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luvvixu · 6 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

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“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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quixotical-lymbo · 28 days ago

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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.

2K notes · View notes

novaursa · 2 months ago

Text

To Kneel Before You (reader's choice)

- Summary: Defying the orders of your older brother, King Viserys I, you secretly join the battle for the Stepstones. After months of grueling conflict, a commander rushes to inform you of a captured agent of the Crabfeeder. But the prisoner isn’t an enemy spy—it’s your other brother, Daemon Targaryen, the infamous Rogue Prince. His face is smeared with mud and blood, his hair tangled and wild, and the fury in his eyes tells you everything. Your men have made a grave mistake. They’ve captured a dragon.

- Paring: sister!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

The sound of your dragon, Serenix, beating her massive wings fills the air as you descend onto the beach, black sand and broken shells crunching beneath your boots. The sleek, obsidian scales of your mount shimmer like oil in the dying sun, her piercing ruby eyes surveying the land for any signs of remaining enemies. Her tail, long and sharp like a spear, coils behind her, the infamous weapon that has earned her the title The Night Spear. She's restless after battle, her breaths coming out in hot, misty puffs as if eager to return to the skies and hunt.

You run a hand along her neck, feeling the cool, smooth scales beneath your palm, grounding yourself after the high of combat. But something is off. The normally disciplined camp is abuzz with hushed whispers, soldiers exchanging furtive glances. Then, your commander, Ser Garren, rushes toward you, his face flushed with both excitement and panic.

“My lady, we’ve captured one of Crabfeeder’s agents,” he announces breathlessly, stopping just short of you, as if unsure how you’ll respond.

You raise a brow, dismounting from Serenix with grace. You’ve been hunting the Crabfeeder’s men for months now, your victories adding fuel to the wildfire of gossip surrounding the Targaryen princess who dares disobey her brother the king. But something in Garren’s voice makes you pause. There’s more to this than a mere enemy agent.

“Have you now?” you say with a smirk, adjusting the leather of your battle armor. “Show me.”

He hesitates, swallowing nervously. “You might want to brace yourself for this one.”

Curiosity piqued, you motion for him to lead the way. As you walk through the camp, soldiers straighten up, their eyes wide and full of anticipation, but no one dares to speak. The sounds of the waves crashing against the shore grow distant as you approach the makeshift prison tent.

Garren stops at the entrance, giving you a wary glance. “He’s… not exactly what we expected.”

“Oh?” You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up.

With a deep breath, he pulls back the flap. Inside, you see a figure—mud-caked, blood-splattered, and bound at the wrists and ankles like a common animal. His silver hair, once unmistakably pristine, is matted with sand and grime. His violet eyes blaze with fury as he looks up at you. Daemon. Your older brother, the Rogue Prince.

Your amusement flickers like a flame in the wind as you step closer. “Commander Garren,” you say, biting back a smile. “This is not one of Crabfeeder’s agents.”

Daemon’s glare could melt Valyrian steel. “Do you find this amusing?” His voice is low and dangerous, but there’s a glint of something familiar in his eyes—something teasing.

You circle him slowly, hands behind your back, allowing the smirk you’ve been holding back to show. “A little, yes.”

Daemon scoffs, yanking at his bindings, though the ropes hold firm. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were the one who ordered this.”

“I could only wish to claim such a victory.” You crouch down in front of him, inspecting the sorry state he’s in. His armor is dented, his tunic torn, and yet he still exudes that arrogant Targaryen charm. “How did they manage to capture you?”

Daemon tilts his head, the corners of his mouth twitching. “An unfortunate mix of arrogance, an ambush, and…” He glances at the guards outside the tent. “Incompetence.”

You lean back on your heels, stifling a laugh. “I’m sure it was all very tragic. Should I free you, or would you prefer to stay here for a while longer?”

He narrows his eyes, but there’s no real malice in them. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To parade me around the camp like a prized beast.”

The idea is tempting, but you shrug casually. “I don’t know… It could be entertaining for a few days. But then I’d have to explain to Viserys how I let his precious brother rot on the shores of the Stepstones.”

At the mention of Viserys, Daemon’s smirk fades slightly, replaced with something darker. “So the king does care about me after all?”

“Don’t push your luck,” you reply dryly, standing and motioning for Garren to untie him. “As much as I’d enjoy watching you struggle, we have more pressing matters than your wounded pride.”

As Garren cuts the ropes, Daemon stands, rolling his shoulders and flexing his wrists as if testing whether he’s still made of flesh and bone. He glances back at you, his violet eyes gleaming with that ever-present spark of mischief. “You’re lucky I’m in a forgiving mood.”

You tilt your head, smiling slightly. “I was going to say the same to you.”

His lips curl into a familiar smirk, one that makes you wonder if he’s been plotting some sort of mischief all along. "You're always so predictable, little sister. Ever the wild one, pretending to ignore our brother's orders.”

“Someone has to make life interesting,” you reply with a wink, brushing past him. “Try not to get captured again, Daemon. It’s quite embarrassing for the both of us.”

He watches you walk away, and though you can’t see his face, you know that amusement has returned to his eyes. You call over your shoulder as you approach Serenix once more. “Next time, try not to look so much like one of the Crabfeeder’s men. You blend in too well with the mud.”

His laughter follows you, dark and rich. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ll make sure to be clean the next time you capture me.”

You mount your dragon, shaking your head with a grin. Daemon may be the Rogue Prince, but at least he’ll never let you be bored.

A few days have passed since your last encounter with Daemon, and the air around the camp feels heavier. The men are in better spirits, of course; your forces, along with Corlys Velaryon’s fleet, have successfully pushed back Crabfeeder’s men, taking key positions along the coastline. But the victory feels uneasy, like a cloud that hangs just overhead, waiting to break.

You stand on a ridge overlooking the camp, the salty wind pulling at your hair as you gaze at the sea. Ships bearing the banner of House Velaryon rest in the distance, their sails barely moving as they bob on the waves. The alliance with Corlys is vital, yet you can’t shake the nagging suspicion that something more is happening beneath the surface.

And that something is your brother, Daemon.

It’s not uncommon for him to disappear after a battle, slinking off to who-knows-where to nurse his wounds or plot his next reckless move. But this time, his absence is more deliberate. You’ve seen the way he’s been speaking with Corlys, heads bent together in hushed conversation, eyes glinting with a shared secret. And you know Daemon well enough to recognize that look—he’s scheming.

The thought makes you clench your fists, your knuckles going white. If there’s one thing you know, it’s that Daemon never plots without a purpose. And whatever it is, it won’t be simple or without consequence.

You hear the crunch of boots on sand behind you, and you don’t need to turn to know who it is. His presence is as familiar to you as the wind.

“You always look so serious when you’re thinking,” Daemon says, his voice smooth and amused. He comes to stand beside you, arms crossed over his chest as he looks out at the horizon. “I’ve been meaning to ask what’s been keeping you so deep in thought, but you’re never easy to approach these days.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, taking in the relaxed way he stands, as if there isn’t a single care in the world. He’s cleaned up since you last saw him, his silver hair once again gleaming, his armor polished, though there’s still an edge of wildness to him—something untamed that no amount of grooming can erase.

“And yet, here you are, approaching me without a second thought,” you say, your tone lighter than you feel. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really been keeping you busy?”

Daemon’s eyes flicker with interest, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at his lips. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’ve been spending a great deal of time with Lord Corlys,” you say, cutting to the point. “Whispering and plotting behind everyone’s back. Should I be concerned?”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your sudden forwardness. “Concerned? About what? Do you think I’m conspiring against you?”

“I think you’re conspiring against something,” you reply, crossing your arms as you turn to face him fully. “And I think whatever it is, you haven’t seen fit to share it with me. Or with Viserys.”

The mention of your elder brother’s name causes a shift in Daemon’s expression. For a moment, there’s a flicker of something—frustration, perhaps—but it’s quickly replaced by his usual mask of indifference.

“Viserys would have a heart attack if he knew both you and I were here together,” Daemon says casually, though you can hear the underlying edge in his voice. “He’s always been too soft, too cautious. Someone has to be bold enough to win this war.”

You narrow your eyes. “And what’s your plan? To wage this war in secret? To cut out the very people who are fighting beside you?”

He steps closer, his eyes sharp, but his tone remains calm. “You think I’d keep something like that from you, Y/N? From my own sister?”

“I don’t know, Daemon,” you reply coolly, refusing to back down. “I’ve learned over the years that you only tell people what they need to know. And you’ve been far too quiet for my liking.”

Daemon’s lips twist into a half-smile, a mixture of admiration and amusement. “Maybe you know me too well.”

“I do know you,” you say, meeting his gaze, refusing to be intimidated by the intensity in his eyes. “So, tell me, brother—what are you and Corlys planning?”

For a moment, he says nothing, simply watching you with that infuriating, unreadable expression. Then, with a sigh, he relents, but not entirely.

“Corlys and I have been discussing… opportunities,” he says, carefully picking his words. “The Crabfeeder’s forces may be retreating for now, but they won’t stay gone for long. We need to press the advantage.”

“That’s not a plan,” you say, frowning. “That’s common sense. What aren’t you telling me?”

His smirk grows wider, more dangerous, and he leans in slightly, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret. “Perhaps I’ll tell you when the time is right. You always did enjoy a bit of intrigue.”

You let out a frustrated breath, knowing full well that pressing him further will get you nowhere. He’s always been like this—playing his cards close to his chest, reveling in the power of knowing more than everyone else. But there’s something different this time. The stakes feel higher, the risk sharper.

And the way Daemon’s eyes gleam in the dimming light makes you certain that whatever he’s planning, it’s something far greater than a mere skirmish.

