#<- BOLDLY bitter

[bibleofficial]

i love pastagirls so much. they just say smthg ‘fancy’ re: probably italian & u can assume it’s just some noodle

[zeroxxlhero]

Visceral Need • Sevika

Warnings: 18+ characters, mutual pining, flirting, cunnilingus, alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking, dom! Sevika, sub! Fem! Reader, Sevika w a big dick, creampie, doggy style, vaginal sex, blowjobs, rough sex, ass slapping, mentions of Sevika having a happy trail

Pairings: Sevika x You

Fandom: Arcane (League of Legends)

Sevika had been plotting to get to you from a distance. Watching you, waiting for you to make the first move.

The dim, smoky air of the Last Drop hums with tension, the kind you can almost feel crawling across your skin. You’re perched at the bar, fingers curled loosely around a glass of amber liquor, your sharp profile illuminated by the flickering neon signs. You know how to command a room without even trying, and Sevika is no exception to your quiet magnetism. She watches from her usual corner, where shadows bend to her will, trying not to make it obvious—though she doubts you’ve missed her lingering gaze.

It’s not the first time she’s seen you, but something about you tonight feels different. Maybe it’s the way you toss your hair over your shoulder, the faint smirk tugging at your lips when the bartender flirts just a little too boldly. Or maybe it’s how you lean back in your chair, self-assured and untouchable, like nothing and no one could ever rattle you.

Sevika’s jaw tightens as she takes another drag from her cigar, the taste bitter on her tongue. She knows how to take what she wants—except, apparently, when it comes to you. You’re too much, too radiant, too far out of reach for someone like her. But damn if that doesn’t make her want you more. She exhales slowly, watching the thin wisp of smoke curl toward the ceiling, hoping it might carry away her frustration.

When you glance her way—just a flick of your eyes, barely there—her heart jolts, a muscle-memory reflex she thought she’d buried long ago. Does she hold your gaze too long? Maybe. She’s not sure she cares, even though her pulse betrays her. She looks away after a moment, feigning disinterest, but her metal fingers drum restlessly against the table.

It’s pathetic, she thinks bitterly, this infatuation she can’t seem to shake. Sevika doesn’t pine. She’s not the kind of woman who waits in the wings, hoping for a glance or a smile. But here she is, doing exactly that, watching you from the shadows like a lovesick fool. She hates how vulnerable it makes her feel, how you’ve become a crack in the armor she’s spent years perfecting.

Her drink is almost gone, but she doesn’t order another. She’s too focused on you, on the way your laughter cuts through the dull roar of the bar like a blade. Someone’s talking to you now—some nobody who doesn’t know when to quit—and Sevika feels the sharp sting of jealousy twist in her gut. She shouldn’t care, but she does. She always does.

She wants to make a move, to cross the space between you and say something, anything, that might catch your attention. But every time she imagines it, her throat tightens, and her words die before they even form. What if she screws it up? What if you laugh her off, or worse—dismiss her entirely? She couldn’t stomach the humiliation.

Instead, she watches, silently yearning for something she’s too scared to reach for. Her metal arm creaks faintly as she flexes it, a nervous habit she’s never managed to break. She tells herself she’ll talk to you next time, but deep down, she knows it’s a lie. For now, she’ll settle for the stolen glances and fleeting moments that keep her tethered to the hope that maybe, just maybe, you’ll notice her too.

..

The sound of shuffling cards and low laughter fills the back corner of the Last Drop, where Sevika sits hunched over a rickety table, a cigarette smoldering between her lips. Her prosthetic hand clicks faintly as she taps her cards against the wood, but her eyes aren’t on the hand she’s been dealt.

They’re on you.

Across the room, you’re leaned against the bar, your smile sharp and wicked as you chat with someone Sevika’s never seen before. Some tall, well-dressed stranger with too much confidence and not nearly enough sense to keep their hands to themselves. The sight of them leaning in, their shoulder brushing yours, makes Sevika’s jaw tighten, and she nearly cracks the card in her hand.

“Yo, Sev, you good?”

The voice jolts her back to the table. One of the guys playing spades with her—an older Zaunite named Corbin—grins lazily, tipping his chin toward her. “You’ve been staring off like you’re tryin’ to set something on fire with your eyes.”

A low chuckle ripples from the others at the table. Sevika doesn’t dignify him with a response, but she shifts in her seat, flipping a card onto the table with more force than necessary.

“Focus on the game, not whatever’s got you so distracted,” Corbin teases, leaning back in his chair. “Unless, of course…” His grin widens as his gaze darts toward you. “You’re busy keeping tabs on that.”

The others at the table exchange knowing glances, and Sevika scowls, smoke curling from her lips as she glares at Corbin. “Play your damn cards.”

Corbin whistles low. “Alright, alright, my bad.” He raises his hands in mock surrender, but his grin lingers. “Didn’t know you had a thing for the untouchable type. Can’t blame you, though.”

The table erupts into muffled laughter, and Sevika’s glare sharpens. She’s tempted to throw her cigarette at Corbin’s smug face, but that’d only prove him right. Instead, she leans forward, her voice low and steady.

