts that refused to quiet. The sound of Chan's departure lingered in the silence, leaving behind a hollow ache in your chest.

Eventually, you roused yourself, realizing that dwelling on the pain wouldn't change the reality you faced. Tonight's date with Chan loomed ahead.

With a mix of curiosity and defiance, you opened the box and pulled out the dress. The emerald green dress shimmered in the light.

Why this dress? Why did Stay want me to have it?

Running your fingers over the fabric, you decided to wear it, feeling a strange pull to engage with the mystery rather than shy away from it.

After a quick shower and a bit of makeup, you slipped into the dress, its smooth texture clinging comfortably to your figure. Standing before the mirror, you assessed the overall look. The dress seemed to carry an air of intrigue, as if it held secrets yet to be uncovered. It was as if by donning this dress, you were stepping into a role—a role that STAY had laid out for you.

You hailed a cab to La Lumière, an exquisite restaurant known for its luxurious ambiance and gourmet cuisine. The cab ride was a blur of thoughts and emotions, the dress's presence a constant reminder of the enigmatic message from STAY.

As you arrived at the restaurant, the evening sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the elegant facade of La Lumière. The valet greeted you with a smile as you stepped out of the cab, feeling a mixture of nerves and anticipation.

Inside, the restaurant dazzled with its crystal chandeliers, soft music, and the murmur of patrons enjoying their meals. The maître d' welcomed you warmly and escorted you to a table set in a secluded corner, overlooking a garden.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. As you settled into your seat, your eyes scanned the room, searching for Chan. Moments later, you spotted him approaching with a smile that softened the edges of your unease.

Chan approached you with confident strides, dressed in a tailored black suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and lean frame. The soft lighting of the restaurant's ambiance cast a subtle glow on his features. His dark hair was neatly styled, adding to his effortlessly sophisticated appearance.

"Y/N," Chan greeted you warmly, his eyes alight with affection as he took your hand in his. "You look absolutely stunning."

You couldn't help but return his smile, feeling a flutter of warmth in your chest at his compliment. "Thank you," you replied softly, the tension of the evening slowly easing in his presence. "I'm glad you think so."

Chan leaned in slightly, his gaze lingering on you with an affectionate glow. "I always think so," he murmured sincerely, his thumb gently brushing against the back of your hand.

You smiled at Chan's sincere words, feeling a sense of comfort and security in his presence. The ambient music and soft murmur of other diners seemed to fade into the background as you focused on him.

"How was your photoshoot?" you asked, trying to steer the conversation to lighter topics, at least for now.

"It went really well," Chan replied, his smile widening. "We got some great shots. I can't wait for you to see them. What about you? How was your day?"

You hesitated, not wanting to dive into the emotional morning you had been through. "It was... eventful," you said with a faint smile, hoping to keep things vague.

Chan seemed to sense your reluctance and didn't press further. Instead, he squeezed your hand gently and changed the topic. "I'm really glad we're doing this tonight. We both needed a break."

The waiter arrived to take your orders, and you both chose your meals with ease. As he left, Chan's eyes lingered on you, a tender expression on his face.

"You know," he said softly, "when I saw you tonight, it reminded me of why I fell in love with you in the first place. You just have this way of making my eyes light up whenever I see you.

You felt your cheeks warm at his words, a small smile tugging at your lips. "You're just saying that."

"No, I mean it," Chan insisted, his gaze steady. "You've become my heart, and I can't imagine my life without you. I love you more than words can express, and I want to spend every moment showing you just how much you mean to me."

You felt your heart skip a beat at Chan's heartfelt words, his sincerity washing over you like a warm embrace. His gaze held yours, unwavering and filled with a depth of emotion that mirrored your own feelings.

"I love you too, Chan," you replied softly, your voice laced with affection. "More than you know."

A tender smile spread across Chan's face, his eyes crinkling at the corners with happiness. He leaned in closer, his hand reaching across the table to gently cup your cheek.

The first course arrived, beautifully presented and enticing. As you both began to eat, Chan kept the conversation light, talking about funny moments from his photoshoot and sharing amusing anecdotes that had you laughing despite yourself.

"So, there was this one pose they wanted me to do," Chan said with an amused grin, leaning in to share the story. "I had to hold this giant lollipop for the shoot. The thing was, I kept dropping it. They must have brought me like 40 lollipops! It was like a curse or something. Every time I tried to strike a pose, down went the lollipop."

You giggled, imagining the scene. "I wish I could have seen that."

"Oh, there are pictures," Chan assured you with a grin. "I'm sure they'll surface eventually."

As the evening progressed, the conversation flowed naturally, moving from light-hearted anecdotes to deeper, more meaningful topics. Chan's presence was like a balm to your troubled heart, his warmth and care enveloping you in a sense of safety you had almost forgotten.

As dessert was served—a decadent chocolate fondant with vanilla ice cream—Chan leaned in, his voice soft. "Remember our first date? How nervous we both were?"

You smiled at the memory. "Yes, you kept knocking over your glass.,,, and dropping your fork"

"So did you! we both reached down and knocked out heads togehter under the table." he chuckled. "We've come a long way since then."

"Yeah instead of forks your dropping lolipops now," you said

"I guess some things never change," he said.

As the last bites of dessert disappeared and the evening began to wind down, Chan glanced at his watch with a slight frown. "I just realized, I left my laptop at the studio," he admitted, a hint of frustration in his voice. "I need to go back and get it."

You nodded understandingly, though a part of you felt a pang of disappointment that the evening was ending sooner than expected. "It's alright," you reassured him with a smile, trying to hide any hint of sadness. "I can take a cab home. Don't worry about it."

Chan's expression softened, and he reached across the table to squeeze your hand gently. "I'm really sorry," he apologized sincerely. "I didn't mean for our night to end like this."

"It's okay, really," you replied, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze in return.

With a lingering touch and a final exchange of affectionate glances, you both stood up from the table, ready to part ways for the night.

As Chan hailed a cab for you outside the restaurant, you couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling within you—gratitude for the evening spent together, a lingering sadness that it had to end so abruptly, and a deep affection for Chan, whose presence had comforted you through the turmoil of the day.

As you settled into the backseat of the cab, Chan leaned in through the window, his warm gaze fixed on yours. "I'll call you as soon as I get home with the laptop," he promised softly, his voice filled with sincerity.

You nodded, a small smile gracing your lips. "Take care," you said, your voice betraying a hint of reluctance to part ways.

"I will," Chan replied with a gentle smile, his hand resting briefly on the window before he stepped back.

The cab pulled away from the curb, and you watched Chan's figure recede in the distance, a bittersweet feeling settling over you. As the city lights blurred outside the window, you reflected on the evening—the laughter, the heartfelt conversations, and the love you had for Chan.

Arriving home, you thanked the driver and stepped out onto the familiar street, the cool night air enveloping you.

As you approached your doorstep, your mind still lingering on the evening with Chan, you reached for the doorknob out of habit. To your surprise, it turned easily under your touch. You blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing your features. You never left the door unlocked—it was a simple precaution you always took.

Entering cautiously, your senses heightened, you scanned the living room. Everything seemed undisturbed, yet a feeling of unease lingered. The air felt charged, as if something had shifted in your absence. A soft rustling sound from the direction of the stairs drew your attention, setting your nerves on edge.

Your phone, suddenly, blinked out of existence, leaving you stranded in the dark room. You stared at it, praying it would come back to life.

But as seconds stretched on, it became painfully clear that your phone wasn't coming back. Its sudden death left you exposed, vulnerable to whatever dangers lurked in the shadows of your home.

Minutes tick by, each one stretching into an eternity as you strain to hear any sign of the intruder's presence. Your breath catches in your throat with every creak of the floorboards, every subtle shift in the air. The tension is palpable, suffocating, as you wait in the confined space of the closet, your heart pounding in your chest.

And then, just when you're starting to believe you imagined it all, you hear footsteps approaching. Each footfall reverberates through the floor, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your heart lurches into your throat as the closet door swings open, flooding the small space with blinding light. There they stand—the intruder—their eyes wild with fervor as they gaze down at you, cowering in the darkness.

"You're finally here," they breathe, their voice a mixture of awe and desperation. "I've been waiting for this moment for so long."

With trembling hands, you quickly move, darting past them as fast as you can and rushing into the kitchen. Your heart pounds in your chest as you grab a knife, the cold metal offering little help in the face of danger. "Stay back!" you yell out. "Dont come any closer."

But as you turn around, ready to defend yourself, you find the intruder standing in the doorway, their posture relaxed, almost casual, a mask covering their face.

The mask worn by the intruder is unsettlingly intricate. It's made of smooth, white porcelain, molded into a serene, almost doll-like face. The features are delicate yet haunting—the eyes hollow and dark, giving an impression of endless depth. Thin, painted lips are set in a neutral expression, devoid of emotion. The mask covers the entirety of the intruder's face, leaving no hint of their true identity behind its eerie facade.

"I see you wore the dress" they say suddenly.

You recongnize their voice. But why?

"Why are you here?" you manage to ask, your voice trembling despite your efforts to remain composed. You know you need to keep them talking, buying time to figure out who they are and what they want.

The intruder pauses for a moment as if considering their response. "I've come to ensure things are how they were supposed be," they finally reply, their voice carrying an eerie calmness that sends a shiver down your spine. They take one step closer.

You instinctively take a step back, your mind racing as you try to piece together the puzzle of their identity.

"Stay? Is that what you call yourself?"

The intruder remains silent for a tense moment, seemingly unmoved by your words.

"Why do you ask questions you already know the answers to?" they reply calmly, their tone sending a chill through your bones.

You continue to stall, hoping to glean more information that might help unravel this mystery. "What do you want from me?" you ask, your voice steadier now as you press for clarity.

The intruder's gaze behind the porcelain mask lingers on you for a moment longer, their expression inscrutable. "Everything," they say.

The intruder's laughter echoes in the room, a chilling sound that sends a shiver down your spine. It's a laugh you've heard before, but distorted by the mask and the eerie circumstances. As they laugh, you strain to place the familiar cadence, trying to ignore the fear creeping into your mind.

And then it clicks.

"Aera," you gasp, the name escaping your lips in a mix of disbelief and horror.

The laughter abruptly stops, replaced by an eerie silence that hangs heavily in the air. Aera stands before you, still masked and unnervingly composed, her gaze piercing through the porcelain facade.

"Why?" you manage to ask, your voice trembling as you struggle to comprehend the betrayal unfolding before you.

Aera removes the mask confirming your guess.

"Bingo," she mocks, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she echoes your earlier realization. "You finally figured it out."

Your heart sinks at her callous response, the sting of betrayal cutting deep. You struggle to comprehend her motives, the lack of empathy or regret hardening your resolve.

"You finally see me now, huh?" Aera's words carry a bitter edge, mocking and cold.

"See...you? What?" You stare at her, confusion furrowing your brow.

Aera's gaze hardens, her eyes narrowing with resentment. "You don't remember, do you?" Her voice drips with disdain. "No, of course you don't. You only cared about yourself."

Confusion clouds your thoughts as you try to recall any significant moments between you and Aera.

" We grew up in the same neighborhood, attended the same schools, and even shared dance and vocal lessons, " She said.

But your paths had rarely intersected beyond casual acquaintance.

"We weren't close," you finally manage to say, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

Aera scoffs, the sound cutting through the tension in the room. "Close enough for you to take everything I ever wanted," she retorts bitterly.

You struggle to comprehend her accusation. "What do you mean?"

Aera's bitterness spills over as she recounts years of shared aspirations and unspoken rivalry. "We were always competing, whether you realized it or not," she admits harshly. "I should've had your life. I went through the same programs, the same auditions."

You listen intently, the pieces of a long-forgotten puzzle starting to click into place. Memories of school performances, talent shows, and the buzz surrounding Aera's undeniable talent begin to resurface. She had always been the standout, the star trainee whose potential had drawn the attention of talent scouts.

"I was the star of our school," Aera continues bitterly, her words painting a picture of missed opportunities and unfulfilled promises. "Everyone knew about me. I had dreams of making it big, just like you.....And then JYP came," Aera says, her voice lowering as she recounts the turning point. "They were interested in me. They saw my potential, just like everyone else did."

The realization dawns on you as Aera's story unfolds. You rememember that day...

"But they signed you instead," Aera concludes bitterly, her gaze locked on yours with a mix of resentment and resignation. "They chose you over me."

...It was the day you met Zayne, your manager.

The weight of her words settles heavily on your shoulders. The twist of fate that had catapulted you into the spotlight while leaving Aera behind, despite her undeniable talent and years of hard work.

"I didn't know," you say softly, your voice filled with genuine remorse. "I didn't know it was supposed to be you."

Aera's expression softens slightly, her eyes reflecting years of hurt and longing. "You got signed," she continues bitterly, her voice tinged with resignation. "You became the biggest star. And then you met Chan."

"I met Chan when we were young," Aera explains, a hint of nostalgia softening her tone. "We hit it off immediately. He was the one I dreamed of building a future with. But then both of you got signed, became trainees for JYP, and everything changed."

Her words hang between you like an accusation, echoing the unspoken truth of lost opportunities and shattered dreams. Aera's gaze, once soft with nostalgia, now hardened with years of pent-up frustration.

"I watched as you both soared to heights I could only dream of," she continues bitterly, her voice trembling slightly with suppressed emotion. "Stray Kids, Chan, Zayne, everything that should have been mine."

"But why? Why do all this?" you say.

"Because, you conceeded little bitch, If I cant have this life then neither can you. You dont deserve it. I'm the onle who worked hard for it, I'm the reason why zayne was there in the first place." she said bitterly.

"So if its between the two of us, why bring all the members throught it. Hyunjin, minho, seungmin, they didnt deserve any of that."

"because they were all in love with you. Your everything to all of them..."

"And your nothing to anybody."

She is quiet. The room feels suffocating, the tension palpable as you both stand there, trapped in the aftermath of years of unspoken grievances. Aera's silence speaks of years of watching from the sidelines, of dreams shattered and hearts broken. It's a silence that speaks louder than any words could, revealing the depth of her feelings and the wounds that may never fully heal.

"I didn't recognize you," you whisper, the realization hitting you like a wave of regret. "When you became my assistant, I didn't see who you really were."

Aera stops in her tracks, her back still turned to you. The bitterness in her voice seeps through her words. "Of course you didn't," she scoffs softly. "To you, I was just another face in the crowd, someone who was supposed to fade into the background."

You struggle to find the right words, wanting to explain, to make amends somehow. "I didn't mean to overlook you," you say, your voice tinged with sorrow. "I was caught up in my own world, chasing after what I thought was success....I'm sorry," you say, the words feeling inadequate in the face of Aera's pain.

Her gaze softens momentarily, a flicker of resignation crossing her features. "It's too late for sorry now," she replies quietly. "You have what you wanted. Everything I thought should have been mine."

You struggle to find the words to respond.

Her eyes, once filled with hurt and bitterness, now narrow with determination as she launches herself into action.

With startling speed, Aera lunges forward, her fists a blur of motion aimed directly at you. You barely manage to block her initial strikes, the impact jolting you backwards. The fight intensifies as you desperately parry her relentless assault, each blow ringing out like a bell in the confined space.

In a desperate move, Aera maneuvers you towards the cupboards, her strength and determination surprising you. With a powerful shove, she sends you crashing into the wooden cabinets, the impact reverberating through your body. Pain shoots through your back as the force knocks the wind out of you.

Gritting your teeth against the pain, you push back with equal fervor. Adrenaline courses through your veins, fueling your determination to end the confrontation. You muster every ounce of skill and agility, countering Aera's attacks with precision and ferocity.

The room echoes with the clash of bodies and the sound of splintering wood as the fight rages on. Sweat beads on your brow, mingling with the sting of exertion. Aera fights with a fervor fueled by years of resentment and perceived injustice, her strikes relentless and focused.

The battle with your emotions was just as intense as the physical struggle with Aera. You didnt want to hurt her. But you had to defend yourself. You knew you had to make a choice, the knife you had grabbed earlier gleaming in the kitchen light.

But before you can make a decision, you hear the distant wail of sirens approaching, the sound a stark reminder of the danger lurking just beyond your doorstep.

She flinches at the sound, her eyes darting towards the door with a mix of fear and resignation. For a moment, the facade of confidence slips, revealing the vulnerable girl beneath.

"I have to go," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I'll be back. I promise."

And with that, she turns and begins to run as fast as she can towards the back door. With a swift motion, she disappears into the night, leaving you alone in the darkness, the echoes of her words lingering like a haunting refrain.

As tears stream down your cheeks, you step back, your slowly back banging against the cupboard, and you slide down onto the floor, overwhelmed by a flood of emotions. The events of the night felt like a nightmare, each moment etched into your memory with vivid clarity.

Suddenly, the door bursts open, and in rush Chan, Changbin, and Minho, their faces a mix of concern and panic. Chan's eyes widen in alarm as he spots you on the floor, and he rushes towards you, dropping to his knees beside you.

"Are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt?" he bombards you with questions, his voice trembling with worry as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close.

You bury your face in Chan's chest, seeking comfort in his embrace as you try to steady your breathing.

Changbin and Minho hover nearby, their expressions mirroring Chan's concern as they scan the room for any signs of danger.

Before you can respond, the sound of heavy footsteps of approaching police officers fill the room.

Their voices loud and authoritative as they demand to know what's going on. For a moment, there's chaos as the officers mistake Chan, Changbin, and Minho for the intruders, their hands moving to their holsters in anticipation of danger.

