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[thefandomimagines]

Oh my God

Jesus Christ @inthedayswhenlandswerefew you absolutely wrecked me in one solid chapter 😭😭😭

Cannibals [Chapter 7: Lightning and Rust]

A/N: Only 3 chapters left!!! 🥳❤️💙🦇

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), babies and parenthood, blood and violence, character deaths, I really cannot summarize this chapter you just gotta experience it, I'll pray for you 🙏

Word count: 6.8k

💙 All my writing can be found HERE! ❤️

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus @mrs-starkgaryen, more in comments 🥰

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You’re curled up in bed with a velvet pouch of hot stones that have gone cold, bloody rags bunched between your thighs, trying desperately to sleep, and outside a storm is brewing over Blackwater Bay and bringing with it dark skies and strikes of lightning that stalk ever-closer. Through the open window, the air tasting like late-summer rain, you can hear Helaena and the maids corralling the children back into the Red Keep. They are laughing because nobody is dead yet, not even the ailing and absent King Viserys, not even doomed little Luke Strong.

Aemond lets himself into your chambers and stands over your bed, staring down at you with some combination of annoyance and concern. You have failed him. You were not where he wanted you to be. “Why weren’t you at the beach?” Playing with your niece and nephews, collecting your seashells.

“Because women are cursed.”

Aemond smiles, perhaps a bit relieved; he has his answer. “And you more than any of them, because you’re so wicked.”

“Maester Orwyle says I can’t have more milk of the poppy for two hours.”

“Then we must listen to him. It is a powerful remedy, and we cannot endanger you.” He takes off his boots and climbs into bed, lying behind you, one hand following the curve of your waist to settle on your lower belly. “I can relax the muscles. It might ease your suffering.”

Right now? “Oh no, no, you don’t want to do that,” you warn him. “It’s very messy.”

“You think I’m afraid of your blood?” Aemond says, amused. “Everything we’re built of is the same.” He lifts the hem of your silk nightgown and reaches underneath the nest of rags, sliding there in the coppery wetness as you inhale sharply, startled but not unwilling. When Aemond removes his hand, the carnage he is stained with is bright crimson but dotted with clots. Then he licks the blood from his fingers and paints his tongue red. You can’t keep the shock from your face. Aemond grins, wets his hand again, draws a heart on your left cheek just beneath your eye. You laugh and pretend to try to shove him away.

“You’re deranged, you’re a monster—”

“Let me help you,” Aemond whispers, nuzzling blood from his lips into your silver hair. “Let me take your pain away like you quiet mine.”

And you surrender to him like you always do—worn down, overpowered, intoxicated, bewitched, seduced, perhaps all at once—and as Aemond’s hand works and the gory metallic ether of blood fills both of your lungs, the cramps dissolve into nothingness and then build to desire, and you’re opening your thighs for him and the rags are whisked away, unnecessary, forgotten, and now there is blood on the bedsheets and your fingers are twisting into the pillows strewn around you, and it doesn’t feel shameful at all anymore, because what is blood if not made from the same minerals as coins and blades and ocean and ash, and what is lust if not a fire that burns the constraints of the world away?

You kiss him as you come, moaning into his bloodstained mouth, biting his lower lip, and if the careless pressure of your teeth makes him bleed then that’s just more iron and copper and steel to add to the molten sea you are marooned in, more magma, more rust. “Enough,” you gasp when the last of the waves have passed and you are emptied and too sensitive, and Aemond knows to listen. Then you reach for Aemond’s trousers, where you can see he is hard. You are abruptly and ruinously exhausted—you struggle to keep your eyes open—but it feels wrong to not take care of him in return.

It shouldn’t take long, he’s already flushed, he’s already dripping sweat—

“No need,” Aemond says, gently stopping your hands. And as you burrow into the pillows and your eyes dip closed, your skin and hair still splattered with red, he slips away silently so you can sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t want to leave you,” Jace says, knowing that he has to anyway. “Either of you.”

You are nursing the baby in a chair by the fireplace; you needed a change of scenery from the bed. The upholstery is pale blue velvet. The blanket the baby is swathed in is embroidered with pine trees and foxes, and far beyond your skill; Lady Caro made it. She is nearly as gifted with a needle as Helaena. On the walls of the bedchamber you share with your husband are mosaics you’ve pieced together over the past nine months here at the modest castle of Heart’s Home in a cold, remote corner of the Vale. The fractured faces look in on you like curious gazes through clear windows: Aegon, Helaena, Daeron, Jaehaera, Maelor, Mother, Criston. You aren’t any closer to them now, but you feel like you are. The world seems softer, warmer, smaller.

You smile as you ghost a fingerprint over the baby’s faint dark eyebrows. He’s half-asleep as he suckles, hushed and content and entirely helpless. He has Jace’s coloring, but something about the shape of his eyes reminds you of Aegon. “We’ll be here waiting when you get back.”

“I think he looks a lot like Luke,” Jace says, admiring the baby. He’s standing with one arm draped over the back of your chair and the flickering firelight from the hearth on his face, turning his skin from snow to sunstone. “And Joffrey. His face is rounder than mine.”

“Have you been to the Eyrie to see them since the war began?” Joffrey, Rhaena, Rhaenyra’s young white-haired sons Aegon and Viserys.

Jace shakes his head. “I never wanted to be away from you for longer than necessary. I didn’t want to risk being spotted and revealing where they’ve been hidden. And I didn’t know what to say.” About us, about our marriage, about our baby.

“You should visit them, Jace. I would visit Helaena and her children if I could.” You leave out the others intentionally; Helaena is your only sibling that Jace considers blameless. You miss Aegon and Daeron just as much, but in the solitude of your own heart—in the stillness, in the silence—you aren’t sure if you want to see Aemond again. You don’t know if he will be soft with you, or vengeful or cold, or if he has filled the void of your absence with a lover, something that you cannot think about without your stomach lurching and your skull aching, and so you put him out of your mind as much as you can and stay here with the baby instead.

Jace rests a hand on your shoulder reassuringly, then strokes your cheek. He says, meaning the baby: “We’ll have to get him his own egg.”

“I hope he won’t inherit my affliction,” you murmur somberly. “I hope he’ll have a dragon someday.” Without them, we are powerless. Without them, we aren’t real Targaryens.

“Maybe there’s something you need to do first.”

You look up at Jace, not understanding.

“I’ve spent a lot of time considering what inspires a dragon to bond to someone,” he says. And you think, feeling a fleeting stab of betrayal before you stitch the wound closed with invisible thread: Because you’ve been helping the Blacks search for riders. “It seems that each creature has their own preferences. Meleys favored women who were spirited and highly intelligent. Dreamfyre has chosen two riders, both gentle, shy, and fond of animals. Seasmoke bonded to two sons of Corlys Velaryon with similar temperaments, agreeable and charismatic, Quicksilver to a father and son who were both considered weak and died young. Caraxes seems to have an affinity for warriors.” It does not escape you that Jace neglects to mention Vhagar, as if through his silence he can make the beast and her rider vanish. “And Vermithor…” Jace offers you a small, sympathetic smile, remembering that you once wanted him. “The Bronze Fury bonds to riders who are imposing in body and ambitious in spirit. And I suspect he only likes men.”

“So it was always hopeless,” you say gloomily. You recall the miniature Vermithor that Aegon once carved for you out of oak wood. You hope that Aegon is still alive somewhere, scarred but lying in wait, always underestimated, always so much deeper than he seems, an ocean that Mother and Father mistook for a puddle, messy and marginal and inconvenient.

“I believe dragons often gravitate towards riders who are mirrors of themselves. Even Vermax, he is…” Jace considers this. “He’s proud, and he’s clever, but he’s not as formidable as he imagines himself to be.”

“Like you,” you say before you can stop to consider whether Jace will be offended by it, and he gives you an amused smirk. The baby has stopped nursing and fallen asleep; you fix the bodice of your gown and cradle him against you. There are maids to take him when you’re tired, and Jace loves holding him, and Lady Caro steals him away often, but right now you don’t want your freedom. You don’t want your mind to be untethered and to wander to all the places you’re not supposed to be.

Jace continues: “What I mean is, perhaps there is some quality you must cultivate within yourself before the beast you are meant to have judges you worthy.”

“Hardly any unclaimed dragons are left now.” Then you tease: “Do you suggest I become quiet and timid so Grey Ghost will like me?”

Jace laughs. “No, I fear that’s a lost cause, princess. You could never be timid.”

You are intrigued. “Then what am I?”

“I think you’re hungry,” Jace decides. “I think you always want more.”

“I never wanted that many things.” Aemond. My family to be safe. And I wanted Vermithor.

“Every line that is drawn, every place you’re told not to go or act you’re not supposed to do, you insist upon overreaching.”

Is that why Aemond and I were so drawn to each other? you think doubtfully. Because it was forbidden? Because it horrified people who climbed high enough to live alongside Targaryens but could never understand them?

“I think Meleys would have been a good match for you,” Jace says after a while. “If she hadn’t already been claimed by Grandmother.”

“And now the Red Queen is dead.” Like Arrax, and Moondancer, and Seasmoke, and probably Sunfyre too. How many dragons will be left when this is over? How many Targaryens? You clutch the baby closer to you; he stirs in his sleep, tiny fingers grasping at nothing. “What sort of rider does Silverwing favor? What could this illiterate drunk Ulf the White possibly have in common with Good Queen Alysanne?”

Jace snickers. “That’s a good question. I’ve been ruminating on it. My theory is that since Silverwing was never ridden into battle, and has always been relatively docile and accustomed to living peacefully near humans, she was attracted to Ulf’s…how to describe it? His lack of military prowess. Or, alternatively, once Vermithor was claimed Silverwing was very, very lonely.”

You smile, and then it dies. It must be indescribably painful to be separated from one’s mate after a century together. Unsurvivable, even. “Can Silverwing fight, do you think?”

Jace heaves a sigh and shrugs. “I’m not sure if either of them can. Ulf will try, at least. Hopefully it won’t come to that, and Vermithor is enough to protect King’s Landing. Hugh Hammer is an inexperienced rider, but he’s brave and he’s committed. Each time I see him he’s better than he was before.”

Hugh Hammer is a bastard blacksmith, but he has more power in this war than I do. Ulf the White is an idiot and a drunk, but he’s a true Targaryen and I’m not. You rock your sleeping child in your arms, quieting the voices that flutter in your skull like bat wings. You kiss his wisps of dark curls and breathe in his warmth and newness and blood that is interwoven with yours.

“You could learn how to hate your own kind and claim the Cannibal,” Jace jokes.

You chuckle. “I don’t hate anyone.” Not here, not now.

Lady Caro arrives in the doorway carrying a tray of cinnamon tea. “I have come offering a trade,” she says, grinning, and shuffles excitedly across the room. She sets the tray down on the table by your chair and holds out her hands. Reluctantly, you surrender the baby. Lady Caro coos and beams at him as you and Jace sip cinnamon tea, sweet and loosing steam like morning mist into the air. “Surely by now you’ve made the logical decision to name him in my honor.”

“Carolei would be a very strange thing to call a boy,” Jace says.

“Caroson,” she jests.

You add: “Carogon. Carocaerys.”

“Awful!” Jace says, laughing.

“Have you been feeding the baby again?” Lady Caro scolds you. “We have wetnurses for that.”

“They get him all night. I want time with him too.”

“You’re barely even producing any milk. You’d make for a terrible goat.”

“Then I’ll nurse him for as long as I can.”

“You’ll end up with pitiful floppy breasts like mine.”

“Isn’t this what they’re for? Nourishing children, not being gawked at and tugged on by some man?”

Lady Caro turns to Jace, exasperated. “She has some disease. She can’t listen to anyone.”

He smiles. “She’s an untamable beast, I’m afraid. Burns up anyone who makes the attempt.”

Lord Corbray walks in, and nestled in his ancient arthritic hands is a sword in a sheath. There is a large heart-shaped ruby in the hilt. “Prince Jacaerys, I cannot begin to tell you what an honor it has been not only to host you and the princess here in our humble castle, but also to have a future king of the Seven Kingdoms born within our walls.”

Jace stands up straighter, as his mother would want him to. He’ll never look like the heir to the throne, like a Targaryen, but he can act like one. “We continue to be grateful for your hospitality.”

“To commemorate this happy occasion, I wish to gift you a cherished heirloom of my house. This is Lady Forlorn, made of Valyrian steel. She came to House Corbray over a century ago, and now I bequeath her to you. I hope she will aid you in your victory in this unjust war, and that all the realm will soon be at peace and under competent rulership.”

Jace looks at you uneasily; you pretend to be preoccupied drinking your tea. You ignore Lord Corbray’s slight against the Greens. You don’t have much choice, and you’ve had plenty of practice. Jace takes Lady Forlorn from Lord Corbray and unsheathes her, studying his reflection in the cold smoke-colored grey of the blade. His face is grave. Now he feels the weight on his shoulders of being not just a prince, an heir, a soldier, and a husband, but a father as well, something he himself never had in a way that was truthful and pure. You are alarmed to see tears gleaming in his dark eyes.

“Jace?” you say, touching his arm.

He regains his composure. “Thank you, Lord Corbray. I will treasure Lady Forlorn, and I will endeavor to always use her wisely.”

Lord Corbray smiles fondly at the slumbering baby in Lady Caro’s arms. Across the Riverlands, their sole surviving child, Jessamyn, is in hiding with her husband and children. At Lady Caro’s insistence, they fled from the Mallisters’ castle at Seagard in case Aemond and Vhagar descend upon it. He is still burning. A monster? you think. “I assume you’ve named your firstborn?”

You and Jace exchange a glance. You haven’t yet; you are afraid to discuss it with each other. There are so many possibilities—Targaryen or Velaryon or Strong—and none seem to be without some unspoken allegiance or condemnation. There are so few guiltless names left. But you think you know what Jace would choose if he dared to speak it aloud.

“We should name him after Luke,” you say. A boy, an innocent. A victim of a horrific accident that started this war.

Jace is surprised, but there is relief in his face too. “Lucerys?” he says, trying it out. Then he is solemn again. “It feels wrong to use the exact same name. Like I’m trying to replace him.”

“Lucerion,” Lady Caro suggests, still holding the baby. “It sounds like a prince’s name. It sounds like a king’s.”

Jace attaches Lady Forlorn to his belt and then takes the baby, obviously against Lady Caro’s will. “Lucerion,” Jace murmurs, smiling down at his son who is stirring awake and beginning to whimper. “Is that your name? Is that what we’ll call you?”

“Perhaps Luca for short,” you say from your chair, feeling drained and like you need to lie down. You’ll have to change your rags again soon, or you’ll bleed through them.

“Luca, the littlest dragon,” Jace proclaims, touching his fingertip to the baby’s puggish nose. Then he turns to you. “Did you have a nickname as a child? I always did and still do, of course. And Luke…” Jace trails off, thinking of his dead brother, murdered by yours.

You see your red bat traveling around the board; you feel the warmth of blood on your cheek. “They called me Red.”

“Red?” Jace is baffled. “Like the color?”

“There was a game we played when we were young, and my piece…” You close your eyes, not wanting to remember, not wanting to feel the weight of their absence. “It doesn’t matter. It was so long ago.” And you fear that Jace will hear the evasiveness in your voice and ask you more questions; but he is absorbed with the baby, and he has already forgotten.

Two days later Jace and Vermax fly south to King’s Landing, and you and Luca are left in the care of the Corbrays and the maids and the ghosts that haunt the drafty stone corridors of Heart’s Home, soldiers killed in the Riverlands and the Reach, women and children burned and starved, bones devoured by dragons, generations of names forgotten.

Sometimes you giggle with Lady Caro as you drink cinnamon tea in the Great Hall. Sometimes you stand in the castle rookery listening to the ravens caw and stare out into the cold mist of the mountains, wondering what is happening in the world outside. And sometimes you have Luca nestled in your arms and walk with him around your bedchamber, introducing him to the faces of the people you left in your old life, when you were called Red and you believed you could be someone like Visenya. But you never mention Aemond, and not just because there are no mosaics of him on the wall.

You wouldn’t know what to say. You wouldn’t know where to begin.

~~~~~~~~~~

You learn Jace is back when he climbs into bed just as you are drifting off one night, silver moonlight spilling in through the glass of the window, his body folding into you, his arm skating over your waist to find your hand and weave his fingers through yours. Two months have passed since he left, moons that grow full and then vanish, milk that dries up and blood that ceases flowing and rebuilds inside you for the next child, if there will be one, when there will be one. Luca is sleeping in his own room with his maids and wetnurses. Jace’s curls tickle your throat as he nuzzles into you as if he wants to disappear.

He says: “The littlest dragon is much bigger than I remember.”

“How was Helaena?”

“Troubled, as is to be expected, but in good health. Jaehaera and Maelor are well too. King’s Landing is cold some days now. I think they’ll have snow soon. The taxes, the riots, the stockpiling of food as the Reach and the Riverlands burn…it’s a disaster. Mother is desperate. She misses Luke, I think. And Baela, and Daemon. She’s lost so much weight I barely recognized her. But she was very, very happy to hear about Luca. Hopefully she can meet him soon. Although we’ll have to be careful traveling with him while he’s so small, we’ll have to ensure he’s warm enough.”

Winter is coming, you think, remembering Cregan Stark’s army under the protection of Daemon and Caraxes. “Did you see Rhaena and the boys at the Eyrie?”

“I did,” Jace admits, as if it was a fraught experience.

“And what happened?”

“Rhaena called me a traitor.”

“For marrying and fathering a son with me?”

“No, that she understands,” Jace says. “But it is treason to love you.”

You turn around to look at him in the shadows, in the moonlight. “You told her?”

“She could tell. I cannot hide it. I am a glass jar and you and Luca are the butterflies inside.” And Jace kisses you softly, his fingers hooked beneath your chin, his flesh coming alive again after so long away: managing and conciliating, lifting Rhaenyra’s spirits, pawing through the heaps of bastards in King’s Landing for dragonriders, flying on Vermax through storms and snow.

When you kiss Jace back, when your hands go to his chest and his jaw and his face, when you open his tunic so you can feel the heat of his skin underneath, you are aware that parts of you are waking up again as well. There is a dull but definite ache of lust beginning to bloom like a blood drop soaking into white cotton.

“Are you…” Jace begins. “Do you think you’re healed enough, I mean…have you stopped bleeding?”

You hesitate. “I have.” You think of your first time with him and how painful it was, the sensation of burning, of tearing, and you can only assume it will be worse now. “But I’m rather terrified too.”

“No, no, don’t be afraid,” Jace whispers, he pleads, running his fingers through your long unbound hair. “We don’t have to do that. I won’t hurt you. I’ll wait for as long as you want.” His dark eyes travel down the white nightgown that clings to your body, your breasts, your belly, and then lower. “Can I…can I try something?”

“Try what?” you ask, bewildered. Then as Jace begins to push the hem of your nightgown up over your hips to your waist, you grin and kiss him again in the dim celestial light, cool night air rushing up over your bare legs, blood surging through your arteries to where he bends low to taste you once—a long, slow, tentative drag of the tongue—and then moans quietly and pushes your thighs further apart so he can bury himself there and lick, suck, swallow down your clear mineral wetness as it pools for him.

Something isn’t quite right—not enough pressure, not the ideal angle—but it’s exquisite to be reacquainted with this side of yourself, to know you can feel this way again, insatiable and desired. When you reach to touch Jace, there is a moment when you are startled to find dark curly hair in place of silk-smooth silver, and there is a ghost in the room like a voyeur watching, and you think dazedly: If Aemond knew about this, would he kill me?

“There,” you gasp, jolting as your husband stumbles upon the perfect place and rhythm. “Jace, right there…”

He listens, he is groaning with desperation for you, and you roll into a climax that is brief and sharp and a little painful, but good. Instead of being extinguished, you are a kindled flame. You turn over, straddle Jace, and unfasten his trousers. You begin kissing your way down his belly, nipping at him, your palm kneading his hardness, and you know he wants you but for some reason when you go to take him in your mouth, he pushes you away.

“You don’t have to do that,” Jace says, alarmed.

“I know. I want to.”

“No, seriously. Stop.”

You look at him, wounded, rejected. “Jace, I’m not doing this out of obligation. I enjoy it.”

He is staring at the wall. “I just…for you to…I’m sorry, it just feels wrong.”

“I can do things you believe are only for whores and still be your wife.”

“Shh,” he says, and his voice is gentle but his face is pained. You think of something Criston once told you when you were collecting bones from the Godswood of the Red Keep: Red, it hurts your mother when you’re like this. Are you cursed to disappoint people, to repulse them, to be eternally misunderstood? “I have a gift for you.”

“A gift?”

Jace gets out of bed and fetches a small wooden box he must have brought into the room with him when you were still half-asleep. He opens the box, debates whether to reach in, decides against it and passes you the whole box instead. “I asked the castle maester to procure some while I was away…”

You squeal with delight when you see what’s inside: three black and white bats the same breed as Sapphire was, large fanlike ears and wiggling noses and small black eyes that peer curiously up at you. When you offer them your open palms, they immediately scramble into them.

“I hope they’re good ones.” Jace chuckles nervously. “I don’t really know what makes a bat suitable or not.”

“They’re perfect,” you say, smiling. “I’ll build them a roost. I’ll introduce them to Luca.”

Yet you cannot stop yourself from thinking: Aemond wouldn’t have cared if I was still bleeding.