You step back, shaking your head slightly. “Just remember, Daemon—whatever you’re planning, it won’t stay hidden forever. Viserys will find out.”

Daemon chuckles softly, the sound rich and dark. “Let him. By the time he does, it’ll be too late to stop me.”

You watch him for a moment longer, feeling a tightness in your chest that you can’t quite name. It’s the same feeling you always get when Daemon is involved—like standing too close to the edge of a cliff, knowing that one wrong step could send you both tumbling into the abyss.

Without another word, you turn and walk away, the wind pulling at your cloak as you head back toward the camp. Behind you, Daemon remains where he is, watching you go, a shadow against the fading light.

A month later, the battlefield unfolds beneath you, a chaos of flames, blood, and the frenzied cries of Crabfeeder’s men. The skies are yours, and Serenix moves with the precision of a spear thrust, her sleek black body cutting through the air like a shadow. Her ruby eyes gleam, hunting for targets as her tail, long and lethal, swipes down with terrifying accuracy, impaling soldiers who are too slow to retreat.

Below, the remnants of the Crabfeeder’s forces scatter toward the rocky caves dotting the coastline, hoping to disappear into the safety of the shadows. You grit your teeth as you watch them retreat. They’ve learned. After weeks of battle, they know now that they can’t face a dragon in the open. The caves are their last refuge.

“Dracarys!” you command, your voice cutting through the wind. Serenix roars in response, a torrent of fire spilling from her jaws, lighting the ground below in a blaze of heat and destruction. The flames consume the few unfortunate souls who didn’t make it to cover, but most of them are already deep in the caves, well out of the reach of dragonfire.

You curse under your breath. The caves again. Every time they retreat here, it’s as if they’ve found a way to vanish from the battlefield entirely. You hover above, frustrated, watching the dark mouths of the caves swallow the enemy whole. Your forces have pushed them back, but pushing them into hiding doesn’t mean victory.

You guide Serenix to the ground, her wings folding elegantly against her sides as her tail coils behind her, twitching in irritation. She, too, is frustrated by the lack of prey. The ground beneath her trembles as she lands, and you take a moment to survey the scene. Your forces are regrouping, but the mood is tense. This isn’t the first time the enemy has used the caves to avoid annihilation, and you know it won’t be the last.

“We’ll need a new strategy,” you mutter to yourself, staring at the dark crevices carved into the rock. Fire can’t reach them in there, and even if you were to send soldiers after them, the caves are a death trap. Narrow passageways, unknown terrain—any attack there would be suicide.

Before you can begin to formulate a plan, the sky darkens with the sound of beating wings, and a shadow passes over you. You know that sound. The deep, guttural screech of Caraxes.

Your heart tightens slightly as you look up to see the blood-red dragon swooping down from the clouds, his serpentine body weaving through the air with predatory grace. Daemon. Of course.

Caraxes lands not far from Serenix, his long neck curling in curiosity as he approaches her, his massive maw pulling back to release a low growl. Serenix turns her head sharply, her ruby eyes narrowing at the intrusion, and she lets out a hiss in response, her tail snapping dangerously through the air. The tip of her tail, sharp and deadly, flicks in warning as she recoils slightly.

“Easy,” you murmur, placing a gloved hand on her neck, though you feel her tension thrumming beneath your fingertips. Serenix has never been fond of Caraxes, and it seems today is no exception.

Daemon dismounts, his boots sinking into the soft, charred sand, a smirk already playing on his lips as he watches the exchange between the dragons. “Serenix is still as charming as ever, I see,” he says, his tone amused.

“Charming isn’t the word I’d use,” you reply, eyes flicking to him as you dismount. “She doesn’t take well to being crowded.”

Daemon raises an eyebrow, casting a glance at Caraxes, who lets out another low rumble, clearly trying to get closer to Serenix. “You and your dragon are more alike than you’d admit.”

Serenix huffs in agreement, her wings flaring slightly as if to remind Caraxes to keep his distance. The red dragon seems amused by her defiance, but he takes a step back, circling away from her. You can feel Serenix relax slightly beneath your touch, though her tail continues to twitch with irritation.

“Do you always arrive just as things are about to fall apart?” you ask, turning your attention back to Daemon. His armor gleams in the faint light, his hair once again tied back, though it’s impossible to miss the glint in his eyes. He’s always too confident, too sure of himself, even when things aren’t in his control.

Daemon chuckles. “I like to think of it as arriving at the most interesting moments. What’s the problem now? Crabfeeder’s men hiding in their little holes again?”

“They’ve taken to the caves,” you say, your tone more bitter than you intended. “We can’t burn them out, and any attempt to chase them in there would be suicide. We’re stuck.”

Daemon surveys the battlefield for a moment, his gaze lingering on the rocky cliffs and the gaping mouths of the caves. His smirk fades, replaced by a more thoughtful expression, though there’s still an edge of mischief in his eyes.

“You’re right,” he says after a beat, almost as if it surprises him to agree with you. “The caves are too narrow for dragons. They’re safe in there—for now.”

You shoot him a look. “That’s not helpful.”

“No,” he admits, rubbing his chin, “but it does give me an idea.”

You narrow your eyes. “What idea?”

He grins, that familiar dangerous spark lighting up in his eyes. “We don’t need to chase them into the caves, Y/N. We need to draw them out.”

“And how exactly do you plan to do that?” you ask, skeptical. “They’re like rats—they’ll only come out when they think it’s safe.”

“Which is why we make them think it’s safe,” Daemon says, his tone full of that irritating confidence. “They’ll come out eventually, hungry for revenge or supplies. But if we make it seem like we’re retreating, or better yet, fighting amongst ourselves…”

You frown, considering his words. “You think they’d be bold enough to come out if they thought we were at each other’s throats?”

He steps closer, lowering his voice slightly, the teasing edge still present. “We’ve given them reason enough to be terrified of us. Why not give them a reason to be overconfident instead? Let them think they’ve found a weakness, then strike.”

You stare at him, half-impressed, half-annoyed by his audacity. “You always did enjoy a good bit of theatrics, didn’t you?”

His smile widens. “Theatrics, strategy—it’s all the same, isn’t it?”

You glance back at the caves, then at Serenix, who’s now watching Caraxes with a wary eye. The idea isn’t without merit. It’s risky, but then again, most things are when Daemon’s involved.

“Fine,” you say after a moment. “But if this plan fails and we end up losing more men, I’ll make sure Serenix has a nice chat with Caraxes.”

Daemon laughs, his eyes gleaming. “I’m sure she’d enjoy that very much.”

As the two of you walk back toward your dragons, you can feel the agitation between the two beasts, though Serenix finally relents, allowing Caraxes to follow at a more respectful distance. You glance at Daemon one last time, wondering whether this alliance will be your saving grace—or the beginning of an even bigger disaster.

The plan was set. It was simple, almost too simple, and that was what made it clever. You stand on the beach once again, the wind tugging at your hair, your armor gleaming under the moonlight. The sea stretches endlessly beyond you, but it’s not the waves you’re focused on. It’s the dark mouths of the caves that lie scattered across the cliffs like wounds on the earth, hiding Crabfeeder’s men like rats in their burrows. Waiting for them to come out is no longer an option.

Tonight, you’re not hunting noble beasts; you’re luring rats.

Daemon stands across from you, a smirk playing on his lips, as if he’s already relishing the coming spectacle. You feel the tension in your muscles coil tighter, preparing for the mock battle you’re about to stage. Corlys’s forces are hidden, waiting for the signal to attack. The Sea Snake himself, always the strategist, has been overseeing the finer details, ensuring the timing will be perfect.

"You know this is going to be rather fun," Daemon says, pulling his sword from its sheath with a slow, deliberate motion. The Valyrian steel glints in the pale light, and he tilts his head toward you, eyes glinting with mischief.

“You have a strange idea of fun,” you mutter, adjusting your grip on your own sword. Serenix looms behind you, her eyes fixed on Caraxes, as if already irritated by his very presence. You can feel her unease, the subtle rumble in her chest vibrating up through your legs.

“Do try not to hit me too hard, Y/N,” Daemon teases, stepping closer. His movements are languid, almost lazy, but you know better. There’s nothing lazy about Daemon when he’s on the battlefield.

You roll your eyes. “I make no promises.”

Daemon chuckles, but the humor in his eyes is fleeting, replaced by something sharper, more serious. This mock fight, as ridiculous as it may seem, is crucial. If the Crabfeeder’s men believe you’re divided, they’ll be bold enough to come out of their hiding places. And once they do, Corlys’s men will be ready to strike.

You take a breath and raise your sword, giving a slight nod. The game begins.

With a burst of motion, Daemon lunges at you, his sword cutting through the air with practiced ease. You meet his blade with your own, the clash of steel ringing out across the beach. For a moment, it feels like a real fight—his strength behind each swing, your arms straining to parry. But this isn’t about victory. It’s about making a spectacle.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Daemon shouts, his voice loud enough to carry. Theatrics, as always.

You grit your teeth, pushing back against his blade. “You’re the one who can’t keep to a plan, Daemon!” You throw your weight into the next swing, knocking him back a step.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch movement. Shadows shifting among the rocks. The Crabfeeder’s men are watching. They’re biting the bait.

Daemon smirks, catching your next strike with ease. “I told you, little sister. I never play by the rules.”

The anger in your reply is only half-acted. “That’s what makes you dangerous.”

You force him back with a series of quick strikes, your movements fluid but fierce. The clash of your swords rings out again and again, and you can feel the eyes of your enemies watching, waiting. Crabfeeder’s men, likely believing the Targaryen siblings have turned on each other, will think this is the moment to strike. That you’re too distracted by your internal squabbles to see them coming.

“Enough of this!” Daemon growls, stepping back suddenly, his sword lowered but his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the performance. “You’ll never understand what needs to be done.”