But you quickly intervene, your voice shaky but firm as you clarify that they're your boyfriend and friends, not the ones who broke into your home. The tension in the room dissipates as the officers realize their mistake, and they quickly shift their focus to ensuring your safety and apprehending the real intruder.

Trembling in Chan's embrace, you find the courage to speak up, your voice still quivering with fear.

"Stay" you whisper.

"Of course baby...Im not going anywhere" he replies as his hand runs through your hair.

"No.. Stay," you repeat.

"Stay.......- Oh my God." He says, the words finally clicking. " They were here?"

You nod your head. He could not do anything more then stare at you in disbelief.

"I was so scared, Chan. I didn't know what to do." You recount the events of the night, the sense of violation still fresh in your mind.

"It was Aera," you whisper, the words tumbling out in a rush. "She broke into the house... She knew everything about me, Chan. It was like she was obsessed. Not only with me, but with you.... She was in love with you"

Chan's grip tightens around you, his expression darkening with anger and concern.

"That explains the letters…" Chan murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, his words hanging in the air as he tries to make sense of the connection.

"..What letters?" you say quietly.

"They were addressed to me, but they… they felt like love letters. Like someone was watching me, wanting something more…"

"Chan... you got letters and didn't tell me?" you say.

Chan sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I didn't think much of them," he admits, his voice tinged with regret. "They seemed harmless—compliments, admiration, nothing threatening."

Suddenlt, Two officers enter the kitchen area, their expressions serious yet professional. One introduces herself as Officer Jin, while her partner, Officer Kang, takes note of the surroundings.

"Thank you for coming," Chan says.

Officer Jin nods, her gaze shifting between you and Chan. "Can you please tell us what happened tonight?" she asks, her tone gentle yet authoritative.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself to recount the events. "I.. got home and the door was unlocked," you begin, your voice steady despite the lingering unease. "I thought it was an intruder, so I texted Chan."

You continue. "I hid in the closet.. but they found me anyways. It was Aera.. my assistant. She had broken in. " he explains, his brow furrowing with concern. "She seemed... unstable."

Officer Kang scribbles notes in his pad, his expression focused as he listens intently. "Did she say why she was here?" he prompts, his eyes flicking up to gauge your reactions.

"She mentioned something about wanting what I have," you answer, recalling Aera's bitter words with a shiver. "She seemed fixated on the idea that my life should have been hers."

Officer Jin nods thoughtfully, her expression sympathetic. "And did she threaten you in any way?"

You hesitate, the memory of Aera's unsettling presence vivid in your mind. "She attacked me." you respond quietly.

His brow furrows ever so slightly, a shadow of concern darkening his features. You notice his jaw tighten, a telltale sign of his anger.

"I tried to defend myself... But she only stopped when we heard the sirens. Then she ran out the backdoor." With that, one of the other officers immediently left towards the backdoor.

Chan's gaze softens, his thumb gently wiping away your tears as he pulls you closer.

"Im sorry you had to go through that. In the meantime, we'll increase patrol in your area and provide you with a direct line to reach us if anything else happens."

You nod gratefully, feeling a sense of relief knowing that the authorities are taking the situation seriously. As the officers continue to ask detailed questions and jot down notes, Chan remains by your side.

You thank the officers and they leave, leaving you alone in the house with the other 3 boys. Chan pulls you into a tight embrace, whispering words of reassurance and comfort in your ear.

And in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his embrace and the support of your friends, you begin to feel a glimmer of hope that you'll be able to put this terrifying ordeal behind you.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight tonight," he says, his tone firm yet gentle. "You're coming with me. I'll pack a bag for you." He moves to get up, but you cling to him tighter, the thought of being separated from him filling you with a deep sense of unease.

"Please, don't leave me," you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chan's expression changes, his eyes reflecting the depth of his love and concern for you. "Okay..I won't, I promise," he assures you, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

With a sense of urgency, he gestures to Minho, who understands what is being asked of him.

Minho nods silently, understanding the gravity of the situation, and hurries off to gather your belongings. Meanwhile, Chan remains by your side.

As he returns with the bag packed, Chan helps you to your feet, his touch gentle yet reassuring. "Let's go," he says softly, his voice filled with determination.

With trembling limbs, you follow Chan out of the house, your heart racing with a mixture of fear and gratitude. But as his hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers together, you find solace in the warmth of his touch.

You get into the car, Changbin in the driver's seat, Minho in the front, and you and Chan in the back. You lean on Chan's shoulder as the car moves forward, finding comfort in his presence.

Your ready to put all this behind you. You allow yourself to close your eyes and rest.

Buzz

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randomdragonfires · 4 months ago

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Time Can't Stop Me Quite Like You Did - The Other Woman [SNEAK PEEK]

Oh, and there was a woman.

WORD COUNT | 3.5k (and it's only a sneak peek ffs)

Author's Note | Hello everyone! So I am working on a relatively short 10k word chapter that is centred around Alys and Aemond from this story. How they came to be, what it is that they talk about... just the general progression of their relationship.

What follows is the first scene of that interlude chapter. The full thing should be up soon, following which I'll begin the final chapter. You'll see mentions, the ghost of Wylde - but for obvious reasons, Alysmond is the star of the next update.

Be warned. I see that many don't take well to the Alys and Aemond pairing - I will not appreciate any hate being thrown towards me or the story. There's always a civil way to say things. The strong reactions to their pairing is what kept me away from continuing it immediately in the first place, but mama didn't raise a quitter so here we are lmao

MORE THAN A YEAR AGO - AEMOND POV

"Of course I'm here. It’s summer vacation, and it’s only one of the biggest art gallery openings in the country," Wylde said with a grin. He was still new to Oldtown, while she was heading into her final year of school at King’s Landing—but they both knew where they belonged in the world. He would eventually take his place at the top, running one of the oldest commercial institutions in the realm. She would become a prominent socialite, wielding her family’s art connections with pride and skill, possibly on the arm of one of the men in this room.

For a fleeting moment back home, he had wished that man would be him. But that had passed—or so he liked to believe.

"Hm."

"Anyway, I have to make my rounds, shake hands," she sighed, as if already exhausted by the thought. "Most of them will try to get to my father through me, hoping for a chance at our family’s paintings for their displays." She paused, her expression softening. "My plane to King’s Landing leaves soon after, so I might not catch you to say goodbye, okay?"

She leaned in on the tips of her toes, instinctively brushing her lips against his cheek, a gesture so familiar it felt natural. His skin warmed under her touch as he held onto her for a moment, before letting her go and watching her slip into the crowd.

"It was nice to see you, Aemond," she said, giving him one last smile before she disappeared among the other guests.

He watched as the crowd welcomed her with open arms. And why wouldn’t they?

Aemond stood quietly near the back of the gallery, his head turned as he swirled his wine and pretended to be interested in the pieces around him. But his focus had already drifted.

From across the room, she had become the only thing he could think about.

She was magnetic in a way that defied simple description. It wasn’t just her beauty, though he could hardly deny that. There was something in the way she moved - fluid, deliberate, as if every gesture, every glance, was part of a conversation only she knew how to conduct. Aemond watched as she floated through the crowd with an easy grace, her black dress brushing the tops of her heels - not revealing, but just enough.

But it wasn’t her appearance that intrigued him the most. It was her detachment. The way she seemed to occupy the room and yet remain entirely separate from it. Like she knew she was better than the herd. How can she possibly not? He knew it, and he’d barely seen her for ten minutes.

He studied her carefully, trying to decode the way she interacted with her surroundings. The other guests barely held her interest, even her husband - Brynden Rivers, the artist on feature - who was basking in the attention of his admirers, seemed peripheral to her thoughts. She would smile and nod at the right moments, offering polite responses when addressed, but her eyes - sharp, dark, endlessly curious - always strayed back to the art. It was as though she were in search of something she hadn’t quite found, or perhaps she was testing the art itself, waiting to see if it would reveal anything worth caring about.

He found himself wondering what she saw. What was it that drew her attention so intensely? Was she, like him, disillusioned by the pageantry of it all? Or was she simply beyond it, a part of a world he hadn’t yet glimpsed?

Aemond’s eyes lingered on her, captivated by her subtle confidence. He could tell she knew he was watching - how could she not? And yet, she gave no indication that she minded. Instead, there was a knowingness in her movements, a quiet acknowledgment of his gaze that sent a strange thrill through him.

Almost as if she moved just for him.

As she turned from the group around her to admire one of the larger paintings, she glanced over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his. It was fleeting, just a flicker of recognition, but the brief moment stretched out in Aemond’s mind. She didn’t look away immediately, nor did she smile - there was something almost challenging in her gaze, as though she were testing him, daring him to keep watching.

And he did.

Their eyes met again several times as the night wore on, each moment charged with tension that had heat penetrating him through his black turtleneck. He couldn’t place it - this feeling that they were circling each other from opposite ends of the room. They had not spoken a word, yet it felt as though they were in conversation, their glances exchanging ideas, questions, provocations. What was she thinking? Did she feel this pull too, or was she simply toying with him, amused by the attention of a younger man?

She leaned in to whisper something to her husband, her lips barely moving, and Aemond felt an unexpected surge of jealousy - irrational, yes, but undeniable. She was so at ease, so unattainable, yet there was something in the way she kept looking at him, as if she wanted him to see her just as much as he wanted to understand her.

He’d never, in his entire life, felt like this before.

Their eyes locked again, and this time her lips curved into the faintest smile, not of politeness or pretense, but of acknowledgment. She knew exactly what she was doing, and Aemond, for all his careful control, felt the thrill of the chase. It wasn’t just desire - though there was plenty of that - it was the curiosity that gripped him. Who was she? What did she want from this night, from this life? And why did it feel like, in this crowded room, they were the only two people who mattered?

There was a moment when their gaze lingered just a little longer than before, the silence between them almost deafening, despite the buzz of conversation around them. Aemond felt something stir deep within him, a strange excitement, as though this unspoken challenge had a life of its own. What was he to her? Just another man in the gallery, or had she singled him out the way he had her?

It wasn’t until she broke the connection - turning back to the painting in front of her - that he realized he had been holding his breath.

Aemond had been standing in the corner of the gallery, nursing a drink that had long gone flat. His eyes drifted back to her, stealing glances, trying to untangle the mystery she presented without making it too obvious. He couldn't quite understand why she fascinated him so much, but her presence demanded his attention.

Then, it happened.

She moved.

At first, he thought she was simply changing her position to get a better view of a painting, but when their eyes met across the room for the third time that evening, something shifted. She wasn't just glancing anymore - she was walking toward him.

Aemond’s heart rate spiked. He forced himself to remain calm, to not show his surprise, but he could hardly believe she was coming up to him. The crowd of art enthusiasts seemed to blur, and the distant hum of voices faded into nothingness as she neared. He couldn't help but track every step she took, as though each one was part of a dance he hadn’t learned yet.

And then she was there, standing in front of him. Up close, she was even more striking than he had imagined - her features sharp and graceful, with an aura of confidence that was almost magnetic. She had an air of quiet authority, but not in the way the old-money elite around them carried themselves. Hers was different, more subtle, more powerful.

“Aemond Targaryen,” she said, her voice smooth and knowing, as though they were already well acquainted.

He blinked, still processing the fact that she was speaking to him at all. “You know me,” he said, though it wasn’t exactly a question. It made sense - he was a Targaryen after all, but still, something about her saying his name with such ease unnerved him.

“To no one's surprise, yes.” She smiled, the corners of her lips curling up in a way that was almost teasing. “You didn’t think I’d notice the only one in this room who's barely looked at the art?”

The comment threw him for a moment, but then, intrigued, he leaned in slightly. “A room full of some of the finest art, and yet you’ve been watching me,” he pointed out.

Did she notice him before, the same way he’s noticed her?

For a moment, her dark eyes sparkled with amusement. “Alys Rivers,” she began, letting the name roll off her tongue slowly, as if inviting him to puzzle it out.

Aemond’s brow furrowed. "Rivers..." he muttered, almost to himself, trying to jog his memory. The name wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, but he couldn’t quite place it. And then it came to him - he hadn’t heard that surname in relation to anyone important in his world.

“Strong,” she corrected softly, the name falling like a small bomb between them. “My maiden name is Strong.”

Aemond’s eyes widened as the realization hit him. Strong. Of course. Lionel Strong, the headmaster of the school he attended for years. Harwin Strong, whose presence in Rhaenyra’s life had always been whispered about, and whose children were a constant point of rumor and speculation.

She is a sister to them both. How had he not known of her all this time?

His gaze snapped back to her face, searching for any sign that might have connected her to that family before, but there was nothing immediately obvious. “Lionel Strong...” he said aloud, piecing it together, more for himself than for her benefit.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Lionel is my half-brother. Harwin, too.”

He exhaled slowly, letting the weight of it sink in. It was like a secret door had been unlocked, revealing more about her than he ever could’ve guessed. She had roots in his world, in his life, that had been there all along, just hidden beneath the surface.

Alys smirked, clearly enjoying the way his mind raced to catch up. "Surprised?"

“More than I’d like to admit,” he replied, a slow smile pulling at his lips as he found himself even more intrigued than before.

Aemond leaned back slightly, still processing everything. His mind, usually so sharp and analytical, felt slower than usual in the presence of Alys Rivers - or Strong, as she had just revealed. But as much as her family ties surprised him, it didn’t change the allure she carried. She was still an enigma, now with even more layers to uncover.

Alys shifted her gaze to the painting nearest them - a sprawling canvas of abstract forms, colors bleeding into one another in what he deduces as an intentional mess. “So, what do you think of the work?” she asked casually, her eyes tracing the chaotic lines as if she already knew exactly what he was going to say.

He tilted his head, not willing to offer anything up too quickly. “It’s… bold.”

“Bold,” she repeated, her lips quivering. “That’s a safe assessment.”

“I suppose it is,” he conceded, allowing himself a small smile. “But it’s honest. What about you? You seem like someone with stronger opinions on art.”

“I do,” she admitted, folding her arms across her chest as she took in the piece again. “This one... it’s my husband’s.”

Her words hung in the air, and Aemond couldn’t stop the faint sting of jealousy that crept into his chest at the way she said ‘husband’ - with a sense of familiarity that only came from many years of being tied together. He glanced back at the painting, trying to find some reflection of the man behind it.

“Your husband’s quite the artist,” he said, keeping his tone even, but his interest was undeniable.

Alys nodded, her gaze still on the painting. “Yes, he is. Brynden is one of the best, I suppose, but you don’t need me to tell you that. Everyone else here already has.” There was something dismissive in her voice, a casual indifference that caught Aemond off guard.

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “And what do you think of his work?”

Alys tilted her head and gave a half-smile, as though considering the question for the first time. “It’s... fine. I appreciate what he’s trying to say, but it doesn’t speak to me in the way art should.” She paused, then turned to him, her dark eyes finding him with a sharpness that left him momentarily breathless. “But you already guessed that, didn’t you?”

Aemond smirked, amused by how easily she read him. “It’s a little obvious. The way you talk about him, about his work… It’s almost as if you’re disconnected from it.”

She met his gaze, unflinching, her smile growing. “You’re observant, aren’t you? That must be exhausting.”

He chuckled softly, unable to help himself. “I’ve been told as much.” There was something thrilling about it - this mutual understanding, this wordless challenge.

“So,” he said, redirecting the conversation with purpose, “if your husband’s work doesn’t speak to you, what does? What kind of art do you appreciate?”

Alys turned away from the painting, her attention fully on him now. “The kind that demands something of me. Something that won’t let me look away. I want to be moved, even unsettled. The kind that makes you question everything you thought you knew.”

Aemond’s eyes flickered, intrigued. “You mean the kind that unsettles you in the same way a person can?”

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Exactly. Sometimes, the most impactful art is the kind that forces you to confront things you’ve been avoiding. It’s messy, uncomfortable, but unforgettable.”

He found himself nodding in agreement, feeling the conversation dip. “I suppose that’s why art and history are so closely linked. Both make you confront uncomfortable truths. The more you understand the world, the more you realize how fragile everything is.”

She sighed softly, as though she’d found someone who shared her exact thoughts. “Yes, and that fragility - that’s where the beauty lies. When you can’t control it. And when it’s gone, you’re left wondering why you didn’t appreciate it enough.”

They weren’t just talking about art anymore, and both of them knew it.

“And history,” she continued, her voice softer now, “is like the ultimate piece of art, isn’t it? Layered and complex, full of contradictions. No matter how much you study it, there’s always something more to uncover.”

Aemond nodded, his gaze intense. “It’s a reminder that nothing is permanent. Not power, not legacy, not even love.”

The way he said it, the quiet certainty in his voice, made Alys pause. She studied him for a long moment, as if searching for something behind his words. “You’re quite young. Do you really believe that?” she asked, her tone challenging, though her smile remained.

“Of course,” he replied easily. “Everything has its limits.”

As their conversation deepened, they moved through the gallery, eventually stopping in front of a painting that caught Alys’s attention. The piece was striking - two figures, intertwined in an abstract embrace, their forms blurring at the edges, as if they were dissolving into one another. The colors were bold, almost chaotic, bleeding into one another in a way that suggested both unity and dissolution.

Alys tilted her head, her lips curving into a thoughtful smile. “What do you make of this one?”

Aemond studied the painting, the mingling figures, the way their outlines seemed to waver as if they could hardly contain themselves within the frame. It was both intimate and unsettling, a reflection of connection and the inevitable loss that comes with it.

“It’s fascinating,” he said, voice measured. “There’s something about the way they’re almost… becoming each other. But it’s not peaceful, is it? It’s like they’re losing themselves in the process.”