“Worry about your hand, not mine. Or don’t—you’ll lose either way.”

The warning in her tone silences the laughter, and Corbin holds up his hands again, this time in genuine retreat. Sevika returns her attention to the game, but only barely.

Her gaze keeps drifting back to you. The stranger says something, and you laugh, your head tilting back slightly, exposing the curve of your throat. It’s a casual gesture, unintentional, but it hits Sevika like a sucker punch. She hates the way it makes her feel—jealous, possessive, like she has any right to be upset when she hasn’t even made her move.

She tears her eyes away again, focusing on her cards with a muttered curse. The game goes on, but her plays are sloppy, her attention split. It’s obvious enough that Corbin catches on again.

“You gonna stay in this game, or you wanna go shoot your shot?” he quips, shuffling the deck for the next hand.

Sevika glares at him, but before she can retort, you turn your head—and your eyes meet hers.

Her heart stutters. It’s only for a moment, but the intensity of your gaze is enough to leave her breathless. The corners of your lips twitch, and then you’re looking away, back to the stranger at your side.

Sevika exhales slowly, feeling the weight of Corbin’s amused stare. She can’t decide what burns more—your fleeting attention or the realization that she’s not the only one vying for it.

..

The bar’s hum is low and constant, voices blending into the clinking of glasses and the distant rumble of music. Sevika moves toward the bar, her empty glass in hand, but she’s not really paying attention to the drink she’s after. She’s already noticed you again, sitting at the edge of the counter, the soft neon glow catching the curve of your jaw.

You’re impossible to ignore. It’s not just your beauty—it’s the effortless way you carry yourself, like you know the world watches and you couldn’t care less. Sevika can’t help but stare, her steps slowing as her sharp gaze drinks you in.

She catches herself before she stops completely, shaking her head slightly. Get a grip, Sev, she thinks, but her feet still carry her closer.

Just as she reaches the bar, a man slides into your space. She notices him before you do—a wiry, slick-haired guy with a crooked grin that instantly sets her teeth on edge. He leans too close, trying to catch your attention with some line she doesn’t bother straining to hear.

You barely look at him, your expression unreadable, your attention flicking away almost immediately. But he doesn’t take the hint. He leans in closer, trying again, his voice louder now, a little sharper.

Sevika’s grip tightens on her empty glass.

The man doesn’t stop, his persistence crossing into territory that makes Sevika’s blood boil. Your body language stiffens, your disinterest now blatant, but he’s either too dense or too arrogant to notice. That’s when she decides she’s had enough.

With a measured stride, she closes the distance, her broad frame casting a shadow over both of you. She stops just behind the man, her voice low and dangerous as she speaks.

“She said no.”

The man startles, spinning around to face her. His mouth opens, probably to throw some defensive line, but the moment his eyes land on Sevika, the words die in his throat. His gaze flickers to her metal arm, then to her face, and recognition washes over him.

“Oh, shit,” he mutters, holding his hands up as if to ward off a blow. “I didn’t—uh, I didn’t realize—”

“You didn’t realize she wasn’t interested?” she cuts him off, her tone calm but icy. She steps closer, looming over him, her prosthetic arm flexing just enough to make her point. “Or you didn’t realize who you were pissing off?”

The man’s face pales, and he stammers out a hasty apology, first to her, then to you. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean any trouble.”

“Then leave,” Sevika says, her voice like steel.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He retreats quickly, his shoulders hunched, disappearing into the crowd without a backward glance.

Sevika watches him go, her jaw tight before she exhales and turns back to you. For a moment, she hesitates, unsure of how you’ll react. But then you glance at her, and your lips curve into a small, amused smile.

“Subtle,” you say, your tone light but edged with warmth.

“Wasn’t trying to be,” she replies, her voice quieter now.

Your gaze lingers on her, a spark of curiosity flickering behind your eyes. “Thanks. I could’ve handled it, but… I didn’t mind the assist.”

Sevika nods, the corners of her mouth twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. “Anytime.”

She starts to turn away, intending to head back to her usual spot, but your voice stops her.

“Leaving already? Thought you came here for a drink.”

She glances back, her brow quirking slightly. You gesture to the empty seat beside you, a playful challenge in your expression.

“Well?” you ask, leaning back against the bar. “You gonna join me, or are you just here to scare off creeps?”

For the first time all night, Sevika’s grin fully forms, small but genuine. She sets her empty glass on the counter and takes the seat next to you.

“Guess I’ve got time for one more,” she says, her voice low and steady.

It’s the beginning of something, she thinks. And for once, she’s not afraid to take the chance.

..

The smoky air of the Last Drop feels heavier tonight, buzzing with energy as Sevika sits at her usual corner table, deep into a high-stakes game of cards. The laughter and jeers from the surrounding players don’t faze her; her focus is razor-sharp, every move calculated, every tell read like a book.

You sit at her side, draped in casual elegance, your presence drawing more attention than Sevika’s winning streak. Over the past weeks, you’ve become a constant in her orbit, turning heads wherever you go together. You’ve yet to cross that line into something more, but the tension crackles like a live wire, impossible to ignore.