You take a step forward, raising your sword again, but the moment has come. The first of Crabfeeder’s men begin to emerge from the caves, their ragged shapes moving in the darkness like insects crawling from the shadows. You can see them, just barely, slipping out onto the beach, weapons in hand. They think they have the upper hand.

Daemon’s gaze flickers to you for just a moment, a signal. It’s time.

With a final, exaggerated swing, you knock his sword to the side, sending him staggering back—pure performance, of course. He growls, pretending to nurse a wound, but you both know this is where the game ends and the real battle begins.

Crabfeeder’s men pour from the caves, emboldened by what they think is your weakness. Dozens of them, perhaps more, race toward the beach, their weapons raised. A foolish move.

And then, with a deafening roar, Corlys’s men strike.

The Sea Snake’s forces, hidden among the cliffs, rain down upon the Crabfeeder’s soldiers with brutal efficiency. Arrows fly, and men with spears rush forward, cutting off any chance of retreat. The tide turns in an instant, your enemies caught off-guard by the ambush.

You lower your sword slightly, taking in the scene with satisfaction as the chaos unfolds. Daemon, ever the opportunist, straightens with a smirk, watching as the Crabfeeder’s forces fall apart.

But not all of them. Amid the confusion, one figure remains standing, surveying the battlefield with cold, calculating eyes. The Crabfeeder himself. His strange mask gleams in the firelight, and though he does not flee, you can sense his mind racing, searching for an escape.

Daemon notices him too. His smirk disappears, replaced by something far darker. Without a word, he sheaths his sword and moves toward Caraxes, his eyes locked on the Crabfeeder.

“I’ll handle this,” he says, his voice low, almost dangerous.

You watch as he mounts his dragon, the tension between you suddenly thick. You know that look. Daemon is a man who hunts his prey with the same ruthlessness as the dragons you both ride.

As Caraxes rises into the air, Daemon casts one final glance back at you, and there’s something unspoken in his eyes. Determination. Fury. Something personal.

You step back as the ground trembles beneath you, watching as Caraxes takes to the skies with a screech that sends a shiver down your spine. The Crabfeeder is his target now, and you know Daemon won’t stop until the man is ashes beneath his feet.

And so, as the battle rages around you, you can only watch as Daemon disappears into the night, chasing his prey.

The camp is quiet as you sit by the fire, the aftermath of the battle leaving a strange stillness in the air. The faint crackle of flames is the only sound, the usual chatter of your men subdued after the ambush’s success. They’re recovering, both physically and mentally, from the day’s bloodshed. Yet, something nags at you, a tension beneath your skin, a sense that it isn’t quite over. Not yet.

You’re sharpening your sword, the rhythmic scrape of stone against steel keeping you grounded, when you hear the distinct, heavy footfalls approaching. You know without looking who it is. Daemon always makes his presence known, whether intentionally or not. There’s a swagger in his step that you could recognize anywhere.

But it isn’t the sound of his boots that stops your hands—it’s the sound of something heavy hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

You look up, your breath catching for a brief second. Before you, lying in the dirt at your feet, is the charred, bloody head of Craghas Drahar. The once-feared Crabfeeder, his mask still melted to the remains of his face, his neck a ragged stump, dripping red onto the sand.

For a moment, the entire camp falls silent, the eyes of your commanders widening in horror as they take in the sight. Some of them recoil, looking anywhere but at the grotesque trophy Daemon has so casually discarded at your feet. The firelight flickers over the mutilated head, casting deep shadows that only make it more monstrous.

Daemon stands there, utterly unbothered, his armor still splattered with dried blood, his expression one of calm satisfaction. He meets your gaze with that same smirk, the one that always makes you want to hit him—or laugh. In this moment, you’re not sure which.

“How charming,” you mutter dryly, trying to suppress the strange mix of emotions rising in your chest. Amusement, disbelief, and something like disgust all tangled together.

Daemon wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing a streak of blood across his cheek, though he doesn’t seem to care.

“A marriage gift,” he declares, his voice carrying across the camp like a whip crack. “For you, Y/N.”

Your commanders exchange uneasy glances, clearly disturbed by both macabre trophy at your feet and Daemon’s audacity. But you keep your eyes on your brother, refusing to show any surprise, even though your heart skips a beat at his words. Daemon has always been reckless, but this is bold even for him.

You fold your arms, raising an eyebrow. “You already have a wife, Daemon. In the Vale. Or have you conveniently forgotten about her?”

Daemon laughs, low and dark, the sound sending a ripple of discomfort through the gathered soldiers. He steps closer, his smirk never faltering.

“Rhea Royce?” he says, his tone dripping with disdain. “That bronze bitch in the Vale means nothing to me. She’s no wife of mine. You know that, Y/N.”

You narrow your eyes, standing your ground even as he towers over you, his presence suffocating. “Viserys won’t approve of this. You know that.”

Daemon shrugs, entirely unbothered by the mention of your elder brother. “Viserys won’t have a say in this. He never did. Not about my life, and certainly not about my choice in wives.” His smirk widens, his voice lowering as he leans in slightly. “I’ve already given you a dragon’s gift, little sister. Will you really refuse me now?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, but you refuse to let him see it. This is Daemon—your brother, your equal, but also the most dangerous man in the realm. You’ve seen him like this before, drunk on victory, on blood, on the thrill of battle. He’s the kind of man who takes what he wants, consequences be damned.

But marriage? This wasn’t part of the game.

You glance down at the head, then back at him, raising your chin defiantly. “You think a charred skull and a declaration are enough to make me your wife? You’ve lost your mind, Daemon.”

His grin softens slightly, but the madness in his eyes remains. “Perhaps I have,” he admits. “But you and I—we belong together. Always have. You know it, Y/N.”

The silence between you stretches, thick and heavy. Your commanders are still staring, clearly unsure whether to intervene or stay silent. This is between the two of you now—an unspoken battle of wills, like so many you’ve fought before.

You let out a slow breath, shaking your head slightly. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

Daemon’s smirk returns, full of arrogant confidence. “I never do.”

You glance down at Craghas Drahar’s lifeless head one last time before looking back at Daemon, your gaze hard as steel. “We’ll talk about this when the war is over.”

Daemon’s laughter echoes through the camp, loud and rich. “Oh, sister, the war is never over.” He steps back, finally giving you some space, though his eyes remain locked on yours. “But we can certainly discuss it later.”

He turns on his heel and strides off into the camp, leaving the charred head of the Crabfeeder at your feet, a grim reminder of what he’s capable of.

Your commanders exchange nervous glances, and you can sense their unease in the air. You sigh, waving a hand to dismiss them.

“Clean that up,” you say to no one in particular, nodding toward the gruesome trophy. They move quickly, eager to rid the camp of the horror Daemon left behind.

As they work, you turn your gaze back toward the horizon, the weight of Daemon’s words heavy on your mind.

The skies over King’s Landing are bright and cloudless as you and Daemon approach the Red Keep, your dragons gliding through the air with an almost effortless grace. Serenix, usually prickly and on edge when near Caraxes, has grown calmer over the past few weeks. The animosity that once simmered between them seems to have eased. Serenix flies alongside Caraxes now with more ease, her long, spear-like tail swaying in rhythm with the Blood Wyrm’s serpentine form. The proximity of the two beasts has made Caraxes more chipper, his screeches less aggressive, and more… playful, if such a thing can be said of a dragon.

As you descend toward the Dragonpit, you take a deep breath, steadying yourself for what’s to come. Returning to King’s Landing always brings a knot of unease to your stomach, but today it is coiled tighter than ever. The last time you disobeyed Viserys’ orders, you had fled to battle on the Stepstones. Now, you return victorious, but what comes next will undoubtedly shake the realm.

You dismount Serenix with practiced ease, running a hand over her smooth, onyx scales before turning to see Daemon already striding toward the gates. His armor gleams, though the crown on his head—crafted from driftwood and bones—sits like a declaration of defiance. The so-called “King of the Stepstones” walks as though he already rules more than just a few rocky isles.

The throne room is packed with courtiers and lords when you and Daemon enter. Murmurs ripple through the crowd as they take in the sight of you both. Daemon’s presence always stirs unease, but today, it’s the crown perched atop his silver hair that commands the room’s attention. The driftwood crown, dark and weathered, stands in stark contrast to the golden grandeur of the Iron Throne behind Viserys.

Viserys sits on the Iron Throne, his face betraying a mix of relief and wariness. You’ve returned alive, but you can already see the conflict brewing behind his eyes. At his sides stand the usual council members—Ser Otto Hightower, his face drawn in disapproval, and Alicent, who watches with her hands tightly clasped before her.

You and Daemon move together through the hall, each step echoing in the vast chamber. You feel the weight of a hundred eyes on you, but you keep your gaze forward, focused on Viserys. As you approach the dais, the murmurs grow louder, a ripple of unease passing through the assembled nobles.

Daemon, ever the provocateur, smirks at the whispering crowd, clearly enjoying the effect his crown has on them. He makes no effort to hide it, his violet eyes gleaming with mischief as he approaches the Iron Throne. You can feel the apprehension in the air, as thick as the heat of dragonfire.

“Welcome, brother,” Viserys says, his voice ringing through the hall as he rises from his throne. Despite his attempt at formality, you can hear the slight tremor in his words. “And sister.”

You both kneel before him, heads bowed in a gesture of respect, but there’s no mistaking the tension crackling between you. For a brief moment, all is silent. Then, Viserys lets out a relieved sigh. “You’ve returned victorious.”

Daemon glances up first, a slow, almost lazy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Victorious indeed, brother. The Stepstones are ours. And the men there saw fit to crown me their king.”