She nodded, eyes still fixed on the canvas. “It’s about boundaries, I think. How much of yourself are you willing to give before you start losing pieces of who you are?”

Aemond glanced at her, sensing the weight behind her words. “Isn’t that what love does, in a way? It strips you down, forces you to let go of your boundaries until you’re not sure where you end and the other person begins.”

Alys met his gaze, her eyes sharp, thoughtful. “But that’s dangerous, isn’t it? Giving up so much of yourself. Maybe that’s why so many people cling to the idea of monogamy - one person, one connection, to keep things simple. Less risk.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Do you think monogamy keeps things simple?”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Not at all. Monogamy is just another way of complicating things, if you ask me. The idea that one person can meet all your needs… it feels like an illusion.”

He considered her words, watching her closely as she turned back to the painting. “You don't have much of an opinion for loyalty in your connections?”

Alys shrugged, her smile a little mischievous. “I believe in connection. But I also believe in freedom. Sometimes, those things don’t go hand in hand.”

Aemond’s gaze lingered on her, his mind swirling with the implications of her words. “Is that why you don’t believe in monogamy?”

She didn’t answer right away, instead turning to look at him with that same sly, knowing smile. “I didn’t say that - I can’t, given that I am married. But I don’t think it’s the only way to live.”

Aemond chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “I think monogamy works for some people. But for others... perhaps it’s just another form of control.”

“And what about you?” she asked, her gaze locking with his, challenging him again. “Do you crave control, Aemond?”

He didn’t answer right away, but the intensity of her gaze made his heart race. “I think we all do, in some way. It’s human nature.”

Alys took a step closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “But sometimes, the most exhilarating moments come when you let go of control. When you surrender to something - or someone - you can’t predict.”

Her words sent a shiver down his spine, and for a brief moment, he felt the air between them grow charged. The flirtation between them had evolved into something far more potent, far more dangerous.

“Are you speaking from experience?” he asked, his voice lower now, the distance between them shrinking.

She didn’t break eye contact, her lips curving slightly. “I think you know the answer to that.”

Aemond glanced around the bustling gallery, the laughter and chatter of art enthusiasts fading into a background hum as his focus narrowed back to Alys. The way her eyes sparkled, the slight tilt of her head, and the intoxicating warmth of her presence drew him in like a moth to flame.

In a bold, instinctive move, he reached for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. The contact sent a jolt through him, a mix of excitement and nervous energy. Her skin felt warm against his, soft yet somehow grounding, and he marveled at how effortlessly their hands fit together.

Without a word, he began to lead her away from the crowd. They slipped through a doorway and into an empty stairwell. As they stepped into the dim light, Aemond turned to face her fully, their hands still clasped. He felt a rush of exhilaration, the act of holding her hand feeling significant, almost intimate.

“What now?” she asked, her voice low and playful, her gaze unwavering.

He hesitated, caught in the intensity of the moment, the gravity of her presence. He reached into his trouser pockets for a cigarette and lighter, and soon there was the ashy smell of smoke around them.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I want to find out.”

The smoke from Aemond’s cigarette curling lazily into the quiet space. He took a drag, exhaling slowly as his mind raced, the sharp taste of nicotine mingling with the tension. He kept his gaze on the blank space ahead, the smoke filling the air around them. She, however, hadn’t taken her eyes off him. He could feel it—the way she watched him, measured him, waiting to see what he would do next. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable; it felt charged.

He took one last drag before carelessly flicking the cigarette to the floor, grinding it under his boot without a second thought. The small, defiant gesture felt freeing, as though he was stamping out a part of himself—his restraint, his hesitation. He turned to face her again, her gaze steady, her lips slightly parted as if she was waiting for something.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world outside the stairwell ceased to exist. Then, with a low exhale, he stepped closer, his eyes locking with hers. It was a split second of tension before he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers. The kiss was slow at first, exploratory, testing the boundaries between them. But the moment her lips parted, the intensity between them flared to life.

Aemond pressed her back against the cold, hard wall, the warmth of her body against his heightening his awareness of every touch, every breath. His hands moved with purpose, one sliding up to cup her face, the other finding her waist, pulling her closer. As the kiss deepened, his fingers traced the line of her neck, her collarbone, before they slipped lower, teasing the hem of her dress.

She let out a soft gasp as his fingers found their way between her thighs, and he swallowed the sound with his mouth. There was no hesitation, no awkward fumbling—only the smooth, practiced confidence.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat as he continued, the rhythm of his fingers drawing soft moans from her lips. He could feel her tightening, her body trembling as she reached the edge. His thumb brushed over her in just the right way, and that was all it took. Alys stifled a cry as she came, her body arching against the wall, and Aemond kissed her again, this time slower, more tender, as if savoring the moment. Her breathing slowly evened out, and Aemond felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. Neither of them spoke. There was no need for words.

They simply stood there, foreheads pressed together, sharing the stillness as the world outside continued to move without them.

Look forward to your thoughts! (No seriously, say something. I really need to be motivated and that usually happens through fic related discourse haha)

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gryffinwrites · 6 months ago

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My Y/N (Female Farmer) x Harvey Fanfic Just Hit 20 Chapters, Here Are My Harvey/SDV Headcanons:

IB: @pierperian-leisure's post on dating harvey headcanons (some of them are so similar to what I pictured when I started this FF, I just love that we all have the same Harvey in our head and hearts 🥰)

For reference: The fanfic is called You Hate Harvey, a silly hate to love story full of banter and tension.

∙ Harvey's anxiety displays in different ways. Sometimes he is the stuttering/blushing version you see in SDV, sometimes he is grumpy and speaking condescendingly when you've put yourself in danger. When Harvey panics, it is freeze first, flight second, and lastly, occasionally, mostly with you, fight.

∙ Though he can maintain a solid bedside manner with all his other patients, Harvey doesn't hide his emotions very well from you. If he's irritated, he's pinching the bridge of his nose. If he's nervous, he's wiping his glasses on his shirt. If he's frustrated (sexually, more often than not) he his shoving a fist into the messy volume of his hair.

∙ Elliott is the best friend Harvey has ever had. They're very different on paper, but as a writer Elliott brings an empathetic energy that equips him to understand Harvey better than anyone ever has before. For that reason, Harvey can accept the bolder parts of Elliott's personality that draw more public attention than he's typically comfortable with.

∙ In the bedroom and the clinic alike, Harvey just wants to take care of you. He's very much a giver, and his favorite thing is to put his medical degree to good use and employ his anatomical knowledge for your pleasure. Before you even first got together, he secretly fantasized all the ways he could kiss and make it better.

∙ Harvey was terrified of you when he first met you, fearing how much he wanted to be with you. But his second, and most secret, fear was that he would never get what he wanted most and would someday have to watch you settle down with another eligible bachelor. Sometimes he convinces himself you would be better off in that instance. Even after you're together, seeing how much the other bachelors equally admire you will occasionally fuel the self-deprecating thoughts in his head.

∙ Harvey had his heart broken in college when, as she left him, his girlfriend insulted his mustache. Since then, he always wondered if he would ever find someone who accepts him for all he is.

∙ Harvey's parents died from a car accident when he was young. It's why he cares so deeply about your safety and has nightmares about losing you, another person he loves.

∙ Though it was initially traumatic, the hospital visit incited his interest in medicine.

∙After they passed, Harvey was raised by his grandparents. For that reason, Harvey has a soft spot for George (even when he's yelling at him in an appointment.)

∙ Harvey's grandfather was a pilot back in the day, and the reason why Harvey still loves planes so much and once contemplated following in his footsteps.

∙ When Harvey drinks too much at the saloon, he lets loose and all his inhibitions slide away and he's all about sneaky PDA. He'll undo his tie, unbutton his shirt a little, and try and get away with sliding a hand up your thigh. Or, he'll motion for you to follow him into the barrel room.

∙ Though Harvey tried to keep your budding romance a secret, Maru immediately suspected something had changed when he would throw his office door open the moment he heard a voice in the lobby to ask if it was you. He would also hum as he worked. A lot.

∙ Harvey and your grandfather were close, as he reminded him in a way of his own grandpa. He would often go over to the farm and play cards to keep him company. During these visits, your grandfather would talk about you often, showing him photos of you in university and at your big corporate job in Zuzu City. Even then, knowing so little about you and never imagining he'd ever meet you, Harvey started to develop a bit of a crush.

∙ Harvey secretly has a very impressive singing voice. It was strengthened over years of listening to jazz albums in medical school, subtly singing along and emulating the crooner's voices as he studied. The only person who has heard him sing is Elliott, and it was after so much wine the writer barely remembers it.

∙ When Harvey is feeling full-hearted, he gives off giddy golden retriever-energy. His smile becomes boyish, he freely jokes around and messes with you, and he is very physically affectionate.

∙ It may be Elliott's influence, but Harvey can be very articulate on his devotion to you... it's just a shame that for so long, those expressions of ardent admiration were simmering under the surface, cloaked completely by his nervously-blurted blunders.

Some of these have been covered in the story already, some of them are yet to be uncovered.

What do you think?

#sdv ff #sdv harvey #ao3 #sdv fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #stardew harvey #stardew valley #stardew valley farmer #stardew valley harvey #gryffin murphy #harvey x reader #harvey x farmer #female farmer #my headcanons

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jtl-fics · 2 years ago

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Fluent Freshman - Part 13

“I can’t believe you would go out on Black Friday to grocery shop but I guess thanks for going out on Black Friday to grocery shop.” Aaron greets him with as FF moves over to the table.

Andrew and Captain Neil had apparently went out shopping.

Andrew and Captain Neil had apparently come back and have been in Andrew’s room for the past couple hours.

“Josten probably wanted to go to Excites for some gear. I don’t know what my brother sees in that Exy-obsessed jerk.” Aaron says as he eats his own smiley eggs and bacon. FF hears the sound of a hammer and a drill from Andrew’s room.

Heart in his throat he forces himself not to think about what Andrew and Captain Neil COULD be building.

(A guillotine, an iron maiden, that weird wedge thing that splits people in half at the groin, He should NOT have taken that Spanish history class. Oh god it’s probably a fence so he can’t escape whatever hunting ground Andrew is going to drag him to if he can’t buy his continued existence via baked good.)

“Shut up, they’re actually really sweet to one another.” Nicky chastises before turning to FF, “Because of that your final serving goes to Smithy. He deserves it more than you.” Nicky says and slides the final plate of eggs and bacon.

“He’s just as bothered by it as I am!” Aaron scowls.

“By what?” FF asks because there are a lot of things that bother him so Aaron is going to have to be more specific.

“By those two being all close. I’ve seen the way you turn and walk away.” Aaron reaches across the table for his bacon but FF just pushes the plate closer to him. The two plates he had already eaten were more than enough, especially after the full dinner that they’d had the night before. “You’re grossed out by it too right?” He asks as he goes to stab the bacon.

FF slides the plate away and Aaron stabs the table.

FF is NOT HOMOPHOBIC.

His gran raised him better than that.

“I don’t agree with you.” He says because he doesn’t but can’t bring himself to say anymore. He’s in Aaron’s house, he stole Aaron’s keys that morning to lock up the house.

(it was so rude but what if someone broke in because he left the house unlocked? What if someone got hurt just because he wanted to ensure his own survival? Isn’t it better that he just borrowed Aaron’s keys to make sure that no one in the house got hurt? Does FF still believe with every fiber of his being that Andrew Minyard is trying to murder him in this exact house? Yes. Can these concerns coexist peacefully? Also yes.)

If anything he finds Captain Neil and Andrew to be an incredibly nice couple. They talk about things together, they make plans about their future, their PDA was actually pretty minimal (especially in comparison to Aaron), and he had figured out the weird code Andrew talked in so he was pretty sure that Andrew and Neil loved one another.

The only issue he has with the couple is that they are out at a store probably buying supplies to torture and then kill FF.

Otherwise they were perfectly fine.

Aaron scowls, “You can’t be serious. You walk away faster than you run on the court when you see the two of them getting all gross.” He points with his fork and tries to grab the bacon again.

FF frowns deeper.

“I walk away even faster from you and your girlfriend.” He returns because Aaron and Katelyn are the couple who have been the MOST guilty of initiating something in front of him when he was in ‘Visible only when the sunlight strikes him at the exact right angle on the summer solstice’ mode.

He had tried to clear his throat to get them to quit quite a few times but…well…he has heard Katelyn mention that one of her and Aaron’s favorite ‘hang out’ spots might be haunted….so he hadn’t been overly successful.

“PDA makes me uncomfortable in general. Captain Neil and Andrew are a very nice couple who you shouldn’t talk bad about.” He defends as one of the only people who would know exactly how thoughtful the two were to one another.

He hopes his Gran is proud of him for saying something.

Aaron looks at him with a twisted mouth for a while before relenting, “Fine they’re not that bad. It’s just a big brother thing.” Aaron rolls his eyes.

FF swallows down some acid in his throat and pushes the smiling eggs and bacon over to Aaron who smiles back at the breakfast and proceeds to eat it.

A big brother thing.

FF gets up and heads over to the final bag that Andrew had left out on the counter. FF had bought some additional offerings for his mortal soul to tide Andrew over while he made the brownies. It’s also where the incense and his latest two five hour energies should still be.

He finds the incense, wonders if he hallucinated the five hour energies (very possible), and hands Nicky a box of sour patch kids to distract him when he comes over.

“Smithy, why the hell are you lighting incense?” Nicky asks because the sour patch kids were NEVER going to be enough to distract Nicky. That would take something on the level of Swedish Fish but he’d been more focused on avoiding the candy thrown by an irate woman towards a member of Target staff because the grocery department couldn’t get her the redemption coupon for one of the flat screens in the Electronic department so he had FAILED to procure them. He’d even seen a box sail through the air is bullet time because his brain was too hopped up on Five Hour Energy but he’d let it go believing he could just grab a box at check out. THEN HE ZONED OUT IN THE CHECK OUT LINE AS HE STARED AT BOTH THE FUTURE AND THE PAST AND FORGOT HE WAS IN THE PRESENT WHERE HE HADN’T GOTTEN THE DAMN SWEDISH FISH.

“I’m going to make my Great Grandma’s brownies.” He says in response, “I’m hoping to channel her so I don’t mess up.” He says.

“Oh! More grandma baking goodies?! I can be your assistant baker! What do you need?” Nicky says visibly vibrating with excitement at the prospect. “We can listen to Mariah and I can lick the spoon!”

There is a noise of revulsion from the kitchen table.

“Don’t let him lick the spoon Smiths! He gets WEIRD about it.”

“That sounds like what someone who wants to lick the spoon would say.”

“Oh shut up!”

“That’s not a NO!”

The cousins continue to argue about spoon licking rights as FF gets started checking to make sure that the kitchen has all the necessary equipment to even make his brownies. He’d been so tired (last night? This morning?) that he hadn’t thought about even checking that the cousins would have things like a glass bowl, an baking dish, pie tin, etc.

Thankfully FOR ONCE luck is on his side and FF does not have to walk back to the Target.

So he finishes pulling out everything he’ll need, getting the oven pre-heated, and pulling out the ingredients for the brownies from the fridge.

He lights some incense with the stove top burners sends a quick prayer up and wonders if maybe a ouija board would have been better but if the Home Goods section had been a dangerous spot then the toy section would have been like walking into an active war zone. There are no laws as far as parents are concerned when it comes to getting the ‘it’ toy for their kids. FF has watched the highs and lows of humanity in the Barbie aisle more than once.

So he melts chocolate, he sifts flour and sugar, he separates eggs, and he uses every muscle that Kevin’s insane work out regiment had given his arms to whip those egg whites into stiff peaks. He knows his great gran is with him when Nicky and Aaron continue to argue (they are now talking about the ethics of licking the spoon vs. licking the bowl? He doesn’t quite get how they got there but alright) so Nicky doesn’t hear him say “Stiff Peaks Acquired” to himself because he knows Nicky well enough to know that he would have NEVER heard the end of it.

He uses all of the delicacy his gran had ever tried to teach him to fold those egg whites into the chocolate and then to fold in the flour and sugar. There are more steps, more ingredients, but unless you are family then those are CLASSIFIED.

Great Gran had always been the suspicious sort.

The oven beeps to let him know it’s done pre-heating as he’s carefully transferring his great gran’s life’s work into the baking dish.

He was so focused that he hadn’t even realized that Andrew was back until he turned to do the dishes and found Andrew holding the bowl and running his fingers through the scant remaining mix and shoving it into his mouth.

He is surprise that the scream remains in his head. He’s even more surprised that he stays upright. Maybe the nap did him some good even if it let Andrew and Captain Neil build whatever torture device they were intending to use on him.

He really needs to drink some pepto. He doesn’t think that Andrew will pause their ‘The Most Dangerous Game’ recreation to let FF manage his ulcers. Andrew is staring straight at him.

Andrew offers him the spoon.

FF declines. Raw eggs, sugar, and chocolate? With THIS stomach? He’d almost prefer to be chased through whatever enclosure Andrew is going to drag him to.

“When did you wake up?” Andrew asks.

“Hour ago.” He answers.

“Hm.”

“I’ll make the pie tomorrow.” he ventures trying to extend his life by another day.

Andrew shoves the spoon into his own mouth after that and walks out into the dining room. FF hears both Aaron and Nicky’s cries of anguish.