~~~~~~~~~~

You are snuggled up with Luca in your chair by the fire, cool midday light—the color of steel, smoke, rainclouds, ash—streaming in through the windows. The baby’s eyes have turned dark like Jace’s, and his curls grow longer. He is only half-awake and blinking drowsily, his diminutive hands clasping your fingers. He doesn’t cry often, but he doesn’t smile either. Lady Caro believes he already has the temperament of a good king, a calmness, a graveness. She says: How improper would it be for him to be full of complaints or cheerfulness, the way the world is right now? No, he ought to be serious. He ought to be grateful he’s not starving or being roasted alive.

“I have some new friends,” you whisper to the baby like a secret or a myth. “They’re asleep right now. They sleep all day, kind of like you do. But then at night they come alive and they’re free, and they fly around like hawks or dragons.”

You speak for Luca, a soft bird-trill of a voice: “What are their names?”

“Good question,” you say, smiling. “Iris, Shark, and Flood. And you’ll meet them soon.” Your eyes go to the mosaics on the walls. Jace hasn’t asked you to take them down, but he doesn’t acknowledge them either, except for the mosaic you made of him that hangs by the headboard of the bed. He beams at that one and calls it fine work. “You’ll meet the people I grew up with too. Aegon will make you wood carvings. Helaena will sew you blankets. Daeron will take you on adventures. Jaehaera and Maelor will play games with you. And Mother and Criston will love you because you won’t be like me. You’ll be sweet-tempered and honorable, and when you’re old enough you’ll have a dragon to help protect us with.”

There is a knock on the doorframe; one of Luca’s wetnurses has arrived to feed him. You regret that you can’t anymore. Lady Caro was right; you’d be a terrible goat or cow or yak.

“Princess,” the wetnurse says, curtsying before she takes the baby from you. You watch her leave with him for his own bedchamber—Lady Caro has already filled it with toys and children’s books—and as soon as they are out of sight, the darkness of your losses creeps back in like spiders scurrying down the corridors of your veins and arteries, like rust growing over steel. Then you hear the rumbling of voices downstairs in the Great Hall.

You stand and swish in your gown—one of the Vale’s anemic colors, a faint dusky rose—through the hallway and down the spiral staircase of the tower. In the belly of the castle, the commotion is louder, and you sweep into the Great Hall to find men gathered around the table closest to the roaring hearth, Lord Corbray and his knights and the maester, and Lady Caro too looking on anxiously. Jace is holding a piece of parchment in his hands, presumably just delivered by a raven. He shakes his head as he reads it. Outside, snow is falling.

Lady Caro is saying: “Well you’ll have to tell her. Oh, the poor dear, as if everything else isn’t bad enough. And only the gods know where Aemond is, he hasn’t been spotted in the Riverlands for days…” Then she spies you and shoos Lord Corbray and his men from the room. They bow to you as they depart, swift little bobs of the head. They have to; you are now both the wife and mother of future kings.

“Jace?” you say when the Great Hall is empty except for the two of you and Lady Caro.

Jace’s face is stricken. Lady Forlorn hangs from his belt. The letter is still clutched in his left hand; the right grips the hilt of his Valyrian steel sword. “I’m so sorry.”

“What?” you ask, immediately horrified. Aegon dead of his burns, Daeron killed in battle, Mother executed for treason, Aemond…? “What happened?”

“You have to believe that I had no idea about any of this, I never would have given Hugh the order if I’d been there, or let Mother do it—”

“Jace, please tell me.”

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond??

Instead, Jace says absurdly: “It’s Helaena.”

You stare at him. “Helaena isn’t a warrior.”

“No,” he agrees. “But she got to Dreamfyre somehow and tried to escape the city.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

That’s impossible. She wouldn’t leave Mother and the children. “No, she couldn’t have, she—”

“She took flight,” Jace insists. “And my mother sent Hugh Hammer after her on Vermithor.”

Vermithor was supposed to be mine, you think numbly. “And Helaena, she…she was…?”

Jace is trying to keep his voice steady; his dark eyes gleam, begging you not to hate him. “Dreamfyre attacked when Vermithor flew close to her. She wasn’t an especially aggressive dragon, but she was large and formidable, and she fought to defend her own life and that of her rider. Vermithor ripped out her throat, though Hugh was burned to death in the saddle. Then Vermithor flew eastward, and no one knows where he is now. Dreamfyre crashed to the earth, and Helaena with her. Their bodies were found on the beach outside the Red Keep.”

She can’t be dead. She never hurt anyone. She just wanted to be with her creatures and her family. She embroidered my blankets with red bats, she put ladybugs into my open palms. “Why would Helaena try to run, why would she do that?”

“I don’t know.”

You think nonsensically, as you have no way of knowing this: Because she was trying to stop something terrible from happening. “I told you to give her more freedom. And that freedom allowed her to sneak away to the Dragonpit.”

Jace reaches for you. “This isn’t your fault—”

“All of it ismy fault!” you shout at him, and Lady Caro shrinks away and covers her mouth with her hands. “If I’d had Vermithor, the Greens would have been unstoppable! And Rhaenyra never would have tried to claim the throne, and Aemond wouldn’t have been sent to Storm’s End, and Luke and Jaehaerys and Baela wouldn’t have died, and Aegon wouldn’t have been burned, and Aemond wouldn’t be destroying the Riverlands, and Helaena would still be alive, but instead I’ve always been useless!”

“You aren’t useless,” Jace pleads.

“Not normal enough to be a good wife or daughter, not extraordinary enough to have a dragon!”

Again, Jace tries to touch you, to soothe you. “Please don’t—”

You fling his hands away. “What was our marriage for if not to stop this from happening?! To end the dying, to protect the people we have left?” You whirl away from him and flee from the Great Hall, the castle, yourself. Behind you, Lady Caro is comforting Jace with soft tenderness you’ve never been capable of.

“Let her go, my prince,” she is counselling. “Give her a moment to grieve…”

You throw open the first door you pass and trudge out into the snow, no fox fur coat, bare feet. The cold stings and then your skin goes numb and it doesn’t bother you anymore. The icy mountain wind tears at your hair, flowing in long waves like the women of the Vale wear it, delicate and feminine, pretty and powerless. Tears cascade down your face; currents of red magma scorch your throat. When you close your eyes, you see the yellow butterfly that was once Helaena’s game piece.

She never hurt anyone. She never did anything wrong.

Now you are under the shadows of the soaring pine trees, their green needles so thick you cannot see the grey of the sky.

She never met Luca.

You gaze up into the branches, covered with tufts of white snow and icicles like fangs, and you have the overwhelming, ravenous feeling that you need to go home. You don’t belong in the Vale. The Vale almost killed you when you were a child, Aemond’s hands shoving you into a rushing stream freckled with ice.

And then all at once—like you’ve been hit, like you’ve been stabbed with a blade—you are flying high above the castle and the wind is raking over your cheeks, but it is not your face but Aemond’s, half-blind and half-scarred, torrential red waves of a sea of blood in his skull.

He’s here, he’s here—

And if he’s able to see through your eyes that you are outside in the forest…

The castle!!!

You bolt through the trees back towards Heart’s Home, your bare feet leaving tracks in the fresh powdery snow that is nearly up to your knees, and you stumble out of the shadows just as Vhagar soars overhead and unleashes her flames on the castle, wood burning, stones collapsing, people inside shrieking as they incinerate. You’re screaming for Aemond to stop, but he does not hear you and he does not see you either, he is high above in a place you’ve never been and never will be, he is flying, and he is hearing only devastation and he is breathing in its dark, intoxicating smoke, and as Vhagar swoops by the stable and it bursts into an inferno—horses galloping loose and engulfed in fire, dead but not knowing it yet—you run into the crumbling castle.

“Jace?!” you shout, but the air is full of smoke and the sounds of wood cracking and stones caving in are deafening. You feel blindly for the spiral staircase that leads up to the tower where your and Luca’s bedchambers are located. From the part of the castle that was once the Great Hall, you can hear Lord Corbray and Lady Caro screaming as their skin blisters and sloughs away and their flesh is cooked and their bones are charred black, and when the flames reach their lungs the screams go quiet. You cannot think about them. You don’t have any time; you must think of Luca and Jace. “Jace!” you bellow through the smoke.

And then there is a weak reply: “Here.”

You follow it into the stairwell. Parts of the wall have been blasted away; you can see the pine forest outside, the cold barren sky, the Mountains of the Moon. Jace is halfway up the steps, slumped against the fractured wall and pinned there by stones that have rained down on his legs. His bones must be broken; his face is bloodless and his curls matted to his forehead by sweat. His right hand fumbles futilely for the hilt of Lady Forlorn. Now, dimly, you can hear Luca crying.

Jace rasps as he stares vacantly up at you: “I tried to get to him. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Jace, I can do it.”

“I love you.”

“I’ll be right back.”

You climb over him and chase Luca’s wails up the staircase. Vhagar is back, and the ruins of the castle tremble when she roars, and you feel the heat of her flames radiating up through the floor. You lose your footing and clamber up the last few steps on your hands and knees, then manage to stand again and careen into Luca’s room. Half the roof has collapsed; a wetnurse is sprawled on the floor and half-buried in fallen stones, blood hemorrhaging out of her mouth and ears. You grab the baby out of his cradle and quickly bundle him in his blanket patterned with blue dragonflies. His tiny hands grasp at your face and your hair as you rush back down the spiral staircase to help Jace. Smoke needles your eyes; you and Luca are both coughing as you try to clear your lungs.

You reach Jace and kneel beside him, holding Luca in your left arm and using your right to try to roll the stones off Jace’s legs, but he’s not helping you.

“Jace, please, we have to go now,” you say, but when you look at his face he’s not there. His dark eyes are glassy, his chest doesn’t rise and fall with the tide of air.

He’s gone, you think. Like Father, Luke, Jaehaerys, Baela, Rhaenys, Helaena. And you are struck by an excruciating pang of fondness for Jace more forceful than anything you ever felt for him when he was alive, and you cannot leave him here. He was your husband, he was Luca’s father. And he loved you. He must have. He said it over and over again.

“Jace?” you sob. But outside Vhagar is still flying—the gales churned up by her wings gust into the jagged holes in the castle walls—and she could be coming back, she could be returning to burn you, and Jace is dead but the baby is still alive.

You clutch Luca to you as he cries and you race down the steps, following the smoke-filled, twisted passageway. The heat is suffocating, the sounds of a dying castle engulfing, Heart’s Home turned into a graveyard, into a shattered skeleton, charred and cursed like Harrenhal. You crash through the door at the base of the stairwell and into the ground level of the castle, and you are almost out—

Something ignites, something explodes, and stones from the castle wall you are feeling your way along rip out of their centuries-old mortar and collide with you. Your ribs crack, you are thrown to the floor, but even as you scream and claw your way out of the rubble you don’t let go of the baby. You force yourself upright and stagger with Luca towards a gaping chasm where there was once a wall. There is a tremor like an earthquake. Outside, Vhagar must be landing.

Now you are in the snow again, bare feet and a gown covered with soot and wreckage. The baby isn’t crying anymore. When you glance down at the blanket he is swaddled in, the white space between the blue dots of dragonflies is turning red with blood.

Blood?

You can’t look. You can’t allow yourself to feel it; it will consume you until there is nothing left. The last vestiges of the castle are crumpling. Across the field, Vhagar is devouring Vermax’s small, broken corpse, crushing his bones in her massive, monstrous jaws.

Blood??

Aemond’s footsteps are behind you, crunching in the snow. His cloak cracks in the frigid wind like the sails of a ship. His words are full of dark, euphoric, lethal triumph, a high like nothing he’s ever known, not even when he claimed Vhagar, not even what he imagined he would feel on your wedding day when you’d be bound to each other with fire and blood in the tradition of Old Valyria. “I said I would find you, and I did.”

You hear your own voice as if from a very far distance, lightning strikes miles away but moving closer. “You killed him.”

Aemond is puzzled. You are supposed to be happy. You are saved, you are home. “Killed who?”

“He’s dead, and there will never be another. Not like this one. Jace was his father, but Jace is gone. You killed him too.”

And you turn to face him, and Aemond sees what you are holding in your arms, and only then does he understand.

[thefandomimagines]

Blood & Steel

Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem Stark Reader 

+:✿ Request ✿:+

Request: “After the incident with Blood and Cheese when the Greens send someone to retaliate, instead of finding Rhaenyra they find Reader. Jacaerys goes feral against the attacker. Make him pretty intense since he's become extremely protective of Reader.”  CW: MDNI. Mention of arranged marriage, violence, graphic depictions of violence towards children, canon typical violence, nsfw themes, angst, arguments

Word Count: 7k

Since you arrived at Dragonstone, you grew more and more fond of your arranged marriage. Particularly you grew fond of the man you were to marry. Jacaerys was a kind and patient man. Something you did not think you would be fortunate enough to marry. 

You and he often spent your free moments looking for solitude from the talks of war and politics. Soon, you and he would spend time on a small patch of land separated from Dragonstone, hardly an island. It was only about twenty miles wide if that. But it became your haven. You could spend hours away from the weight of the war. 

You missed your home, but here on the island sand, you found comfort in the presence of Jace and Vermax. And Jacaerys found the same in you. 

That day you had been away from the castle for hours, and you knew sooner rather than later, someone would come looking for you both. You sighed as you tore your eyes from the calming and consistent waves crawling up and down the sands of the beach. You turned to look at your betrothed who lay on the sand with his eyes closed. Desperately trying to push out the fact your time was running slim. 

You sat beside him, running your hand through his hair trying to gain his attention. You lay down, getting closer to him, “My prince.” You whispered teasingly. 

“Mm?” He hummed furrowing his brows but refusing to open his eyes.

You continued to play with his brown curly hair as you smiled softly, “We’ve been out of Castle far too long.” You said begrudgingly. You knew it was time to return though you were not looking forward to the return of somber and formal interaction between you and high lords. 

Jacaerys groaned, “Ah,” he rubbed his eyes before finally and reluctantly opening them, “I can’t find sleep there.” 

You breathed a laugh, “You seem to find it well enough out here.” your fingers finally left his hair as you were about to stand. 

As soon as Jacaerys felt your touch abandon him, he grabbed a hold of your hand and pulled it close to his chest. “Only because you are beside me,” he said with an earnest gaze. 

You understood him. He had an unbearable weight on top of himself, one similar to the one on top of you. You knew he could only find pure comfort in the presence of something… familiar and uncomplicated, love. You thought on it for a moment, wishing to help him. “Perhaps you could sleep beside me tonight.” You said without any real thought of how it might have sounded until Jacaerys looked at you with wide, but excited eyes. “Meaning nothing so bold-” You choked on your own air as you corrected yourself.

“Course you did not,” Jacaerys said quickly with a shake of his head as he sat up. 

You sat quietly for a moment, “What of it then?” you asked.

Jacaerys looked towards you trying to hide a smile, “I cannot promise I won’t feel temptation.” 

You smirked, “Temptation?” You scooted closer to him, “Temptation for what?” You teased. It was not a secret to either of you that you both wished to hold closer intimacy with one another. Though Jacaerys was not a pious man he did take the opinions of high lords and ladies seriously. They already thought lowly of the bastard prince, he would not have them think lowly of their future queen. He wished to protect your character and your reputation. Though you held the opinions of high lords and ladies to almost no value at all, you reluctantly respected his wish. 

“You tease me?” He asked faining offense. 

“Do I?” You pretended to be shocked by the accusation, but soon your facade was wiped away by an earnest smile, “Sleep in a chair beside the bed if you must. I merely wish for you to find sleep.” You said plainly without any hint of lust or jest. Simply wishing to help him in any way you could. 

He held onto your hand slightly tighter, “What if someone were to find out I was sneaking into your chambers?” He asked with a smirk, teasing you back. 

You scrunched up your nose and scoffed as you looked out into the ocean, “Fuck what those high lords and their hypocrisies think.” 

Jacaerys stifled a laugh, “Is that any way for a queen to speak?” He asked as he leaned in closer to you.

You shook your head and smirked, “Not queen yet. Still a Lady, and hardly that.” 

“You are very much a Lady.” He mumbled as his eyes danced over your facial features and down over your body. 

You pushed his shoulder and stifled a laugh, “You’re a dog.” You said scrunching up your nose at him. Feigning disgust, when really you felt butterflies in your stomach. 

He playfully pulled you closer, “And you a wolf.” he said as his eyes sparkled in yours. “May I kiss you?” He asked softly. 

You smiled, “You needn’t ask.” You said as if he asked you a ridiculous question. 

He returned your smile, “I like to hear you say ‘yes’.” He said as he stared longingly at your lips. 

He didn’t move an inch, waiting for your approval. You rolled your eyes and with a smirk, you conceded, “Yes.” And his that, Jacaerys pulled your lips into his with a hand grasping at the back of your head gently. You could not wait until your wedding, so eager for this man to become yours in the sight of the Gods. All you could think of each time your lips met was how rare this kind of love must be. 

Though you could not think of it long, your haven was interrupted by the loud and shrill sounds of a horn. “What was that?” You questioned as you looked over to Dragonstone.

Jacaerys looked over to Dragonstone as well. He knew the horn was to call members of the council together in an urgent meeting. Though it was only used when in times of critical importance. He took your hands and helped you stand, “We’d better get back.” He said, trying to keep you calm, but also trying to return as soon as possible.

“Has something terrible happened?” You asked as Jacaerys ushered you over to Vermax as quickly as he could. 

As Jacaerys helped you climb on top of the green beasted he shook his head, “I cannot be certain.” He spoke honestly, and strapped you into the saddle before he climbed on, “If it has, I promise you will not be affected.” He said in an attempt to comfort any anxieties you might have been feeling. 

You couldn’t understand how that was meant to help, “If you are affected, I am affected.” 

Jacaerys however, did not respond, merely he pulled on the reins of Vermax as he took off into the sky, set on returning to Dragonstone. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

Upon your return, you were rushed into the council chamber. You were told of a vile act that had taken place within the Keep, an attack on the Greens. Normally this would have been a beneficial evil. But this time, the act was so gruesome it was hardly an attack on the Greens' claim, it was an attack on the Blacks’. 

Two men snuck into the chamber of ‘Queen’ Helena’s children. Maester Gerardys relaid the rest of the story to the Queen and the rest of the council, “It is yet unclear how the Keep itself was breached. The boy’s head was severed from his body. Thousands witnessed the procession.” 

You felt sickened by the description of the attack on the babe. You placed a hand on your chest, over your heart. Jacaerys took your hand and held it under the table. Wishing to comfort you while hiding your emotions from the High Lords. 

Rhaenyra shocked spoke with disbelief, “And they are accusing me of having a hand in this?”

Maester Gerardys nodded, “It appears so. There have been messages sent to that effect. Throughout the realm.”

Rhaenyra scoffed, “We must send our own messages, denying this vile allegation.”

“I will do so at once, but I am not sure they will be received in good faith.” The Maester said cautiously. 

Rhaenyra paid no mind to the comment, “And we must double our guard, here and in Driftmark. There will be swift retribution in one form or another–”

“I have seen to it, Your Grace.” One of the lords spoke. The idea made you feel weary. She was right, it did not matter whether she did have a hand in the murder or not. The Greens would blame her for it and would see to it that they were avenged. 

Jacaerys stood from his seat, “Let me fly out on Vermax.” Rhaenyra looked at him with concern. Jacaerys however spoke with courage and ambition, “Rhaenys is needed in the Gullet and I can watch for movements from Kings Landing.”

“No,” Rheynera said quickly with a shake of her head as she turned her attention back to the matter at hand. 

She saw Jace as a fragile and delicate thing, something she could not jeopardize more than she already had. You understood how she felt, she’d already lost one son on dragon's back she didn’t wish to lose another. And if you were honest, you were somewhat grateful for it. 

Though you could see the frustration, and embarrassment grow on the expression of Jacaerys’s face. As he sat back down you placed a hand on the back of his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. Just enough for him to ground himself back into reality, and know you were with him. 

“It must be said that the damage to our position is immeasurable, at a time when we most need loyalty to our cause.” Some high lord spoke again through the tension building in the room. 

“But it’s a lie.” Rhaeynera scoffed, finding the accusation ridiculous, “Having lost my own son, that I would inflict such a thing on Helaena, of all people. An innocent!” She proclaimed.  

Alfred Broome, a high lord who had grown too comfortable with his position began, “The death of Prince Lucerys was a shock and an insult. A mother so aggrieved might, naturally, seek relief in retribution-” 

As you felt anger rising in your chest, the Queen shot up from her seat and charged towards the arrogant man. “Are you suggesting, Ser Alfred, that my grief drove me to order the decapitation of a child?” She nearly spat her words at him in disgust.

“I merely thought, perhaps, an action taken in haste.” He stammered, 

“Mind yourself.” You said out of near instinct. Your anger had gotten the better of you but it seemed well warranted. 

Her grace stood staring down the overly confident man. However, exhibiting far more strength than you would have had, she sat herself down. 

Once she was sat she looked over towards her husband and uncle, Prince Daemon. You felt weary of the man ever since you had heard the stories of his brutal and seemingly erratic behavior. Daemon now in this council meeting, discussing the beheading of an innocent babe was smirking. 

It made your stomach turn as it did Rhaenyra’s. Her face dropped, and she then dismissed the council meeting. 

Jacaerys angered by his mother’s decision to coddle him, stormed off down one of the halls. Rather than follow after him you allowed him to go his own way, you decided to wait in your chambers for his blood to cool. However, it was not long til you yourself were summoned by the Queen. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

As you walked down the hall towards the council room, you noticed an enraged Daemon storming out of that very room. 