He rises, and without hesitation, removes the crown of driftwood from his head. He turns to you, his movements deliberate and slow, and before you can react, he places the crown upon your head. The weight of it feels heavier than you anticipated, though the material is light. The meaning behind the gesture is far from light, however.

The hall falls deathly silent as Daemon kneels again, this time at your feet. His violet eyes gleam as he looks up at you, amusement flickering in their depths. “I kneel not just before the King of the Seven Kingdoms,” he says, his voice clear and sharp, “but before my wife. We are wed, as per the ancient customs of our House.”

The air leaves the room, as if every person in the throne room has forgotten how to breathe. The shock is immediate, rippling through the courtiers like wildfire. Viserys’s face pales, his mouth opening and closing, utterly speechless. He looks as if he’s about to faint, his hand gripping the arm of the Iron Throne so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

For a heartbeat, no one moves. Viserys blinks rapidly, his mind clearly trying to process what has just been declared before the entire court. “W-Wed?” he finally manages to stammer, his voice weak, disbelieving. His eyes dart between you and Daemon, wide with shock.

Daemon, on the other hand, is entirely unbothered, his amusement barely contained. He glances at you as though daring you to deny it, his smile widening. “Yes, brother,” he says, rising to his feet again. “We are married, in the traditions of our House. Targaryen blood with Targaryen blood.”

You feel Viserys’s gaze burning into you, a mixture of shock, betrayal, and something like fear written across his face. He stumbles slightly, as if the weight of Daemon’s words has struck him physically. His lips move wordlessly for a moment, searching for something to say, but he’s at a loss.

Around you, the courtiers remain frozen in place, eyes wide with disbelief. Some look horrified, others utterly confused, while a few—those familiar with the old ways of your family—exchange knowing glances.

“You’ve… you’ve wed?” Viserys repeats, his voice strained as he looks directly at you now, searching for some explanation.

“Yes, brother,” you finally say, your voice steadier than you feel. “It is done.”

For a moment, Viserys sways, his hand gripping the throne harder as if he needs its support to stay upright. You can see the pulse throbbing at his temple, his pale face glistening with a sheen of sweat. He looks as though he might collapse right there in front of you.

Daemon, still wearing that maddening smirk, steps closer to Viserys, his voice dripping with amusement. “Are you not happy for us, Your Grace? Your brother and sister united—just as the blood of the dragon demands.”

Viserys stares at Daemon, his expression flickering between disbelief, anger, and something like heartbreak. “You’ve gone too far, Daemon,” he whispers, but it’s clear that whatever rage he feels is struggling to find its way to the surface.

Daemon’s eyes glitter with defiance, and he leans in slightly, his voice soft enough for only you and Viserys to hear. “Far? Brother, I’ve only just begun.”

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #daemon x y/n #daemon x you #daemon x reader #daemon targeryen x reader #hotd daemon #daemon targaryen

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at1nys-blog · 3 months ago

Text

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.

162 notes · View notes

valkyriexo · 4 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 · 1 month 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 · 4 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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calummss · 2 years ago

Text

Neymar Jr Drabble

masterlist

summary: cute domestic fic of dentistry student reader and neymar because why not

pairing: fem! reader x neymar jr

words: 650

a/n: i dont even keep up with neymar but i saw fans were starving in the ff compartment so i whipped this up. also who do you think will win the world cup?

It was a chilly December day as the midday’s light sprawled across your books that were piling up on the table. Every inch of wood covered with texts, essays, flashcards, books and tools for your study session. Occasionally chills raised goosebumps on your skin, layers of clothing and blankets not stopping the cold from affecting you. Yet you enjoyed days like these. As hard as studying was, the relaxation of being at home and enjoying your own comfort was unmatched. You were humming your favourite song as you copied the last of the page’s information on restorative dental work when you heard the doorknob followed by the swinging of the door that lead to your study space at the end of the hall so that you could focus better.

‘Decided to finally get up?’ You joked, your nose still stuck in your book paying no regard to the person that had walked in.

‘Mhmm,’ he hummed softly, the floorboard squeaking beneath his steps as he walked towards you.

Neymar’s arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling your back into his still warm chest, kissing your cheek repeatedly as you giggled. You patted his arm, turning around to kiss him properly.

‘You know, I’ve learned a lot of English since being with you,’ his deep voice sent vibrations down your spine.

‘Oh really?’

He spun your armchair around so that you were facing him. He lowered himself on his knees to be on your level, his warm eyes staring into yours.

‘It’s because of the lack of Portuguese you speak.’

‘I know,’ you protested with a pout, your hands finally letting go of your pen, reaching towards his face to cup it gently. ‘I know how to say some things though,’ you paused briefly, grinning at him. ‘Ainda me lembro do nosso primeiro beijo.’ [I still remember our first kiss.]

‘Oh meu deus [Oh my god],’ his face scrunched together the second you finished your sentence with a smile. A smile he so deeply loved. ‘That was so disgustingly corny yet adorable. Do it again.’

You could feel a warm flush on your cheeks as a small chuckle escaped your lips, ‘Ainda me lembro do nosso primeiro beijo.’ You repeated the same sentence slower, inching closer to his face as you spoke every word.

Heat arose from your stomach to your chest. His lips were getting closer and your heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t the first kiss but his presence made you nervous like a little girl.

‘Seeing you sitting here like this makes me realise how much I love you and how attracted I am to you.’ He rested his forehead on yours, his eyes still carrying the sin from the previous night. ‘But the images of you bouncing on my cock last night are still driving me crazy,’

Your whole body tingled, the feeling of his frame leaning on yours, as his arms wrapped around you felt like a sin. His lips brushed against yours; softly, passionately. His hands cupped your face as his lips crashed into yours, lips plump and smooth against your own. His arms found themselves to your back, pulling you closer than was possible. You gently grabbed his jaw, slowly pulling away from the kiss, deep down not wanting to break apart from him.

‘Don’t distract me,’ you smiled at him, his face still in your hands.

‘I love that you are studying but technically you don’t have to. You know that, right? I’ve got you covered.’

‘Well I’m not like that,’ you snuck a quick kiss before twisting back the chair so you sat in front of your notes again. ‘Now leave. I have an exam coming up and if you want to be my future patient who’s satisfied with my service, you better leave me to study.’ You scolded.

‘Of course, Doctor.’

‘I love you.’

‘Eu te amo tanto.’ [I love you so much.]

#neymar #neymar jr #neymar imagines #neymar jr imagine #neymar headcanon #neymar fanfic #neymar x reader #neymar x you #neymar jr x reader #neymar jr x you #football imagine #champions league imagine #world cup #neymar jr fanfic #neymar imagine #neymar jr imagines #neymar fluff #neymar angst #neymar smut

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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 · 1 year 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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cafeinthemoon · 6 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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soobsim · 1 year ago

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I have a request for you could you maybe write a ff about Taehyun and Female reader being close friends but somehow end up having sx together

(i tried i hope u like it?)

[DISCLAIMER: nsfw – minors dni, taehyun x fem!reader, petnames, fingering and oral (f. receiving) if you squint, couch sex]

you were always unsure about what was going on between you and taehyun. yes, you both are friends. really close friends. because right now, he has your back pressed against his chest and one of his hands playing with the hem of your hoodie, spooning you on the couch while you guys watch some show on the tv.

his other hand supports his head up so he can look at the screen, not like he is paying attention to it. he can't. not when your clothed ass is pressed against his growing boner under his sweatpants. he doesn't know either, what you two really are. all he knows is that he likes to have his hands on you. like this. all to himself.

you try to focus on the show playing on the tv but then again, taehyun's hand slowly slips under your hoodie and his fingertips caress your waist. you fight every single cell in your body to hold back from making any noise because, god, does his touch feel amazing?

meanwhile, taehyun just can't contain himself. he can't stand the tension and heat between you two anymore. and the silence only gives him more space for his thoughts. thoughts about fucking you, under him.

so with much hesitation, he leans into your neck and presses his lips on the side of your neck. your breathe hitches before it gets heavy but you dont stop him. and that is enough signal for him to dart his tongue out and give your skin a soft suck.

your eyes widen slightly and you can't stop the little whimper you let out. taehyun grins against your neck, getting bolder and squeezing your bare waist. "taehyun..." you manage to say in a shaky voice.

you knew there was definitely more than just friendship between you two. because you didn't feel this tension with your other friends. and taehyun's actions just prove that you aren't the only one who senses it.

taehyun hums against your neck, feeling himself get hard when you squirm. you can feel his boner against your heat, making you sigh in arousal. he wants this. you want this. theres no point in holding anything back.

it takes a very quick moment for taehyun to turn you towards him. you'll both probably regret it later, but right now, you choose your desire for each other to get the better of you two. he sits up and straddles you between his thighs. and you let him.

now you're just where he wanted you, under him. he stares down at you and then his boner, "look at what you've done." he mumbles, his own voice is heavy and breathy.

you bite your bottom lip, chuckling and looking at him eagerly, "i can help fix it.." you say in a suggestive tone, eyes trailing over his built physique before going back to his face.

he leans down and hovers above you, trapping you between his muscular arms. he stares into your eyes intently before he connects your lips in a heated kiss. the pit of your stomach bubbles in excitement, holding the back of his neck as you deepen the kiss, pulling him closer.

its almost unreal that this happening. you're making out with one of your closest friends, and he's initiating it. this was supposed to be a sleepover. not a battle of your tongues. you let out a soft moan inside his mouth when taehyun slips his hands under your hoodie, lifting it. he breaks the kiss and sits up, "raise your hands for me." he says as he starts to lift your hoodie.

you swallow thickly and listen to him, letting him pull it off your head and leaving you in just your bra and pj shorts. your chest heaves as he takes in your bare skin, licking his lips. "fucking gorgeous.." he breathes out and throws your hoodie somewhere. he takes off his own tshirt and lets it falls on the floor before he's hovering over your face again.

your eyes travel all over his body and so do your hands. your hands feel his smooth skin from his bare chest to his chiseled abs. "i always knew you had the body." you chuckle and watch him smirk, obviously proud of his workout sessions.

the sounds from the tv are muffled at this point and all you can think of is having taehyun's cock inside you. he kisses you again, tongue rolling right inside your mouth and exploring the warmth. his hands reach for your shorts, slowly pulling them down. you gasp, feeling a shiver go down your spine when his fingers rub against your clit, through your panties

"can i fuck you? please?" he whispers into your ear as he parts from the kiss. your cheeks heat up at how straight to the point he is, but thats not a compalint. his kisses start moving towards your jaw, not forgetting to use his tongue, ofcourse. you breathe out heavily, closing you eyes and resting your head on the couch.