FF looks at the brownies in the oven at the incense burning on the counter and wonders if that was Andrew’s way of confirming his stay of execution.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie @theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun @insectsgetcooked @angry-kid-with-no-money @queer-crows @lilyndra @themugglemudperson @readertodeath @apileofpillows @mortalsbowbeforeme @hellomynameismoo @next-level-mess @youreonlylow @interstellarfig

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

#Fluent Freshman AU #Did Andrew and Neil hear FF defend them?#MAYBE #Did great gran come down from on high to guide FF's baking hands?#oh Absolutely there is no doubt #This is her great grandson! He BESEECHED her #Andrew does not know about the fifteen other bottles of five hour energy that FF has in his backpack #FF pressing his face against his Pepto bottle: Oh we're really in it now aren't we Pepto #Andrew and Neil building a dresser so that Neil can store his clothes: I wonder if Smith is up #It is only the cruelest of worlds that I make FF endure Nicky having heard him talk about stiff peaks #Can anyone tell that I know VERY little about baking and am hiding behind the shield of FAMILY SECRET to skate by this?#Well if you couldn't I guess I outed myself as a silly little fool in the tags #AFTG #AFTG OC #AFTG AU #AFTG Fic #My Fics #Andreil #FF - Pt. 13

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mykneeshurt · 1 year ago

Text

Worship

Photo screen grabbed from Asty on TikTok (could not find this church anywhere ffs)

Priest AU

Sister Valeria Garza x AFAB!reader

Warnings - minors DNI, 18+, explicit smut, Heavy use of religious imagery, sexualising religion (Christianity/Roman Catholicism), so much smut and blasphemy, all chapters are explicit but all consensual

———

The city of Las Almas at night was beautiful, houses dotted around the mountains, lights twinkling like the stars above. The streets filled with music and laughter, guitar notes a drift on the cool summer breeze. A Church sat in the middle of one of plazas, two tall towers hugged the entrance. Lit up in the evening sky a tribute to the almighty God.

It was at this Church you met Valeria. She was one of the nuns you had befriended on your volunteer trip. You both clicked instantly, like a moth to a flame.

And it was on this summers evening you found yourself sat across from her, sipping wine sharing a plate of tacos and molote. Taking a sip of your Dolcetto you eyed her from over your glass. She sat back in the chair, legs crossed with her elbow resting behind her. Her umber eyes captivated you in the warm orange glow of the street lights. Everything she did, she did with confidence, but with a silent, respectful demand. Her entire presence was captivating.

While you were drinking her in you completely missed her ordering two shots of tequila. The waitress placed them down in front of you, giving you both a warm smile. Valeria nodded at the clear liquid, urging you to drink. ‘Val I can’t, this stuff makes me gag’ you laughed.

She rolled her eyes as she traced the rim of the glass around her plump lips. ‘Ah, but you’ve not had this tequila. This isn’t the shit you get where you’re from.’ She held up the small glass to your lips, ‘take it, do it for me mi vida.’ You looked at her with furrowed brows, but inside an inferno was raging. You saw how her eyes slowly watched your lips as you spoke, how she purred her pet names to you, how each one of her movements towards you were deliberate yet poised.

‘You’re not a normal nun are you?’ You asked as you took the glass from her fingers. Her skin gently grazing over yours. ‘Drink it’ she demanded, lips pulled back over her teeth as she ran her tongue over them. ‘Fine!’ You huffed, causing her to laugh. You threw the liquid back and swallowed, pleasantly surprised by the lack of burning in your throat. You still didn’t like it, but it was a hell of a lot better than the shit you usually drank.

‘Well?’ She questioned, eyebrows raised as she drank her own. Not even phased by the alcohol. ‘Alright, it’s not bad’ you admitted reluctantly, ‘now, answer my question.’

She smiled as she thumbed the rim of her wine glass, ‘no, you could say I’m not your run of the mill nun.’ Her eyes met yours and they suddenly seemed darker, intense. ‘I believe God gave me this body to enjoy the life he has given me.’

She scooted her chair closer to yours, your knees now touching as she leant in resting her chin on her hand. ‘I believe not to enjoy the pleasures he put on this earth is to deny his very existence.’ She leaned in closer to you still, watching your lips, watching how your breathing changed, how your thighs tightened. ‘And what are they?’ You asked, almost breathless.

‘Hmmmm’ she sighed, ‘I like to eat, I like to drink, I like to swear …’ her hand found your thigh, nails tracing over your skin just below your shorts. ‘And most importantly?’ Without even realising you had leant into her, noses barely touching, completely entranced by her. ‘Most importantly …’ she whispered, tongue hitting the roof of her mouth with every word, ‘most importantly, I like to fuck.’

And this was how you found yourself on your back, thighs spread with Valeria looking up at you as she ate your pussy. Her nails dug into your skin, small crescent shaped dents littered your body as she hummed at your taste. ‘Fuck Val’ you sighed as you rolled your hips, pulling her hair between your fingers.

You felt her smile against your folds, teeth gently nipping at your cunt. Her tongue made languid strokes against your clit as she added her finger. Her now black eyes watched as you arched your back, eyes glassy and dazed, fingers wrapped in her sheets. She said a quiet prayer in her native tongue against you, her breath fanning along your slit.

Pulling away she kissed her way up your abdomen, leaving a fire in her wake. She ran her tongue over your nipple, nipping it gently between her teeth causing you to hiss. She placed gentle kisses in the crux of your neck, hands gripping at your body beneath her, lingering on your curves, tracing your soft skin.

Wrapping your leg around her waist you pulled her closer to you, bringing her lips to yours. The kiss was messy, tongues swiping over one another’s as you whined into each others mouths. ‘It’s like God made you for me’ she panted as she kneaded your skin beneath her.

Feeling a sudden influx of panic you cupped her face, worry written over your face. ‘Won’t you get in trouble for this? For all the other stuff we did?’ Valeria took your hand in hers, taking your fingers tips in between her lips as she kissed them. ‘It doesn’t matter what we did mi vida, only what they can prove.’ You sighed, letting the relief wash over you as she kissed you once more.

Her body rolled on top of yours, hips grinding into your thigh, wanting to release the ache that swelled inside her core. Throwing her head back she palmed at your breasts, desperate moans dripping from her lips. Her skin shone in the dull light of the bedroom as she moved, her body fluid and pliable. ‘Let me worship you cariña, let me show you how I praise God.’

You dragged your nails along her back, leaving a path of crimson destruction in your wake. She arched under your touch, hissing between her teeth as she gripped your hips, jaw slack, eyes screwed shut. She looked almost godly on top of you, the light illuminating her body, her silhouette swaying in the summer heat.

The devil disguised as an angel.

You could tell she was close, her breathing became more laboured, deep and breathless. Her hips slowed, thighs clamped around your own as she leant down, resting her forehead on yours. ‘Oh! … mi vida’ she breathed, ‘please … please … take it … I’m so close.’ Placing your hands on her hips you guided her to her orgasm, she whispered a secret prayer in Spanish, a prayer of thanks, of love, of adoration into your lips.

Her voice strained and cracked as she came, short sharp breaths of ecstasy burst from her throat. You eagerly inhaled them as if they were the very life line you depended on. ‘Sound so pretty’ you cooed as you held her down, as you forced her to become overstimulated. She smiled as she bit her lip, kissing you deeply.

Pulling away she caressed your cheek, ‘I want to watch, I want to see you lose yourself, I want to see you praise him.’ Rolling off you she pressed her body against yours, fingertips tracing your hips, your stomach, your thighs. Gently she guided your hand to your pussy, placing your fingers over your clit. ‘Let me see … please’ she whispered.

Slowly you started to make firm little circles, feeling the pleasure wash over you. Your arousal coated your fingers and you sped up, feeling your body begin to tense. ‘Hmmmm’ she cooed, ‘put them inside, feel what god gave you.’ Doing as you were told you slipped your fingers into your core, it was warm and inviting. Valeria watched as you fucked yourself, watching your arousal coat your skin.

She kissed your neck, her breath fanning over that sensitive spot just by your collarbone. There was a sudden change of sensation as you pleasured yourself, looking down you saw she had placed her fingers over your clit, manipulating the bundle of nerves beneath her. ‘So pretty mi vida’ she purred, ‘does it feel good?’

‘Yes’ you whispered as you felt your orgasm build, rapidly.

You rolled your hips as she increased the speed of her fingertips, ‘I want to hear you’ she ordered. Allowing yourself to moan a little louder you descended into the abyss of euphoria. ‘Good girl’ she purred as she bit her lip. Your orgasm ripped through your core ‘God! Fuck!’ You panted as you came around your fingers, your pussy pulsating, muscles contracting as you writhed in the bedsheets.

‘Yes, praise him’ she drawled as she watched you come undone. Cupping your face she pulled you to look at her, smiling against your lips as she kissed you. Ever so slowly you came down from your high, sighing deeper into the kiss. Removing your fingers you placed them in between you, both tongues swiping over them savouring your taste.

‘Fuck Val’ you muttered, ‘that was incredible. I think I could get used to praying like this.’ She hummed as she placed her leg over your abdomen, pulling you in tighter. The warmth of her body setting your heart alight. ‘Mmmm, I knew you’d like my way of worshipping.’

———

A/N - Jesus Christ I struggled with this chapter, so I’m sorry if it’s not up to par with my normal work 🙃

Taglist - @tiredmetalenthusiast @glitterypirateduck @lollycotton @00ops1e @cowyolks @villainsoftheweek @soapyghost @ghostslillady

#call of duty #mw2 fanfic #valeria x you #mw2 valeria #valeria smut #valeria mw2 #valeria x reader #valeria garza #cod mw2 #modern warfare 2 #call of duty smut #fan fic smut #call of duty mwii

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beautysamour · 2 years ago

Note

hihi!!! hope your doing well :) i was wondering if you could pls write a kenji ff of like an enemies to lovers kinda thing where the reader is always angry at kenji but slowly starts to loosen up ig. i hope that makes sense!! you can change it up ofcc ^^

Shameless

✧ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: kenji kishimoto x reader

✧ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: kenji kishimoto, mentioned juliette ferrars

✧ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: hatred and love are truly two sides of the same coin.

✧ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: reader slowly falling for kenji

✧ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.2k

✧ 𝐚/𝐧: set during the second/third-ish book. hope you’re doing well too ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

Kenji has this gift, ability, to turn invisible. It’s quite beneficial during missions and for most things really, like sneaking out late at night when everyone is supposed to be asleep or suddenly disappearing when someone you didn’t like was looking for you, or even better, scaring someone.

“You fucking asshole!”

You stared at Kenji in disgust as he feigned ignorance, a laugh slipping out with every other word, “What? All I did was say hi.”

You craned your head to the side, every inch on your body screaming at you to punch him, “Yeah, you pop out of nowhere right as I was about to shoot a fucking arrow through a place where there’s people I could possibly hit!”

He tsked, “I don’t see how that’s my problem, really, you shouldn’t even be shooting arrows in a crowded place anyways.”

He didn’t bother hiding the growing smirk on his face as you closed your eyes while taking a deep breath in.

You turned around opening your eyes and walked towards your target without saying another word, “It’s kind of rude to leave in the middle of a conversation, babe.”

You threw a middle finger back at him, you could feel a migraine forming as you hear him yell out an irritating “Love you too!”

✩ ✩

You set down your bow finally having used all your arrows, and a complete practice session. You allowed yourself to feel slightly smug as you walked towards the target, all arrows but one scattered all over the tens. The other one on the bullseye.

“Wow, you actually hit the target.”

And just like that your migraine is back.

“I’ve been hitting the target ever since I picked up a bow and arrow.”

“Ok nimrod, I see you.”

You slowly turn your head towards Kenji, “What did you just call me?” You reached for an arrow causing Kenji to lift his hands in the air as if he was surrendering.

“I called you a skillful hunter.”

“That’s not what a nimrod is—“

“Yes it is—“

“No, it is not—“

“If dictionaries were around I’d tell you to look through one, but for now you’re gonna have to trust me on this—“

“You’re a fucking nimrod!”

“Thanks—?”

“It’s not a compliment!”

Kenji looked at you amused. You were so easy to rile up. “Alright, alright. You can ask Juliette to ask Warner if you really think I’m lying.”

You roll your eyes turning to the target and start pulling of your arrows, “Yeah I just might.”

“Do you need help with that?” Kenji took a step forward not really waiting for an answer. Using your free hand you pushed against Kenji’ chest, not realizing the implication you might’ve sent him.

“It’s fine, you might break one.”

Kenji stayed still for a moment— and only just that, not a second too short or long. “‘m not that clumsy.”

“Don’t want to take any chances.” As you pulled off the last arrow you turned yourself to Kenji, “Why are you here?”

His back straightened as if he was waiting for you to ask that, “Wanna have dinner?”

You cringed at him, “It’s too late for that.”

He raised a brow, “That’s your excuse?”

You rolled your eyes again, “Sure.” Without saying another word you turn on your heel and walk away from him, leaving him alone in the target zone— Kenji knew better than to follow.

Still, he didn’t bother saying any flirty last minute quips as you gathered your stuff and left the training area. He had more pressing thoughts going through his head.

He knew he annoyed you, hell, you annoyed him too. Your keen air that never applied with him, your short and straight to the point responses, the way your eyes bored into his, the way you never needed his help because you were so skilled in everything you do. The way that you’ve never looked at him the way you do your target, determined, focused, that pure hunger for hitting the target— all your attention on it.

The way you don’t hide your dislike for him, never wanting to be near him, never wanting to touch him, never wanting him.

It drew him insane, the way you were so distant with him despite being right there.

So when you touched his chest just a few minutes ago, showing him a new side of you— one that isn’t revolted at the thought of touching him— it was enough to make him want more. To want you more.

But— he knew these feelings were one sided, and he respected that despite how much he teases you. He only hopes you could grow to see him as a friend, that much would suffice.

✩ ✩

It was practically common knowledge that you didn’t exactly like Kenji Kishimoto. You had a scowl on your face every time he spoke with you, you’d reject all invitations—professional and casual—from him, and you never batted an eye whenever he got hurt.

So your current actions had everyone’s attention on you and him.

“How did you even get hurt,” you lightly lift his arm so you could wrap his bicep with the gauze, “You can literally turn invisible.”

“Yeah, invisible. Not into a ghost.”

You scoffed, extremely annoyed more so than usual. “Still, why did you even make yourself visible?”

He cocked his head to you, eyes boring into yours, “Because I didn’t realize we were going to get fucking attacked.”

He turned his head away from you, for the first time being the one to end the conversation short. An uncomfortable feeling settled in your stomach at the realization for some reason, you pushed it off as just being worried about a friend.

Friend?

You finished wrapping the gauze around his arm, shaking your inner thoughts away you grabbed another roll of gauze, “Can you take off your shirt? I have to gauze it.”

“Yeah, you don’t have to tell me that, I know. Why else would you ask me to take it off.” You furrowed your brows, the feeling getting worse.

You forced yourself to look away as he took off his shirt, only looking back when he said you could.

It was silent as you wrapped the gauze around his torso and chest, uncomfortably silent. You’ve had to re-wrap it multiple times already, this being the third. It was weird. Kenji was acting weird.

“Hey, you ok?”

You jumped at the sound of his voice, dropping the gauze. You sighed not sure what was wrong with you today, “Sorry, yeah I’m fine.”

Kenji watched the wrapped gauze loosen itself around his body, unwrapping it fully with his own hands, “You sure?”

He handed you the gauze messily thrown together, looking at you with that stupid expression of worry as if he wasn’t acting like he was annoyed to be receiving help from you just a few minutes ago.

You carefully grabbed the gauze from his hands not wanting to hurt his already wrapped fingers, “I should be asking you that.”

“Perfectly fine sweetheart, thanks for asking,” he replied sarcastically, his back facing you slowly making you irritated.

You swallowed the insults that were sitting just on the tip of your tongue, “It’s my job—“

“Yeah, mhm, no need to remind me.”

“Ok, what the hell is wrong with you today?” You set down the gauze and focused your attention to his face—his eyes—“What’s with the attitude?”

His gaze settled somewhere behind you, probably at Juliette, before meeting your gaze with an irritating smile, “‘m hurt. Not really in the mood to kiss your ass today.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “Kiss my ass?”

His eyes dropped to one of your hands, “Are you gonna finish wrapping the gauze around me now, or am I going to have to go to sleep with my wound out in the open?”

Ignoring him you say, “So being a decent human being is kissing someone’s ass now?”

He raised a brow, “Uh, no?”

You furrowed your brows at him, the feeling of annoyance not coming to you—but instead a dreading feeling of sadness?

“Then why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like this,” you motion to Kenji, “Like it’s a burden to be in here.”

Kenji’ previous irritation turned into amusement. You were right, it was a burden to be in here, to be with you.

It was childish and Kenji knew he was being childish, he told himself he was fine just being your friend— and he is! Was. That only lasted for a few more days. He didn’t know how else to get your attention and now that he finally has it, he can’t help but be petty. The only way he could get your attention was if he was hurt, and it made him feel pathetic.

“Well you’d be a terrible nurse.”

You rolled your eyes. You weren’t sure what response you were expecting from him. No, it’s not a burden, I like being with you! Kenji is incapable of showing you in particular genuine emotion, it was stupid to want to hear something else.

“Thanks, such a nice thing to say.”

“You’re welcome.”

The next few minutes you took wrapping the gauze around his torso was filled with silence, just as the rest of the night.

✩ ✩

“Come on, we have to get you back.”

You tug the arm leaning against the back of your neck to tighten Kenji’ grip as you mustered the strength to support his body weight once you stood up.

“Wow, you didn’t say something rude to me.”

“Well you’re hurt, scolding you isn’t my priority right now,” you clear your throat in an attempt to cover up the way your voice broke mid-sentence.

Kenji began to laugh but got cut off with a groan as his newest wound rubbed against the cloth of your clothing.