You stuck to the stone wall and kept your eyes on the ground. You never felt particularly welcomed in his presence. As he stormed past you he did not speak a word nor did he look at you at all. 

It was times like this when you wished you were back home in the North. 

As you entered the council chamber, you noticed a broken glass of wine on the floor, and the Queen wiping tears from her eyes. 

You entered the chamber cautiously, “You wished to see me, your grace?” you asked softly, not wishing to upset her further. 

She seemed somewhat startled by your sudden presence. She stood, wiping another tear away. “Our position has been weakened as you know.” She said as she walked towards you, “You are a great asset to us, the greatest we have now.” Her words hung heavy over your head, but you knew it was true. “Send a raven to your brother, Cregan Stark. Please try to persuade him to send more men. We need the North more than ever.” You nodded, and just as you turned your back to her, about to leave she spoke once more “You must know I did not order this.”  

You turned back around to face her, “Never.” You shook your head and spoke with conviction. You stepped closer to her, “I shall send the raven at once. My brother will know this is merely a tragedy and a vile rumor.” 

She took hold of your wrist and hand, gripping onto you tightly, “I depend on you.” As she spoke you could hear the desperation in her voice as it wavered. You could tell her words were true. 

Rhaenyra was gladdened to have you there. You would be Queen one day, you had to witness the hardships of that role. And she was grateful to see you could weather them, and stay loyal to her house.

You bowed your head to her with the utmost respect you could offer, “I’ll not fail you, your Grace.” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

The day was long. 

Daemon had fled Dragonstone on Caraxes. You had no knowledge of where he was to be going when he would return, or what this meant for your soon-to-be husband’s future. The Queen had fled Dragonstone as well. For what purpose you did not know. But you were confident she would return. It was not in her nature, nor her character to abandon her children. 

The castle felt cold and empty. All you could hear was the sounds of whiny children, Joffrey asking for his mother, while Ageon and Viserys cried as their nurses cradled them. 

You could not find comfort in a place like this. It felt eerie and unsettled. Like the ocean before a storm. As you struggled to find sleep you longed for the company only Jace could provide. 

Hoping his blood had cooled enough, you dragged yourself out of bed and sought him out. 

You found him in the first place you looked, the library. He was always in the library. “Jace?” You beckoned out softly as you entered, wrapping yourself tighter in the robe you were wearing. 

Jace was sitting at a desk, holding his head in his hand as his other flipped through the pages of a book, “A child was beheaded. The lords' faith in my mother waivers. And she flees.” He said without looking at you. It was clear he was still frustrated, no angry. 

Though you did not know where the Queen had gone, you knew it had to be a reason of importance. But you could understand Jacaerys’s anger.

You began to step closer to Jace, not intimidated by his anger. “Your position is a difficult one, I would wager.” You leaned against the desk he sat at, “As I imagine her position is also a difficult one. I cannot pass judgment on her actions.” You said softly.

Jace looked up from the book on the desk, “Has this shaken your belief in my mother's claim?”

“No.” You asserted quickly, “Your mother did not want for this. It was clear she rebuked the act with all her heart. Her claim was given to her by birth, no force but death will change that.”

Jace looked back to the book he was reading, “Not all of the realm sees it the way you do.” You could feel the frustration building in him.

“I’ve written to my brother. He shall send us more men. Spread the truth about the murder about the realm.” You said hoping it would ease his mind, though you could see it did nothing. You sighed “You should sleep.” 

Jacaerys scoffed, “How can I? Damon has fled to plot his own war, my mother vanishes from her responsibilities, and now our claim has been weakened by the death of an innocent child.” He rubbed his eyes, “I am alone with these responsibilities with lords who pester me for answers.”

“You are not alone.” You said as you ran your hand through his hair, “The burden is a heavy one, let me hold it with you.” You said as if you were pleading, “I can send ravens and bark at the lords who dare pester you.” Jacaerys did not respond to you, ignoring your words and continuing to read. You removed your hand from him, growing frustrated with him, “And how will reading thousand-year-old histories hunched over a desk in the middle of the night help that?”

“Someone has to do something.” He muttered.

You sighed, “If you insist on it, perhaps you could read in my chambers. Maybe the company would help you feel less lonely. Or I could sleep here-” 

Jacaerys interrupted you, “I don’t feel lonely. I am alone with my mother's war to fight. A letter to the North will do well. But it might do nothing at all. So by all means, sleep, and make yourself easy.” He said, his words dripping with anger and frustration. 

You stood, shocked by his reaction. “My apologies my prince, I merely wished to ease your anxieties.” You said in a mocking tone. 

As you stormed out, Jacaerys knew he had made a terrible mistake. He allowed his anger to take hold of his emotions and lashed out at the one person who wished to make things easier on him. 

You stormed down the hall, wiping a tear from your cheek. Your face was red from a strange mixture of heartache and anger. You thought of how Rheanyra looked after Daemon stormed away. You didn’t know what happened in that room but you could assume. 

Maybe it was true what all those women in the North said. All men are the same, they are all born of the same nature. You felt foolish to have had such hope for Jacaerys. 

But you knew, hot blood has a way of blinding you. You decided it would be best to sleep and wait for you and Jacaerys to calm down.

Once in your chambers, you splashed your face with warm water, washing away your teasers. You then turned to Liana, your Handmaiden. She handed you a cloth to pat your face dry. Once you did, she took the fabric from your hand. You smiled coldly at the girl, “Thank you, Liana.” 

The girl bowed her head to you before leaving your chamber. 

As you lay down in your bed, you tried your best to sleep. You tossed and turned, hitting and folding your pillows in a desperate attempt to get comfortable enough to find rest. The cries of the babes still echoed throughout the castle’s stone walls. 

Frustrated,�� you once again tore the blankets off of you. Holding a candle to light your way, you followed the sounds of cries. 

As you entered the babe’s chamber you saw a sleeping boy in one cradle, and a Handmaiden bouncing the other child in a desperate attempt to comfort him. 

“My lady!” The handmaiden called out, surprised by your sudden appearance. “I am sorry, I cannot seem to put him to rest.” She said worrying she’d upset you and your night. 

“Seems like a common problem here.” You said with a weak smile. You set down your candle and walked towards the handmaiden. “I find singing soothes them best.” You suggested softly as you tucked your loose hair behind your ears. 

The handmaiden chuckled, “I’m not much of a singer I fear.” She said as she continued to rock and bounce the child to no avail. 

You stood for a moment looking at the boy. Though he had silver hair, he reminded you of your siblings in the North. “May I?” You asked as you gelded your hands towards the babe. 

First slightly unsure, the handmaiden placed the boy in your arms. 

You held him gently as you swayed him back and forth. You began to hum a melody that your mother would sing to you. The hum soon turned into vocalization. The babe calmed in your arms finally. 

He gripped onto a strand of your hair that fell loose over your shoulder. He didn’t pull it, just absentmindedly toying with it. 

This boy must have been Viserys. It could be hard to tell at times, but Viserys had curls, whereas Ageon did not. And Aegon slept much better than Viserys did. As evident from the silver-haired boy sleeping soundly in the cradle and the other in your arms. It surprised you how well Aegon could sleep through such noise. 

You looked back down at Viserys. As he looked up into your eyes you noticed he and Jacaerys shared the same eyes. It made you think of being a mother to the future King, or Queen. And maybe many other princes and princesses. You wondered what those babies might look like. A bit of you, and a bit of him. 

Soon the boy's eyes became heavy and he drifted into a light sleep. 

“Can I get you anything my Lady?” the Handmaiden whispered, not wishing to disturb him. 

“Perhaps a tea for sleep? I can’t seem to find it but I shall see to it that the boy sleeps.” You whispered as you continued to sway the boy back and forth. 

The handmaiden nodded and swiftly but quietly left the chambers. 

As you turned your attention back to Viserys you realized the boy was limp and heavy in your arms. He breathed calmly and deeply, snoring even. ‘Finally’ You thought to yourself. 

You played the babe into the cradle beside his brother. As you looked down upon them you thought back again on your daydream of you and Jace’s children. 

It made you feel excited and hopeful to think of that future. But with this recent turn in the war, and your fight with Jacaerys, you felt doubt. But you were willing to fight for that feeling of hope. 

You ran your hand over the boy's silver curly hair once before you heard the chamber door creek open. You turned towards it, expecting to see a Handmaiden holding a hot cup of tea. Instead, you saw a knight, one you recognized. 

You wrapped your robe around you tighter, “Ser Erryk?” You asked with concern. Though he looked at you with pity, and what was stranger was his eyes didn’t look like his eyes at all, “You’re not Erryk, are you?” You mutter quietly as you hold onto yourself tightly as your anxieties rise. 

Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach once you saw a cloaked man behind the Knight posing as Ser Erryk. 

Viserys began to stir from his sleep, whining slightly. You took a step back, keeping your eyes on the men in the doorway. You placed a hand on the wooden railing of the cradle holding the two young princes. 

“It’s the real Targaryen boys.” The cloaked man rasped to the Knight. 

With that, the two began to inch their way into the chamber. You moved to block their view of the infants sleeping in their cradles. 

“There's gold, silver, anything you desire I will give. Just leave the babes.” You whispered, not wishing to wake the infants to such a horrific scene. Though your heart began to pound so quickly you thought that alone might wake Viserys. 

The man in the cloak smirked at your attempt to derail their plan as he got closer and closer to you. His filthy hand tore off your mother’s necklace that hung around your neck. He examined it in his hands before placing it in his pocket. “Blood must be spilled.” 

The knight, however, did not find humor or joy in the act he was anticipating. “You’ll take us to the Queen.” He whispered. It was a command, but it felt like a plea. As if this armed intruder had no desire to bring harm to you. But you knew he had the ability and the will to. 

You shook your head, “I’ll do no such thing.” Your eyes were wide and filled with terror.

“You will.” The knight said, again, it sounded like he was desperately pleading with you. 

“The Queen fled Dragonstone this evening.” You said almost mockingly, “Even if she were here, I’d not take you to her.” 

The cloaked man began to walk towards you with a rotten and crooked smile, “You then.” He said with a giddy high chuckle as he raised a dagger towards you. 

You moved away from the children, not wishing to bring that terrible creature near them. The man followed after you, “Please-“ You pleaded quietly as he grabbed hold of you. His stench was thick, nearly choking you as he pressed a knife to your throat. He held one of your hands while your other attempted to pull his knife away from you. “I rebuke the act with all my heart-” You quietly pleaded as you felt the knife begin to drag against your skin, cutting into your throat ever so slightly. 

You squirmed and the cloaked man began to giggly snicker in your ear. But the knight stepped forward raising a hand to the man halting his action. The man’s snicker died out, as though he was upset he was being interrupted. 

“Perhaps-” The knight began, “If you returned to Kings Landing.” The knight was speaking to you, but his eyes stayed on the man, “If you married Prince Aemond, give the North’s power to the Greens.” His eyes then fell onto you, “Then we could spare you.” 

“That wasn’t what he asked for.” The cloaked man barked back to the Knight. The knight however did not respond to the man, only looking at you with pleading eyes. 

With eyes widened and your heart racing. You felt the cold blade beginning to split your hot skin as sweat trickled down your brow. Terrified, and vulnerable. Still, you knew you would never betray the only man you ever loved or the true Queen. “I’d rather you put my head on a spike.” You said, your voice shaking but your eyes did not show fear, but contempt. 

The man holding the knife to your throat grew giddy once more, and the Knight sighed as he grabbed hold of the hilt of his sword. “Then, believe me, I have no choice, " he said with a regretful sigh. 

The knight drew his sword, making you gasp and your eyes grew wider, so wide you thought they might fall out of your head. The knight approached the sleeping babes in their cradle and you squirmed violently in the grasp of the cloaked man. As you did the blade only cut its way deeper into your skin but you did not care. 

“No!” You pleaded desperately. 

“Only one needs to die.” The cloaked man said you could practically hear the grin on his face. “Which will it be?” He asked with a giddy chuckle. 

Tears began to fall from your wide eyes down your red cheeks, “Spare-spare them- take me- me- me-” You desperately and quietly pleaded. The man's giddy chuckle only grew more erratic. 

But the knight did not move, “I cannot.” The knight said with shame as he looked down at the infants in their cradle. 

The man who held you tightly against his blade threw you down onto the ground, “You take care of the woman.” He said with frustration as he made his way towards the babes. 

You stood quickly and grabbed a hold of a golden pitcher within the room. You hit the man over the head with it. Making water splash over him, and the babes waking them instantly. The babes screamed and cried as the golden edge of the pitcher cut the scalp of the man open, and he fell to the ground in pain before he picked himself up and ran out of the chamber disappearing in the shadows of the halls. 

The knight’s large hand rose and fell on your face, knocking you to the ground. It was at that same moment you heard the shattering of glass hit the floor. It was the handmaiden dropping your cup of hot tea onto the ground. “M’Lady!” The woman shouted.

You looked up from the hard ground to the woman, “Find Ser Lorrent!” You called out. You wanted for a moment to call for Jacaerys, but you would never forgive yourself for bringing danger to him. 

As the woman ran down the hall, the Knight begrudgingly grabbed a chunk of your hair as he pulled you off the ground. As he looked into your tear-stained face he noticed the damage he’d already done. 

A bruise to your cheekbone that rose to your eye, and a cut to your lip. You could see the shame in his eyes as he brought his sword to your neck. 

“Brother!” A voice yelled out. You looked over to the door to see the true Ser Erryk. He drew his sword.

Without exchanging many words, they unsheathe their swords. You took the opportunity to grab hold of the wailing children and run to the door. All you could hear was the sounds of steel clashing and blood splattering the floor. Their identical fighting styles and knowledge of each other’s tactics result in a deadly stalemate at first.

The clash of swords echoes through the halls, as Ser Lorent finally arrives. He did not know who was who, and at such a distance you did not either. 

Ser Lorent kept you behind him, as he watched the battle continue. You watched on in horror holding onto the crying children.

You jumped as you felt hands wrap around you. But as you looked you noticed it was Jacaerys, his expression was one of terror and rage. 

“Jacaerys!” You said with relief, as he pulled you and his siblings further away from the fight.  

He held your face, observing your injuries, “Where are you hurt?” He asked frantically, “Where did he touch you?” He repeated the question several times but you were far too frightened to speak. 

You heard the sound of metal hitting the floor, as you turned you saw one of the knights fall dead onto the floor, and his sword along with him. 

The surviving Knight, you could only assume was Erryk, stepped forward. His eyes were filled with grief and guilt. 

You looked towards him with sympathy, you didn’t know what to say, but you would not have a chance to think of anything before the knight stumbled into the hall. “My Lady,” He said as he turned his sword towards himself, “Forgive me.” He said as he fell onto his sword.

“No!” You screamed out, but it was too late. Erryk lay dead beside his brother.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You spent the rest of the night locked away in your chamber with Viserys, Aegon, and Joffrey. The guard around your chamber was nearly tripled at the command of Jacaerys. 

“We have no idea how they penetrated our walls.” Ser Alfred began. 

Jacaerys marched across the council room, exuding every once of rage he felt, “And where were the members of this council when the traitors threatened their Queen, their Princes, and their future Queen?” He questioned, ignoring Ser Alfred's words. “My betrothed is our stronghold.” He barked at the men in that room. He then marched towards Ser Lorent, stopping inches from his face, “And where were you while the Prince and my Lady were threatened?” His tone was oozing with contemptous rage. 

Ser Lorent looked down like a child who was caught misbehaving, “I was abed-”

“A bed!” Jace shouted, interrupting the Knight. “She could have been killed!” He nearly screamed as he continued to march around the room. 

“It is not the time for blind accusations.” Lord Corlys began, attempting to settle his grandchild’s rage but failing.  

“If I may-” Lady Mysaria began, “The guard has detained someone.” This captured Jacaerys’s attention, “The men whom they have captured are not known to us. However, they were caught attempting to flee Dragonstone in a small boat. With the Ladys necklace.” She said holding up the necklace Jacaerys knew was your mother's. 

Jacaerys felt that cold sting of rage crashes through his chest, he grabbed a hold of his sword as he walked towards the door to the chamber, “I’ll kill him myself.” Jace, his eyes watery with angry tears. 

Lord Corlys, placed a hand on Jace’s chest, stopping him, “I believe it may be best that we approach this with a level head.” He said in a hushed tone. 

“A level head?” Jace scoffed, “He had a knife to her throat!” He barked.

“And he will pay for such an insult.” Ser Alfred said, in an attempt to aid Corlys in calming Jace.

“Insult?” Jace repeated in a mocking tone offended that he would compare what was done to you to an insult. 

“Jacaerys.” Corlys said, redirecting Jace’s attention back to him, “We must first extract all the knowledge they have of the attack. Who ordered it-”

“We know who ordered it!” Jace shouted,

Ser Alfred stepped forward once more, “They paraded the boy throughout the streets after his death. Shouting of the depravity of Rheanyra the Cruel.” Jace turned to face Ser Alfred, he looked at him with contempt. Weary of what he was to say next. “We cannot parade the Lady and her injuries to the public but we can send letters detailing each act- the horror they inflicted-” 

Lord Corlys buried his eyes in his hand.

“No.” Jace asserted, “I will not allow my wife’s honor to be compromised.” He began emotion building in her voice. 

No one said a thing, but they all noticed how he spoke of you as his wife though your wedding had not even been planned yet. 

Despite Jacaery’s anger, Ser Alfred continued, “Will the Lords of Westeros support Aegon once they have heard of their depravity, or will they rather not denounce the Greens?”

“I will not let her be seen as weak,” Jace said, his voice dripping with fury. 

“Not weak. Courageous.” He attempted to rationalize, “She protected the prince and the queen, nearly costing her own life to do so. Her misfortune will do more for our cause than a hundred thousand knights.” 

“I said no-” Jace asserted once more before he was interrupted by a handmaiden.

“I apologize, my prince.” The handmaiden said cautiously, “The Lady has requested such action be taken.” She said weary of how the Prince might receive this information.

“What?” He asked breathlessly.

The handmaiden fidgeted with her fingers, nervously, “She has said, she understands, as a representative of the throne she must make sacrifices-” 

Jace shook his head, and rubbed his brow, “She needn’t sacrifice anything.”

“My Prince, the lady has insisted. She has expressed she will not turn her cheek.” The handmaiden said before turning back to leave. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・

In the Dungeon, Lord Corlys entered the cell holding the badly wounded man. 

“I would suggest you speak of whom sent you.” Sitting in front of the man, Lord Corlys intimidated him well enough on his own, he did not need much to convince the man to speak. 

“I was sent by Ser Criston Cole under the order of the King Aegon Targaryen.” The cloaked man said, still holding onto his bleeding scalp. 

“What was the anticipated outcome of this mission?” Lord Corlys questioned.

“Kill the Rheanyra, kill the true born sons.” The man spoke the truth, in a desperate attempt to avoid any more harm. “Arryk muddied it all up. Didn’t know where the right room was. Then didn’t want to kill the boys.” He spoke with haste and fear, “I don’t know any more than that I promise.” With that, Lord Corlys nodded and stood. The man looked up at him with confusion. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“No.” He said calmly, “But I cannot vouch for the Prince.” Corlys said before leaving the cell.

The man’s breathing grew rapid as he saw the prince enter the dungeon.

Jacaerys entered the dungeon, with clenched fists, holding a large Morningstar mace. Jace looked more disheveled than when Lord Corlys saw him in the council chamber. His shirts were unbuttoned and his hair was a mess. His eyes were darker than they normally were. His feet marched along the stone floor as he came into the cell holding the man. 

The man did not plea, he only gritted his teeth knowing what was to come. Jacaerys clenched his jaw as he looked down at the man. He thought of the injuries he saw on his betrothed. The cut on her upper lip, the bruise on her cheek, the cut on her neck, and the bruising on her wrist where the man held her against him. The rage grew inside of him. His nostrils flared as he breathed in and out. 

The man began to cry as he stared up at Jacaerys. It only made the rage within Jace grow. How dare this man cry after what he had done. 

Jace could no longer hold in his fury, he swung his mace over his head and down onto the man’s already cracked skull. 

He brought the mace down onto the man, again, and again, and again until the man’s groaning, whimpering, and twitching ceased. 

Jace breathed heavily, exhausted by emotion and physical exertion. His face was covered in blood splatter and sweat. 

He stood tall over the man, dropping the mace down onto the man's skull before turning and leaving the cell. 

Lord Corlys watched as Jace said not a word and left the dungeon. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ 

Afterward, word traveled quickly of what the Prince had done to the man in the Dungeon. 

It took no time at all for you to have heard of it from several handmaidens. Though it made you feel a certain comfort you still wished Jacaerys would see you, would apologize to you. You valued that much more than violence. 

But it would not be long for that either. As you sat by the fire, you watched over the children sleeping in the well-guarded chamber with you. You jumped slightly once you heard the chamber door open softly. Despite you knowing how well you were guarded now you still were on edge. Though your anxieties dissolved once you saw it was your betrothed. Deshovled, with what looked like blood splattered onto his shirts. 

Jace had washed his face but had not the patience to change before he could see you. 

“You saved my brothers.” Jacaerys spoke gently despite his gruesome appearance, “You showed the realm your heroic bravery.” He said as he approached you. He tried to move your hair to see the cut on your neck, “Show me please.” he said softly but you moved your head so he could not look. 

You didn’t look at him, still holding resentment. “Tis nothing.” You spoke dismissively. 