"do you really have to ask after all that?" you ask, pursing your lips when his fingers stop. he tugs on the waistband of your underwear and rolls it down, past your knees. his lips move from your jaw to your neck, then your chest. but he doesn't halt anywhere really, he keeps moving lower till his head is between your thighs.

you raise your head to watch him, your lips parted and eyes lidded. you love this sight a little too much and you definitely wanna see it, more often. "you're so wet." he chuckles, two of his fingers spreading your folds and teasing you. you moan and your head falls back again with your brows knitted together in pleasure.

taehyun bends down, looking at you through his lashes as he flattens his tongue and presses it over your clit. he simultaneously pushes a finger inside your pussy which makes you errupt another loud moan. but he doesn't do much, not enough to make you cum just by fingering you and teasing you with his tongue. he keeps his fingers slow, only to focus on stretching your insides. but it feels like heaven. his two slender fingers pumping in and out, his tongue giving your clit kitten licks. he's enjoying it too much, and so are you.

once taehyun is satisfied with the prep, he straightens his back and pulls down his sweatpants along with his boxers. your eyes trail towards his throbbing dick and, lord save you, he's big.

he crawls back up to your eye level, "you sure about this?" he asks as he looks for any signs of doubt on your face. as much as he wants to slam his dick inside your hole right now, he would hate to bring you discomfort. you're his friend after all.

"are you serious? taehyun, just fuck me." you scoff, already worked up after all that foreplay and prep. taehyun chuckles before he spits on his hand and gives himself a few strokes. it doesn't take long for him to align his cock against your pussy and slide in, slowly.

both of you let out lewd noises as taehyun pushes inside your folds. "fuck..you feel so good. so tight, baby." he moans, trying to hold himself up on his elbows. you wrap your legs around his hips and feel your walls stretch for him to move.

the pleasure gushes through your veins and makes you almost breatheless when he pulls out and thrusts back in. the feeling of his length brushing against your insides is sensational. your fingers reach his hair, tightly gripping onto them as taehyun starts thrusting into you.

taehyun doesn't let you adjust long enough before his thrusts become ruthless and rushed. you whine his name, your fingers digging into his scalp and pulling him into a kiss. the kiss is messy, considering how hard he is ramming into you, causing your body to move up with every grind. but he holds you in place by gripping your hips.

the living room fills up with sounds of your moans and grunts, and skin slapping roughly. your fingers travel to taehyun's shoulders, clawing on his traps as you throw your head back, "f-faster..please, faster." you whine and buck your hips to match his thrusts.

taehyun groans and obeys, speeding his hips and abusing your hole repeatedly. your walls clench around him when the tip of his cock rubs your sensitive spot and you almost scream from the overwhelming pleasure, "fuck, right there, hyunnie." you moan, eyes rolling back and falling shut as you feel your stomach tighten.

"yeah? like that?" he whispers in your ear, aiming for the spot over and over again. he leaves several kisses over your neck and chest but after a few more hard thrusts, they turn uneven and sloppy. "i..i'm close." he pants, his eyes shutting and forehead resting against yours.

"myeah..me too, baby, don't stop." you groan and tighten your legs around his waist. and soon enough, you cum over his dick, moaning a chain of curse words. once you finish, he pulls out to release his own seed on the couch, breathing heavily.

you both stay silent for a bit, just catching your breathe with your foreheads pressed together. "we're not done." taehyun whispers as he opens his eyes. he sits up and pulls you onto his lap, smirking mischievously, "ride for me, baby."

#txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #txt smut #txt x reader #txt imagines #taehyun smut #taehyun hard hours #taehyun hard thoughts #taehyun x reader #taehyun imagines #soobsim <3

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novaursa · 18 days ago

Text

Legacy (by his design)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: union of fire and gold

- Next part: alliances

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

The morning sun streamed through the high windows of the Great Hall, casting golden light across the breakfast table where you sat beside Tywin. The previous night’s events lingered in the minds of everyone present, each face reflecting varying shades of curiosity, jealousy, and silent calculation. Courtiers filled the hall, their attention turning occasionally to you, their whispers only barely hushed beneath the formalities of breakfast.

Across from you, Cersei sat poised, her lips curved into a small, disdainful smile as she regarded you. Her gaze was piercing, her presence radiating a tense resentment, as though she still struggled to reconcile herself to the reality of your marriage to her father.

“Sleep well, Lady Y/N?” she inquired sweetly, her voice dripping with false politeness. Her gaze didn’t leave you as she picked up her goblet, taking a leisurely sip, her eyes glinting with amusement as she waited for your reaction.

You met her gaze, entirely composed, refusing to let her bait unsettle you. “I did, Lady Cersei. Thank you,” you replied smoothly, your voice calm, betraying none of the previous night’s intimacy. “The chambers you so kindly prepared were most… accommodating.”

Cersei’s lips tightened ever so slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing her face. She forced a thin smile, tilting her head. “I’m so pleased you found them to your satisfaction,” she replied, her tone laden with unspoken meanings. “After all, we wouldn’t want you to feel out of place here, as you must have felt in the North.”

Tywin’s gaze flicked sharply to his daughter, a warning glint in his eyes. “Enough, Cersei,” he said, his voice quiet but steely, cutting through her thinly veiled hostility. “Our family is united now, and any divisiveness will only serve to weaken us.”

Cersei’s jaw tightened, but she inclined her head in acknowledgment, though her eyes still simmered with resentment. “Of course, Father,” she murmured, her tone respectful but laced with an edge she couldn’t entirely hide.

At that moment, Tyrion approached, his expression one of mild amusement as he took in the scene. He offered you a polite nod before turning his attention to his father, raising his goblet in a casual salute. “A rather lively breakfast,” he remarked, his tone light. “It seems marriage has already brought new… energy to the family.”

Tywin’s gaze shifted to Tyrion, his face unreadable. “Indeed, Tyrion. Which brings me to the matter of responsibilities.” His voice carried a note of finality that left little room for discussion. “I will be resuming my duties as Hand of the King immediately. Your own position in court, however, will change.”

Tyrion’s brows lifted, intrigued. “A change, you say? I can hardly imagine anything more… interesting than being the acting Hand, but I’m curious.”

Tywin’s gaze was cold, unyielding. “You will take on the role of Master of Coin,” he declared, each word sharp and definitive. “Your… particular skills should prove useful in managing the crown’s finances.”

Tyrion’s expression shifted, his amusement fading to something more thoughtful. “Master of Coin?” he repeated, an edge of intrigue and perhaps slight irritation coloring his tone. “Well, I suppose numbers and ledgers are better company than some of the members of this court.”

You hid a smile at Tyrion’s irreverent tone, catching his quick, mischievous glance in your direction. The humor in his eyes was unmistakable, and it was clear that, despite his apparent compliance, he saw this shift as yet another move in Tywin’s intricate web of control.

“Do you find the arrangement satisfactory, Tyrion?” Tywin asked, his tone carrying a veiled warning.

Tyrion gave a small, mock bow. “As satisfactory as any command from my dear father, of course,” he replied smoothly, though his eyes held a glint of defiance. “I shall endeavor to make the crown’s coffers flourish in ways previously unimaginable.”

Tywin’s gaze didn’t soften, but he nodded, acknowledging his son’s reluctant acceptance. “Ensure that you do. King’s Landing has become far too careless with its resources.” His gaze lingered on Tyrion a moment longer, as though daring him to argue, before shifting to you.

“You will come to understand that managing the affairs of this court requires… patience,” Tywin said, addressing you now, his voice low but intent. “Expect provocations, even from within our family.” His gaze flicked briefly to Cersei, a silent admonition that didn’t go unnoticed.

You inclined your head, meeting his gaze with calm resolve. “I understand, Lord Tywin,” you replied, letting your voice carry an edge of quiet strength. “And I am prepared to act accordingly.”

Cersei’s lips thinned, her gaze narrowing at the subtle alliance forming between you and Tywin. “A loyal wife, then,” she murmured, her tone as cold as the steel beneath her courteous facade. “How fortunate for you, Father.”

Tyrion hid a smirk behind his goblet, clearly relishing the tension sparking between you and Cersei. “Indeed, dear sister,” he quipped, his voice laced with amusement. “It seems we’re all learning the virtue of loyalty these days.”

Cersei cast a withering look at Tyrion, her patience visibly fraying. “Loyalty, Tyrion,” she replied icily, “is something neither you nor our new… stepmother would understand.”

You met her gaze without flinching, refusing to let her words unsettle you. “Loyalty, Lady Cersei,” you replied calmly, “is about dedication to the family’s strength. If that strength requires patience and endurance, then I am more than willing to provide it.”

Tywin’s eyes flashed with approval, and he gave a brief, almost imperceptible nod, as though silently affirming the truth of your words. He reached out, placing a steadying hand over yours on the table, a subtle but undeniable show of support.