You winced and adjusted the way he was leaning against you, “Sorry.”

Kenji eyed you suspiciously, “Woah, is this really the Y/N I know?”

“Kenji, shut up—“

“An “I’m sorry.” Wow that’s new,” he continues, “What did you do with the real Y/N.”

You ignore his teasing, focusing on getting the two of you out of this place. After a few minutes, Kenji quiets down. He’s gotten heavier, depending more on your body to support his as his head starts to tilt side to side.

You tighten your grip around his waist, “Kenji, we’re almost there.”

He slurs out an “okay” as his head finally finds a place to rest on—your head.

The worried feeling you’ve had since you found him starts to become more intense at his act of weakness, and it only continues to get worse until you see the base.

“Finally,” you whisper. Kenji presses his head impossibly closer to yours, you shudder when you realize how close you two are to each other.

His entire body is practically on you. His head leaned against yours, his arm that has fallen to your lower back, his upper body rested right against yours, and his legs so close they bump against yours as you walk. Your breath hitched when you felt his hand wrap around the arm that was wrapped around his waist.

“How do you feel?”

Kenji doesn’t respond for a few seconds. “Could be better.”

You drop the conversation after his answer, you’re assuming that he probably doesn’t want to talk while he’s bleeding from his side. It’s been about two weeks since your little moment with him and the gauze, this is the first time you’ve actually spoken to him since— and he’s definitely been on your mind.

“Did you get hurt?” You ignore the tingling sensation you get when he start to rub circles against your arm.

“I’m alright.”

“That’s good, would’ve made the entire worthless if you did.”

You slightly falter in your steps, “You going visible nearly caused us to lose you. That would’ve been a huge loss for us, Kishimoto.”

He laughed and you could feel the vibrations from where his head and yours connected, “Not as huge of a loss as losing you.”

You furrow your brows at his words, “No, your invisibility is crucial for us. I still don’t understand why you went visible again.”

“Went visible for you.”

The words went straight over your head, “Ok, and the first time?”

“Went visible for you then too.”

“That’s a dumb excuse, at least try to make it logical—“

“I went visible for you. Both times,” he says, voice slightly raised, then cringes at the new wave of pain that hits him, and only then do you process his words.

You want to stop walking to be able to face him and take to him face to face, but your top priority is to get him to Sara and Sonya so this awkward position will have to do, “Why would you go visible for me?”

“To make sure the fuckers that were going after you went after me instead.”

You knew Kenji had some kind of favoritism towards you with how often he’d seek you out but you assumed that was only because you didn’t drool over him when you first saw him.

“I would’ve been able—“

“To protect yourself, yes I know. You’re a nimrod, but you aren’t invincible. You were out in the open with no good hiding places, whereas with me, I can turn invisible.”

“And then you ended up getting hurt!”

“—I was able to escape,” he winces when his wound rubs against you again, “I was able to get away,” he repeats, “because of my invisibility.”

That didn’t matter to you though, what mattered— still— was that he got hurt and it only made it worse now that you know he technically got hurt because of you, “And because of me, you had a huge wound on your chest, and because of me again, you have a new wound down the side of your body.”

He grunted, you force yourself to think it was solely because of the pain since the thought of Kenji being upset was strangely upsetting for you.

“Well you’re welcome anyways—“

“—I’m not afraid of death, Kenji,” you interrupt, “I’d much rather die than see you get hurt for me.”

Kenji stayed quiet for a few seconds, and as you took more steps the seconds turned into minutes before he spoke again, “I feel the same with you.”

Despite being upset about him putting himself in the line of fire for you, you couldn’t help the smile that started to form at his words. You slightly adjust your grip around his waist, “Since we feel the same about the topic, let’s make a promise?”

“What kind?”

“Stop trying to protect me—“

“Hey—“

“—Just listen, would you?” His silence gave you the chance to continue, “And I’ll be more careful so you won’t be forced to protect me.”

You felt him press his head harder against yours again, “….Ok.”

“Deal?” You continue, not considering “ok” as a reasonable answer.

“Yeah, yeah…ok, deal.”

✩ ✩

“Let’s go get dinner.”

Kenji nearly choked on his water. You, asking him, to get dinner? What the hell was up with you?

“Uh, are you ok?”

“Yes?” You’re holding your bow and arrow since you just finished shooting at some targets, and now you were hungry. Kenji always asked to get dinner so you didn’t have to think hard about asking him to come with.

“Oh, ok. Sure—“

“Great, come on,” you grab Kenji’ hand and don’t take a second longer to start dragging him behind you, “We might miss dinner.”

Kenji’ eyes widen behind you, you’ve been a lot more touchy with him these past few month since you found him bleeding out from his upper body. Don’t get him wrong, he’s not complaining. It’s just a nice change.

Before he knows it, you let go of his hand as the both of you enter the eating area. You’re quick to get his food as he chases after you trying to keep up with your quick pace.

“You always this active at night?” He asks as you pick up two pairs of utensils for the both of you.

“Depends on what’s happening, but more so yes then no.”

“Alright,” he whispers as you speed walk away from him and to a table.

“So, how was your day?” You ask when he sits down in front of you, your fork properly mixing your food together.

“It was alright. How was yours, nimrod?”

You laugh a little at the nickname, you’ve indeed asked Warner straight up if the word had any other definition than idiot, and he confirmed it to have meant how Kenji defined it too.

“Same as any other day,” you look up from your food to glance at Kenji, “How are your wounds?”

Kenji let out a disgruntled sigh, “It’s been six months, I’m completely fine, stop worrying about them.”

You’re about to argue him on that but decide that it’s not worth fighting over, “I just want to make sure you’re ok.”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“That’s good,” you reply slightly dejectedly, feeling as if you annoyed him. You avoid looking up at him and focused on the food in front of you.

Kenji, who was also in front of you, felt bad. Even though you weren’t looking at him, you still had those puppy dog eyes, and Kenji wanted to scream at himself.

You just cared, you were only concerned about his well being, if anything he should be happy. All he’s ever wanted was your care and now he has it and he’s fumbling hard. So he reluctantly taps the space in front of your food causing you to look at him.

Fucking puppy dog eyes, “Thank you for asking though.”

For some reason, for literally no reason at all, Kenji doesn’t go along with the saying “Thank you.” It feels awkward, and it shows with how stiff his movements have suddenly become.

“Oh—you’re welcome.” You respond with a smile as if he thanked you for finding the cure for all sicknesses.

Kenji responded with only a nod before picking up his utensils and beginning to eat. Silence settled between the two of you, you kept your head down only looking up to see how much Kenji has eaten only to meet Kenji’ eyes directly which caused you to drop your head quicker than the speed of your arrows.

You aren’t sure when it started, you think it was when you found him knocking on deaths door but it might’ve been from even before that.

Kenji doesn’t annoy you anymore. Suddenly the days went from dreading the moment you’d meet him throughout the day to waiting hopelessly for when he’d come around. You think, no, you’re sure it’s because of the promise you’ve made, it makes you feel closer to him as if he was an actual friend.

But that’s not all, suddenly, you went from only seeing him for his invisibility ability to seeing him as come kind of comfort place.

It was killing you to know if he still thought of you that way too.

Kenji on the other hand kept his eyes on you as he ate, not because he wanted too, but to make sure you didn’t choke on your food with how fast you were eating it.

“Hey, slow down a bit, you’re gonna end up choking and dying.”

And you do just that, you slow down.

Kenji tilts his head, admittedly a little worried, “So why’d you—“

“—Why did you—,” the both of you ask at the same time.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, “Continue.”

“No,” he replied quickly, “You can go first.”

You stare at him expectantly. Then you continue, “Ok,” you take a short inhale before locking eyes with him again, eyes sharp and attentive, “Why did you always follow me around?”

He widens his eyes for a second, suddenly unable to speak. Why did he always follow you around?

“You were new.”

You keep eye contact with him, hoping he’d say more but he didn’t. Unsatisfied with his answer give him a short nod and only say, “Right.”

Kenji can’t help but feel that he did something wrong by your reaction, but it was true! Well, half true.

He clears his throat, the air suddenly suffocating, “So…why’d you invite me to dinner again?”

Nervousness started to creep into your veins, you weren’t sure if you wanted to risk everything and confess or just call it night.

Little did you know that Kenji wasn’t asking for new information, but was looking for confirmation.

You mumbled something, something he didn’t quite hear.

“What?”

You mumble again, somehow even more quieter than the last time.

“What?”

“For fuck’s sake Kenji,” you grumble out, “Why did you use to invite me out for dinner?”

“What—?”

You interrupt him, “I like being around you,” you say half truthfully, “And—“ you’re about to say the entire truth but decide against it feeling self conscious all of a sudden.

“And I was hungry.”

You start to fiddle with your fingers when he doesn’t respond immediately.

“And that’s all?” He finally asks.

And you reply, “Yes,” with a heavy heart.

“Well that’s…a little stupid.”

You whip your head up, confused at his words, “What?”

He snorts, “Now you’re saying what,” he mumbles. He takes a bite out of his food before speaking again, “It’s just kind of a dumb excuse.”

You narrow your eyes at him, even more confused now, “It’s not an excuse.”

He gives you a nod fakely agreeing with you, “Yeah, I mean, the reason why I always asked you out for dinner was definitely because I was just hungry,” he nods again, “No other reason.”

You look at him suspiciously, eyes still narrowed, “Okay…”

Kenji waits for a second seeing if you’d do anything else and he internally shakes his head when you don’t, “Ah, fuck it,” he groans out, “Hey, I like you.”

This gets you to drop the narrowed expression and cause you to widen your eyes, “You—“

“Yes, like, I like you.”

You look at him dumbfounded, eyes widened and mouth dropped open. You weren’t really expecting a confession tonight so the whole thing threw you off.

Kenji, the saint that he is, kept the conversation going. With a cheeky smile he leaned forward, elbows on the table and his hands supporting his head, “Wanna try answering my question again?”

You blinked, once, twice. You dropped your gaze from him trying to recollect your thoughts and the ability to form coherent thoughts.

“Um,” you begin, “I…”

“Mhm,” he hummed egging you on.

“I like you,” you say almost as an exhale. You close your eyes for a few moments feeling like you just ran a marathon.

A smile formed on Kenji’ face, one unbeknownst to you, but it was stifled by him as quickly as it came. “That doesn’t really answer my question though,” he playfully tsks.

You slowly open your eyes, your entire body feeling warm. You raise a brow, giving him the silent question of what do you mean?

He shakes his head as if he’s disappointed as he leans closer to you, “Still doesn’t tell me why you asked me out for dinner.”

You slowly tilt your head, “It’s because I like you.”

“Yeah, well a lot of people like me sweetie,” he tilts his head to the side mirroring your body language, “However not everyone asks me to get dinner with them.”

You’re sure he’s teasing you judging from his tone and how he mirrors your own body, but you play along nonetheless, “Because not everyone has romantic feelings for you, Kenji, not like me.”

“Oh,” he teases, “So you have romantic feelings for me now? What happened to the nimrod I knew just a few months ago who never wanted to spend time with me?”

You roll your eyes, your composure quickly coming back to you, “Doesn’t matter.”

“No?”

“Kenji,” you say as you close your eyes again, getting affectionately annoyed, “Why are you teasing me?”

“What would you rather me do, sweetie?”

You groan at the term of endearment, your brain getting mushy at the thought of being intimate with him, “There’s a lot I’d rather you do.”

“Like?” He asks, egging you on again.

You look down at his lips then back to his eyes, then back to his lips again, and you decide to stay like this.

“Kissing sounds like a good idea, yeah?”

Kenji raises a brow, “You want to make out in front of the kitchen staff?” He asks feigning innocence.

You shake your head at his sarcasm at push yourself away from the table and him. “Uh—where are you going?” Kenji asks as you get up from the table.

“My room,” you say nonchalantly as you throw away your half eaten food.

“Wait,” you stop mid stride as he yelled out to you, “You don’t want to make out anymore?”

You chuckle at how those words sound coming from his mouth, “Just go to my room?”

“It’s a little difficult to not raise suspicion if I go there, no?”

You shrug, “Just turn invisible. That’s one of the reasons why it’s such a beneficial ability to have.”

Kenji opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He drops his head, nodding at your wonderful idea. “Yeah,” he chuckles, “I’ll be over in a few minutes.”

Old habits die hard, so you nod and turn around being the one to end the conversation—and you try not to run down the hall.

#kenji kishimoto x reader #kenji kishimoto #shatter me x reader #shatter me #shatter me fanfic #kenji kishimoto fanfic #kenji kishimoto fanfiction #kenji kishimoto imagine #kenji kishimoto x you #kenji x reader

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novaursa · 1 month ago

Text

Legacy (the pyre)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: castle black

- Next part: of snow

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal

The icy air of Castle Black was sharp and biting, but it did nothing to temper the fire in your veins. The courtyard was eerily silent, save for the crackling of the massive pyre that had been constructed in its center. Snow fell gently, the flakes catching the golden glow of the flames that now licked at the edges of the wooden platform.

Before the pyre stood the men who had betrayed Jon Snow—Alliser Thorne, Bowen Marsh, Othell Yarwyck, and the boy Olly, along with several others who had participated in the mutiny. Their hands were bound, their faces pale and tight with fear. Some muttered prayers to the Seven and the Old Gods; others stared ahead defiantly, their fates sealed.

Above them all loomed Viserion, her pale gold and cream scales glinting in the firelight as she shifted restlessly, her massive wings stirring the air. Her eyes burned with an intelligence and ferocity that made the gathered men tremble. The dragon’s low growl reverberated through the courtyard, a promise of what was to come.

You stood tall before the pyre, your silver hair whipping in the wind, your violet eyes cold and unyielding. The snow melted as it touched the heat of the flames, steam rising around you like a shroud.

“This is justice,” you declared, your voice carrying over the crackling fire and the muffled sobs of the condemned. “You betrayed your sworn brother, a man who sought only to protect you. You plunged your blades into the man I called my son. And for that, you will burn.”

Alliser Thorne, standing at the forefront, glared at you with unbroken defiance. “You call this justice?” he spat, his voice hoarse but strong. “This is vengeance. You’re no better than a Wildling queen, riding a beast of flame and fury.”

You stepped closer, your expression hardening. “You think yourself noble, Alliser? You who killed a man in the dark, surrounded by cowards? You think you can shame me with your words?” You gestured to the pyre. “This is mercy compared to what you deserve.”

Olly, the youngest among them, whimpered, his eyes wide with terror. His fear tugged at something deep within you, but you pushed it aside. He had made his choice, just as the others had.

Raising your voice, you called out to your dragon. “Dracarys!”

Viserion let out a deafening roar, her neck arching gracefully as she reared back. The air grew unbearably hot as fire erupted from her maw, a torrent of golden flames that engulfed the pyre and the men bound to it. Their screams pierced the night, a terrible, haunting sound that echoed across the Wall. The flames danced higher, consuming everything in their path, as the snow melted into slush beneath your feet.

The assembled men of Castle Black stood in stunned silence, some looking away while others watched with grim faces. Justice, vengeance, or horror—it was all the same to them now.

As the screams faded and the fire roared, Davos Seaworth burst into the courtyard, his face pale and drawn, his breath visible in the cold air. He pushed his way through the onlookers, his eyes wide with urgency as he called out to you.

“My lady!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the crackle of flames. “You must come back inside! At once!”

You turned sharply, the cold expression on your face softening into confusion. “What is it, Ser Davos?”

“It’s Jon!” he exclaimed, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place—fear, hope, disbelief. “The Red Woman… she’s done something. You need to see this.”

Your heart lurched, your breath catching in your throat. Without another word, you spun on your heel and began striding toward the keep, the heat of the pyre and the cold of the night forgotten as you followed Davos back inside.

Viserion let out a low rumble behind you, her wings folding as she settled near the smoldering pyre. The crowd parted as you passed, their eyes lingering on you with a mixture of awe and fear.

Inside, the air was heavy with an unnatural stillness. You could feel it in your bones as you ascended the stairs to Jon’s quarters, your footsteps quick and determined. Davos stayed close behind you, his expression grim but focused.

When you reached the room, you stopped short at the doorway. Melisandre stood at Jon’s side, her hands outstretched over his still body. The ruby at her throat glowed faintly, pulsing with a dim, otherworldly light. The air around her shimmered, as if the very fabric of reality bent to her will.

“What have you done?” you demanded, your voice sharp and filled with suspicion.

Melisandre turned to you, her face serene but lined with exhaustion. “What I was meant to do,” she said softly. “The Lord of Light has not abandoned us.”

You stared at her, your heart pounding as you stepped closer to Jon’s lifeless form. His face was pale, his chest still. For a moment, it seemed as though nothing had changed. But then, you saw it—a flicker of movement, the faintest rise and fall of his chest.

Your hand flew to your mouth as your knees threatened to buckle. “Jon…” you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks as you reached for him. “Jon.”

The room held its breath as you watched, the faint pulse of life slowly returning to the man you had thought lost forever.

The halls of Dragonstone were quiet, save for the soft patter of servant footsteps and the distant crash of waves against the rocky cliffs below. Tywin Lannister sat in his solar, a fire crackling in the hearth as he reviewed reports from the capital and updates from his emissaries scattered across Westeros. The weight of governance was a familiar burden, one he bore with ease, yet tonight his focus was fractured.

The absence of his wife weighed on him—not as a distraction, but as a variable. Her sudden departure to the North, riding Viserion under the cover of darkness, had left him both irritated and uneasy. She was strong, fearless, and determined—but also unpredictable. It was a trait he admired, even if it vexed him.