Jacaerys got onto his knees, placing his hands on your lap, “I must beg for your mercy.” He bowed his head in shame, “My behavior was abhorrent.” he said shaking his head. You still said nothing. Jace looked up at you, “Speak, please. Plainly, even if they are words meant to hurt me I just wish for you to speak.” He pleaded.

So, you did. “You made me feel useless, unwanted.” You said looking at him with hurt eyes, “I only wished to comfort you. And you pushed me away.” You sighed, “I am not a hero, and I am not brave, Jacaerys. I am hurt and far from home.” 

He took in your words for a moment, nodding, “You alone have given us the North, you have saved the Prince and the Queen.” He spoke calmly, “And you have made me a true man and bewitched me, mind and body. I want no one else, and our house could not survive without you.” He took hold of your hands and looked at you with eyes that spoke of the love and devotion he felt toward you, “I was an arrogant fool to make you feel otherwise. Blinded by my own anger towards matters that were not caused by your hand.” You saw his eyes begin to tear up, “I could have lost you. It was so narrowly avoided. I imagined it when I saw those men who attacked you. Losing you… You are my way of life, without you, I could not go on.” He said before sniffing and swallowing whatever emotion was consuming him, before he looked back to you “If I have proven unworthy, I will see to it you have safe passage to the North. No action will be taken against your house.-” He began but you interrupted his ridiculous words. 

You scoffed, “I am not going to leave you over an argument, Jacaerys.” You placed a hand on his cheek, “I said I loved you and I meant it.” 

“I will live to earn your forgiveness.” He said gripping onto your hand tightly. 

“You have it you fool.” You said stifling a laugh. You found it hard to hold resentment toward him any longer. 

He smiled softly at you, and then he ran a hand gently over your hair, “May I?” He asked and you nodded. 

He moved your hair to see the cut on your neck. He grimaced at the sight, not out of disgust but out of anger for what they had done. 

“I said it was nothing.” You said trying to comfort him.

“It is something.” He insisted. 

You pushed your hair forward covering the mark, “The maester said it will scar, but can easily hidden.” 

“You’ll not hide anything.” Jacaerys said as he placed a hand on your cheek, “You did not have to send those letters.” He said shaking his head. He felt shame for allowing such a thing to happen. 

You shook your head, “I couldn’t lay back and make myself easy.” 

“You did much more than that,” Jace said sternly, he would not allow anyone to make you think otherwise. 

You looked at his disheveled appearance, “Is it true what they said?” You questioned softly, “You-You killed the man who did it?” He looked at you with conviction, “I will not allow someone to threaten harm to my wife and live.” 

“Your wife?” You asked with a smile,

“You are quite nearly that.” he smiled back.

You shook your head one last time, “Not near enough.”

[thefandomimagines]

Happy second birthday to one of the absolute best fics I've read in a hot minute. Can't recommend a read enough 🥰

North To The Future

Series Summary: The year is 1999. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

Chapter 1: Building A Mystery

Chapter 2: The Distance

Chapter 3: Everlong

Chapter 4: Semi-Charmed Life

Chapter 5: Sabotage

Chapter 6: Self Esteem

Chapter 7: King Of Wishful Thinking

Chapter 8: Crash And Burn

Chapter 9: A Long December

Chapter 10: Scar Tissue

Chapter 11: I Will Buy You A New Life

Chapter 12: Iris

Chapter 13: Don’t Look Back In Anger

Chapter 14: Strong Enough

Chapter 15: Drive

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

[thefandomimagines]

OUCH. FUCK THIS HURT.

Me screaming @ Alicent 😅

A Way Out

benji x targtower!fem!reader 

Summary: You’ve only wanted to be free with the wind for as long as you can remember. You know war is coming and you make an attempt to flee and seek the future you want. When it all comes crumbling down madness is the only thing left to comfort you. 

Warnings: 18+ vulgar language, wine, depression, panic and anxiety attacks, thoughts of wanting to die, mention of sex, pregnancy, birth, kidnapping, poison, mention of death, death/suicide(reader), alicent not being a mother, other targtower children appearances, slight timeline au but the dance is still there, mention of war 

Authors Note: a request from @chainsawsangel - the most angsty thing i’ve ever written! literally the main song in my head and that i played while writing this was Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want by The Smiths so idk !

Word Count: 8.7k  

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A Year Before

Over the years your mother and grandfather have slowly taken hold of the Iron Throne. You’ve watched the rapid decline of your fathers health and he’s been nothing more than a corpse these past couple of moons. Your eldest brother drowns himself in his cups day in and day out while the younger of your two brothers hones himself into a deadly weapon. Your only sister is so closed in on herself that you can barely hold a conversation with her. The only person you can turn to is your mother who should be offering you warm embraces but can seem to only muster a cold shoulder.

You try not to blame her for your poor upbringing and push it onto an unlucky draw from the Gods before entering this world. Many aren’t as lucky as you and your siblings and you try to remind yourself of this. You have never wanted for anything besides maybe love and a true family. The only living thing you feel a genuine connection with is your dragon. He is your only solace in times of distress and the feeling of the wind blowing through your hair causes you to dream of flying off, never to return. There is nothing for you in King's Landing, you’re only a daughter and not even the first. Some days you don’t even feel like a daughter but a painting to be stared at until they tire and walk away.

You weren’t a painting but a song on the wind. Something never to be grasped or locked away. You were made to free and soar on the breeze. The wind would sing back to you in its high pitched tone and promise you the escape you desired. You and your dragon fly higher into the clouds chasing the sound of freedom away from the city below. One day you promise to yourself and your dragon. One day we’ll leave this place for good. For now you settle for disappearing for a day or two in the depths of the Kingswood. 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

After drinking the last of your water you decide to relent and make your way back to the dragon pits. You coast above the city before your dragon walks you into his cave. Upon exiting the cold stone halls your mother is waiting for you with her hands folded and a frown etched on her face. 

“Let’s go.” she turns on her heel and you follow behind her to the carriage. She glares at you from across the enclosed space and pinches the bridge of her nose as the carriage comes to another stop. “Stay here.” she’s out of the carriage instantly and the door is snapped shut. You lean back into the seat and groan just wanting to be back in your chambers and alone. 

You start to loosen your riding gear wishing you could just put a night dress on and go to bed. You hear your mothers whispered shouts on the other side of the door before it’s being ripped open. You watch as your mother shoves a stumbling Aegon into the carriage before sealing herself in with you both. He takes the seat next to you and smells worse than he looks. Your mother looks over you both with disgust, mumbling under her breath. 

“The Gods must have been playing a cruel joke on me when they sent you both to me.” she shakes her head, grabbing her Star of the Seven necklace. “You disappear in your cups and whores and you,” she gives you a pointed look. “Disappear to Gods knows where.” she scoffs. 

“Do you wish for me to just sit in the castle until you marry me off?” you snap and Aegon chuckles from beside you. 

“And I sit and wait until you usurp the throne from Rhaenyra?” his throat sounding raw. 

“You two should be more grateful for all that is done for you. When we get back to the Keep you each will go straight to your chambers. I’ll hear no more.” she waves you both off off, turning her head to stare out the window. 

You’ll be grateful when you’re sealed away in your chambers alone. 

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11 Months Before

With the succession in question a war for the throne is inevitable. Ravens have been flying for weeks on end to secure secret alliances for the plotted usurpation. Many Lords and Lady’s have traveled to court to affirm these alliances and the Keep quickly becomes stifling. You can’t take the cramped halls and the constant feasts. You’ve had enough of the continuous parading about and the lunches and teas. Tonight is the night you leave. 

The bag on your shoulder should feel heavy but it feels light as the air itself. You’ve had this planned for some time now you smile as you make it out of the Keeps gates. You slip through the city streets and push off people who try to stop you. You sprint up the Hill of Rhaenys to the dragon pits not caring to look behind you at the life you’re leaving behind. 

The massive opening is dark as you slip in and wait for your eyes to adjust. You start in the familiar direction and rest your hands on the cool stones as you enter the caves. The familiar chuffs bring a smile to your face as you slowly enter the cave. He starts to uncurl and pushes his snout into you. You pat your hands down the length of him before climbing up and attaching your bag. You settle into the saddle and he takes you into the dark skies. 

The moon lights your path as he leads you both west. You lean down and hug against his neck feeling his mighty wing beats. You fly on the breeze for hours until the sun begins to rise and you land in a small forest. You unhook from the saddle and recline back feeling safest still atop your dragon in strange lands. 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

A week has gone by and you’re dangerously low on supplies. You have no idea where you are but you saw a town not too far off when you landed for the day. You pull your bag down from behind the saddle and start to change out of your riding gear. The nearby creek offers you a different hair color that will help you blend in. The mud feels foul in your hair but once it dries you just look like a commoner living on the streets. 

Holding your breath you wait at the edge of the tree line. You walk out and quickly make your way into the thrum of bodies down the main street. You stop at different stalls and pull coins out of your pocket trying to silently replenish your supplies. You move from vendor to vendor quickly trying to take as little time as possible so you can leave this town. Your bag is quickly filled and you turn on your heel to make an exit until a hand is wrapped around your wrist. 

“I make it my business to know all of the people who carry gold coins in my town. You, I’ve never seen before. Who might you be under all of this mud?” you look up at the man looking down at you with dark eyes. You look him over searching for a house symbol or anything that will mark who he is. 

“Let’s just take her back to the castle. Question her.” his company says. You look over this man and see the symbol of the Blackwoods. You know not all of the River Lords swore obeisance to your mother and grandfather but can’t remember if the Blackwoods were allies or not. 

The grip on your arm is sure to leave a bruise as you're pulled through the streets to the castle in the center of the city. Whispers and nods of ‘My Lord’ follow in your wake through the halls. Surely this man isn’t Lord Benjicot he can’t be a day over five and twenty. You study him and he pulls you through a large wooden door. It looks to be his council chambers but before you can look around you’re pushed down into a seat. 

“I’m a generous host when I know who my guest is.” the man sits back in his chair and looks you over. 

“Who might my host be?” you ask softly and he tilts his head. 

“You’re in my town and you don’t even know who I am?” he chuckles. 

“In honesty I don’t even know the town I’m in. Not for certain. From my observations I’m assuming you’re Lord Benjicot?” he squints his eyes at you. 

“Your speech is too fine and your pockets are too deep to be a commoner.” your heart starts to beat faster. “There’s been rumors of a dragon flying about at night and I’m wondering if you would know anything about that, as a traveler of course.” he tilts his head studying you. 

“I have seen no such thing, my Lord.” you shake your head quickly. 

“No? They say a Targaryen Princess is on the run. The Queen will pay well for any information.” your leg starts to shake. “Where do you come from?” he looks to his men and nods them out of the room leaving you both alone. Your chest starts to tighten not knowing what’s about to happen. 

“I’m from everywhere.” your words hushed. 

“Why would a Princess be on the run?” you watch as he rises and pours two glasses of wine. “And why is she all the way at Raventree Hall?” he sets a glass in front of you and takes his seat once more. 

“I don’t know why a Princess would be on the run, my Lord.” you nibble your lip hoping that your denial will work. “If you’re truly housing the Princess I would keep your voice down or alert the Queen at once. These are trying times.” you keep your words hushed and avoid his eye contact. 

“No matter how much mud you put in your hair it can’t dull the lilac of your eyes, Princess.” he sighs, taking a sip. 

“Please,” the word barely audible. “I can’t go back. Please.” your eyes finally meet his and you see the sadness in them.

“Why are you running?” he nods prompting you to talk.

“I want to live a different life.” you scrunch your brows. ���I don’t like being a Princess. I think if we lived other lives I must’ve not been very good in them.” you look at him with a half smile. “This life feels like a punishment.” he frowns at your words. “I’m looking for a way out. I can give you all my coin. Anything. Please just don’t sell me back to them.” you wipe away a wayward tear quickly and huff as you spot the look of pity on his face. 

“What kind of Lord would I be if I denied a Princess refuge in her most desperate hour.” he jests but he doesn’t know how true his statement is. “You can stay for as long as you need. Unbeknownst to anybody.” he nods his head. “Should a dragon come at night, we have feed for him.” he offers you the start of a smile. 

“What is your price?” you squint at him not understanding why he would agree to help you. You’ve never known a kind hand to come without a price.

“No price. It is my duty and honor to house you, Princess.” his face starts to soften.  

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10 Months Before 

It’s been just over one month since you’ve settled into Raventree Hall. Lord Benjicot, or Benji as he requests, has stayed true to his word. No Kingsmen have been through here and you’ve remained unfound. You dye your hair once every fortnight and keep to yourself. Your dragon is content enough to coast above the trees and indulge on the meat you bring him. 

Even with time and distance from the Keep you still feel suffocated and watched by it. You feel lost and alone most days but you have no desire to go home. Benji has never made you feel like you must work to earn your keep here but you’ve become stagnant. You don’t feel like you belong here. The people are kind but they don’t truly know you. You’re constantly looking over your shoulder and you dislike dying your hair so often. You miss your silver hair and fine gowns. You want for a home and a family you’ve never had but at least you didn’t feel so utterly alone. 

“How has my home been treating you, Princess?” Benji looks across the dining table at you. He sees the frown sculpted onto your face day in and day out. 

“Very well. Thank you.” you nod and turn all your attention to your plate. You both share three meals a day and he never has anyone else at the table. You can’t help but feel like a burden. Surely you’ve over extended your welcome but he’s too kind to tell you to leave. Gods what if he tells someone where you are. “Though I think it’s time for me to leave.” you set your fork down and he looks at you stunned. 

“As in you wish to retire to your chambers for the night?” he sits up and studies you more intensely. Had something happened that you didn’t tell him about? 

“No, I think,” you nod your head, steeling yourself. “I think I need to go somewhere else. I don’t fit in here. I need something else. I need the wind, I need freedom. I feel stuck and lost.” you can’t help the words that continue to flow out of your mouth and he turns to you listening to everything you have to say. “I don’t belong here. Maybe Essos will call to me. I just need to not be here. Or anywhere.” you look up to him with tear stained cheeks and his heart stops. 

He can tell you’ve been reluctant to open up to him but he can’t very well just let you leave out on your own. Benji decides right then he’ll go anywhere with you. To protect you. To care for you. To listen to you. To be anything you need him to be. He cannot bear the thought of you out there on your own.

“Then I offer you my sword, Princess. Wield me as you need. Allow me to make your journey less dangerous. Take me where you please. I’m yours to command.” your brows scrunch as you wipe away your tears. 

“No.” you shake your head. “I cannot ask that of you. You’re a Lord and have duties and land to attend to.” you don’t even allow yourself to think of the idea of having him travel with you. 

“Is it not my duty as a Lord to assist the royal family in any capacity I can?” he grabs his fork and begins to eat again. “It is not my desire to send you to your death on the road.” you watch his jaw flex. 

“If you come with me, you know we will never be able to come back.” his eyes lock to yours as he nods. “It may even mean your death.” he sets his fork back down and looks at you unyielding. 

“Give me at least a moon to make silent preparations and we’ll leave it all.” he sips his wine. 

“And if my dragon won’t allow you to ride with us?” you sit back in your chair watching him. 

“Then I shall follow you both from the ground. By horse or foot, I care not.” he shrugs. 

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9 Months Before 

You sit across from Benji as he looks over the map on his desk. You two have been trying to find a route that will offer ample coverage for your dragon during the day. You both have gone back and forth about whether to risk going through the Vale and decided it’ll be the quickest. Your only reservation is that it’s so close to Dragonstone but you have plans to travel by night and take extra precautions. 

“We can leave when you want.” Benji looks at you and your eyes snap to him. 

“You’re positive you want to come with?” you still can’t wrap your head around the idea that he genuinely wants to come with. 

“I am.” he nods and rolls the map up and pushes it away from him. 

“Why?” you chew your lip. “Why do you want to come with me?” you start to pick at your nails. “Why do you want to throw your life away for a sad Princess?” your chest tightens and you beg the tears not to come. 

“You’re not the only one who wants to run from something.” his eyes hold the desperation you know all too well. “I don’t see it as throwing my life away. It’s not my desire to see you leave, no matter how selfish that sounds but I know this is no place for you. I,” he shakes his head at battle with himself whether to speak it. “I care for you deeply. More than I should but I would never do anything to cause you harm or displeasure.” his confession settles into your empty heart. He cares for you. 

“I wish to leave tonight, Benji.” you stare at each other in silent agreement and he nods. “I will start packing.” you get up and start to the door and pause. “I care for you too.” the soft confession has Benji staring blankly at the door that softly clicks shut behind you. 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

The first week of travel has gone so smoothly and your mind has finally begun to settle. This time on the road you have more than enough supplies and Benji to hunt for you both. The first night when he said you two had to share a tent you blushed profusely and made him make a wall of supplies between the two of you until the chill of the night came. Every night, still with the same blush on your face much to your horror, he waits for you in the makeshift bed with open arms for you to curl into. 

Slowly you’ve started to open up and relax more. Benji has been able to break down your walls and he’s never been more in love with a sound than your laughter. When he wakes up in the early morning to prepare you breakfast he takes the first couple minutes to himself to watch your soft smile as you sleep. He loves when he turns from the fire to be blinded by your silver hair in the sun as you stretch with pink cheeks. At night he relishes how you fight off sleep to talk to him about all of your dreams for the future and your lives once you get to Essos. 

It all started so innocently you just wanted to kiss him. Just once. He didn’t tease you when you told him he was your first kiss he just asked if you would like to be kissed again. After the second kiss it was as if the invisible wall between you two lifted and you became one. When you were with him you felt as if this was the home you were looking for. He was kind and had patience with you and would worship you until you fell asleep. 

The following weeks were some of the happiest times in your life. The days felt never ending and the nights were warm thanks to Benji. You both decided to slow your travel and move at a more leisurely pace as you make your way across the land. Your dragon hunts at night under the shadow of darkness and you begin to feel at ease. Within the next couple of days you both will reach the Vale and begin the last part of your journey in Westeros. 

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8 Months Before 

The Vale’s forests are more dense than either of you two anticipated. It's taken the three of you longer than anticipated but the road has been easy. Your dragon is content to live off of the land and fly in the open skies above the both of you. As of late you’ve been traveling closer to dawn than normal in hopes of being able to reach the coast quicker. 

“By tomorrow we should be in Bravos.” his words are something you’ve been waiting to hear. Your heart is close to bursting. Your freedom is hours away. Once the sun slips under the horizon again you both can make your last flight over Westeros and leave.

“You still want to come with me?” you offer him leave every night. “I wouldn’t blame you if you just told everyone I’m crazy and forced you to take me to the coast.” you nibble your lip with a soft smile.

“I would be the crazy one to leave you here and now.” your smile widens at his words. “I’ve left everything behind for you and I would make that decision again and again.” he grabs your hands. “Whenever we settle in Essos, marry me.” your heart stops. 

“You don’t mean that.” you shake your head.

“I do.” he nods his head with a smile. “Marry me.” he searches your eyes. 

“I will.” you press your lips to his. You pull him into the tent when you hear distant thunder and tangle together in the bed before drifting off for the day.

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

You start to stir as you hear shuffling around outside. You smile that Benji is up and packing. By tomorrow you both will be in Bravos and planning your next move. You open your eyes and your heart feels as if it’s being ripped out of you as you open your eyes. It wasn’t thunder. How could you be so stupid? So hopeful?

“Please.” the word barely audible as Aemond looks down on you with disgust. “Please let me leave. Brother, please.” you stand clutching the blanket. “I’ll fly to Essos and you’ll never see me again. Please.” you beg as the tears stream down your face. 

“Get dressed and get up.” his eye looks you up and down. “Mother has been waiting for you to come home.” he looks over at a waking Benji before he scoffs and leaves the tent. You grab your dress as you hiccup back a sob.

“What is going on?” he’s sitting up instantly. 

“Aemond is here.” you shake your head. “I knew we shouldn’t have gone through the Vale. Then we lingered here for so long.” you curse yourself for letting yourself get so absentminded. “I can’t go back. Kill me. Please, Benji please. Use your dagger. Anything. Please.” you look around frantically for his blade. Your brother will surely tell your mother of the state he found you in and she won’t take lightly to it.

“I will do no such thing.” he grabs your wrists. “Look at me.” he watches your ragged breathing and eyes scanning around the tent. “We will get dressed and we’ll go together. I’m not leaving you.” you nod your head, unable to stop the constant stream of tears. After hastily dressing he grabs your hand and leads you out of the tent. You are greeted by Aemond, who is there waiting with members of the Kingsguard. 

“Seize him.” Aemond tilts his head at Benji and the guards are pulling him away the next moment. 

“Aemond please.” you plead. “Don’t kill him. Please.” you run to your brother grabbing his arms. “Please.” you sob and he grabs your face. 

“It is not my decision. The council will decide his fate on our return.” you watch as they throw Benji into a covered wagon and start hauling him through the forest. “You’ll ride with me.” he grabs your arm and drags you over to Vhagar. 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

You’ve been locked in your chambers for hours. You pace around waiting for your mother to show up. You have no idea what has become of Benji and it’s making you sick. You need air, you need to see Benji. The doors of your chambers open to reveal your mother before they are shut again. 

“You’ve been gone for months and Aemond finds you naked in a tent with a man? In the Vale? And we find out he’s a Blackwood? Gods.” she looks you over with the same disgust you saw in Aemonds eye. “You’ve been sullied no doubt.” your chest tightens as she continues with her ridicule. 

“I love him.” your voice breaks. “We are going to get married.” she chuckles at you. 

“Mm of course.” she rolls her eyes. “You had better hope the moon tea will still work.” you back away from her. 