“Precisely,” Tywin said, his voice cutting through the tension. “And let us not forget that unity is the foundation of our house.” His gaze swept over each of his children, lingering on Cersei before moving back to you. “We have much to accomplish. There is no room for petty rivalries.”

Cersei’s jaw clenched, but she inclined her head, hiding her frustration behind a forced smile. Tyrion, on the other hand, raised his goblet in a silent toast to you, his eyes twinkling with shared amusement. You returned his look, feeling the weight of the power dynamics in the room shifting around you, like pieces on a board carefully maneuvered.

Tywin sat in his solar, the golden afternoon light casting a warm glow over the rich furnishings as he reviewed a stack of parchment, each one detailing matters both great and small within King’s Landing and beyond. Satisfied with the steady progress of his plans and the recent events surrounding his new marriage, he leaned back in his chair, his expression one of reserved satisfaction.

A quiet knock sounded at the door, and without looking up, he spoke, his voice carrying authority. "Enter."

Petyr Baelish slipped into the room, his customary smirk in place, eyes bright with curiosity and the glint of ambition. He approached Tywin’s desk, giving a respectful bow before straightening, his fingers lightly clasped together.

“Lord Tywin,” he greeted, his tone deferential but carrying a hint of intrigue. “It seems congratulations are in order. A successful union, indeed. One that’s certainly stirred interest across the capital.”

Tywin’s gaze remained steady, unreadable, though he gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. “I trust you did not seek me out simply to offer congratulations, Lord Baelish,” he said, his tone clipped, laced with authority. “What do you wish to discuss?”

Baelish’s smirk widened a fraction as he inclined his head. “Always perceptive, my lord,” he replied smoothly. “In truth, I’ve been reflecting on this… union. I must confess, I find it a fascinating development. House Lannister uniting with the last Targaryen princess—it’s an image few would have predicted, especially given the history between your house and hers.”

Tywin’s expression didn’t waver, but a glint of satisfaction flickered in his eyes. “Curious as ever, I see, Lord Baelish,” he replied, his tone dry. “The union is advantageous to House Lannister. House Targaryen was but a shadow of itself—a name without strength. That name now serves my house.”

Littlefinger inclined his head, acknowledging Tywin’s logic. “A shadow, perhaps, but a shadow with an interesting past,” he mused. “I always found it curious how you managed to secure Lady Y/N’s safety during Robert’s Rebellion. Sending her to Winterfell of all places… an unusual choice. And yet, somehow, Lord Rickard Stark agreed to shelter a Targaryen princess amid a war he himself was embroiled in.”

Tywin’s gaze remained impassive, though his eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re not the first to wonder, Lord Baelish. However, the late Lord Stark was a man of duty. When presented with the safety of a princess, even one with Targaryen blood, he saw the importance of keeping her out of harm’s way.”

Baelish’s smile grew sly, his tone as smooth as ever. “No doubt, Lord Tywin. Though I can’t help but wonder what words you might have used to persuade him. After all, this was no ordinary princess… and it was hardly a time for compassion toward Targaryens, not after Prince Rhaegar… complicated things with Lyanna Stark.”

Tywin’s mouth tightened ever so slightly, though he maintained his composure. “Lord Rickard understood that politics and personal vendettas were separate matters. I simply reminded him of his duty as a nobleman—to protect those who could not protect themselves, even if they bore a name considered… unfavorable.”

Littlefinger chuckled softly, as though Tywin’s answer amused him. “Duty,” he murmured, as if tasting the word. “Ah, but I suspect your persuasion was… more nuanced than that, my lord. A quiet reminder, perhaps, that while Robert and the other rebels were keen on Targaryen blood, Lord Rickard’s house had enough to concern itself with. And that keeping Lady Y/N out of the capital may have served his own interests as well.”

Tywin’s gaze hardened, a flicker of irritation beneath his steady composure. “You seem very interested in matters long settled, Lord Baelish. Rickard Stark knew the costs and made his decision. I hardly expect to justify it now to those who had no hand in it.”

Baelish raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk never fading. “Of course, of course. Merely curious, my lord. It’s rare to see such… foresight, after all, in dealing with such matters. Though I must admit, I find it impressive that you anticipated this marriage so far in advance. It seems the former princess has always been in your sights.”

Tywin’s eyes remained cold, though a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Anticipation is key to securing power, Lord Baelish. Only a fool waits for opportunity to knock on his door.”

Baelish tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with interest. “And yet, here she is, no longer a princess, but Lady Y/N Lannister. A fascinating journey for her, wouldn’t you agree? From Winterfell’s ward to your bride… one might say she’s found herself at the center of power once again.”

“Her place was determined the moment she entered House Lannister,” Tywin replied, his voice carrying a finality that suggested he would entertain no further inquiry on the matter. “And she has taken to it with dignity and purpose, as I expected.”

Baelish smiled, dipping his head. “Well, Lord Tywin, I wish you all the best in your endeavors with Lady Y/N. It seems you’ve woven yet another thread into the ever-complex tapestry of this realm.”

Tywin regarded him coolly, his gaze penetrating. “See that you remember that this tapestry, as you call it, is mine to shape. And that includes any… threads of your own devising, Lord Baelish.”

Baelish inclined his head, his expression as smooth as ever, though a flicker of something unreadable flashed in his eyes. “Naturally, my lord,” he replied, his tone deferential. “I am, as always, at your service.”

With a final nod, Baelish turned and departed, leaving Tywin to his thoughts, a faint shadow of satisfaction lingering on the older man’s face. Tywin knew his plans were progressing as intended, and with each move, his power only solidified. One of the last Targaryens was now a Lannister, bound by marriage and duty—and the realm, whether they understood it or not, would soon feel the impact of his carefully crafted plans.

The memory came unbidden, rising to the surface of Tywin’s mind with the vivid clarity of a scene replayed countless times. He could feel the cold bite of the northern air, the damp chill settling into his bones even as he stood stoic, unmoved by the elements, on that neutral stretch of land between Riverrun and the Riverlands. Across from him, Lord Rickard Stark stood tall and silent, his eyes as sharp as the wind that whipped around them. His guards flanked him, their expressions impassive, yet Tywin could see the flickers of curiosity and wariness in their eyes.

Rickard’s gaze held a glint of suspicion as he studied Tywin, his lips pressing into a tight line. He’d been silent for some time, weighing the implications of Tywin’s request—the proposal that he take Princess Y/N as his ward in Winterfell, far from the tumult of King’s Landing and the wrath of Aerys II.

After a prolonged silence, Rickard finally spoke, his voice low and cautious. “I can understand why you’d seek to remove her from the Red Keep, given… recent events. But forgive my bluntness, Lord Tywin. Why Winterfell? Why me?”

Tywin’s face remained impassive, his gaze steady as he regarded the northern lord. “Because Winterfell is far from the reach of the Mad King,” he replied, his tone calm, each word deliberate. “And because you, Lord Stark, are a man of honor. I trust you to protect her without question.”

Rickard’s eyes narrowed, studying Tywin carefully, searching for the motives behind the Lannister’s practiced facade. “You speak of trust, Lord Tywin, but we both know there is little of that in the capital these days. And we both know your… proposal was once rebuffed by Aerys himself.”

A flicker of irritation crossed Tywin’s face, though he masked it quickly. “You are correct,” he admitted, his tone clipped. “Aerys, in his madness, saw fit to mock the prospect of a union between my family and his. He believed my ambition too great, and my family unworthy of House Targaryen’s blood. But his refusal only served to highlight his foolishness.”

Rickard arched an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “So this is about vengeance, then? To deny Aerys something he could never foresee? To preserve what remains of his bloodline under your protection?”

Tywin’s gaze hardened, though he remained composed. “This is not about vengeance, Lord Stark. It is about survival. Aerys’s instability grows by the day, and I have no intention of allowing him to drag my family—or the realm—down with him. Princess Y/N deserves a chance at life beyond the twisted court of King’s Landing.”

Rickard considered this, but there was a glint in his eyes, a shrewdness that Tywin hadn’t expected. “And yet,” Rickard said slowly, “it seems to me that this is not merely about preserving her life. There’s more at play here, isn’t there, Lord Tywin?”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, his face an unreadable mask as he held Rickard’s gaze. “If you’re suggesting that I harbor… personal motivations, Lord Stark, then you are mistaken.”

Rickard’s lips curled into a faint smile, his eyes narrowing with a knowing look. “I’m not suggesting, Lord Tywin. I’m observing. This is no ordinary act of duty; there’s a fire in your eyes when you speak of her, even now. It is as though you would burn King’s Landing to ashes just to ensure her safety.”

Tywin remained silent, his gaze icy as he considered his response. He prided himself on his restraint, his ability to control both his emotions and his ambitions with an iron will. And yet, Rickard Stark had seen through him, glimpsed a part of him he kept hidden from all but the most guarded corners of his mind.

Rickard continued, his tone softened, but his gaze unwavering. “The Mad King’s rejection of your proposal wounded you more deeply than you admit, Tywin. Perhaps it’s pride, or perhaps… something more.”

Tywin’s silence spoke volumes, and Rickard watched him, waiting for a response. When Tywin finally spoke, his voice was steady, though his words carried a barely restrained edge. “Aerys’s refusal did not wound me, Stark. It only served to remind me of his unfitness to rule.” He paused, his gaze sharpening. “But yes, perhaps there is more to this than duty. Princess Y/N is… exceptional, and she deserves a place where she can flourish. If that place cannot be with me, then I would see her placed somewhere worthy of her.”

Rickard inclined his head, his expression softening slightly. “Then why send her to Winterfell, Tywin? Why choose isolation over influence? Surely, there are others who would shelter her—houses closer to the capital, houses with less… strained histories.”