A sharp knock at the door broke through his thoughts. Tywin’s sharp green eyes lifted from the parchment. “Enter.”

The door creaked open, revealing a flustered young servant carrying a squirming Damon in her arms. The boy’s face was red and tear-streaked, his small fists balled as he wailed loudly. The servant, clearly out of her depth, struggled to soothe him.

“My lord,” she stammered, her voice trembling, “the young master… he will not settle. He misses his mother, and none of us can calm him.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, his gaze flicking to the boy with a mixture of irritation and something more subtle—concern. He set down the parchment and rose from his chair, the firelight casting his imposing shadow across the room.

“Bring him here,” Tywin ordered, his tone even but firm.

The servant hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, gently setting Damon on his feet in front of Tywin. The boy’s cries quieted slightly as he looked up at his father, his violet eyes were wet with tears, which only made pale green flecks in them more pronounced.

“Damon,” Tywin said, his voice softer now but still commanding. He knelt slightly to bring himself closer to the boy’s level. “What is the meaning of this?”

Damon sniffled, his bottom lip trembling as he wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Mama’s gone,” he whimpered, his small voice cracking. “I want Mama.”

Tywin’s expression remained stern, but his gaze softened imperceptibly. He placed a steady hand on Damon’s small shoulder, his touch firm but not unkind. “Your mother will return,” he said firmly. “She has important matters to attend to. In the meantime, you are here, under my care. You are a Lannister. Do you know what that means?”

Damon blinked up at him, his sobs quieting as he listened. “It means… I’m strong?” he said hesitantly, his small voice unsure but hopeful.

Tywin’s lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile. “Yes. It means you are strong. And strength is not shown by tears but by how you endure. Do you understand?”

The boy sniffled again, nodding slowly, though his tears hadn’t completely stopped. “But I miss her,” he said softly, his voice breaking again.

Tywin’s gaze remained steady. “Missing someone does not make you weak. But letting it control you does. Your mother would not want to see you like this.”

Damon’s small fists unclenched, and he wiped his face again, this time with a little more determination. “I’ll be strong,” he said quietly, though his voice wavered. “Like you.”

Tywin straightened, his hand still on Damon’s shoulder as he regarded the boy. “Good,” he said simply. “Now, come. Sit with me.”

He led Damon to the large chair by the hearth, lifting the boy effortlessly and setting him on his knee. The boy leaned into his father’s chest, still sniffling softly but beginning to calm. Tywin picked up the parchment he had been reading earlier, holding it in one hand while his other arm rested around Damon, steadying him.

“Do you know why your mother left?” Tywin asked after a moment, his tone conversational.

Damon shook his head. “To punish bad men at the Wall,” he said, his small voice uncertain.

Tywin nodded. “Yes. She went because she believed it was the right thing to do. She acted with purpose and conviction. That is what it means to be a leader. To put the needs of others before your own desires. Do you understand?”

Damon tilted his head slightly, his small brow furrowing in thought. “I think so.”

Tywin allowed a faint smile to touch his lips. “Good. Because one day, Damon, you will be a leader too. Dragonstone, Casterly Rock—they will be yours to command. You must be ready.”

Damon’s eyes widened slightly, the weight of those words dawning on him. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” Tywin replied, his tone firm but not unkind. “You have the blood of lions and dragons. Never forget that.”

Damon seemed to draw strength from his father’s words, his small hands curling into determined fists. “I won’t forget.”

For the first time that night, Tywin allowed himself a moment of quiet pride. He returned his focus to the parchment, the boy settling against him as the fire crackled softly in the hearth.

The servant lingered near the door, watching the scene with a mixture of awe and relief before quietly slipping away. Damon remained nestled against his father, his small breaths steadying as sleep began to claim him.

And for a moment, the weight of the world outside the walls of Dragonstone seemed a little less pressing.

The morning sun was barely visible through the dense fog rolling over Dragonstone. The air inside the war council chamber was strained but orderly as Tywin Lannister stood at the head of the table, his sharp green eyes scanning the map of Westeros spread before him. Jaime Lannister was sitting nearby, arms crossed, while Varys lingered in the shadows, his hands folded neatly in front of him.

The quiet hum of conversation among the assembled lords and knights was abruptly shattered as the heavy doors to the chamber burst open. Two of Tywin's men, their faces pale and their breaths ragged, stumbled inside, their armor clinking with every hurried step.

"My lord!" one of them exclaimed, his voice filled with panic. "Dragonmont… there's something inside. Something that attacked us!"

Tywin straightened, his gaze narrowing. The room fell silent as every pair of eyes turned toward the men. "Speak clearly," he commanded, his tone icy but composed. "What happened?"

The soldier swallowed hard, sweat beading on his brow despite the chill of the castle. "We went to prepare food for Viserion, should the lady return with her dragon. But something else was there… something smaller, but just as deadly. It—it killed one of our men, my lord. Ripped him apart before we could do anything."

A ripple of unease spread through the room. Jaime stood up, his golden hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "What do you mean, something smaller?" he asked, his voice calm but edged with curiosity.

The second soldier, his hands trembling, spoke up. "A dragon, Ser Jaime. It was about the size of a horse, but it moved faster than anything I've ever seen. Its scales were dark—black, maybe, with streaks of red. It burned the others alive before taking flight deeper into Dragonmont."

The weight of those words settled heavily over the chamber. Tywin’s expression remained impassive, but his gaze flicked to Varys, who raised a brow in faint amusement.

"A second dragon," Varys mused, his voice smooth and measured. "How curious. Could it be that one of Viserion's eggs hatched after all this time? Such a creature would be far too small to have been here before."

Jaime frowned, his gaze shifting between Varys and Tywin. "If it was one of her eggs… I didn’t think any were viable. That’s what we were told."

Varys offered a faint, knowing smile. "Tales of dragons are often filled with mysteries and half-truths. Perhaps the heat of Dragonmont was enough to awaken the dormant life within one of the eggs. Or perhaps something else entirely is at play."

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line as he considered the implications. "You’re suggesting that this dragon, if it truly exists, is newly hatched?"

"It would seem so, my lord," Varys replied smoothly. "A creature of such size could not have been hidden here for long without discovery. If it is indeed from one of Viserion’s eggs, it raises… intriguing possibilities."

The soldiers shifted uneasily, their fear still palpable. One of them ventured hesitantly, "My lord, what should we do? That beast… it’s dangerous. And if it’s still in Dragonmont—"

Tywin raised a hand, silencing him. His gaze was cold and calculating as he addressed the room. "If there is a second dragon, it belongs to my wife—and by extension, to House Lannister. Its presence here may be unsettling, but it is an asset, not a threat."

Jaime stepped closer to Tywin, his expression skeptical. "And what do you propose we do with it? You saw how difficult it was to control Viserion, even with Y/N. Another dragon, unbonded and unchecked, could be catastrophic."

"Which is why it must be secured," Tywin replied evenly, his tone brooking no argument. "I want a team sent into Dragonmont immediately to confirm the creature’s presence and ensure it does not escape."

"My lord," the first soldier stammered, his voice shaking, "with all due respect, no man will willingly go back in there. Not after what we saw."

Jaime smirked faintly, though his humor was grim. "So much for Lannister bravery."

Tywin’s glare silenced him. "If none of you have the spine for it, I’ll see to it that others are brought in who do. This dragon will not roam unchecked."

Varys tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. "Might I suggest that, should this dragon indeed be viable, we consider how best to use it? Dragons do not merely symbolize power, my lord—they are power incarnate. To possess a second would tip the balance in our favor."

Tywin didn’t reply immediately, his mind clearly working through the layers of this revelation. Finally, he turned to Jaime. "You will lead the effort to secure this creature. Take only those you trust and proceed cautiously. I will not have any more unnecessary losses."

Jaime nodded, though his expression remained doubtful. "As you command."

The anxiety in the room remained as the soldiers were dismissed, their relief evident as they hurried out. Tywin turned back to the map, his fingers tracing the edge of the parchment as he considered his next move.

"If it is true," he said quietly, almost to himself, "then House Lannister’s strength will grow tenfold."

Varys inclined his head, his smile faint but knowing. "And with it, your enemies’ fear."

Jaime left the room to begin his preparations, his steps purposeful despite the uncertainty etched on his face. Tywin remained behind, his gaze fixed on the map as the implications of the morning’s revelation took root.

Far below in Dragonmont, the shadows stirred once more, and the low growl of a young, hungry dragon echoed through the depths.

The dim light of the candles in Jon Snow’s quarters flickered as though trembling in anticipation, the air heavy with an almost suffocating silence. You stood frozen near the door, your hands trembling despite the warmth of the room. Ghost, normally a calm and watchful presence, paced uneasily at Jon’s side, his red eyes glowing with something primal and unsettling. His low growls filled the room, vibrating through the wooden floor beneath your boots.

On the table lay Jon, his chest rising and falling faintly, the stillness of death having given way to something impossibly fragile—life. His pale skin seemed to glow under the dim light, and his dark curls were damp with sweat. Beside him, Melisandre stepped back, her face unreadable but her eyes flickering with the faintest glimmer of something resembling awe.

Behind you, Davos Seaworth lingered, his presence steady but subdued. His voice broke the silence, a soft and reverent murmur. “He’s breathing, my lady. He’s alive.”

Your breath caught, a lump rising in your throat as you stepped forward, the weight of the moment pressing down on you like a storm. Jon Snow, the boy you had raised as your own, the man you had grieved for, was alive—but at what cost?

Ghost let out another growl, his ears flattening as he stood protectively over Jon’s prone form. His unease mirrored your own, a gnawing fear that this miracle carried a terrible price.

As you approached the table, your voice trembled. “Jon?”

Jon stirred at the sound of your voice, his head shifting slightly on the table. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing his grey, haunted eyes. His gaze was unfocused at first, his breaths shallow and uneven. But then his eyes met yours, and something shifted. Recognition dawned, faint but unmistakable.

“Mother,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and weak, yet filled with a depth of emotion that broke something inside you.

A sob escaped your lips, and before you realized it, you were at his side, leaning over him. Your hands cupped his face, your fingers trembling as they brushed against his cold, clammy skin. “Jon,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Oh, my sweet boy… you’re alive.”

Jon’s gaze softened, though it was still clouded with confusion. “You… came,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I… saw you. I think I saw you. In the dark.”

Tears streamed down your face as you leaned closer, pressing your forehead to his. “I’m here,” you whispered. “I’ll always be here.”

Your arms wrapped around him gently, pulling him into a careful embrace. His body was weak and unsteady, but he leaned into you, his breaths shallow but real. The relief that flooded through you was overwhelming, a tidal wave of joy and anguish that left you trembling.

Behind you, Davos remained silent, giving you the space to grieve and rejoice. Melisandre watched from the shadows, her ruby pendant faintly glowing, her face serene yet enigmatic.

But even as you held Jon, a storm raged within your mind. He is alive, you reminded yourself over and over, clinging to the joy of it. But the voice in your mind, the one that whispered truths too dark to ignore, would not be silenced.

"At what cost?" it asked, gnawing at the edges of your relief. You thought of the flames roaring in the courtyard, the screams of the traitors as they burned alive. The thought made your stomach churn. Was that the price?

You pulled back slightly, your hands still cradling Jon’s face as you looked into his eyes. “Jon, do you know what happened? Do you remember anything?”

He shook his head faintly, his brow furrowing. “I… I was in the dark,” he said softly. “It was cold. Empty. And then… I heard voices. Yours.” His gaze flickered with uncertainty. “And hers.”

Your jaw tightened as you turned to Melisandre, your tears giving way to a sharp glare. “What did you do?” you demanded, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and fear. “What price did you pay for this?”

Melisandre met your gaze evenly, her voice calm and unflinching. “I did what the Lord of Light willed. Life was taken, and life was returned. The flames of the traitors were accepted as a sacrifice.”

You stiffened, your mind racing. Her words rang with a grim truth, and the memory of the pyre flashed before your eyes—the heat, the screams, the finality of it all. “You’re saying that burning them made this possible?”

“Yes,” Melisandre said firmly, her voice carrying the weight of conviction. “The Lord of Light requires balance. Death for life. Your act of justice in the courtyard satisfied the flames. It allowed me to call him back.”

You clenched your fists, your body trembling with anger and unease. “You used me,” you said, your voice cold. “You waited for me to carry out your god’s will without telling me the truth.”

Melisandre inclined her head slightly, her expression serene but unapologetic. “It was not deception, my lady. It was fate. You made your choice, and it was the right one. The Lord of Light guided your hand.”

You stared at her, your fury mingling with confusion and unease. The room seemed to grow colder, the weight of her words pressing down on you like the icy winds beyond the Wall.

“I will never forgive you for what you’ve done,” you said finally, your voice trembling but resolute. “If you ever try to manipulate me again, I will ensure the flames take you next.”

Melisandre said nothing, her gaze lingering on you for a moment before shifting back to Jon.

Jon stirred again, drawing your attention back to him. He looked at you with a mixture of weariness and gratitude, his lips parting as he whispered, “You saved me.”

“No,” you replied, your voice softening as you stroked his hair. “You saved yourself, Jon. You’ve always been stronger than you know.”

Ghost, still uneasy, let out a soft whine, his red eyes fixed on Jon as though sensing something neither of you could. You placed a reassuring hand on the direwolf’s head, silently promising that you would protect Jon, no matter what.

In the quiet of the room, you held Jon close, your tears falling freely as the storm inside you raged on. Joy and grief, relief and fear—they swirled together, leaving you raw and vulnerable. But one thing was certain: Jon was alive. And no matter the cost, you would ensure he stayed that way.

The cavernous tunnels of Dragonmont were dark and suffocating. The air was filled with the sulfurous stench of the volcano’s dormant power, and every step taken by Jaime Lannister and his men seemed to echo endlessly in the vast emptiness. The group moved cautiously, their hands gripping swords, spears, and crossbows as they ventured deeper into the mountain.

Jaime led the way, his expression a mask of determination. The stories brought back by Tywin’s terrified soldiers had been troubling enough, but the idea of a second dragon hiding within Dragonmont was something that could not be ignored. If it truly existed, it was both a threat and a potential asset, but Jaime couldn’t shake the unease settling in his gut.

“This place is cursed,” one of the soldiers muttered under his breath, glancing nervously at the darkened passage ahead.

“Quiet,” Jaime ordered, his voice low but firm. “Keep your eyes open and your mouths shut. If there’s a dragon in here, you’ll hear it long before you see it.”

Another soldier, younger and less disciplined, whispered, “Do you really think it’s a dragon, Ser Jaime? Couldn’t it just be some… creature from the depths?”

Jaime shot him a sharp look. “You heard the men’s accounts. It’s a dragon. The question is how large and how dangerous.”

The group pressed on, the tension mounting with every step. The tunnel began to widen, the walls shimmering faintly with deposits of obsidian. The heat grew more oppressive, beads of sweat forming on the soldiers’ brows despite the chill of fear running down their spines.

“Tracks,” one of the men said, kneeling near the ground and holding his torch closer. The faint indentations in the dirt were unmistakable—clawed feet, larger than any normal beast, but still small enough to suggest youth.

Jaime crouched beside him, studying the marks. “It’s fresh,” he said grimly, rising to his feet. “Whatever it is, it’s close.”

The sound of heavy breathing broke the silence, a low, guttural rumble that sent a shiver down everyone’s spine. The soldiers froze, their eyes darting around the chamber as the noise grew louder.

“Form up,” Jaime ordered, his voice steady despite the mounting tension. The men moved quickly, forming a semi-circle with their weapons raised, their breaths coming in shallow, panicked gasps.

From the shadows ahead, two glowing yellow eyes appeared, narrowing as they focused on the intruders. A low growl rumbled through the air, and the ground seemed to tremble beneath their feet.

“Hold your ground,” Jaime barked, drawing his sword as the creature stepped into the torchlight.

The dragon was small—about the size of a horse—but no less menacing. Its sleek, black scales glinted in the dim light, streaked with veins of deep crimson that pulsed like molten lava. Smoke curled from its nostrils, and its sharp teeth gleamed as it opened its maw, letting out a piercing roar that echoed through the cavern.

The men faltered, their grips on their weapons tightening as the beast reared back, its wings spreading wide and casting long shadows against the walls.

“Steady!” Jaime shouted, stepping forward to rally his men. “It’s just a beast. Remember the plan.”

The dragon lunged forward, its talons scraping against the rocky ground as it advanced. The soldiers held their positions, waiting for the creature to step into the trap they had carefully laid—a series of reinforced nets and spiked restraints designed to hold even a young dragon.

“Now!” Jaime yelled, signaling for the men to spring the trap.

The nets shot forward, ensnaring the dragon’s wings and pinning it to the ground. The creature thrashed wildly, its growls turning into enraged roars as it struggled against the restraints. The soldiers moved quickly, driving iron spikes into the ground to anchor the nets.

For a moment, it seemed as though they had succeeded. The dragon’s movements grew more frenzied, but the nets held, and the men began to cautiously close the distance.

Jaime held up a hand, signaling for them to stop. “Wait,” he said, his eyes fixed on the dragon. “Let it tire itself out. Don’t get too close.”

But the dragon was far from finished. With a deafening roar, it surged upward, the muscles in its powerful wings straining against the netting. The iron spikes began to creak and groan, and before the men could react, the restraints snapped free.

“Fall back!” Jaime shouted as the dragon burst from the trap, its wings unfurling and sending a gust of hot air through the chamber. It lunged at the nearest soldier, its talons raking through armor and flesh with terrifying ease.

Chaos erupted as the soldiers scrambled to retreat, their shouts of panic echoing through the cavern. The dragon turned its fiery gaze toward Jaime, smoke billowing from its nostrils as it prepared to strike again.