“I won’t drink it.” you rest your hands on your stomach. “ And if you kill Benji you kill me too. I won’t live. Mother please.” her eyes start to soften as you start to plead. “Please let him stay here with me. Please.” she smooths your hair back and pulls you into her embrace. 

“Why him? I could have found you a nice husband.” she searches your eyes. 

“I want to marry Benji.” she sighs and looks down at you with a frown. “I’ll run away again.” you shake your head pulling away from her. “I’ll take my life. I won’t stay here alone anymore. I can’t. I won’t.” you start to cry again.

“I will see what I can do.” she sighs and leaves you alone in your chambers once more. 

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6 Months Before

In the two months since your arrival back in Kings Landing much had changed. Your mother had allowed Benji to serve as a guard in the castle. She had known not to test your bluff about taking your own life. He was assigned to a night post on the opposite side of the Keep and it was almost impossible to see him. When you got a glimpse of each other in the halls it made everything worth it and the meals you both would indulge in once every fortnight were the only things you were hold on to. 

By the end of your first month back the maester was able to confirm your pregnancy. He urged you to tell your mother and you outright refused. He warrily agreed not to tell the Queen but you both knew it was only a matter of time. When you told Benji the news he cried and held you tightly and promised to take you away. Hours after he whisked you down the halls but as you turned the last corner a handful of guards stopped you both. After that night you have had at least three guards surrounding you at all times when you are outside of your chambers.

You’re not allowed out of your chambers often and most times are when you need to speak with your mother or for family meals. You haven’t seen your father in ages and rumors spread of his rapid decline. Your mother and grandfather have almost complete control of the throne it seems and everyone is holding their breath to see what happens next. The Keep feels colder than it has in years.

You quickly make your way to your mothers chambers to make your final plea of the day when you round the corner and run into Aegon. You take in his flushed cheeks and watery eyes and can tell he just came from where you’re headed. You notice too late he has one hand on your side and the other on your stomach from helping to steady you. Your spine stiffens as you stand up straighter.

“Does mother know?” he searches your eyes, removing his hands from you. 

“No. Please don’t tell her, Aegon. Please.” you plead in a hushed tone.

“You’re almost as much of a disappointment as I am.” he chuckles. “She’ll find out soon enough.” he shakes his head at you.

“But please not by your mouth, brother.” you grab his hand and he nods at you once.

“Well beware,” he nods his head towards our mothers chambers. “She’s in quite the mood.” he shrugs and continues down the hall. 

You pray to the Gods he keeps his mouth shut before you continue on your course to your mothers chambers. You knock quickly on her door and she sighs when she opens the door and sees you. She lets you in and you take a seat on the couch in her solar. 

“What is it?” she takes a seat in the chair across from you. She looks less than pleased to see you and you shrink in her presence.

“Please let me see Benji.” she shuts her eyes at your words and groans.

“Gods I’ve had enough of this. Enough of you and this River Lord. Enough of your brother sullying his name in the streets. I’ve had enough.” she shakes her head and stands up. “If I hear another word about him this week he will no longer be seen by anyone.” your heart drops at her words.

“I-

“No.” she waves you off reclining in her chair. “Leave. Go back to your chambers.” she closes her eyes in dismissal and you rise with a hot face and wet eyes. 

You sprint out of her chambers and down the hall until you’re alone and curled on your bed. You hold the blanket tightly and let out soft sobs so you don’t alert your guards. The door starts to open and you sit up quickly but when you look at the door it’s still shut. You look around your chambers and gasp with a smile as Benji is standing in a doorway in the wall. You stand up and he walks over to you engulfing you in a hug. 

“How? What is this?” you mumble into his chest as you look at the doorway in the wall. 

“Someone sent me to bring you this.” he holds out a ripped piece of parchment and you look at it with scrunched brows.

i wont tell mother

congrats  

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4 Months Before

The maester has kept his word of keeping quiet about your pregnancy and he suspects that you’ll be on the birthing bed in three months. Your handmaidens have proved their loyalty everyday by keeping you draped in large gowns and extra fabric to help conceal your bump. You’re terrified but so excited to bring such a pure light into this world. You know you have to tell your mother soon and you’re dreading her reaction. Benji has been such a solid force for you to lean on and you’re thankful for Aegon showing him the tunnels.

The tunnels have offered you and Benji everything the past two months. He has been staying with you every night and sometimes you pretend you’re both still in the small tent in the forest. You both secretly plan a better life for your child and hide away coin. You both decided to wait until after the babe comes in hopes of easier travel. Lately tensions around the Keep have been rising and it has you on edge.

“What if we just left now anyways. This babe will change everything. I think we should leave.” you grab his hands and look at him with pleading eyes. 

“You are in no condition to travel. We don’t have a destination set. We can wait. It’ll be okay.” he nods and wipes your tears away. “I promise.” you want so badly to trust him but you feel a sense of impending doom.

“I’m scared.” you hiccup back a sob. “Benji, I'm so scared.” he rests his hand on your bump. 

“It’ll be okay. I-“ your chamber doors open and your mother walks in. 

“What is this?” her face crumbles as she looks at you both and the hand on your swollen stomach. “How? You kept this from me?” her expression changes from anger to hurt and then a mix of the two. 

“Mother-

“How could you keep this from me?” she searches your face. “Go to your post, Benjicot.” she straightens her spine as she lifts her chin to him. He turns to you as you begin to cry. “If you do not leave now I will have guards come in and escort you out.” you stand in front of him and look to your mother.

“Please,” you sob. “Please, I love him, mother.” you hold onto his arm.

“Benjicot, leave now.” she raises her chin and stares at Benji. He pulls on his clothes while whispering promises that he will see you tonight. You follow him to the door crying the whole time. He squeezes your hand and slips out of your chambers.

“Mother, please.” you walk to her.

“Who knows?” she looks down her nose at you.

“No one.” you shake your head.

“Doubtful.” she scoffs. “Your handmaidens and at least one maester if you’re this far along. Gods I don’t even know what to do.” she lets out a bitter chuckle and looks up at the ceiling. “Why couldn’t you just have taken the moon tea? I let that pathetic River Lord stay here in exchange for you to drink it.” her eyes are filled with disdain.

“I would never have drank the tea.” you hold your bump protectively. “I love Benji and this child.” you look at her with watery eyes.

“You’re not even married.” she scoffs looking away. “My own daughter having a bastard.” she chuckles. Her harsh words are a shock to your senses.

“I don’t care.” you say exasperated. “Let us leave. Make up a story. I don’t care. I’m obviously not in the right condition for you to pawn me off for your throne so let us go. Please mother. Please we’ll disappear in Essos.” you know this is truly your final plea. Her knowing about your child is the tipping point. 

“No.” she shakes her head. “You’ll remain in your chambers for the remainder of this pregnancy.” your heart sinks as she leaves sealing shut the doors to your chambers with such finality that you feel it in your bones. 

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3 Months Before 

The past month has been absolute agony for you. Benji still manages to find you through the tunnels but only for fleeting moments. You are watched so carefully that you can barely even get out of bed without your handmaidens rushing in. If your mother hadn’t sequestered you to your chambers the maester would have by now from how sunken you’ve become the more swollen your stomach becomes.

You’ve never felt more alone in your entire life. You’ve taken to talking to yourself and the unborn child you carry. The babe has told you that it’s a boy. You tell him stories you remember hearing about Essos and about the wind. He whispers to you at all hours of the day of the childhood he envisions and how he wishes his father could be with you now. I wish he was here.

“I wish he was here too.” you whisper cradling your bump. “One day. One day we’ll all be a family.” the words barely a breath. 

Benji's PoV

Over the past month he’s watched you slowly lose yourself. He doesn’t understand how the Queen could do this to her own child. Someone so pure and sweet. When he enters your chambers for those minutes he holds so dear you look at him as if you don’t see him. Then when your eyes finally uncloud your face drops and you start crying and speaking High Valyrian. 

He wants to take you away from here but he doesn’t know if you’ll make it. You haven’t been yourself since your mother found out and he’s so terrified. He should’ve just gotten you on your dragon in the Vale and let them kill him. He was so selfish for wanting a life with you. 

He blames himself. He should’ve done more. He should’ve gotten you to safety and now you and his child are.. He doesn’t know. He clenches his fist as the tears fall down his cheeks. He wipes them away angrily before taking a deep breath and opening the secret door to your chambers. 

Your PoV

He’s here. The babe whispers into your mind and you smile holding your bump. You look down as if you can see through the layers straight to the babe within. You can’t wait for the day you get to bring him into this world. You hope Benji will be at your side. Gods you miss him. He’s here. 

“My Princess, please,” you know that broken voice. “See me, please.” you blink your eyes and you see Benji standing before you with a hand resting on your cheek. 

“You're here.” a sob racks through your body. “Stay. Stay, please.” you grab onto him and hold him closely. “You’re here.” you whisper into his neck.

“I’m here.” he doesn’t know what to say. He holds you closely and you cling to him. “I’m here. I’m sorry.” he can’t stop his own tears as he holds you closely. 

My father. The babe whispers with happiness. He’s here. You grab Benji's hand and bring it to your bump. You hold each other as the tears flow and he presses a kiss to your forehead before he rises. I don’t want him to leave. Your heart pangs. 

“I love you. I will try to see you again soon.” his smile broken and defeated.

“I love you.” you watch him open the door. “Stay.” you whisper as the door clicks shut behind him. 

“Princess, is everything okay?” a handmaiden opens up your main doors rushing to your side.

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2 Months Before  

You overheard the news from two of your handmaidens who have long thought your mind no longer works. Your father was dead. You weren’t sad at the news. He’s been dead for sometime now. You turn as your chamber doors open. Your mother walks into the room and looks you over. 

“Your father is dead. Aegon will be crowned tomorrow.” you look at her unblinking. “Benjicot is being sent to the wall. You will have this baby next month and you will be married to Lord Lannister shortly after.” you’ve been numb for some time now but her words slam into you.

“I won’t marry him.” you shake your head going to your couch. “We’re leaving.” you hum holding your bump. “Me, Benji, and our son.” you sit down on your chair. “Somewhere it’s always warm.” you offer her a soft smile. “We’re leaving after you join us.” you coo holding your stomach.

“He’s already on his way North.” she sighs, shaking her head. “He’s gone.” she starts walking towards the door. “Pull yourself together by the time Lord Jason comes to court. I won’t have you embarrass me.” the door thuds closed behind her.

He’s gone. He’s gone. You curl into the blankets on your bed as your handmaidens start to clean up your chambers. After lighting the hearth they leave tea on your table and leave you. You stare out the window feeling the tears fall down your cheeks. He’s gone. 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

Someone’s here. I don’t care. He’s sad. So am I. He’s crying. You peel your eyes open and Aegon's red eyes greet you as he lays next to you. 

“What has she done to you?” he searches your dead eyes. 

“What of you?” your voice raw as you see the telling indentations across his brow where the crown sat minutes ago. 

“I’ll try to do something.” he whispers and you offer him a tired smile.

“There's nothing to be done. She’s already sent him to the wall.” his watery eyes meet yours. “Besides you offered us so much when you showed Benji those tunnels. I never got to thank you for that.” you brush his hair back.

“I wish I could’ve given you more.” his eyebrows scrunch.

“You’ve given me enough.” you close your eyes and turn back over. You hear him leave and let the world go dark around you once again. We’re alone. We have each other. I miss him. I miss him too. I’ll be with you soon. 

Benji’s PoV

Benji wakes up chained to a wooden bench being carted down the Kings Road. He’s surrounded by common criminals and he tugs on his chains to see if they’re loose. He bangs his head against the wood and the man next to him chuckles. 

“Like we would be that lucky.” the man smirks. “We’re already lucky enough to be going to the wall instead of the gallows.” he shrugs, shutting his eyes.

Benji ignores him and begins to try and form a plan. Why are they sending him to the wall? You’re about to give birth and he won’t be there. Gods he doesn’t know what to do. He should’ve gotten you out. He has to believe he still has a chance to do so. 

He doesn’t know what to do. His heart starts to pump faster and his breathing becomes ragged. He’s being taken from you when you need him the most. He’s terrified of what they’ll do to you in his absence. He needs to get free. He needs to return to you and his child. He needs to.. He needs to.. He needs.. 

“What's wrong with you?” the man next to him mumbles as his vision goes black as he passes out from panic and anxiety.

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1 Month Before

It's time. The voice wakes you along with the immense pressure. You don’t call for anyone as another wave of pain washes through you when you sit up in the dark. You prop yourself up on the pillows and focus on your breathing. I get to meet you soon. A sharp pain tears through you. 

Your teeth dig into your lip as the pressure builds. Your fingers dig into your knees as you spread your legs and begin to push. I’m here. The voice soothes you as you continue in silent anguish. You’re almost there. A small cry comes from you as your son pushes out of you and onto the bed. You scoop him up and bring him to your body. 

He gives out a soft cry and nuzzles against your chest. You’re here. I’m here. You hold him alone in your chambers rocking him and having no care for the after birth or any of the mess and tending to you need. Your child was here. You weren’t alone. He’s here. I’m here. He’s here. I'm not alone.

“Princess.” your handmaidens gasp as they open your door. 

“Oh Gods.” 

“Get the Maester.” 

“Get the Queen.” hurried whispers float around your chambers as you continue to silently rock your son. 

“What’s happened?” your mother bursts into your chambers. “Gods.” she looks at you. “Clean her up.” she walks over and grabs the babe out of your arms. You try to reach for him but she’s out of your chambers and suddenly your son is gone. 

Where are you? I’m here. Where are you? My son. I’m here. Where are you? “Where are you? I’m here. Where are you? I’m here.” screams tear from your body. “Where are you? Where are you?” you call out over and over.

“Princess calm down.” your handmaidens look at you with concern. 

“Where are you?” the maester walks over to you with a cup and pours its contents down your throat. “I’m here. Please, I’m here. Where are..” 

I’m here. 

Please, where are you?

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1 Week Before

Where are you? 

You haven’t seen your son since you’ve given birth to him. The only people you see are your handmaidens and the maester who gives you sleeping drafts. You haven’t seen any of your siblings. Not even your mother. You have no one. No one is coming for you. You’re alone.

Where are you? 

You’re in the tunnels in the dead of night holding a candle stick. The stone bites into the soles of your feet as you climb higher making your way towards the maester’s tower. You softly push on the door and peek in seeing an empty room filled with glass vials and books. 

Where are you?

Your eyes scan over the small glass tubes quickly reading them over. You walk over to the cabinets and continue your search. It has to be in here. A comforting warmth washes over you as your eyes stop. 

Tears of Lys. 

There you are. 

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1 Day Before 

Your mother sits across from you for the first time since she took your son. She mentions nothing of him and instead tells you of your wedding tomorrow. Apparently Lord Jason is here and awaiting your company. You don’t speak or hold her eye contact. You stare at your nails as she continues to tell you what your life is to become. You wince as you dig into the skin around your nail and a droplet of blood appears.

You decide it has to be tonight. You have no idea what the state of the realm is in and have no desire to try and tread through it again. Especially now that you’re all alone. You call out to your son everyday but never get a response. They took your two great loves. You’re alone.

I’m sorry. I’m leaving. I can’t stay. 

Benji’s PoV

Tonight was the first night they didn’t chain him when he slept. After everyone was asleep and the man on the night watch turned he was gone. There’s a month of travel and a war between you both right now but he will do everything to get back to you and your child. He wishes he had a way to get a message to you but it’s impossible.

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1 Hour Before

You sit at a desk with a blank expression and a quivering hand. The ink splatters across the parchment and you scrunch it up and grab a new one. This one is stained with your tears. 

Benjicot and my boy-

I’m sorry. I promised you both freedom and songs of the wind. Instead I’ve ruined everything. 

I will be with you both again in the afterlife. 

-Your wife and your mother

You leave the parchment spread on the desk next to the countless others you attempted to write. Walking to the table that holds your wine feels as if you’re walking across the city. You hold onto the wine with a shaking hand and pour yourself a glass of wine. You pull the vial out of your pocket and empty the entirety of it into your glass of wine. You swirl the red liquid around and down the mixture. You set the glass and vial next to your letter and go lay back on the bed. 

You let out one last exhale before shutting your eyes and calling out one last time.

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

Death 

Where are you?

I will remain here.

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

2 Months After - Benji's PoV 

The one month journey turned into two because of the raging war. The road was hard but all he thought about was you and your child. Gods he misses you so much. He doesn’t know what is waiting for him in Kings Landing but whatever it is he’s taking you both to Essos and starting the life you planned those months ago. No waiting, no excuses. 

                                         ᓚᘏᗢ

Getting into Kings Landing was easier than Benji had thought. He snuck in through the docks and made his way into the Keep through the tunnels. He walked up to your chambers and listened for any sounds. You must be asleep. He opens the door and finds your chambers empty.

No, your chambers look abandoned. Left as they were never to be lived in again. He walks to your desk and sees the letter. The empty vial next to the empty glass. No. No. This isn’t real. No, he won’t accept this. 

“No.” he shakes his head reading it again. “No. Where is she?” he grabs the letter and slips back into the tunnels. Where are you? Where have they hidden you away? This isn’t real. Where are you? Benji’s heart races as he flies down the stairs.

He makes his way down the steps and into the crypts. He won’t believe it. It can’t be. He presses against the wall as he sees someone kneeling on the stone lighting a candle. He waits the couple minutes the woman whispers before she pads away. He continues down the hall and falls to his knees at the lit candles. No. No. His vision blurs as the tears fall.

“I’m sorry.” he chokes out. “I’m here. I’m sorry.” he looks at the date etched on the stone dating two months ago. He was far too late. “I’m sorry.” he grabs for his dagger. “I’m here. I’ll be with you soon.” he brings the tip of the blade to his heart. “I’m sorry.” he lets out a sob.

“Stop.” his head turns at the soft voice. “There’s someone who needs you.” he follows the stranger up the tunnel steps and into the back of the nursery. A small boy with black hair and violet eyes stares up at him. He’s here.

“My boy.” Benji picks him up. “Our son.” he starts to cry. He’s here. 

He turns to thank the stranger but they’re gone. He wraps his son up and packs a bag quickly and leaves out of the Keep through the tunnels. He races to the docks and shoves coin into a shipmate's hand and boards the boat, stowing himself and your son away in the underbelly. They’ll arrive in Essos by the end of the day. Your dream is coming true but you’re not here to see it. He holds your son tighter as his tears start once more. 

As the ship leaves the harbor there is a loud crack heard from the city followed by a roar. Benji looks up and sees your dragon flying above the Blackwater with a chain hanging from his neck. No other dragons come for your dragon and Benji thanks the Gods they were able to get away.

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

4 Months After

Benji sits with his son in the countryside just outside of Volantis. Above your dragon soars on the wind. He’s followed the two of them across Essos and watches over their travel. Benji was worried the dragon would bring too much attention but no trouble has come of it. Your dragon only approached Benji once when they first landed to allow him to remove the chains but since then he keeps his distance. Your dragon seems to be waiting for your son to acknowledge the claim he has placed on him already.  

Benji is thankful for this last gift you’ve given them.

The sun is high and warm as the light breeze flows through the tall grass. 

Faintly, Benji swears he can hear your voice wind.

I’m here. 

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

masterlist 🔌 

um i cried while writing this and while editing and while just thinking abt it xx 

pls take care of yourself bc i know this is a rough topic and there are people out there who care for you and who will answer when you call and there are resources out there if you need them!!

taglist ✍️

@clarityisnofun @gabriella-aesthetic @callsignwidow @llynx7 @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @thatgirl101blog @1-fuzzy-squirrels @arya-brooke @ashovertheriver @zanygot7straykidsbonk @moonymoo1 @malfoycassimalfoy @april-notthemonth69 @anaviieiraaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @neocockthotology @thereaderwitch @hardkiddonut @faenyra @hiimava11 @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @fiction-fanfic-reader @povofjustme @multilover19 @alexxavicry @cedstars @fuckalrighty @mrsmunson-harrington @misspendragonsworld @nz2004 @ninihrtss

[thefandomimagines]

He’s a musician

[thefandomimagines]

The Alabama vs Tennessee mentions 😂😂

Halftime

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: A chance meeting a week before Thanksgiving leaves you and your dad’s best friend to handle your feelings the only way you know how: fucking on the couch when your dad falls asleep during the game.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Age gap. Soft dom!Joel. Daddy kink. Praise kink (!) Makeup sex. Pussy pronouns.

Note: ‘Or maybe on a fifty yard line watchin’ Bama beat the hell out of Tennessee’ is a line from Riley Green’s ‘Hell of a Way to Go.’ I was in Knoxville when we played this year, but in my fic, Alabama wins. If you’re a Vols fan, I’m sorry. And RMFT.

Word count: 10.5k

Guilt brought you home, and liquor helped you stay.

These were two of the shittiest things a daughter could admit, but the fact was that you simply wouldn’t be here if your dad hadn’t broken his leg at work last week. That you wanted to help, but your patience was thin, and the only way you knew how to reconcile the two was to drink. A lot. Friday you came home, and by midday Saturday, sometime around eleven or twelve, you were plastered.

Staggering up the front steps of your childhood home with Theresa Servopoulos—newfound friend from camp and the heaviest drinker you’d met in a long, long time—hot on your heels. You’d just had brunch, and the meal was mostly liquid. Bottomless mimosas had been Frank’s idea, and when his husband Bill had offered to be the DD after the fact, you’d had no choice but to accept, really. You drank your weight in citrus and champagne and spent the whole morning getting to know Tess’s friends. As your state of intoxication progressed, you’d told them your troubles and all that had been plaguing you lately.