“Because Winterfell is where she will be safest,” Tywin replied, his tone final. “The North may be isolated, but it is also steadfast. It stands as a bastion against the chaos spreading from the South, a place where loyalty and honor still hold meaning. I know she will be protected here, away from the eyes of those who would seek to use her for their own ends.”

Rickard was silent for a moment, absorbing Tywin’s words, a hint of respect flickering in his gaze. “Very well,” he said quietly. “I’ll take her as my ward. She will be as one of my own, safe within the walls of Winterfell.”

Tywin nodded, his relief hidden behind a stoic mask. “Then I will ensure her safe passage. She’ll travel under the protection of my men and reach you by the end of the month. Varys has assured me that he can facilitate her discreet departure.”

Rickard’s brow furrowed slightly. “And what of her future, Lord Tywin? What do you envision for her after her time in the North?”

Tywin’s gaze turned contemplative, his voice softening for a moment. “The future… is uncertain. But she will have one, thanks to your willingness to protect her.” He hesitated, a rare moment of vulnerability surfacing as he continued, “And perhaps, one day, our paths will cross again.”

Rickard watched him closely, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Perhaps,” he replied, his voice carrying a note of understanding. “Though I suspect, Lord Tywin, that she’ll never truly be far from your thoughts.”

With that, the two men exchanged a final nod, sealing the agreement. Tywin turned, his expression hardening once more as he prepared to depart, but Rickard’s words lingered in his mind, echoing in the quiet spaces of his thoughts.

The Mad King’s rejection had stung, that much was true. But it was more than pride that drove him to protect Princess Y/N—it was a feeling he dared not name, a rare softness he kept buried, even as it quietly shaped his every decision. And so, with the cold northern wind at his back, Tywin returned to King’s Landing, knowing that one day, he would bring her back—and that nothing, not even a king’s madness, would prevent it.

The garden was quiet, a rare sanctuary within the walls of the Red Keep. The morning sun filtered softly through the canopy of branches overhead, casting dappled light over the winding paths lined with flowering bushes and ivy-covered stone. You found yourself breathing a little easier here, away from the prying eyes and the weight of expectation that seemed to follow you in every hall and corridor. It was a place where you could almost forget the politics and games, where you could meet Sansa as her family had once met you—as a friend and confidant, not as the Lady of House Lannister.

By your side stood Ser Barristan Selmy, his white cloak draped over his armor, his presence a reassuring strength as he watched over you. Tywin had personally appointed him to serve as your guard, an act that had stirred whispers throughout the court. But Barristan had accepted the duty with a solemn grace, his loyalty as strong now as it had been in the days when he served your family.

The old knight turned to you, his gaze softening with a hint of nostalgia. "You look at ease here, my lady," he observed quietly, his voice warm with something akin to affection. “The gardens… remind me of your mother. She would often seek out quiet places like this.”

You smiled, touched by his words. "Thank you, Ser Barristan. I find it hard to feel truly at ease within these walls, but here… it feels a bit closer to home." You paused, glancing around at the greenery that softened the stone fortress. “It’s peaceful. It makes the past seem… not so distant.”

Barristan nodded, his eyes growing distant as he reminisced. “Your mother, your brother… they both had a way of bringing light wherever they went, even in the darkest of places.” He met your gaze, his expression serious. “I swore an oath to protect you all those years ago. And though the world has changed, I intend to keep that oath. Your father would be proud of you, my lady.”

A warmth filled your heart at his words, and you reached out to gently touch his arm. “Thank you, Ser Barristan. Knowing you’re here brings me comfort. My family is gone, but you… you keep their memory alive.”

Before Barristan could respond, a soft voice called your name. You turned to see Sansa approaching, her steps tentative but her eyes bright with a mixture of hope and relief. She wore a simple gown of pale blue, her red hair catching the sunlight as she moved, a fragile beauty tempered by the shadows of what she’d endured.

"Sansa," you greeted warmly, opening your arms as she reached you. She stepped forward, allowing you to embrace her, her arms wrapping around you tightly, as if seeking solace in your presence.

“It’s so good to see you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

You held her for a moment longer, a quiet strength passing between you before you stepped back, keeping her hands in yours. “I thought we might speak more openly here,” you said softly, gesturing to the secluded spot beneath a flowering tree. “Away from prying ears.”

Sansa nodded, casting a cautious glance around the garden, and you guided her to a stone bench, gesturing for Barristan to give you some distance. He took a respectful step back, his presence still within sight, yet far enough to allow for a private conversation.

Settling onto the bench beside her, you looked into Sansa’s eyes, your gaze warm and steady. “Tell me, Sansa… how are you, truly?”

Her composure wavered, and she lowered her gaze, her fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on her dress. For a moment, she was silent, gathering her thoughts, and when she finally spoke, her voice trembled with a mixture of pain and weariness.

“I… I don’t know how to answer that,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “Every day feels like… like I’m holding my breath, waiting for something to go wrong.” She glanced up at you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “It feels like I’m trapped, like there’s no way out.”

You reached over, gently placing a hand over hers, giving her a silent reassurance that you were listening, that you understood.

“There are times,” she continued, her voice breaking slightly, “when I think of home… of Winterfell. I close my eyes, and I can almost feel the snow, hear the sounds of the wolves. But then I open them, and I’m back here… alone, surrounded by people who see me as… as nothing more than a pawn.”

Her words hung in the air, a painful truth spoken with quiet resignation. You could see the toll it had taken on her, the way she seemed smaller, more fragile, as though the weight of her circumstances had pressed down upon her spirit.

“Sansa,” you said softly, squeezing her hand. “You’re not alone. I’m here, and I will do everything in my power to protect you. You are not just a pawn to me… you’re family. And family means something.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she brushed it away quickly, her gaze filled with a flicker of hope. “Thank you,” she whispered. “But… I don’t know how much longer I can endure this. Joffrey… he’s… cruel. I thought I knew what cruelty was, but he—” She broke off, her voice trembling with fear and anger. “Every moment I’m near him, I feel like a lamb before a lion.”

You felt a surge of anger on her behalf, a fire kindling within you as you looked at her. “Joffrey is a monster,” you said quietly, your voice filled with conviction. “And he’ll answer for his actions, one way or another. I will see to that.”

Sansa’s eyes widened, a mixture of hope and uncertainty flickering within them. “Do you really believe that?”

You nodded, your gaze steady. “Yes. He is not untouchable, Sansa. Remember that. And until then, you must hold onto your strength, even if it feels impossible. Your family is known for its resilience, its loyalty. You carry Winterfell with you, even here in King’s Landing.”

She managed a faint smile, a glimmer of the strength that lay dormant within her. “I want to believe that… to believe that there’s a part of me that’s still strong, still a Stark.”

You reached up, gently brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “You are a Stark, Sansa. You may not feel it now, but the blood of your family runs through you, fierce and unbreakable. And one day, you will find yourself again. Until then, lean on those who care for you. You’re not alone.”

Sansa suddenly lowered her gaze, a faint blush coloring her cheeks as she let out a soft sigh. “I’m sorry… here I am, pouring my heart out, when you’re the one married to Tywin Lannister,” she murmured, her voice laced with guilt. She glanced up, her blue eyes wide with concern. “Has he… has he hurt you?”

You felt the weight of her worry and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Sansa, don’t worry about me. I know how to handle Lord Tywin,” you replied softly, your voice steady. “It’s not easy, no. He’s a difficult man, but he’s… fair, in his own way. He values strength and purpose. He’s not cruel like Joffrey.”

Sansa’s brow furrowed, her fingers twisting the fabric of her dress. “I just can’t help but worry. You’ve always been so kind, so gentle. And Tywin… he’s…” She trailed off, as if struggling to find the right words.

You chuckled lightly, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “I assure you, Sansa, I am not as helpless as I may seem. The North taught me resilience, and that is something even Lord Tywin respects. He knows I’m not someone who can be easily broken or swayed.”

A small, grateful smile touched her lips, but her expression turned pensive, her gaze drifting as though lost in thought. “I think… I think Jon will be angry,” she murmured, her voice soft, almost wistful. “Once he hears what the Lannisters have done to us—to you.”

The mention of Jon stirred something deep within you, a warmth mixed with a pang of longing. Memories of Winterfell, of Jon as a small boy with wide, curious eyes, came rushing back to you—the boy you had taken under your wing, who looked up to you with trust and affection. You had been more than a guardian to him; you had been a mother, a protector.

“Jon…” you echoed, a faint smile crossing your lips. “He would be furious, wouldn’t he?” You could almost picture it: Jon’s jaw set in that stubborn way of his, his eyes dark with determination. “He has always been fiercely protective.”

Sansa nodded, her expression softening with a hint of fondness. “He adored you. You were the one who took him in when no one else would… When Father brought him home, Mother was… angry, but you didn’t hesitate. You cared for him as though he was your own.”

You met her gaze, a touch of sadness in your smile. “Jon was never a stranger to me, Sansa. I didn’t see a bastard or a complication. I saw a child, one who needed love and guidance. Winterfell taught us loyalty, honor, and kindness. He deserved that, no matter what anyone else thought.”

Sansa’s eyes shimmered with emotion, and she reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “He’ll be forever grateful for that. I think… I think he misses you as much as he misses Winterfell.”

The thought of Jon, alone somewhere in the world, perhaps at the Wall as Eddard had once intended, filled you with a longing you had long buried. “I hope he knows he was always loved,” you murmured, your voice thick with unspoken memories. “That no matter where he goes or who he becomes, he’ll always be a part of me… a part of our family.”

Sansa nodded, her expression softened by understanding. “If there’s anyone who taught him love and loyalty, it was you. He’s stronger because of it. And I think… one day, he’ll find his way back to us, somehow.”