“Hold your ground!” Jaime roared, though his own heart pounded in his chest as he raised his sword.

The dragon reared back, its head darting forward with a hiss, and Jaime swung his sword in a wide arc, the blade narrowly missing its snout. The creature roared again, its massive wings sending rocks and debris clattering to the ground as it leapt toward the shadows.

“Regroup!” Jaime shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Back to the entrance! Now!”

The soldiers obeyed, retreating toward the relative safety of the tunnel, their faces pale with terror. Jaime lingered for a moment longer, his eyes fixed on the dragon as it disappeared into the darkness, its growls echoing ominously.

As the men gathered near the tunnel’s mouth, gasping for breath and tending to their wounds, Jaime turned to them, his jaw clenched. “This isn’t over,” he said grimly. “We’ll trap it again. And this time, we’ll make sure it holds.”

But as the dragon’s distant roars echoed through the mountain, Jaime couldn’t help but feel a flicker of doubt. This creature was no ordinary beast—and it wouldn’t be subdued so easily.

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cafeinthemoon · 8 months ago

Text

It's a Fire - Chapter II

Chapter 2

Wordcount 4,4k

Title The Porch and the Table

Fandom Kimetsu no Yaiba / Demon Slayer

Previous chapter

Symbols ⭕➕🖤

Warnings: mentions of grieving and parent loss; alcohol consumption

Tagging ? (If you want to be tagged in any of my stories, just leave a comment on this chapter or send an ask or a message)

N. A.: So this chapter is a bit longer than the first, but I think I should've stopped worrying about this by now hahaha I need to concentrate on what happens in each chapter and how the events move the story forward.

In this one's case, I've cut off rhe details of her arrival at Rengoku house and jumped to the beginning of her adaptation there, which includes her interactions with the staff and, specially, with her stepson, Senjuro. Of all the elements I want to explore in this ff, their relationship is one of my favorite things, so expect a strong bond to be created between them 🥺💜

About Shinjuro's appearances: I'm trying to bring a sort of growing tension each time he's around instead of just making his unpleasant traits too evident right from the start, bc I want reader to figure out the problems in her new house little by little, then trying to deal with them and make herself as comfortable as possible until she snaps and decides otherwise (spoilers haha)

I already know how I want this story to end though I just started writing it, and I believe I'll too much fun unveiling the light and and darkness in each of these characters.

Hope you enjoy this exploration mission with me 🖤

The servant sent by your father was walking in and out your new room at that moment, to bring your belongings to it. Since he was the only person who came with you, you offered to work with him, but the man declined, stating that there weren’t many things to carry and that he would soon be done.

— You made a good work packing your things even in such a small time, y/n-sama — he commented with gentleness — It made things easy.

You laughed.

— Well, I’ve tried my best. But if you’re okay with this, I’ll leave you alone. Thank you for everything.

You entered the room and, out of his sight, checked the spot where you left your sword, a place where it’d be difficult for someone to take it from; you sighed in relief with the vision of the weapon, and left to take a walk outside. There was a few spaces where you were given permission to wander – all of them separated from the parts of the house where the deceased members of your husband’s family used to stay – so, not having much to do right now (and, honestly, not knowing what to do), you were going to use the walk as an excuse to deliberate.

The wedding happened in the morning, but now it was almost midday. Your mood was no better than earlier, but you already sensed part of you accepting your new reality. You didn’t know if it was good or not, and didn’t want to figure it now, preferring to leave your mind free to think about how to act towards the circumstances.

The Rengoku House was as large and solemn as a samurai’s residence, with a wooden, rectangular structure to mark its entry, followed by a short path that led to the front doors. The building itself was raised under the traditional architecture, with two wide wings on each side and a porch to surround its premises. On the outside it was surrounded by trees, bushes and flowers; besides, the maid who led you to your room talked about the existence of a garden, but didn’t let it clear if you could visit it or not. Whatever the case, you thought it was a beautiful and silent compound you had there, despite the sensation of sadness that lingered in each spot you’ve passed by. Another thing you observed was the low number of servants, considering the house’s size, a suggestion that the Rengoku were facing problems that were similar to the ones in your father’s house – that was the only reason you could find for them to accept the good dowry that was offered alongside your hand. It was unnerving, you thought, unable to shake the feeling that you came to live there at the worst moment possible.

You then started to consider your new life as a married woman, and came to the conclusion that you weren’t getting such life at all. As soon as you arrived, you were informed that you wouldn’t share a room with your husband: yours would be in the same corridor as his, but in opposite sides; apparently, he was a man who cherished his privacy enough to organize things in a way that many would consider uncommon, to say the least. This idea seemed correct when you were led to meet your room, because as soon as you entered the house, Shinjuro ordered a maid to take care of you and walked to the other direction, disappearing from your sight, and until that moment you haven’t heard of him. Now that you remembered this, the prudent part of you was relieved that you weren’t going to share your personal space with an individual you just met, but another one, prideful, was a little outraged by the fact that you were dismissed right in your first day as a wife. Were you that uninteresting?

As you walked to an open area, your thoughts changed to lighter directions. You were content to see that the few servants you’ve met were kind enough to give you clear instructions and answer your questions concerning locations, meals and general rules, even though you couldn’t shake the sensation that they were a bit skittish, specially when they thought Shinjuro was near, but since he hasn’t appear to cause any problems you tried not to think of it. You were also relieved to observe that they did their best to keep the house clean and organized, which included your room: though you weren’t at ease with your situation, it was good to have a positive thing to point out in it.

You were thinking about this very thing when you looked around and realized your feet led you to the house’s entry again. You looked ahead and saw you weren’t alone there: a boy, not older than fourteen, was using a broom to clean the area; he worked slowly, perhaps taking care not to raise much dust, and you noticed his concentration from your spot, meters away. But what really caught your attention was the fact that he wasn’t dressed as a servant… and, well, he could never be, for he was the living reflection of the house’s head.

You remembered your mother told you that Shinjuro had two sons, but she didn’t tell you much more; maybe she never met this one. But the same silence coming from his own father was incomprehensible.

He didn’t tell me anything about this boy. Not even his name. What the hell…?

Your throat tightened when you wondered what kind of environment this kid must have been inserted.

Before your imagination could go any further, the boy saw you and stopped working. You approached him and one look at his face made you realize that the concentration you first observed wasn’t but sadness. You also noticed that his resemblance with Shinjuro was limited to his physical looks: apart from the thick eyebrows and the flaming hair, he carried a much kinder expression, with a freshness you doubted his father has ever owned, even in his youth days.

You decided not to bother him by asking about his moods, instead opting for a gentle approach.

— Hello — you smiled; and, looking around, — It seems a lot of work for one to do by themselves.

The boy showed you a hesitant smile, and his tone matched it when he replied to you.

— I know, but I don’t mind. It’s a good way to pass the time.

A moment of silence, and you noticed he wanted to continue the conversation, but struggled to find the words.

— It looks like you want to ask me something — you encouraged him.

— Yes, I do — a note of relief was sensed in his voice, as if you just did him a favor — I just don’t know how to ask this without bothering you. So… are you my father’s new wife?

The tight in your throat returned, but you forced a smile on your lips.

This is enough embarrassing for me. It doesn’t need to be like this to him as well.

— Yes, I am. My name is y/n. My family is from the (…) land. And you must be Rengoku-sama’s younger son.

— Yes. I’m Senjuro.

— That’s a good name, Senjuro-san — and, trying to imprint a comforting note in your voice, — And don’t worry, you could never bother me simply by asking this. I’m really content to meet you. You know, it’s relieving to talk casually to someone for the first time in days. It’s been a busy week, this one.

Now, Senjuro seemed to be more at ease. Maybe his days have been busy in their own way, and speaking with a new acquaintance was a welcoming change in the routine.

— I can imagine that – he commented – By the way, do you need help with something, y/n-sama?

You suddenly waved your hands in a gesture of refusal.

— Oh, no please, don’t call me like that! Y/n will do — you laughed — And, thank you, but I’ve already organized most of the things in my room. The rest will find their place with time — you sighed — For now, I just want to breathe fresh air. Fortunately, it’s a beautiful day we have now.

Senjuro observed the sky, the vivid blue spotted with big, white clouds, and agreed. You imitated him and looked at the weather with a smile.

— It's almost midday… – and, turning to him, – You know, when I was at my parents’ home, we used to eat our lunch on the porch on sunny days. Is there any problem in doing this here? What does your father think of it?

The boy shrugged.

— He doesn’t care at all. But he hates to see leftovers on the porch.

— It’s understandable — you giggled — So, how about we have lunch together on the porch? I’m still a bit lost here, so eating at the table won’t make me feel at will, but I’d still like to have company.

— It’s okay for me — he smiled.

You were afraid that Senjuro was going to see your approach as invasive, so it was with relief you heard him accepting your invitation.

— Right! I’ll ask the maid to bring our food to my room’s porch, then.

He frowned.

— Where is exactly your room? I thought you were going to, you know, stay with my father.

Your heart skipped a beat at that question, but you didn’t let out your discomfort.

– Your father decided that I’m getting a room of my own. Don’t ask me why! – you shrugged, a low laugh escaping your mouth.

You then explained the location to him, and he replied he would go there in a few minutes.

***

Lunch time was quiet and pleasing.

You found the maid who showed your room and asked her to bring food for two to your chambers. When you explained your plans to her, at first you though she was going to argue, maybe considering the possibility of having Shinjuro scolding her for allowing his wife to make a mess right in her first day at the new house, but she just agreed and asked you to wait until she brought the bowls for you and Senjuro.

After the meal itself, you’ve spent some time sitting on the porch and talking. At the same time you spoke to him about yourself, you’ve found out interesting things about your new family from your stepson.

– So… How did you and my father meet, y/n? – was his first, natural question.

– The story is a bit long, but if you have patience I can tell you – you smiled – My parents use to know your family, or so I was told. My mother was a member of the Demon Slayer Corps. She was a (…) Rank, and came in contact with your father during work. She never explained in details how missions work in the Corps, but apparently she was given a task that proved to be more difficult than it seemed at first, so she and her group were supported by Rengoku-sama. They’ve became acquaintances since then – you took the cup of juice from the tray where your bowls were brought – She met your elder brother once, when he was just a child.

You saw a glow of excitement appearing in the boy’s reddish eyes.

– She did?

– Yes! – you laughed – And she always spoke good things about your family – your smile faded a bit with the next sentence – It was like this until she passed away.

– I’m sorry for this – he replied – You know, my mother passed away when I was little. I can barely remember her.

You put a hand on his shoulder.

– It’s difficult without them. I know.

He nodded in agreement.

Talking about your mother, even though it required remembering her absence, was the easy part of the narrative, and your heart was calm while telling it. What would come after it, however, was a different story. Still, verbalizing those events to an attentive listener like Senjuro did you some good, for you managed to leave the bitterness out of your tone.

– Unlike my mother, my father never revealed to be familiar with yours until days ago, when he told me he contacted Rengoku-sama to ask for help.

– Help? How so?

– There has been little to no protection against Oni in our lands since my mother’s death, so the people who lived in the villages around have been suffering – you explained – Things became difficult even in our house, and half of our servants were fired or decided to leave. My father thought it was a good idea to contact yours and offer my hand in marriage in exchange for his protection, and somehow your father said yes – you put the cup back on the tray, lying your hands on your lap and trying not to show the trembling in them – I didn’t know about the offer until the week when the wedding should take place, and your father and I have never met before the ceremony’s day.

That part of the story seemed intriguing to Senjuro as well. Maybe he didn’t think his father was the type of person who’d accept a contract with such terms, or he was simply caught in surprise by being informed about the wedding with a few days in antecedence just like you. Whatever the case, both of you could easily agree that this situation was embarrassing, to say the least.

– That’s why I was a bit afraid earlier, you understand? – you shrugged – It’s been probably years since the last time my father saw yours, and without my mother to support us, I had no idea what I was going to find once I arrived at your house – you giggled – So, thank you for accepting my invitation and eating with me.

Senjuro imitated your gesture and left his own up on the tray, between the bowls.

– That’s okay, y/n. I've actually had my meals alone for a long time, so it was good to have company today – he replied with gentleness – I really liked to meet you.

You were intrigued with the revelation of him eating alone in his own house, but you wouldn’t question him right now. Instead, you replied that you liked meeting him as well.

The boy stood up and nodded, thanking you for the meal. But, before leaving, he turned one more time, as if he forgot to tell you something.

– You know, when I found out my father was going to marry again, I was really afraid.

You frowned.

– Afraid? Why?

He hesitated.

– Well, I… thought he was trying to replace my mother with someone else, but I’m relieved to see this isn’t true – and, urging a shy smile to let it clear that his words had no hostility, – You’re a good person, y/n.

You gave him a smile of comprehension. Of course, the worst fear of a young boy who lost his mother so soon in his life and then his big brother was concerning the kind of people his father would decide to bring under the same roof as him. Your father never met anyone after your mother, so you never had to worry about this, but if you were Senjuro's age, you’d feel the same way.

– No one can replace your mother, Senjuro-san. Actually, no one should try, me included. But it’s going to be good if we continue to get along.

For the first time, you saw him opening a smile with no signs of embarrassment or mistrust.

– I agree with you.

***

After Senjuro left to continue his tasks, you took the tray with the bowls to give them back to the kitchen. You were planning to come back to your room and carry on with the organization of your belongings: though you said to your stepson that the work was almost done in this sense, you knew you weren’t going to finish it that day.

You were walking through the corridor, thinking of this, when a shadow appeared: someone was blocking your way. You startled and raised your eyes to find Shinjuro standing before you. No word came from his mouth; his mere look was enough to make you step back.

– Rengoku-sama – you murmured – Can I help you?

Instead of answering your question, he lowered his eyes to the tray.

– Who ate lunch with you? Senjuro?

You promptly confirmed. The man stared at you for a moment, and it was impossible to tell if he was surprised or displeased.

You tried to justify yourself.

– I paused the organizations at my room and took a walk outside. I met Senjuro-san at the house’s entry. I invited him to eat lunch with me and he said yes.

Shinjuro seemed to accept this explanation, though no contentment was detected in his expression.

– I see. I hope he hasn’t bothered you.

– Absolutely not – you frowned, confused – I don’t see any reasons for him to bother me.

Again, he seemed to approve your reply, but that didn’t mean he was happy with what he heard, and his next words made it clear.

– It’s good that you’ve shown patience towards him. He can be too soft sometimes, even talking too much.

Talking too much? That Senjuro, who was constantly trying to measure his words when asking things to you? Were you speaking about the same boy?

Well, you couldn’t understand why your husband was saying such things about his own son, but considering that he didn’t even mind telling you his name, it didn’t seem reasonable for you to take his words into account.

– Well, I was very pleased to meet my stepson – you stated, taking a step to the side to indicate you were heading to the kitchen that moment – And, to me, he spoke enough. Not much, not less.

Maybe Shinjuro wasn’t expecting your reply, or maybe he didn’t want to carry on with that conversation just like you, but he commented that “at least you two got along” and how much discomfort you were all spared from thanks to this. He walked past you and left with no additional words, leaving you with intriguing thoughts.

***

Apart from other few times when you spoke to the maid or when you met Senjuro, you’ve spent most of that day by yourself, unpacking clothes and other objects, trying to figure out the best way to keep them together in your new room. The place itself was similar to your chambers in your parents’ house, both in place and shape, which somehow made things easy, yet the whole aspect of the room, aside the conscience of not being in the house you grew up in, wouldn’t let you feel entirely at will inside it. The color of the walls, the room’s position in the building, the texture of the floor, the smell of it… Everything screamed that you weren’t at home.

Your husband’s whereabouts were a mystery and, honestly, you weren’t missing his rigid presence and stern tone. He hasn’t said a word about his routine and habits, so that you didn’t know if he left the house at some point during the day, if he spent his hours in his own room, an office or anywhere else or if you should expect to see him again before the next day; being left in the dark was unnerving, of course, but not getting much useful information from the few contact you had with that man, you’d rather not to seek for him.

Shinjuro himself was a mystery to you, too.

Now that you had time to think about this, you found yourself trying to understand his real reasons to accept this marriage. Sure, your dowry was very encouraging, but one day that money would end and you would still be there, and then what? Would he kick you out of his house and replace you for a richer girl? It was too soon to tell if he was capable of such thing, but the money excuse still sounded superficial to you: accepting someone you’ve never seen before in your house just to receive a financial benefit? It didn’t make much sense. Or did he want someone to look out for Senjuro? Well, you already let it clear to the boy that you weren’t there to replace his mother, and nothing about parenting was said in the contract. Besides, Senjuro was no longer a child; the type of education he needed was beyond the one you could ever give to him: you were a well educated woman, but your education was still a female one, so that apart some lessons in Literature and sword movements you were sure he already knew, there weren’t much you could teach him; it was better to hire a tutor or invite a relative.

You were holding a pile of folded clothes at that moment. You put it on an open drawer, sat on the floor and sighed. There you had a mission you didn’t ask for.

Wasn’t it enough to make me move to this place? Do I really need to try and unveil what goes on in this man’s head? As if he would let me...

You decided to take some rest both from your task and those annoying deliberations.

***

It was only in the next morning that you heard of him again.

That time, you decided you were going to have breakfast at the table, so you woke up early, washed your face and prepared yourself.

When you arrived at the kitchen, Senjuro was already there, filling his bowl in silence. He raised his eyes when you approached and knelt in the spot in front of his.

– Good morning, Senjuro-san – you gave him a soft smile while taking your own bowl.