Now, hours later, you didn’t want to think at all.

You wanted to sit your ass down on the couch, turn the TV on to Disney+, and spend the next three to thirteen more binging Star Wars spin-offs and discussing with Tess at length whether Katee Sackhoff or Timothy Olyphant was the more fuckable supporting actor.

“Honestly…I’d let Jabba the Hutt hit,” you confessed, slurring your words a little as you fumbled for your key.

“You’re fucking lying,” Tess half-groaned, half-laughed.

She watched you try and jam metal into metal and fail twice before steeling herself against a rocking chair and reaching out her hand. You waved it away. At a distance, you heard the hum of an engine and another voice, loud:

“You ladies need a little help over there or wha-at?”

That was Frank. He was arguably the most drunk out of the three of you and hanging his handsome, greying head out of the passenger side of Bill’s Chevy S-10. He’d seen you try and fail with the key, too, and seemed more eager than ever to lend a hand, while his husband was likely kicking himself for ever offering to drive you back.

Tess gripped the porch chair harder and gestured, dazed.

“Give her a minute, she’s—” She hiccuped once. “—intelligent and entirely capable. She’s got this, OK?”

You didn’t. You really didn’t. And by the way you were finessing this key you didn’t feel too fucking smart either. You crammed your key against the tight, rigid slot in the front door of your home, missed it completely, and then wondered, dimly, how men were able to aim their dicks.

How Joel ever managed to fit that massive, throbbing—

“Fuck!” you cursed, kicking the doorframe with a huff.

The periphery of your vision was spinning and swimming a little now, and before you knew it, Tess had snatched your keychain from out of your hand. She got to work.

And while she did, you turned back to Bill and Frank, whose truck was still idling quietly in your driveway.

Frank had an eyebrow raised. His chin was in his palm, and his elbow was planted in the car’s open window. With that look alone, you knew what he wanted to say.

“Fine…fine,” you capitulated in a loud, droning shout. Head spinning, “You can give him my fucking number.”

Frank grinned at that.

“No shit?” he yelled back.

“Yeah. I really am that horny.”

From somewhere in the car, Bill groaned his disapproval. Frank’s smile only widened. It’d been his idea to set you up with one of their neighbors after you’d divulged all of your dating life turmoils over eggs benedict and grits that morning—how fucking your dad’s best friend had, in fact, not been the wisest decision and you needed something new to get your mind off the man for a little while. Frank had been all too happy to offer supplying your number to the so-called ‘dreamboat’ next door to them. Initially, you’d brushed it off, but the longer you stood on this porch contemplating the hellish few days you’d be spending at home for Thanksgiving, the more you drunkenly reasoned a dick might do you some good.

And if it wasn’t from Joel Miller, even better. You leaned against the nearest porch column and pointed at Frank.

Then at Bill, squinting dumbly and faux-accusingly.

“I’m desperate, but I’m trusting y’all, too, alright?”

You wanted to get fucked, not fucked over, again. Frank seemed to understand right away and nodded his head.

“I’ll give him your number, tell him you’re hot—which you are—and you two can work something out. It’ll be fine.”

He pointed back at you, still smiling, and you hoped it would be. Behind you, Tess had solved the puzzle of the chrome-plated house key, and had thrust the door open. She stumbled inside, and your feet started to follow hers.

“Tell Tess to text us your number!” Frank had to cup his hands saying it, as Bill was already starting to pull away.

You nodded and waved. Watched the world veer sideways and your kind, considerate, hammered new friend-of-a-friend repeat how great this was going to be—this guy’ll do you so good you’ll forget Joel exists—while you backed into the house. A gust of warm air from inside pricked at your skin, and along with that touch came the tiniest trace of hope. A sanguine sort of warmth that twisted low in your gut and made you smile.

And cup your hands, as Frank had, while calling to him:

“How old is Mr. Dreamboat, anyway?!”

The truck was crunching its ways down the gravel drive. Its path was slow, though, and Frank’s voice was clear.

“FORTY-ONE!”

It was as though you were hearing those words in a dream. You almost couldn’t help what you said next.

Fanning yourself, you yelled back, “I lo-o-o-ve that!”

“What?!”

Frank hadn’t heard you. They were farther away now.

You had to practically scream it now, but you were drunk enough that you didn’t really care. Tess was entertained, half-hunched on the floor and trying to work off her shoes while she laughed at this stupid exchange.

In truth, it didn’t matter how loud you yelled, because you lived on several dozen acres of land, and your dad wasn’t home. He’d told you that he was hitching a ride with Tommy to their usual weekend haunt to watch the Alabama-Tennessee game, and it started an hour ago. The house was empty, and you were free to screech.

“I said, ‘I love that’!”

“Yeah? Love what?!”

Frank was hanging halfway out of the passenger window by now, and his face was flushed with moronic humor.

Bill was probably grinding his teeth together as he drove.

“O-O-O-OLD MEN!” you shrilled, as loud as you could.

Next thing you knew, Tess was on the floor. Wheezing.

It didn’t matter whether Frank could hear you now; evidently, he’d gotten the message. Their truck was crawling down your drive with a low, rumbling crackle, and the eyes that were still glued to yours were shining.

Before they turned out of sight, Frank waved again and blew you a kiss, as you and Tess had done to him at some point earlier that day. He slipped back into the car, and your sides were nearly aching from how hard you were giggling—nothing was even that particularly funny, but with a nice noontime buzz and Tess’s relentless cackling from across the foyer, you couldn’t help it. You shut the door, staggered over, and were about to drop.

Right when you were about to collapse, though, Tess wobbled up. You saw her raise two hands in front of her.

“I’m— I’m gonna pee…or puke…possibly,” she warned.

That wasn’t good.

You pointed up.

“First door on your left. Do you need any—”

But Tess was already staggering off. You might’ve laughed again, and trailed after her with a plea to try not to projectile vomit all over those nice festive towels your dad had bought, but the moment came and went quick. In fact, it wasn’t even brought to an end by your friend’s departure but rather the screech of her feet on the floor.

Nearly tripping over herself to leave, then crashing into something else before she could. You heard a thwack.

Then her huff, ‘Fuck. Sorry!’ And you turned.

You looked up and cursed.

Again, you felt like you might be in a dream. Only this time, the sight had more of a nightmarish hue, and you had only to grip the edge of a chair—no, a table, a side table—beside you in the hall to keep yourself upright.

Your sweet, sloppy-drunk friend had run straight into Joel. She was raising her hands again and saying sorry.

You could tell she meant it, too. She was just shaking her head, appearing to try and rid herself of the stunned, dumbfounded feelings, when she tilted her chin up.

Then, somehow even brighter, she smiled in recognition.

“Lucien Flores!”

Not missing a beat, like you knew she wouldn’t:

“You fucking prick.”

Of course she was sober enough to remember his face. The time she’d mistaken him for an uptight FEDRA counselor back at camp. How you’d fucked him on her bunk. All the shit-talking you’d been doing about him since, too. You knew she wasn’t a woman to mince words, so it didn’t surprise you in the slightest when next she placed a hand on his pec, patted it lightly and added:

“You’re an asshole. A spineless, slimy, sad sack of shit.”

Joel blinked as she walked past him, toward the stairs.

“Good to see you, too, Tess.”

“Eat shit and die.”

“Theresa.”

You hadn’t even meant to say the last aloud; it just came out. Tess was holding the rail, going slow but determined to get upstairs without losing her food all over the floor.

The next thing you heard was the slam of the bathroom door. You winced and thought of your dad’s decorative towels a moment. That thought was then supplanted by another, though you pretended not to feel it, at least outwardly. You brushed past Joel to go to the kitchen.

Why was he here? He surely wouldn’t have come unless your father was there, and your dad was supposed to be watching the Vols take the ass-beating of a lifetime from the Tide. Or maybe vice-versa. You weren’t sure how the latter was doing since Saban retired. You rubbed one temple as you opened a cabinet and looked for a glass.

Reconsidering, you opted for a plastic cup instead.

Your head was throbbing as you walked to the sink.

You sensed you likely weren’t of a mind to be holding anything fragile, and the second that followed only proved it. A footfall sounded by the kitchen island, and you flinched, dropping your cup like a fucking idiot.

“Where’s my dad?” you blurted out, not thinking.

You didn’t want his voice to be the first to fill the silence. You picked your cup off the floor and turned on the tap.

More silence followed. You couldn’t be sure if it was your own drunken paranoia or a genuine feeling of two eyes on your back, but your skin bristled. You were prepared to pose the question again when your answer came in the form of a new sound: not Joel’s voice, but another’s.

An announcer, apparently. You turned your head and saw ESPN on the living room TV, where the game was playing. In front of the screen, your dad was supine on his recliner. His jaw hung slack, and his eyes were shut.

So much for those morning beers with Tommy.

His leg was armored with a boot: a real, no-bullshit cast meant to protect the tibia he’d shattered, propped up in front of him while the other dangled haphazardly from the chair. You watched him, feeling an odd mix of pity, nausea, and love, and for a second, you didn’t think to move. This man was the reason you were home, after all—and why Joel was, too. You almost forgot your anger.

Your cup was full. Overflowing. You turned off the sink, then poured what excess you could as your hand shook.

You shouldn’t have been holding anything in that moment, off-kilter and unnerved as you were, but you wanted to seem occupied. You inhaled and started past Joel again, who was leaning against the counter, quiet.

He still didn’t talk, and let you stroll about half a foot in front of him before you felt the cup lift out of your hand.

“Hey—” you started.

But Joel was resuming your path before you could finish. He’d snagged the water from your grasp and made his way out of the kitchen, calmly, and you didn’t have to ask to know where he was going. You felt a pang of rekindled resentment but said nothing, knowing that was useless.

Arrogant motherfucker. Patronizing asshole. Clearly, you couldn’t be trusted to carry a cup of fucking water up the stairs in your own home, so he had had to do it for you. You went over to your father in the living room, blinking through a dozen more pissed off thoughts, when you glanced down at one of your hands again. You winced.

Stop shaking.

You needed to stay busy. Make use of those dumb, trembling hands while Joel was here and not let him see that it was all from memories of him—not the mimosas—that you couldn’t keep a steady hold to save your life.

You started to clean, mindlessly. Cleared the old coffee table of its manifold beer cans and plates of stale pizza. You walked with an unsteady gait, the room still tilting a little, but you ended up getting a decent amount cradled in your arms and into the trash or the sink shortly after.

You had just taken a bite of a slice of pepperoni and made a face when your dad shifted in his seat, letting out a grunt. Still unconscious, he rubbed at his arms. The house around him was warm, but never quite enough for a man who appeared to have been born cold-blooded. After years of this, you knew the routine; you dropped your pizza, went to the thermostat, and cranked it to 75.

Less than a minute later, it came: “Boiling us alive, huh?”

It was the first you’d heard from Joel since he spoke his curt greeting to Tess. You were over by the closet getting a blanket, and Joel was stood in the doorway, frowning.

You turned, holding up the big wool throw for him to see before you went back over to your dad in the recliner.

“He needs it,” you replied, gaze averted.

“By ‘it’ you mean his electric bill gone through the roof?”

He could be such a father sometimes. The worst kind.

“No, keeping him fucking warm, Joel.”

And the end of the last sentence you hadn’t meant to be so loud. Or mean. You didn’t really care whether it offended him, but the thought of waking your dad to hear that—being rude to your ‘Uncle Joel,’ as your dad had so innocently called the man last month—was awful. You squinted seeing him stir under the blanket, but then he turned to the side and snored even louder. You sighed.

“Doctor’s got him on some heavy painkillers. He’s been out since before the last game even ended,” Joel said.

You glanced at the TV. The game was crawling to halftime at a snail’s pace, by the looks of it. You smiled, seeing those puke-pumpkin-hued fucks getting smoked. In a second, though, the curve of your lips was fading.

“Will you stop?”

Your voice was shrill. You hurried over to Joel, who was busy dicking around with the thermostat and trying to get it down to 68 degrees—freezing, in your dad’s mind.

“It’s too hot.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re being—”

“This isn’t your fuckin’ house, Miller! Quit!”

“Yell a little louder, why don’t y—” Joel began to scold.

You wouldn’t let him. Of all things to get on your ass about now, volume wasn’t the hill he’d die on today. Before you even realized what you two were doing, you shoulder-checked him like you might do an annoying brother, and his arm wound swiftly around your front. It didn’t hurt, but it sure as hell made you mad to be held.

You made a jab at Joel’s ribs and ignored the grunt from him. Anger was a natural defense—your default state.

Every last semi-tranquil encounter you’d shared with someone you cared about before was always marred by rage at some point, and with Joel, it came as easy as breathing. If you weren’t tearing each other’s clothes off, you were ripping him a new one, or he was grating your nerves. You didn’t get along, and you likely never would.

That didn’t mean there wasn’t need there somewhere. You just smothered it with something hostile, constantly.

You wished it would go away. You shoved at his arm.

“You’re gonna wake him,” you hissed, strained.

“Yeah? That’s what you’re worried about?”

You wriggled against Joel’s hold and, scrunching your nose, made a pass for the dial on the wall. He caught it.

Now he was holding your hand in one of his, and your shoulder with the other as his forearm crossed your chest. Joel’s frame was looming over yours, and you glared ahead of you, where the screen still read ‘68.’

You could throttle him—Joel Miller simply refused to lose

“Is that all you’ve gotta say to me, after this whole time?”

His breaths were tight like yours, but the voice was slow.

“What else is there to say?” you snapped.

“You’ve been ignoring me all month.”

“I’m in college. I have shit to do.”

“Like block all of my calls?”

“Go fuck yourself, Joel.”

“Just tell me why.”

“Fuck. You.”

Your last two caustic words were still warm on your tongue when Joel turned you around. Again, he wasn’t forceful or harsh—your looks had enough vitriol for the two of you—but he pushed your body against the wall. Right beside the thermostat, your spine straightened, and your legs wrapped reflexively around his waist.

“Is that an invitation?” he hummed, voice palpably lower.

Un-fucking-believable, you thought. Of course, it was.

Silently, you prided yourself in wearing a dress that day. It wasn’t the short, red-and-white gingham thing you’d worn to the fair with Joel last month, but it was loose. Flowing. Easy enough for him to hike up your legs, sliding a coarse, warm palm up your thigh while the other held you tight to the wall. His hips pinned yours, and with that gesture, you felt him hard and desperate in denim.

“Need me to fuck you now or what? Is that the only way I’m getting a word out of this mouth?” he pressed again.

Honestly, it was. You nodded once to say as much.

Then he pushed you harder against the wall. He wrestled with his jeans just enough for you to hear a belt, and a button, and a short, sharp zip come down, and your mind was swimming with filthy ideas when he grunted.

Joel nosed your cheek, and a hand made its way to your mouth. You sucked in a breath right before you felt three fingertips graze the seam of your lips. Prying them open.

“If I’m fucking you here, I need more than a nod, kid.”

You really, really hated him now. This felt like a game. His index curled into your bottom teeth and pulled your mouth open wider, while his own was smiling, faintly. It was hard to talk with his fingers skirting your tongue—his warm, bare member springing out and grazing your folds through your panties down below—but you tried.

Your words were muffled as you spoke, “Please fuck me.”

Clearly, that was all Joel needed. With an easy nudge from the head of his cock, he pushed your underwear to the side, and his grin got bigger when he felt you soaked.

You were drooling down his length, and he hadn’t so much as touched you before he pushed you up against his body. It felt almost shameful as he slid himself inside.

Then, in the next moment, your brain went blank. Your bodies were joined completely, and Joel had you seated all the way down to the base of his cock, where a tuft of salt-and-pepper hair tickled your skin. His fingers hung limply from your lips while he nestled in; when you groaned, he used his middle and index to stifle the noise.

“Shh, hey—” he started, as if suddenly remembering where he was, and whose daughter he was fucking, “You’re okay. You’re good…I know that feels good.”

You despised him even more when he was right. He pressed the heft of his belly into you, and with the friction, you couldn’t help but whimper against his hand.

“Fuck you,” you bit again, this time through fingers.

“I am.”

Then he pushed them in further, and he made you suck. Joel started fucking you gently against the wall, and with the first few strokes, you knew you’d be putty soon enough. You focused on feeling and trying not to whine.

“I’ve been texting,” Joel continued, breath labored, sounding half-crazed, “Calling every chance I got—”

He paused to jerk his hips harder. Make you bounce on his cock or maybe just hold him closer from the force of it. And you did, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck and reluctantly burying your face into the side.

He was familiar, that was for sure. You tensed seeing something else familiar—your dad in the next room—and preemptively swallowed a moan while Joel kept going.

Fucking you stupid and talking to you, per usual.

“—to make sure you were OK,” he finished, panting.

Pulling his fingers from your lips so you could answer:

“I’m fine.”

“Are we?”

“You lied to me!”

And no sooner had he retracted his hand that he needed to clamp his palm over your mouth. You’d said that loud.

In the next room over, through the open space between the kitchen and the den, you heard your dad snore softly. When your gaze flitted back to Joel’s, it was like you were chiding the other at once—whose idea was this, anyway? Slowly, he moved his hand down, but his gaze was stern.

“Didn’t mean to lie,” Joel answered, now lower than ever.

“But you did. Dad’s been fucking his old sidepiece, my mom’s best friend, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was my place—”

“Your place?!” You made sure to keep your indignation hushed this time, but your eyes went wide. Incredulous.

You would’ve shoved Joel off if he hadn’t moved first. Neither one of you had had a fraction of the presence of mind to be thinking straight here, obviously, so when he carried you closer to a table in an adjoining room, all you were thinking was how not to lose your cool completely. When Joel tried to set you down on the wooden surface, you slipped away. You moved to the couch; you weren’t even considering where you were going, just that you wanted more of him, and you needed to be done quick.

If that meant fucking on the sofa behind your dad’s recliner, so be it. Joel balked a second before following.

“Are you…?” he started, voice no louder than a whisper.

“What? Not your ‘place’ here, either?” you shot back.

Admittedly, you were both insane. No matter how far away your dad’s sleeping form happened to be, or how thoroughly knocked out he appeared from the drugs, this was batshit, objectively. Joel’s eyes narrowed at you.

Then he moved some more. Casting a sidelong glance at the recliner less than ten feet away, he gripped himself and gave you a look as if to say, ‘Are we crazy now, or…?’

You nodded to confirm that you were.

By moving again, apparently, Joel was saying the same.

Except now it wasn’t with words but with a look—eyeing you hungrily and setting all rational, sane thought aside to climb over the couch to you. Your legs were spread.

Joel slotted himself quickly between them, then inside you, without another word. His body crowded yours. The scent you knew was also the fragrance you hated most: the smell of his American Spirits. He tried to kiss you with those lips, and you dodged them, choosing instead to hold the coarse greyish hairs at the nape of his neck and pull them. Draw him closer to your body without letting him get too close to you. Joel let out a grunt.

His hips rutted in short, quick, shallow motions again, like he was desperate to feel anything. When you wouldn’t accept his lips on yours, they fell to the side of your face. He held your sides while he dragged his cock in and out of your pulsing heat, and his breaths fanned heavy on your cheek. His stubble was sharp on your skin.

“Anything you want,” he huffed shortly.

His mouth was right by your ear, and his words were spoken in a breath. And another. And another. Still panting and dragging his old, weary hips back and forth in an effort to pleasure you. He felt indescribably good.

“Want…what?” you murmured back.

You clawed at his torso and locked your legs around his waist. You glanced over at the recliner, turned away from the couch, thankfully, and hoped it wouldn’t move again. Your dad’s breaths were deep, and so was Joel inside you

Sliding a hand under your head and cradling your body to his, and still maintaining a bruising pace with his cock—you almost couldn’t take it. You wanted to come undone.

And there Joel went, murmuring in your ear. Battling the urge not to get too loud with your father there, but still:

“I’ll do anything…anything you want.”

“W-Why? For what?”

“To say I’m sorry.”

“You don’t—”

But your words were cut short. For a second, your heart leapt into your throat thinking the sound was coming from your dad’s old chair, and then you realized that it wasn’t. Just the same, your terror spiked again when you sensed it was somewhere inside—coming from the back.

“Can I get a…ROLL TIDE?!” someone yelled.

Tommy Miller wasn’t even an Alabama fan.

Still, it seemed he was here to celebrate like one anyway. You froze momentarily, taking in the shout, then the steps, then the linoleum floor of the mud room being shuffled across before the boots were kicked off quick.

His brother was quicker. Joel climbed off of you in a blink, jeans and boxers trailing just as fast. Then his hands were dropping to you, gripping your arms, and heaving you up. You stumbled. You shoved your skirt down, fast, and barely had the time to breathe while you skittered after Joel, still in his hold. The two of you ran like hell: quiet, but like your asses might’ve been on fire. You made it out to the foyer, and from there, you could hear Tommy making a fuss in the kitchen. Joel strode three steps at a time going up the stairs, and behind him, you nearly face-planted. He tugged you up then, swiftly.

Silent as death at the top of the stairs and trying to usher you into a room, not saying a word. You dug in your heels

“Wait. Wait—Tess?”

“Napping in the tub.”

Of course. You cast one last pensive look at the bathroom door before you let Joel nudge you away.

You were pushed into a room; you knew it was yours. Steeped as you were in fear, shame, and lingering inebriation, you couldn’t waste a second getting in—and neither could Joel. His frame followed close while Tommy’s old, familiar sounds grew louder downstairs. He ushered you further, walked you forward, pushed you in an inch or two too far, and before you knew it, your knees were bumping along the front of your bed. You tripped.