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, the sounds of the garden enveloping you, as the unspoken connection between you—your shared love for the family you’d left behind—settled between you. You felt a renewed sense of purpose, a reminder that despite the path your life had taken, you still held onto the values of the North, onto the bond with those you loved.

Squeezing her hand, you offered her a small, reassuring smile. “We’ll hold onto that hope, Sansa. We’ll carry Winterfell with us, even here in King’s Landing. And together, we’ll survive whatever comes our way.”

Sansa’s smile held a glimmer of strength, her eyes bright with the quiet resilience she was beginning to rediscover. “Yes… we will.”

Jaime found Tyrion lounging comfortably in one of the lesser-used rooms of the Red Keep, a glass of wine in his hand and an amused expression on his face as he looked up, noting his brother’s approach.

“Tyrion,” Jaime greeted, taking a seat opposite him and reaching for a goblet of his own. He poured himself a drink, his gaze thoughtful as he swirled the wine. “You seem particularly cheerful today.”

Tyrion grinned, raising his goblet in a mock toast. “How can I not be? The prospect of our father producing little silver-haired Lannisters, complete with violet eyes, is amusing beyond measure.” He took a sip, smirking as he watched Jaime’s reaction. “Imagine—our own half-siblings, Targaryens by blood, yet Lannisters by name.”

Jaime chuckled, though there was a hint of unease beneath his mirth. “The image is almost absurd, isn’t it? To think of Father raising a child who resembles a Targaryen rather than himself.” He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “But honestly, I’m more curious about how we managed to bring her here in the first place.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Oh? I thought she’d been brought directly to Harrenhal.”

Jaime leaned back, folding his arms as he watched Tyrion carefully. “Not exactly. According to the reports, she was intercepted by our men as she traveled south, near High Heart.”

Tyrion’s eyes sharpened, his gaze turning contemplative. “High Heart? That’s an unusual route… Avoiding the main roads, no doubt, to keep a low profile.” He took another sip of wine, his expression thoughtful. “Why would she be traveling alone, and so far from any known strongholds?”

Jaime shrugged, though his expression betrayed his curiosity. “That’s precisely what I was wondering. She’d been staying far from the usual paths, as though she knew someone might be tracking her. It was only a stroke of luck that our men happened upon her party in the first place.”

Tyrion tapped his fingers thoughtfully against his goblet, his mind working through the implications. “She must have known, then. Known that someone—either Father or one of his allies—would be looking for her. Perhaps she thought she could outrun us or evade our scouts by staying off the roads.”

Jaime tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “Or perhaps she had her own purpose. High Heart is a place of old magic, or so the tales say. There’s talk of visions, of those who are touched by prophecy.” He paused, his voice dropping slightly. “Why would she go there?”

Tyrion’s smirk faded, replaced by genuine intrigue. “Perhaps she sought counsel,” he murmured, his voice almost to himself. “Some advice from those who can see beyond what the rest of us can.” He looked up, meeting Jaime’s gaze with newfound interest. “If she’s spent time at High Heart, she’s no mere play peace being moved at our father’s discretion. She’s gathering knowledge, perhaps even positioning herself.”

Jaime’s gaze was steady, contemplative. “If that’s the case, then Father might be in for more than he bargained for.” He looked down at his wine, his expression thoughtful. “She could be a more complex player in this game than he realizes.”

Tyrion chuckled softly, though there was an edge to his laughter. “It seems our new stepmother might have ambitions of her own, ones that extend beyond being Lady of House Lannister. Father may think he has her in hand, but the blood of House Targaryen is not easily tempered.”

Jaime nodded, his expression solemn. “True enough. But there’s something about this that doesn’t sit right with me, Tyrion. Father’s convinced that she’ll submit, that she’s a pawn willing to play her part. But if she was willing to risk the dangers of High Heart, of traveling alone… then perhaps she’s not as willing to be controlled as he believes.”

Tyrion’s smile returned, a touch of admiration flickering in his eyes. “Perhaps she has her own plans, then. Plans that might even rival Father’s. I must say, I find the idea rather… refreshing.” He tilted his goblet in Jaime’s direction. “To a stepmother who might keep even our dear father on his toes.”

Jaime raised his own goblet, a shadow of doubt lingering in his gaze. “To our Lady Y/N Lannister. May she prove as unpredictable as the storm she’s brought into our family.”

They clinked their goblets, the quiet clinking of glass a subtle acknowledgment of the complexity that had settled into their family, brought about by the union their father had so carefully engineered.

At Castle Black, the cold wind swept through the narrow corridors as Jon Snow made his way to Maester Aemon’s chambers, the sealed raven scroll clutched in his hand. The morning had dawned gray and bleak, and the chill in the air seemed sharper than usual, biting into his skin even through his cloak.

When he entered, he found Maester Aemon seated by the fire, his milky, sightless eyes gazing into the flames, as though he could see something far beyond them. Despite his blindness and frailty, the old maester held a dignity and presence that commanded respect. Jon cleared his throat gently, announcing his arrival.

“Jon,” Maester Aemon greeted, a soft smile creasing his ancient face. “Come, sit with me. I sense you have news from the realm.”

Jon approached, pulling out the small stool beside the maester and handing him the sealed scroll. “A raven came from the capital,” he said, his voice low, the words heavy in his mouth. “It’s… recent news.”

Aemon turned his head slightly toward him, reaching out his frail hand. “Good. Open it, if you will, and read it to me,” he instructed, his voice calm but eager.

Jon broke the seal, his eyes scanning the contents of the letter quickly, but the moment he reached the heart of the message, his breath caught. His eyes widened in disbelief, his heart pounding as he read and re-read the words before him. “No… it can’t be,” he murmured, anger and shock simmering beneath the surface.

“Jon?” Maester Aemon prompted gently, his brow creased in concern. “What is it? What news from King’s Landing?”

Jon’s voice was thick with restrained fury as he continued, his hands shaking slightly. “It says… that Lady Y/N Targaryen has been wed to Tywin Lannister.” He forced the words out, his voice tight. “She… she married him.”

Aemon was silent for a moment, his sightless eyes reflecting the light of the fire. Finally, he sighed, a sound laced with an old sorrow and a weary understanding. “Continue, Jon. There may be more,” he urged softly, though he clearly sensed the gravity of the news already.

Jon swallowed hard, glancing back at the letter, his anger simmering with each word. He continued, voice taut, “It says she was received in King’s Landing as Lady Y/N Lannister, to be seated beside Tywin at the high table. The realm… they call it a powerful alliance, one that will ensure House Lannister’s influence.” He nearly spat the words, his jaw clenched. “It’s… it’s disgusting.”

Maester Aemon sat in silence, absorbing Jon’s words, his face unreadable. After a long pause, he spoke, his voice heavy with understanding but also sadness. “Her destiny has been twisted to serve another’s ambition,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “But… I cannot say I am surprised.”

Jon looked up, frowning. “What do you mean, Maester?”

Aemon’s sightless eyes were distant, as though looking back through the years. “This… marriage is not the first time Tywin Lannister sought a union with her bloodline.” He sighed, his frail hand resting on the arm of his chair. “Many years ago, before Robert’s Rebellion, Tywin asked for her hand from King Aerys—to bring their houses together in alliance. Tywin saw strength, ambition, in her blood… but Aerys, in his madness, mocked the offer.”

Jon’s fists clenched, his voice tight with anger. “So that’s why she was sent away? Why she had to grow up in Winterfell, with no family of her own?” He shook his head, struggling to contain his rage. “And now they’ve… forced her into this. She doesn’t belong with them, with those—those Lannisters.” His voice was thick, barely restrained, a mixture of fury and protectiveness.

Aemon’s face softened, a trace of empathy crossing his ancient features. “Yes, Jon. That rejection sent ripples through the years. And now, fate has come full circle in a twisted way. Tywin has finally achieved what he sought back then, though in different form.”

Jon shook his head, his voice breaking slightly. “She was… she was like a mother to me, Maester. When no one else would, she cared for me, treated me like family. And now they’ve made her… into this.”

Aemon reached out, his hand trembling as he placed it over Jon’s clenched fist, his touch gentle, his voice filled with quiet strength. “Jon, remember… she is strong. Her blood is ancient, powerful. The blood of Old Valyria, of dragons. She has endured much already. Do not underestimate her strength, even in this.”

Jon’s gaze dropped, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it doesn’t feel right. She shouldn’t be forced to endure… to be bound to someone like him. After all she’s done for me, for all of us.”

Aemon nodded slowly, his expression resigned but compassionate. “Life often forces us into roles we do not choose, Jon. It’s a truth I have learned over many long years.” He took a deep breath, his tone laced with sadness. “Perhaps this marriage is a fate she did not want, but remember this—she is more than that. Her strength is her own. She will endure, as she always has.”

Jon closed his eyes, his mind racing with memories of you, the woman who had shown him kindness when he’d been a child alone in Winterfell, the one who had offered him understanding when he felt like an outsider. The thought of you in King’s Landing, surrounded by the Lannisters, weighed on him like a stone.

After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice hoarse. “If they hurt her… if they make her suffer…”

Maester Aemon’s hand tightened slightly on his. “Jon, you must let her walk her own path. She has made her choices, and we can only hope she finds peace within them. Our duty here… remains with the Night’s Watch.”

Jon nodded slowly, the anger still simmering beneath the surface, but he forced himself to accept the old maester’s words. “I know, Maester,” he whispered, his voice thick. “I know.”

And as he rose to leave, he couldn’t shake the image of you—strong, resilient, and yet so far from the place where you belonged. The thought stayed with him, a heavy burden he carried silently, as he walked back through the cold halls of Castle Black

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