– Good morning, y/n.

The meal had all the reasons to be calm and quiet, and you were glad for it. You haven’t had a good night of sleep, so the last thing you needed was tension right in the morning…

But the sudden shift in the air and the change in Senjuro’s posture let you knew you weren’t going to get what you wished: you turned your head to the entry and saw Shinjuro passing through it and walking to the head of the table without a word or a look to his son or to you. He sat and just started filling his bowl, something that wouldn’t mean anything if it wasn’t for the fact that he landed a large, already opened bottle of sake on the table.

You swallowed.

Drinking at this hour? Seriously?

You glanced at Senjuro, and the boy, as if knowing better, immediately turned his attention back to his food. You tried to do the same, but Shinjuro had another surprise, this second one directed related to you.

You saw his hand pushing a paper toward you over the table. You left the hashi aside and took the paper; it was a letter.

– A letter? To me?

– It’s from your father – was the reply – He told me he would be writing to you right after you moved to my house.

You stared at the folded paper for a while, without giving him a verbal response. When you heard that it was written by your father, your curiosity somehow died inside you, and any wish to read what was in there disappeared. You left the letter on the table and grabbed your hashi again.

The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by your husband.

– Won’t you open it?

You raised your eyes to him, not hiding the tiredness of the last days.

– No. I won’t.

Shinjuro naturally thought you were saying you were going to read it later, and the same could be said about Senjuro. So it wasn’t without confusion that they observed you giving up on the food for the second time, taking the letter and standing up.

There was an oven on the other side of the kitchen, which fire has been fed with coal. You calmly headed to it and, not thinking of how what you were doing was going to be seen by the presents, you tossed the letter in the flames.

You went back to your spot and found father and son staring at you in disbelief, each one for different reasons. Senjuro was probably shocked to see someone dismissing the words of a parent with no hesitation; you were actually content with that, for it was a sign that he has been taught good family principles. Shinjuro, on the other hand, had nothing but indignation with what he just saw: what kind of daughter treats her own father like this? Well, if only he had a father who treated him like yours, maybe he could understand.

They were waiting for a verbal explanation, of course, and you gave it to them.

– Senjuro-san, I’m sorry that you had to see this, but I won’t apologize for what I did. I just cannot – you said to the boy; and, turning to his father with a much lower tone, – Thank you for giving the letter to me, Rengoku-sama, but I ask you to do the same thing I did if more come. I don’t want to read them.

You saw the twist on his lips and knew exactly what he was thinking. Brat. Stubborn, ungrateful girl and many other unpleasing ways to describe a young woman who didn’t act as expected might have come to his mind that time, as well as the idea of a long, difficult path he was going to follow in his life beside you. You certainly didn’t want things to be this hard between you, and an ache in your heart reminded you of this, but this has already started in the least favorable circumstances; what should be expected, then?

What your husband said to you after this, however, had more to do with the practical aspect of things than with his personal opinion on ungrateful girls.

– Why didn’t you at least read it first? How could you know there wasn’t something important in it?

– There wasn’t – it was your prompt reply, not completely devoid of sadness – If my father had anything important to say, he would’ve done it before I left his house.

He frowned, a gesture that in his case would draw more attention than in any other individual, and spent a moment in silence, staring at you and measuring your words before grabbing the bottle of sake and drinking directly from it. You observed the firmness with which his hand left the bottle on the table after it, making a thump on the wood, and couldn’t help wonder that if you were a boy and he was angry, he could’ve yelled at you and even smacked you, but having you putting all your politeness in your words was enough to hold himself in place.

The rest of the meal went in uneasy silence, each of you lost in your own thoughts and you claiming to yourself the task of dissolving the connection with your father and keeping an eye on your stepson whenever your husband was around.

Chapter 3

#kny fanfic #kny x y/n #kny x reader #kny shinjuro #shinjuro rengoku #rengoku kyojuro #kny senjuro #rengoku senjuro #shinjuro x reader #shinjuro rengoku x reader #demon slayer shinjuro #kimetsu no yaiba rengoku #demon slayer x reader

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littlebignoona · 2 months ago

Text

ONLY YOU (Harry Potter FF)

"What a privilege it was to matter to you." Maya Monet thinks Harry Potter is an annoyingly attractive Gryffindor who had nothing better to do than bother her. Harry Potter thinks Maya Monet is the prettiest girl he has ever seen.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Two weeks had passed, and in that time, Harry Potter had made it his mission to approach Maya whenever he had the chance. Whether it was in the corridors, the library, or even during breaks between classes, he seemed determined to speak with her. But her friends—particularly Theo and Blaise—were always there to intercept him, ensuring that he didn’t get far.

Still, Harry’s persistence was hard to ignore, even for Maya.

It was late afternoon when she was walking through the castle, her long black hair flowing behind her as she made her way to the Great Hall. The air was filled with the distant hum of students laughing and chatting. She kept her pace steady, her mind drifting, when she heard someone call her name.

“Maya!”

She stopped, her brows furrowing slightly as she turned to see Harry running up to her, his face flushed from the effort.

She sighed softly, barely audible, as he came to a stop beside her. His messy hair was even more unruly than usual, and there was a faint nervousness in his green eyes.

“Are you heading to the Great Hall?” he asked, his tone slightly breathless.

She nodded, continuing to walk as he shuffled along next to her. “Do you need something, Potter?” she asked, her voice calm but slightly edged with impatience.

“Actually,” he began, fumbling with something inside his robes, “I have something for you.”

That stopped her. She turned to him, curiosity flickering in her dark eyes as he pulled out a small box. He held it out to her, looking both nervous and hopeful.

She hesitated for a moment before taking it, her fingers brushing the smooth surface as she lifted the lid. Inside was a brand-new walkman—sleek, better than her old one, and clearly expensive. Resting on top was a tiny note that read, Sorry. - H.P.

Maya bit her lip, fighting back the small smile threatening to form. She glanced up at him, catching the hopeful gleam in his eyes.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her tone sincere.

The tension in Harry’s shoulders eased instantly, and he broke into a big, boyish smile. “You’re welcome,” he said, looking slightly relieved.

For a moment, they stood there in the hallway, the noise of the castle fading into the background. The silence between them wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, though Harry seemed unsure of what to say next.

“Harry!”

The sound of a familiar voice broke the moment. Both teens turned to see Harry’s parents—James and Lily Potter—approaching them with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin in tow.

“Dad, what are you doing here?” Harry asked, his brow quirking as he looked between his parents and Maya. “We’re here for the Triwizard Tournament announcements. They’re calling the champions soon.” James said smoothly observing the teens.

Lily’s gaze shifted to Maya, her curiosity evident. “And who might you be?”

Harry grew shy, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he avoided his mother’s gaze. Maya, however, met Lily’s eyes evenly.

“Maya,” she said simply, her tone polite but firm. She offered a faint nod, but deliberately left out her last name.

Sirius tilted his head slightly, his sharp eyes noting the omission, though he said nothing.

“I should go,” Maya said, turning back to Harry. “Thank you for this.” She held up the box, her lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile before she walked away.

Harry called out after her, “Maya—”

But she shook her head, raising the box in a half-wave over her shoulder without looking back.

James turned to his son, crossing his arms. “Was she wearing a green tie? A Slytherin?”

Harry groaned, his ears turning red. “Dad, you’re embarrassing me.”

Sirius grinned, clapping a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Just like your old man, falling for the complicated ones.”

“Padfoot!” James protested, though he was grinning.

Remus chuckled quietly, while Lily looked thoughtful, her eyes lingering on where Maya had disappeared down the hall.

Maya sat comfortably at the Slytherin table, surrounded by the most popular students in her house. The polished laughter of Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson mingled with the murmur of conversations echoing throughout the Great Hall. Maya leaned her head on Theo’s shoulder, the box Harry had given her still in her hands, her fingers absently tracing its edges as the group shared jokes and stories.

“Honestly, Zabini, if you tell that one more time, I might hex you,” Theo drawled, though the smirk on his face betrayed his amusement.

Maya chuckled softly, letting herself relax among her friends. She caught Blaise’s eye, who arched an eyebrow at the box in her lap but said nothing.

At the Gryffindor table, Harry sat with Ron and Hermione, their voices weaving around him as they discussed the upcoming champion announcement. Ron’s enthusiasm was evident as he speculated who might represent Hogwarts, but Harry’s focus was elsewhere.

His gaze was on Maya.

She looked so unbothered, her long black hair cascading over Theo’s shoulder as she smiled faintly at something Blaise said. Her dark eyes glittered under the candlelight, and she seemed entirely at ease.

Maya looked up at that moment, her sharp eyes meeting Harry’s across the room. For a brief moment, the bustling Great Hall seemed to fade, and the two stared at each other, a silent connection passing between them.

On the dais, Lily Potter leaned toward James, her voice low but teasing. “He’s smitten with her.”

James followed his wife’s gaze, his brow furrowing when he spotted Maya. “Isn’t she the one from the hallway?”

Sirius, sitting next to them, chuckled. “Oh, come off it, Prongs. Let the boy live a little. He’s bound to notice pretty girls.” He paused, his grin widening. “Though she is laying her head on some other bloke. Your son’s got competition.”

James scowled lightly, but Lily laughed. “Don’t spoil the moment, James. Look at him. He can’t stop staring.”

Harry, oblivious to his parents’ commentary, quickly glanced away as Ron nudged him. “Oi, Harry, you even listening? It’s about to start!”

The Hall fell into silence as Dumbledore rose, his imposing figure commanding attention. The Goblet of Fire stood at the center of the room, its flickering blue flames casting eerie shadows.

“The time has come,” Dumbledore announced, his voice calm yet powerful. “The Goblet of Fire will now reveal the champions for the Triwizard Tournament.”

Everyone watched with bated breath as the flames roared higher, spitting out the first name. Dumbledore caught the charred parchment and read aloud:

“Viktor Krum, representing Durmstrang!”

The Hall erupted into cheers, the Durmstrang students roaring with pride. Maya clapped along with her housemates, smiling as she turned to see Krum nod solemnly at his peers.

The flames surged again, and Dumbledore called out: “Fleur Delacour, representing Beauxbatons!”

Another wave of cheers, this time from the Beauxbatons table, echoed through the Hall. Maya smiled faintly at the Beauxbatons girls who squealed in excitement.

Finally, the flames turned once more, brighter and more intense. Dumbledore leaned forward, plucking the parchment from the fire.

“Cedric Diggory, representing Hogwarts!”

The cheers were thunderous from the Hufflepuff table, their pride palpable as Cedric stood, his face a mixture of shock and excitement. Maya clapped again, grinning as Blaise made a sarcastic comment about Cedric’s hair.

Just as the noise began to settle, the flames flared again, to everyone’s shock. Gasps rippled through the Hall as another name emerged.

Dumbledore held up the parchment, his face unreadable as he read the name aloud:

“Harry Potter.”

The room went still.

Maya froze, her hands gripping the box in her lap. She looked up sharply, her dark eyes locking onto Harry, who stood slowly, his expression caught between confusion and disbelief.

The Hall erupted into whispers, accusations, and shock, but Maya couldn’t focus on any of it. All she could do was stare at Harry as he made his way toward the dais, his steps hesitant.

Theo leaned closer to her, his voice low. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Maya didn’t respond, her mind swirling with questions. As Harry approached Dumbledore, she caught his eyes briefly. There was no triumph there, only confusion—and maybe a trace of fear.

The box in her hands suddenly felt heavier.

As students were dismissed to their dormitories, the air buzzed with hushed conversations and speculation. Maya stood near the entrance to the Great Hall, shifting on her feet as she waited. The box Harry had given her was tucked under her arm, and her long black hair swayed slightly as she glanced around the nearly empty space.

Suddenly, two hands covered her eyes. She flinched instinctively, her wand nearly slipping out of her pocket.

“Relax, it’s just us,” Theo’s familiar voice chuckled.

She turned to find both Theo and Blaise standing behind her, smirking. Blaise raised a brow, his dark eyes full of mischief. “What are you doing skulking around out here, Monet?”

Maya rolled her eyes, ignoring the use of her mother’s name. “I’m waiting for someone.”

Blaise’s grin widened. “Oh? Waiting for Potter, are we?”

“Don’t start,” she warned, her tone firm.

Theo leaned lazily against the wall, his arms crossed as his smirk mirrored Blaise’s. “Should we be worried about you defecting to Gryffindor?”

“I swear,” she muttered, rubbing her temple in mock exasperation, “you two are insufferable.”

Before they could tease her further, she spotted Harry exiting the Great Hall with his parents, Sirius, and Remus in tow. His green eyes immediately locked onto hers, and he hesitated mid-step, causing his mother to bump lightly into his back.

Maya turned fully to face him. “Hey, Potter,” she called, her voice calm but curious.

Harry blinked, seemingly surprised. “What are you doing here?”

She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “I wanted to ask if you’re actually going to compete.”

A grimace crossed his face, and before he could answer, James Potter spoke up, his tone firm. “We’re going to fight the rules that are forcing him to compete. This isn’t right.”

Theo snorted audibly, earning a sharp elbow from Maya. Blaise, who hadn’t even bothered to suppress his laughter, leaned against a nearby pillar.

Harry’s eyes darted between Maya and her friends. “I don’t really have a choice,” he admitted, his tone subdued.

Maya nodded slowly, her gaze softening. “Do you... need anything?”

Harry shook his head, his messy hair falling into his eyes. “No, but thanks for asking.”

Theo draped an arm around Maya’s shoulders, steering her away. “Come on, we’ve got better things to do than hang around Gryffindors,” he said loudly, though there was a teasing edge to his voice.

“Later, Potter,” Blaise called as he walked ahead of them.

Maya glanced over her shoulder, her dark eyes meeting Harry’s for a moment. She gave him a small nod, her expression unreadable, before letting Theo guide her away.

As she disappeared around the corner with her friends, Sirius clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “She’s got a sharp tongue, that one,” he remarked with a grin. “Better watch out, Harry. Looks like you’ve got some competition.”

Harry groaned, throwing his head back. “She’s not going out with any of them,” he insisted. “And I don’t like her!”

Remus smirked, suppressing a chuckle. “Whatever you say, Harry.”

James crossed his arms, raising a skeptical brow. “Not sure who you’re trying to convince, son—us or yourself.”

Harry glared at them all before trudging off toward Gryffindor Tower, muttering under his breath about how annoying his family could be.

The next day, the crisp autumn air filled the courtyard as Maya sat on a bench beneath the archways, the soft rustle of pages accompanying the sound of Draco’s rant.

“I’m telling you, there’s no way Potter didn’t cheat!” Draco exclaimed, pacing back and forth. “He’s a glory hound! Always has been. You’d think after The Dark Lord, he’d want to retire his hero cape, but no, now he has to go and steal the Triwizard spotlight!”

Maya smirked faintly but kept her eyes on her book. Sitting between Theo’s legs as he straddled the bench, she leaned back against him for support. He was playing with a strand of her hair absentmindedly, occasionally muttering agreements with Draco just to egg him on.

Draco didn’t seem to notice her disinterest, continuing his tirade with flair. “And you know what the worst part is? People are going to believe him, like he’s some tragic hero! It’s ridiculous.”

Maya half-listened, a small smile tugging at her lips as she turned the page of her novel. Draco could be utterly insufferable at times, but there was something oddly endearing about his dramatics.

The sound of snickers and whispers broke her focus. Looking up, she spotted Harry walking through the courtyard, his shoulders hunched and his face tight with stress. His green eyes darted around nervously, avoiding the stares and whispers that followed him everywhere.

Maya frowned, a pang of sympathy tugging at her chest. As much as Draco’s antics amused her, she couldn’t bring herself to join in when it came to Harry. He didn’t strike her as someone who craved attention, and the weight of his fame clearly didn’t sit comfortably on his shoulders.

“Draco, I’ll be back,” she said abruptly, standing and grabbing her bag.

Draco stopped mid-rant, blinking at her. “Where are you going?”

“Just give me a minute.”

She didn’t wait for his response, quickly following Harry as he left the courtyard. “Potter!” she called, her voice firm but not unkind.

Harry turned, his expression annoyed, but the irritation melted into surprise when he saw her. “Oh, it’s you,” he said awkwardly.

Before she could speak, he rushed to clarify. “I didn’t cheat, okay? I don’t even want to be in this stupid tournament!” His voice was defensive, his frustration clear.

Maya raised a brow, watching him for a moment. “I wasn’t going to accuse you of anything,” she said calmly.

Harry blinked, his shoulders loosening slightly.

She tilted her head. “Are you okay?”

Harry hesitated, his gaze dropping to his feet. “Not really,” he admitted quietly.

Maya shifted her bag on her shoulder. “Where are your friends?”

Harry sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Ron’s being a total git. He doesn’t believe me, and I haven’t seen Hermione yet today.”

Maya nodded slowly. “Sounds rough.”

There was a brief silence as she adjusted her bag. Harry’s eyes flickered to the Walkman sticking out of it, and a soft smile crossed his face.

“You’re actually using it,” he said, sounding almost surprised.

Maya pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, feeling a slight warmth rise to her cheeks. “Of course. It’s better than my old one.”

Harry chuckled lightly, the tension in his face easing for a moment.

She studied him for a second before speaking again. “Look, Potter... If you need someone to vent to, I’m not exactly unbiased, but I’m around.”

Harry glanced up at her, his eyes brightening slightly. “Thanks,” he said, his voice sincere.

Maya nodded, giving him a small smile before turning to head back to her friends. As she walked away, she could feel his eyes lingering on her, and for the first time, she didn’t mind.

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