Your hands flew out to break your fall. Unfortunately, the limbs that were meant to stay straight were weaker than you’d hoped, and instead of holding you up, they crumpled beneath your weight. You fell on your face.

The spot where you landed was soft, though.

You let out a muffled grunt into cotton sheets.

Across from where you lay, Joel’s steps were slow—painstakingly so—and when you’d propped yourself up and blinked again and again to adjust your eyes to the dim half-light of the room, you could see him there. Pacing. Skating a look to the doorknob, as if checking to make sure he’d locked the thing properly, then running a hand through his hair. From your perch, you saw a wince.

Then his face turned to you. Again—guilty.

What the fuck am I doing here with you?

That was what you thought you saw in his expression, anyway. You felt compelled to ask him the very same.

“Why are you here? Why is Tommy here?” As if to punctuate your question, more footfalls followed, loud, “I thought he was taking my dad to the bar. And you—”

“I know. He was supposed to. Then he texted and said your dad crashed before the Notre Dame game even ended, so he figured he’d head over to the bar himself.”

You were about to speak, but Joel continued.

“I said he was an idiot to leave your dad home alone, since the man can hardly walk on his own. So I came.”

You swallowed. While some momentary swell of gratitude threatened to constrict your throat, you forced out a frown and scooted back. The room swayed a little.

“That the only reason?” you asked, clipped.

At the foot of the bed, Joel held your gaze. It was stern. Your own vacillating look was no match for the man who, in spite of the two or ten beers he’d likely guzzled that morning, could stand firm. Prop his hands on his hips.

Look every bit the displeased fatherly figure while he watched you crawl across the plush, pink bed at length.

It wasn’t right. You saw it in his eyes: the want painted there, however burdened by shame they might’ve been. No doubt seeing your childhood bedroom had kicked the guilt into overdrive, reminding him, plainly, that he was his age, and you were yours. And his best friend’s kid. The irises that shone in the glow of warm white fairy lights overhead flitted to the canopy where they hung. Joel sized up the mesh overtaking most of your bed, all flowing and girlish and juvenile as it cascaded from the four wooden posters, and he had to shake his head. He blinked faster, as if trying to rid himself of some thought.

“I’ll go,” he choked out.

“Alright.”

You unzipped your dress and let it fall to the bed the second Joel had started to turn. He stopped. Got himself an eyeful and probably could’ve bruised every fingertip from how hard he tightened his grip along his belt loops.

He watched you slip out of the fabric, then brush it aside. Clothed in just your bra and panties, you went to the nightstand and opened a drawer. You leaned down.

And, while you kneeled and bent over to reach, Joel was afforded a too-perfect view of the wet patch in the fabric between your legs. You could’ve sworn you heard a groan before you crawled back over to the place where you’d been—American Spirits and a lighter now in your hand.

“Where’d you…” Joel started, only to lose his train of thought the moment you sat and unclasped your bra.

You lit up, comfortably. Nodding to the window.

“Mind opening that?” you asked him.

Joel stood back and stared. He squared his shoulders, seeming poised to say ‘no,’ when his gaze dropped lower.

“Those’ll kill you.” But he was just looking at your breasts

Reluctantly, he moved from where he’d fixed himself at the center of your room and walked over to the window. He slid the pane up, but he didn’t let his gaze stray from you too long. As soon as the smoke found a place to go, he turned. He shook his head again. You smiled, then.

“These are yours,” you replied. You bared your teeth at him with the cigarette in between them, teasing a little.

After, you closed your lips and inhaled once. You blew a breath through your nose and let the smoke trail out. Joel scowled as he took a step closer to your bed.

Somewhere downstairs Tommy had cranked the game up louder. You could hear the blare of fanfare and a booming, cheery voice announcing a first down.

Meanwhile, Joel’s jaw hadn’t flinched. His lips were still curled in that sour, unsightly grimace. He had to have gotten a good deal of practice doing that while you were away, with every text, call, and FaceTime you’d declined over the past month, you imagined. Now it wasn’t so much a matter of being ignored as it was getting smoke blown into his face that made him irritated. Galled, even.

Joel made a pass for your mouth as if to take the cigarette away, but you were too quick. You slid back.

“Finders keepers,” you chided, trying not to giggle.

“Give it.”

“Make me.”

“Kid, don’t start.”

Joel’s face was turning pink as he leaned in again. In no more than a second, though, you’d made it safely out of his reach. He had to plant a knee on your bedspread, grit his teeth even tighter, and stretch his frame further in, and just when he’d gotten within half a foot from where you sat perched at the head of the bed, you felt a snap.

Or perhaps heard a groan and surmised the rest. Joel cursed, ‘Fuck!’ then fell to his elbow, hissing with pain.

He gripped his side, and he winced. Your eyes went wide.

“Joel?”

The cigarette fell from your lips; as soon as it did, Joel swept a brusque, graceless touch in your direction. He held tight to his side while he swatted the thing away. The second the still-lit stick hit the covers, Joel had it brushed to the side, sending it flying off of your bed.

His nostrils flared when he stood again. He crushed the cigarette underfoot. He looked pleased—then pained.

“Joel!” you hissed. This time reaching for him, and catching him narrowly before he lurched into your bed.

“‘M’alright. Stop, stop. It’s okay.”

Joel grunted, low. He held one bedpost. He clutched somewhere on his body close to the small of his back, and you could tell he felt a strain. He noticeably tensed.

“I’m fine.” And then he was starting to wave you off, too, “Lifetime of smoking’ll do that to you. And turning forty.”

You believed him. What you wouldn’t accept was how fast he tried to bend down and retrieve the cigarette from the floor. His cheeks flushed red with the effort.

And just when he’d started to tilt, you tugged him back.

You gripped his shirt and yanked him onto the bed.

Maybe that wasn’t the best for the muscle he’d pulled. At any rate, though, it was better than straining another by trying to pick up a cigarette butt, you reasoned. You hadn’t even jerked him that hard, and your bed was soft. Joel fell with a thud amidst a sea of satin, plush faux fur, a half-dozen pillows, and a mound of stuffed animals. His lips frowned as if annoyed, but the eyes betrayed relief. He breathed out a shallow puff of air once he’d settled.

“You need to stop smoking.” Grumbling now, of course.

You wanted to pinch the pout clean off his mouth.

“Yeah, really, Joel? You first,” you shot back.

“I’m old.”

“No shit.”

“Watch it.”

For someone who’d practically thrown out his back just bending at the waist, Joel Miller loved to wax poetic on the dangers of Big Tobacco. And getting old. By the time he groaned and laid flat, you decided you’d had enough of this sexless intermission, and you straddled his hips.

“Wh—” Joel huffed in protest, pushing at hands all too eager to act on his belt, “You still haven’t answered me.”

“What was the question?” you returned, careless.

But you knew it clear as day: Are we alright?

The old man didn’t stop the path of your hands, but he certainly made a show to try and pretend to stall their speed. He watched, curiosity piqued and shame still roiling in his gut, and he let you unbuckle, unzip, and finally free him from the confines of his briefs. He sighed.

It was then that you felt him hard against your palm, firm as he was before. Your mouth watered even more. When your eyes flitted up to his for permission, you didn’t expect to find resistance there, so the subsequent grip around your wrist took you back. Joel seized hold of your hand in his, and, rather than stopping you completely, he paused it in place. Sank your touch into his groin, as though tempting you with the outline of his bare length.

That was cruel. He knew what feeling him did to you.

“You know exactly what question I meant.”

What such a move would do to any girl in your position—freshly fucked and eager for more—and in your bed, no less. You didn’t care for the guilt Joel harbored today; he didn’t get to demand answers you weren’t ready to give.

“What? Feeling bad for boning your friend’s kid all of a sudden?” You smiled, voice devoid of any humor as you tried to pivot subjects, “Didn’t look like that downstairs.”

Shame flared in Joel’s eyes. Two could play at this game.

His grip tightened around your wrist, and he kept it still. In spite of this hold, you were able to flex your fingers the tiniest bit and take him snugly in your hand. He held you, and you held him, and for the next few excruciating moments, that was all either of you could do. Until:

“I would do it again.”

And then Joel’s touch was moving yours. Rubbing him. Seizing your hip with his free hand and rocking you back.

Making you hold his gaze while his dick swelled bigger.

“I don’t care if that’s wrong,” he added through his teeth.

“Wrong,” you mumbled absently. Touching him more.

It was as though you both were rooted in place by warring feelings—Joel by guilt, and you by knowing. Needing each other, and being unable to break apart. Words flowed like molasses; their end was no less sweet.

“I’d fuck you anywhere you asked if you would just—” Joel broke off suddenly, taking a breath, “Forgive me.”

Please.

The eyes beneath yours were pained with remorse.

You squeezed him tighter, and you stared more carefully.

“Here?” It left you more like a breath.

“Here.”

Your skull still buzzed. Your vision still wavered some. You could scarcely hope to know what it was that made this man a worse intoxicant than every drink you’d guzzled that morning, but the way he reached for your body and slid you back in the bed made answers pointless anyway. All you needed to know was that he wanted you, too. You could sort out the rest of it later; you let him lie you down

Joel was out of place here, that much was obvious. Clearly, no man skating through middle age belonged in the bedroom of a girl as young as you—and that was overlooking the paternal connection altogether—but all the same, he guided you back. Trailed your body with his. If it weren’t for the greys and the striations on his face and the legions of freckles bred from decades spent baking under the sun, he might’ve struck you as a much younger man. His every move now seemed to show it.

His hands shook like yours had earlier.

He watched you slide under the covers, then swallowed.

“Still cold?”

“Yeah.”

He gave you a long look, as though considering what to say. You beckoned him over and decided to talk for him.

“Like father, like daughter, I guess,” you added. Teasing.

You could hear the groan start to bubble in his throat, but Joel let you pull him in. He climbed under the sheets.

Like a much younger, doubly nervous teen around his date past curfew, he slotted between your legs with a moment’s indecision. He shed his clothes but was slow. Your gaze flitted to his torso, then his legs, and watching him gingerly undress, you couldn’t help but grin a little.

Both of you were naked in under a minute. Joel’s body was like a furnace searing hot between your thighs.

And while you smiled at him, he frowned down at you.

You might’ve expected anything next, except hearing:

“We aren’t gonna be parents anytime soon, right?”

You choked.

“What?”

Joel blinked.

“The Plan B, I mean,” he went on, color crawling up to his cheeks. He blinked harder, like he’d been dreading this, “Wasn’t sure if you ever got your…yeah. Just wonderin’.”

Just wondering.

After Joel’s Cenozoic-era condom had broken the first time you two had ever fucked, you realized you hadn’t bothered to tell him if you ended up getting your period. He’d probably been trying to ask that over the course of several dozen unanswered texts and calls the last month, but you’d been radio silent. Your drinking today had to have given the truth away, but you still felt a pang of guilt

You admired his sincerity. You didn’t want to mock it.

But when your lips twitched the tiniest bit, Joel’s did too. He’d heaved a sigh of relief before you’d even answered him in words, and for a moment, things were easy again.

“I’m sorry, Miller. That probably had you scared shitless.”

“It did.”

And, under most other circumstances, you probably would’ve expected him to chastise you for it a little. Chide you for your immaturity and shake his head, because this was always how it went. But he didn’t.

Joel smiled back instead, and he kissed your forehead.

You blinked, shortly summoning words to try and deflect.

“I mean, like…can you even imagine us having a kid?”

“I can’t. I think I’d be…” Joel trailed off, at a loss.

“Pissed to be changing diapers in your fifties, I bet,” you finished for him, and that made him laugh. You joined in, grinning, and for a second you almost forgot he was still between your legs. His cock softened against your belly.

“You’d be a hot mom. I’d be an old dad,” he countered, suddenly lowering his face to kiss and nuzzle your neck. When the ebbs of your laughter were renewed in a fit of giggles, and your feet kicked helplessly under the covers as he used his mouth and hands to tickle you then, you had to choke through your words—‘Joel, stop, I mean it.’

“Ticklish and hot, I forgot.”

His fingers were relentless on your ribs. You kicked again.

“Don’t fucking test me. I—I will kick you out,” you warned

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Go on, then.”

Evidently, the thought of ordering him back downstairs with your dad and Tommy seemed like the least likely outcome at the moment, so Joel kept tickling you. He moved his lips to your ear, about to whisper something stupid and teasing, most likely, when you jerked yourself the other way. You slid just far enough to reach off the bed. While you clawed at your nightstand, Joel simply draped his body over yours and went on kissing and touching and relishing the sounds you were making—even while you were cursing his name under your breath.

“Go. Go. Enough of this shit, Miller,” you finally told him, nudging Joel back and waving something in his face.

“Wh—”

“Since getting knocked up is the last thing either of us wants, and we’ve been terrible about playing it safe…”

It didn’t take long for Joel to recognize what it was. As soon as he’d lifted his head to ogle it, you didn’t let him stare at the box of condoms for more than a second or two before tearing it open. Its seal had still been intact.

“New stash for someone special?” Joel hummed, low.

“Nope. Just you.”

Your old friend didn’t seem to appreciate that remark, returning your smirk with a roll of his eyes, but he took the metallic-wrapped rubber when you offered him one anyway. He tore off the top. He probably would’ve liked to put the thing on, but with all the time and brainless banter that had passed, he had to get himself hard again. He eyed you once, and, wrapping a hand around himself semi-erect, he seemed to want to say something more.

You wouldn’t let him. You kissed him, and he kissed back, and with your legs sliding around the backs of his own underneath the soft, warm sheets, he probably forgot what he was going to say. Your lips and tongues intertwined without needing those words to be spoken, and before long, Joel was growing harder. He sucked in a breath when your hand reached down to touch him, soft.

Joel grunted when your touch replaced his. While you stroked his length, you could see the muscles tense in his stomach. The heft of his belly was smooth, and firm, and protruding with little patches of black and grey hairs, and the man looked so undone already with just your fingers curling over his shaft. You would’ve held him that way for as long as he asked. Would’ve relished the warmth of him in your hand, the way his breaths grew more ragged as he kissed you and let you pump him gently between your body and his. You might’ve mistaken it for something romantic when he reached up and brushed the hair out of your face, before pulling away and mumbling, ‘That’s it. That feels real good, sweetheart. You’re doin’ so good.’ But being the way you were, you couldn’t accept such intimacy without wanting to shy away. You pushed his words aside and reached for the condom in his hand, swallowing thickly as you did.

The latex went on quickly. Joel hardly seemed of a mind to try and slow things down with his body just as taut, on edge, and desperate as yours. He planted an arm beside your head, and you guided his length between your legs. It felt cozy. Tender. Nervous like this could’ve been your first. A little strange seeing how you’d done this multiple times before—had started it just downstairs, against a wall and on the couch—and somehow, felt different now.

Joel sank in, and both of you groaned.

“I missed you, baby.”

It came from him all in the same breath. Your walls clenched, and he said it again. You peered up at the man, half-expecting to see his eyes shut and the feeling of you guiding his words more than anything else—he hadn’t meant you, but what was between your legs. But when you looked, you met his gaze. Joel was earnest, clearly.

“Did you miss me?” he panted, hips dragging back.

With the head of his cock drawn all the way up to your entrance, tip stretching that soft, sticky flesh, you could scarcely do more than whimper. You laced your fingers together behind his neck, felt him push in again, and suddenly, the sensations churning low in your gut got warmer. Stronger. They made you want to hold on longer

He felt so big inside you. Overwhelming you with his size and his scent and the way his lips trailed over yours while he fucked you; it all seemed too much to give a response.

Joel kissed you again, and your bodies fell into a rhythm. You squeezed his neck, let out a breathy whine when his cock grazed something soft and sensitive between your walls, and then pulled away fully to look down and watch.

He did too. He kissed the crown of your head, mumbling:

“See how good we fit?”

Those words could’ve sent you over the edge. Your body shuddered at the next thrust, feeling the warmth of his breath still fanning across your face, and you nodded.

Your eyes all but glazed over as you watched Joel’s big, glistening cock disappear and reappear from inside your body, coated with your arousal and the rubber and looking every bit as dizzyingly good as it had before. The wet noises only increased in volume the more he sped up, and with the need blossoming in your stomach, you had no choice but to moan. Joel plunged even deeper.

“Did she miss me, at least? Did she miss her daddy?”

Your walls clenched at those words—‘she,’ ‘daddy.’

Still, you couldn’t speak. You just nodded back.

Joel’s motions grew stronger, and with every stroke inside you, his cock hit something plush and sweet. You had to bite your lip to keep the sounds from coming out too loud, but the effort was almost wholly in vain. The harder he went, the more your throat came to betray you. The more Joel seemed keen on getting you to speak.

“Feels like she does, hon,” he said, tone dulcet and low, “Pussy’s been squeezin’ like she needed daddy here.”

That was true. Your heels dug deeper in his ass, and you felt something tender swell up inside, almost painfully.

Joel was moving your whole frame with the weight of his thrusts—your body bouncing beneath him, the bed creaking under the force, your old childhood room being filled with the sounds of your blooming pleasure and his. Your cunt stretched even more; it begged to be fucked deeper. Though your mouth couldn’t form the words, it seemed Joel was more than able to make out the rest.

He brought his thumb to your clit. He rubbed it, then caught your lips in a hot, steady kiss when a whimper from yours was just about to threaten to tremble out.

“Atta girl,” he grunted against your mouth, “That’s it.”

His hips worked faster. His thumb moved with even more precision, more persistence, as though begging your pleasure to come. You could feel the sweat bead on your skin and his; your bodies seemed to blend together. Your legs tightened around his sides, and while he fucked you and kissed you more fervidly then, you could feel your resolve start to slip. You broke from the kiss, panting.

“I can feel her, honey. Keep goin’,” Joel urged.

You weren’t sure if you could. It felt good.

It felt safe. You hadn’t felt that in a while.

Or maybe just since you’d been away.

You thought of the last, vulnerable state you’d been forced to endure—feeling hurt and betrayed after Joel had lied trying to keep you ‘safe’—and your body tensed. You held tighter, but you also couldn’t lose that feeling completely. You were so close, and there was still something else you couldn’t yet define, or explain.

“Cum for me, baby,” Joel kissed the side of your mouth, knowing the feeling coursing through your body too well, “Take what you need. Just let her feel good. It’s all okay.”

All okay.

Your walls fluttered again; your moans grew breathy and faint as Joel’s cock wedged deeper and deeper and his kisses grew softer along your face. It was evident you were there—you knew you were there—but then, the way you felt was like no place you’d ever experienced before.

You wanted to tell him something.

You met Joel’s gaze, and you almost did. Then he withdrew and fucked back in, and all words were lost.

The headboard thumped against the wall; you didn’t hear it. Joel’s one free hand was cradling your cheek, and his face drew closer, and right when you sensed the man was about to drop another kiss, you felt release, at last.

A snap.

A dizzying blow.

Your climax struck with all the force of a seismic wave, and, at the same time, you could feel Joel groaning, pulsing, spurting thick ropes of cum into rubber while his gaze stayed locked on yours and your body came apart. The look from him was sickeningly soft, even at his peak.

Intimate, again.

You couldn’t help it.

With your legs trembling, cunt spasming, and eyes still plastered to Joel’s, you felt that something resurface. This time, you didn’t have a hope of keeping it inside.

“I— I— I love you, Joel. I love you,” you stuttered out.

Your voice was tight. Your eyes burned with tears you hadn’t even sensed might threaten to appear with it.

You broke down and felt the sudden urge to sob.

And, just as quickly as you did, you shoved him off.

Regret flooded your chest. You shouldn’t have said that.

Joel was slow to move, no matter how much you tried getting him away. He was still in your bed, crowding your space—and worse yet, he was staring at you, eyes wide.

“Baby—”

“Don’t.” Your gaze was still wider. Wild. And remorseful, “I didn’t— I’m sorry, I just— I didn’t mean to say that.”

Joel had pulled out, but he was still between your legs. You slid backward in the bed, cheeks flaming with heat.

He followed.

He reached out.

“Please don’t,” you begged, shaking your head before his touch could find you. Your pulse thundered in your skull.

The sound almost drowned all other noises out.

At the next, you wished it would deafen you completely.

“I love you, too, baby,” Joel said.

No sooner had his palms come to rest on your face when you were shoving them away. Standing up from the bed.

“You don’t mean that. I didn’t mean it. Just— just stop.”

“I—”

“Need to go.”

You hardly realized it, but you were pointing to the door.

Joel was just getting the condom off, about to stand up from where he was, when a new sound startled you both.

The garage door was closing. Tommy shouted your name saying he needed help bringing something in, and for a second, you both froze. It was happening all over again.

You knew you couldn’t risk getting caught another time. Not with your father in the house, unconscious or not. Silently, you thanked your lucky stars for the opportunity afforded by this moment—getting Joel out—and bent to grab his clothes off the floor and throw them, one by one. He dressed, albeit reluctantly. He opened his mouth to speak again, but you were busy racing to throw on your own clothes, thinking of ways to get him out unnoticed. You heard the door to the garage slam shut downstairs.

“He’s gonna be back any minute. You need to go, Joel.”

“Come with me. We have to talk—”

“I have nothing else to say.”

“But you—”

“I lied. And so did you. Just like before,” you gritted out, “You can spare my feelings—I didn’t fucking mean it.”

He felt bad, that was all. You could see it in his eyes.

The pity, the self-loathing, the guilt; it was all there.

The sight made your stomach turn, and though your legs weren’t steady or sure underneath you in the slightest, you knew you had to go. If Joel didn’t intend on making things easier, you would have to leave first. You felt him reach for you, saw the plea in his eyes and knew how wrong this really was—that you had both fucked up—and couldn’t stay there. Again, you wrenched yourself away.

You didn’t give him the chance to protest. You heard words, dimly, but barely had the sense or self-possession to process one syllable of it, so you left. You bounded down steps, pulse hammering even louder than before, and you didn’t think to turn around or let Joel follow or even remotely allow yourself to stop feeling embarrassed

Leaving was for the best anyway.

If Joel had lied once, he’d lie again.

Downstairs, you cleaned. You folded laundry.

Joel had snuck out a while ago, having slipped from your room, down to the kitchen, and out the back door while Tommy was busy retrieving beer out of the garage. You’d gone down there to distract the younger Miller brother while Joel packed his shit up and left. Like he was meant to do. Luckily, Joel’s departure was quiet, and Tommy was all too happy to have some help toting cases of Budweiser inside. Your dad and Tess were still fast asleep

And now, nearly half an hour later, you had only to sweep the hardwood floor, fold your clothes, and busy yourself as best you could—or else grit your teeth so hard you could’ve broken your jaw. You were so fucking dumb.

“Almost done?” Tommy poked his head inside the room.

You’d told Joel you hated him last month. One measly fuck and you’re spewing, ‘I love you’? What the fuck?

“Just about,” you replied, dropping an old shirt of your dad’s into the nearest, neatest pile, “You heading out?”

Tommy jingled his car keys in his hand and hummed to say that he was. He had a happy, Alabama-just-beat-the-shit-out-of-Tennessee smile on his face as he stood there

“Yeah, I’m going back to Mando’s now to celebrate and watch another game. Was wondering if you wanted to come along,” he said, leaning against the door frame.

“I would, I’ve just got so much shit to do around here—” Gesturing indistinctly to the mountains of clothing stacked high all about the laundry room, “—cleaning.”

Beating yourself over the head, mentally, for ever telling his older brother that you liked him in the first place. Wishing you could crawl in a hole and wallow alone.

“Aww, that can wait. You’re here the whole week—”

“I know. But I gotta keep an eye on my old man, too.”

You rubbed at your face and pretended to get re-invested in a pair of socks with two gaping holes. Your father wouldn’t discard old, ratty clothes to save his life.

Then Tommy was at your side. Pressing against the washing machine and watching you work. Smirking.

“By ‘your old man’ do you mean your dad…or Joel?”

For the second time that day, you almost choked. You tried not to let it show but were sure you failed miserably.

“I— I— what?” you huffed, all terse, feigned incredulity.

“Don’t play stupid. Only suits my dumbass brother,” Tommy returned coolly, turning to face you head-on, “You sound just like him whenever I ask about you.”

“Whatever he’s said—” you started again.

“I heard his truck hightailing it out of here while you came down to distract me. Heard his footsteps, too.”

While your cheeks warmed, Tommy’s smile only grew.

“Aaaaand the headboard was bangin’ pretty loud—”

“Alright!” You threw your hands up, “Fine. OK. Enough.”

Your surrender was fast, far too grossed out to fight it.

You closed your eyes and wanted to die. From next to you, you could hear Tommy’s amusement morph into laughter. It didn’t take much to wring the truth out of you, and for a man who knew you as well as he did, there was really no telling where this would end. Once Tommy Miller called bullshit, there was rarely ever room to argue.

The last time that had happened, he’d sent you and Joel packing to abstinence camp and had never looked back.

Why he was finding humor in this now was beyond you.

You dropped the socks you were holding. You shot him a look as if to ask him just that, and the man shrugged.

“I know y’all skipped out on camp. Could’ve guessed there was some sort of fight between you two after that, because I’ve never seen Joel so goddamn grumpy for—”

“Yeah, well,” you cut in, not wanting to hear the rest, “That’s over now. Seriously. Today was just a fluke.”

Before he could even try to voice his disbelief, you added:

“Just don’t tell my dad about this. Please.”

By the look in his eyes, you could tell that was probably the furthest thing from his mind, but you asked it all the same. Tommy scoffed, and then he shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest like he couldn’t believe a word you were saying now. Like a smug big brother who didn’t know how else to say that you made a terrible liar.

Because that was what he’d been to you before you ever got with Joel in the first place: a good, no-bullshit friend. The recognition of this made you feel even worse inside.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said at length, much to your surprise.

His arms constricted even tighter against his chest and his eyes scanned yours thoughtfully before continuing.

“I shouldn’t have stuck my nose in y’all’s business. What you and Joel do is up to you—I just hated the thought of things, uh…going south. Making it weird between you.”

“Like now,” you said quietly.

A beat.

Tommy scratched his neck.

“Yeah, a little like that,” he replied, breathing out a laugh, “But that’s alright. Joel’s my brother, and I love him, but the man can’t navigate a relationship to save his life. Much less with a girl your age. So just…keep that in mind. I don’t wanna see either of you getting hurt.”

In other words: don’t be stupid and get attached.

‘You’re right,’ was all you knew to say. All you felt capable of telling him now, after what had come to pass that day.

Frankly, you didn’t need to speak another word to get the gist of what he meant, and like he’d said, it wasn’t on him to dictate how you handled things with Joel. The message was clear enough, and the truth was all there.

You couldn’t make this work.

Joel wouldn’t make this work with a girl as young as you.

He’d only said what he said today out of habit—a knee-jerk reaction. He didn’t know what the fuck else to say when his best friend’s kid he’d been banging spilled out ‘I love you.’ And you didn’t blame him for it. But you also couldn’t expect him to be something he wasn’t when all this was ever supposed to be was a casual fuck here and there. You’d been confused and needing to feel safe. He had wanted access to something he shouldn’t have, and now that the thrill of that was wearing off, he felt trapped and cornered into saying what he had, for your sake. The best thing for the two of you now was a clean break, before any more feelings got muddled and misspoken and brought to anything worse than they already were.

It would suck for a while. You knew it would. The next second had you leaning in unconsciously, watching Tommy uncross his arms and pull you in for a hug.

This would really suck.

You buried your face in his chest.

There wasn’t much to say; still, Tommy said it best:

“Whatever happens, you’ll be fine. I know you will.”

[thefandomimagines]

You believe me like a god

(I destroy you like i am)

Your family was dead; everyone had been killed. The war had been fought, many had died, and the victor had ascended the throne in the name of Rhaenyra Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Everyone was dead…..except you, your mother and your little niece, Jaehaera.

Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

TW: Self-hatred/Implied Self Harm. Complicated family relations. The reader is a Targtower.

A/N: This is a blend of both the show and the book, so if most characterisations (mostly the greens) don't add up to you, it's because of that. (since the show has been....something, as of late). Also, Silverwing is now your dragon, for story's sake.

Cross posted on Ao3 : Chapter 1: I fell in love with a war (nobody told me it ended)

Chapter 1: I fell in love with a war (nobody told me it ended)

Your family was dead; everyone had been killed. 

The war had been fought, many had died, and the victor had ascended the throne in the name of Rhaenyra Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. 

Everyone was dead…..except you, your mother and your little niece, Jaehaera.

After the Blacks captured the capital and killed your brother Aegon and the rest of your family, your sister ruled the Seven Kingdoms unchallenged. Prince Jacaerys, her son and your nephew, was named the prince of Dragonstone in front of the whole of the realm. Her other sons were given high places of honour at her court, her family was praised and became the subject of songs and tales through the realm, while you and your remaining family became royal afterthoughts. 

Rhaenyra had been unsure of what to do with you when she had taken hold of the capital. At the time, you had the comfort of your older sister Helaena, who you comforted and held most of the time, especially after she had fallen into the grief of madness at the death of her eldest son. She had allowed you relative freedom, more than your mother was allowed, as she had been confined and chained to the dungeons of the keep, gaining her the name ‘The Queen in Chains’. In her ways, you suppose, she had tried to get close to you in an effort to reconcile the break the war had caused to your family, and despite how you had never seen her in the same way your mother had all her life, you remained unresponsive to her approaches. The wounds were too deep, and you weren’t sure you could forgive what had taken place the night Blood and Cheese stormed the castle, even with the knowledge that she had not been the one to orchestrate the siege but rather your uncle Daemon, in the name of revenge for the death of your nephew Lucerys. 

But when Helaena had thrown herself off the highest window of the keep, losing her life after getting impaled by the spikes surrounding it, Rhaenyra had given up hope for reconciliation.  Helaena was the closest family member you had, after your mother, never properly gettin' along with your brothers, except for Daeron. Safe to say, her death had broken you and left you unresponsive to each news of peril coming to your faction. 

When the news of Aemond’s death at the end of your uncle Daemon reached you, you did not shed a tear, and when Daeron died you said you had no time for them. They would be futile, tears did not reach the dead, after all. 

Amidst bloodshed and warmongering, there was but one person you allowed in the solitude your life had taken hold of; Your nephew, Jacaerys. 

It was he who had dismissed the attempts of his mother’s council of sending you away to Old Town to become a Septa or making you a lady in waiting to his step-sisters Baela and Rhaena, who they too took no comfort in the notion. You were their prisoner, yes, but no one must forget that you and Jaehaera were their family, of royal blood, and with peace now upon the realm, proving discord lingering still was not how the House of the Dragon would rebuild itself.  

Jacaerys had convinced them to keep you hostage, using you to keep in line the great houses that had fought alongside the greens - but that was a notion he used only for his allies and councillors. You were more than just a hostage for him, always having been. You were his aunt, one he cherished so. 

Since you were the same age, you had grown up together. You shared a wet nurse in infancy and were often taught your lessons by the same measter. 

You never shared the same dislike your brothers had for him and his brothers, and even so, you thought the notion of Jacaerys stealing Aegon and Aemond’s birthrights, which they and your mother believed in, to be utterly ridiculous. He couldn’t steal something that was not theirs in the first place; he got what he had from his mother, your sister, who had rights over the iron throne long before they were even born. To say you were heartbroken when your sister had taken residence on Dragonstone, taking her children with her, would be an understatement. You were more pained when the next time you saw him was the same night Aemond lost his eye. 

Aemond played the helpless victim of a deliberate attack by your nephews and cousins in public as he spouted devious words about them in private while gloating at his great accomplishment, claiming Vaghar for the greens. Words you tried to reprimand him for, which, in turn, turned his anger to you. It’s not that you didn’t condone his lost eye, but for him to be rid of guilt and his part in the ordeal always ticked you in the wrong way. His anger had always been his least strong suit, narcissism only growing from there, thinking himself invincible, which only resulted in him making rush decisions that gained him but a brief advantage, such as marching to Harrenhall and leaving King’s Landing undefended, giving the perfect opening for your sister to fly and claim as her own. 

You had been among the few asking for Aegon to send for peace. The damage was done, the throne was usurped, though everyone refused to call it so, and you couldn’t do anything about that. When Helaena suggested peace terms, she did so with your support as well as that of your mother and grandmaster Orwyle.

 But Aemond had to go and ruin everything. 

You thought of escaping then, wanting to bring along Helaena and her little ones, flying on Silverwing and Dreamfyre to Dragonstone, bending the knee and seeking protection before Rhaenyra’s wrath befell your family. But how could you? Helaena and you have been separated from Rhaenyra since you two were young, occasionally seeing her when her family visited King’s Landing, you didn’t know the woman or how she would react to you showing up at her doorsteps. 

Besides, you two had been securely under Alicent's thumb for your whole lives, and the thought of your mother thinking you a traitor filled you with panic. You couldn’t betray her or make her believe you had. You and Helaena had been robbed of autonomy your entire lives, but you did try to help Rhaenyra when you two could. So, when Helaena was punished alongside Aegon for something Aemond had done, you felt all the more guilty for not having done more for your siblings. 

If before you had been worried about losing everything, now that you had nothing, you spent your days mute, not doing anything. When your mother was allowed to visit, you turned her away, not wanting to hear of her maddening and secretive plans to place you or Jaehaera on the throne. 

You were told she mostly cried, ripped her old gowns and threw the books given to her out of the windows of her room. You cared for her still, but not enough to deal with her when you too were not doing any better. 

You were not allowed outside, in case you tried an escape, unless Jacaerys or a group of guards accompanied you. You were not allowed to dine with everyone in the great hall and most of all you were deprived of Silverwing. The last you saw or rode her was before Rhaenyra had taken King’s Landing…..and how long ago was that? A year….two? You couldn’t tell….you had lost perception of time.

Jacaerys always proved courteous and kind, just as he had before the war. Even when you were stripped of your room and placed in a smaller one, your staff diminished to only a few trusted maids of his mother, and your gowns relegated to simple, black ones, he always made sure you had everything you needed, which you were grateful for. What he couldn’t give you though, was the thing that pained you the most. 

He brought you books, needles and points to pass your time, and kept you company when he was free of his duties. But it was all futile, nothing could quelch the sting of pain in your heart. 

You wandered the halls like a ghost, the black of your gowns making you blend in the darkness. Some say you were dead inside or having died the day your sister had. Nevertheless, Jacaerys’ attempts at bringing light to your life never ceased. He brought you flowers which you kept in vases in your room, but that with barely any light or air in the smallness of it all, died by the days. As so, he’d let you plant your flowers in the gardens of the Keep. Even though you barely spoke after the death of your entire family, taking care of the flowers made you happy.

You were allowed to bring Jaehaera with you, the little girl taking to you as if you were her mother, and if you were mute, she was another case altogether. Jaehaera was born tiny and slow to grow. She did not cry or smile or act as babies normally would. Her lack of emotion continued as she grew older. She is sweet but a simple girl in mind.  She loved the flowers you planted, which you encouraged for her to pick and take with her to her room.

You two were often asked to attend court, to remember others of your presence and what they meant. Jaehaera would clutch your hand as you held hers, standing as close to you as she could and more so she could hide behind the panels of your skirt. Those days were those she dreaded most; she hated being looked at, especially by so many people, but your presence beside her gave her enough strength and courage to withstand the ordeal. 

Those were also the days you had begun begging your sister to allow you for things. You would kneel, if necessary, in front of the iron throne which she set upon, asking her in front of the eyes of the court to allow you for simple things, the simple pleasure you had long forgotten the taste of, such as one more gown for you or Jaehaera, the companionship of more maids, or for you to see your dragon.

She would accept every request of yours except for the last, she never accepted the last. But you held the same stubbornness every Targaryen was born with, one she had, and saw in her children too. Your requests became more frequent, sometimes, they were frantic, at times, you cried, while at others, you just asked with the monotony of a dead woman. How low of you, some thought, a royal princess, the daughter of a King long gone, having to beg her sister on her knees. 

While it pained Rhaenyra to turn you down, the pain you felt was one she would never understand. Jacaerys would watch from the sideline all the time, knowing he couldn’t interject with his mother’s word, but none of it made it easier for him to see you so torn down by the reality which you now lived in.

So, one night, he went to his mother, suggesting the one thing he could only come up with.

“Let me take her on Vermax” he had said “if you’re worried about her flying away, with me beside her and on a dragon not of her own, she surely will have nowhere else to go”

Rhaenyra couldn’t object to her son’s words, as so, she relented, though not without a few warnings and orders on her part, which Jacaerys was more than happy to relent to. 

At last, when he came to your room the morning after, he did so with an air so light, it startled you. 

“You wouldn’t mind dressing in your riding fit, would you?” He asked, taking you by slight surprise 

“What do you mean?” You didn’t know if he was making fun of you, and if he were you thought he was doing so in a really bad taste

“I want you to come ride with me” he walked closer, taking your hand in his “Fly on Vermax with me. I know you wish to take to the skies, and Mother has agreed to my request,” he said.

Vermax was small, having grown only to the size of a middle-sized dragon. When you sat upon his saddle, which was tight for two people, such as you and Jacaerys, you only reminisced about Silverwing’s leathery one. Only having to hang around the handle, not being able to pull at the reins or command the dragon, only deepened your yearning for the many rides you had taken in the past and the freedom to do so again. 

You had thanked him, but the gratitude felt hollow when your heart ached so much, and perhaps he had seen through you too. You felt guilty for complaining about such an opportunity and the rarity you had been given. You should be grateful, but what was here to be grateful for when you were a caged bird, in a golden cage, whose wings were ripped from its body? 

You had become hot-tempered, wishing harm on others and yourself, cursing in despair, and picking up one of your mother’s most destroying traits,her nail picking. Your cuticles were often raw and bloody from you either picking at or chewing at them. You did the same at your lips, pulling at the dead skin, drawing blood, the sting making you hiss and following you for days.

You ordered for the curtains of your room not to be drawn, preferring the glow candles and incense even during the day. You visited the sept, the royal one in the Red Keep, not the one Grand one in the city, followed closely by your Septa and guard, lighting candles for the lost souls of your family and for those that had fought for you.

You picked at your food, often leaving it untouched; you had no fondness for meat and mead, leaving you famished and pushing down food when your stomach was begging you for substance. 

Eating yourself alive was the last thing you thought you would be doing if you were to look into your future long ago, but now even the feel of your skin made your fingers crawl over it with the intent to rip and tear apart. How hypocritical of you to send your mother away because of her descent into madness when you were carrying yourself down your own. 

But you weren’t mad, you were unhappy, and unhappy people often were also depressed, which you were.

You only wanted to be happy, to be free, to do as you pleased after years of having been conditioned to the bids of others. First, it was your mother’s, and now they were Rhaenyra’s and her family's. You dream of a time when you could live for the simple pleasure of living, not someone else’s life but your own, not the one others envisioned for you but the one you dreamt for yourself. To breathe the open air, to walk where you wished, whenever you wished so. 

Was it so wrong of you?

The gods are cruel, that’s why they’re gods, and the curse of your family being usurpers now laid all on you. You suffered from the sins which your mother perpetuated, from those her own father sowed the seeds he planted with his ambitions in the dirt laid and worked by your ancestors. You held the rage of all those women before you, your mother’s, her mother’s too, that of your sister and the people at her heel and call. 

All because of who you were. 

[thefandomimagines]

Cannibals

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else's protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm's End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter 1: Bruises and Bloodlines

Chapter 2: Roses and Forget-Me-Nots

Chapter 3: Mist and Bricks

🦇 There will be 10 chapters total 🦇

💙 All of my writing can be found HERE! ❤️

[thefandomimagines]

                 aemond targaryen and original female character.

❝alicent hightower's youngest daughter, haera targaryen, has returned to king's landing after eight long years in old town and aemond finds himself inexplicably drawn to the girl kissed by the moon and with the eyes that seem to only look at him.❞                how could i not love eyes that see me in all my forms as beautiful? 〔incest, innocence and fantasies, romance, smut, virginity, events of blood and cheese, family rivalry, disabled main character, hints of book!aemond, modified show!timeline and events.〕

─ introduction. chapter one. chapter two. chapter three. storm's end. blood and cheese. chapter four. chapter five. ─ brightfyre.

[thefandomimagines]

reblog if you believe fanfics are as valid as books that were published and sold by authors who write as their main careers. I'm trying to prove a point

[thefandomimagines]

ewan interviewed by amelia dimoldenberg.

‘i really want to play the cuddly teddy bear.’

[thefandomimagines]

Seriously... He could use me and smash me and I would thank him

[thefandomimagines]

Scorched Hearts.

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

[thefandomimagines]

[thefandomimagines]

PEDRO PASCAL Gladiator II (2024) dir. Ridley Scott

[thefandomimagines]

The List Of My HOTD Reader Insert Works:

The list received a makeover. There is no longer a second one. All is here, in one place.

Aegon II Targaryen

Helaena Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen

Daeron Targaryen

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Jacaerys Velaryon

Daemon Targaryen

Baela Targaryen

Otto Hightower

Gwayne Hightower

Alicent Hightower

Cregan Stark

Harwin Strong

Criston Cole

Tyland Lannister

The List Of My ASOIAF Reader Inserts Works:

Oberyn Martell

Aerys II Targaryen

Rhaegar Targaryen

Arthur Dayne

Robb Stark

Sansa Stark

Jon Snow

Euron Greyjoy

Tywin Lannister

Tyrion Lannister

Robert Baratheon

Eddard Stark

Brandon Stark

Lyanna Stark

Roose Bolton

Jaqen H'ghar

Styr the Thenn

Ser Duncan the Tall - A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms

The List Of My FAB Reader Insert Works:

Aegon I Targaryen

Visenya Targaryen

Rhaenys Targaryen

Maegor I Targaryen

Torrhen Stark

Orys Baratheon

Aegon (The Uncrowned) Targaryen

Daemon I Blackfyre

Aerion Targaryen (Brightflame)

Dune Crossover

Requests are closed!

About Me

[thefandomimagines]

Can’t Stand Me Now; a modern Aegon x Stark! reader fic

Y/N Stark and Aegon Targaryen. Aegon Targaryen and Y/N Stark. Inseparable since both eldest children met at Kings Landing University, until they weren’t. One night of drunken passion ruins it all.

Five years later, Aegon is coming off a broken engagement to Larissa Lannister and sends a risky Instagram DM to none other than Y/n Stark.

warnings for the series: smut, smoking, drinking, friends to strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, more to come as needed

Prologue: Not if You Were the Last Junkie on Earth

Chapter one: The Party’s Crashing Us

Chapter two: Everything is Embarrassing

Chapter three: Gift Horse

Chapter four: Sat in Your Lap

Chapter five: My Kind of Woman

Chapter six: House of Jealous Lovers

Playlist here <3