Sevika is used to being stared at, but with you, it’s different. You’re not just an accessory to her; you’re a distraction—the kind she can’t afford but doesn’t want to resist. Even now, with her attention locked on the game, she’s acutely aware of you beside her, your perfume, your presence, the subtle way your knee brushes against hers.

And you? You’re bored.

Sevika’s been winning all night, and while the crowd around the table watches the game with rapt attention, your interest wanes. You lean back in your chair, crossing one leg over the other, your gaze lazily sweeping the room. But then, your eyes land on Sevika, her sharp profile illuminated by the flickering light above.

A sly grin curls your lips. You know her focus is ironclad, but you can’t help yourself. You want to see if you can shake her.

Leaning in, you bring your lips close to her ear, your voice soft and teasing. “You gonna win this one too, or are you just stringing them along for the fun of it?”

Sevika’s brow furrows slightly, but she doesn’t take her eyes off her cards. “Trying to distract me?” she mutters, her tone even.

“Is it working?” you purr, letting your breath brush against her skin.

She doesn’t answer, but you catch the slight clench of her jaw, the way her fingers tighten around her cards. A thrill sparks in your chest.

You take it further, your hand drifting to rest on her thigh, your fingers light against the fabric of her pants. “You know,” you murmur, your voice low and sultry, “I was starting to think you were more interested in this game than me.”

Sevika freezes for half a second, just long enough for one of her opponents to notice.

“You good there, Sev?” the guy across from her asks, smirking.

“Fine,” she grunts, her voice rougher than usual. She glares at her cards, trying to refocus, but you don’t let up.

Your fingers trace small circles on her thigh, your touch maddeningly light. “You look tense,” you say, your tone dripping with mock innocence. “Should I stop?”

Her eyes flick to you, dark and smoldering, a warning in her gaze. “Keep it up,” she says lowly, “and I’ll make you regret it.”

Your grin widens, entirely unbothered by the threat. If anything, it eggs you on. You lean in even closer, your lips almost brushing her ear. “Big talk for someone who’s struggling to focus right now.”

That does it. Sevika slaps her cards down, the force rattling the table, and pushes her chair back slightly. The players around her start to laugh, sensing her irritation, but it’s not them she’s focused on—it’s you.

She leans toward you, her voice a low growl. “You really wanna test me?”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence, but the heat in her gaze sends a shiver down your spine. “Maybe,” you say softly, your smile teasing.

Sevika’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, it feels like the air between you is about to ignite. Then, with a sharp exhale, she stands, tossing a few bills onto the table.

“Game’s over,” she says curtly, grabbing your hand and pulling you to your feet.

“Where are we going?” you ask, laughing as she leads you away from the table.

Her grip on your hand is firm, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Somewhere I can deal with you properly.”

The spark in her eyes promises trouble, and you can’t help but follow, your heart pounding with anticipation.

..

Sevika's mouth is hot and hungry on yours, her tongue delving deep as she backs you up against the wall. The smooth plaster is cold against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of her body pressed against you. She breaks the kiss, leaving you both panting for breath.

"God, I've wanted to do that for so long," she pants, nipping at your jaw. "Wanted to taste you. Feel you." She rolls her hips into yours, grinding her thigh between your legs. The friction is delicious, the pressure exactly what you need to chase the edge. You whimper, your head falling back against the wall as she licks a hot stripe up your neck. Your hands find her shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

"Fuck Sev," you groan, your hips rocking against her in desperate search of more. "Need you. Fucking need you so bad. Please."

Sevika stops you with a firm hand on your hip, her fingers digging in until you're sure you'll bruise. "Ah, ah," she tuts, shaking her head. "Not so fast, baby." She cocks her head to the side, a wicked gleam in her eye as she looks down at you.

"First, you're gonna apologize for interrupting my game." She punctuates the demand with a sharp thrust of her hips, her hard cock grinding against your aching clit. Your jaw drops, a gasp tearing from your throat at the sudden burst of pleasure. But even as your body sings, your mind reels at her words.

"What?" you sputter, your brain struggling to process the shift in power dynamics. "But Sev, I..." She silences you with a finger pressed against your lips, her eyes hard and unwavering.

Sevika chuckles, the sound low and dark and dripping with all sorts of filthy promises. "You heard me," she purrs, her hand sliding down your body to palm your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt. Your nipple pebbles beneath her touch, the rough pads of her fingers sending sparks of pleasure shooting straight to your core. You whine, arching into her hand like a cat in heat.

God, you need this.

Need her.

Your whole body is crying out for her touch. But you know she's right.

Now you owe her an apology.

That’s how you got under her skin, how you made her so crazy for you that she left a table full of high rollers to chase after you. "Fuck," you curse, dropping to your knees with a thud. The carpet abrades your skin through the thin material of your pants, but the pain is nothing compared to the pleasure you’re about to indulge in.

Sevika is one of those lucky bitches who was born with everything hanging down to her knees. But it's not just the size that sets her apart. No, the crowning glory is the curl - a delicious, meaty curve that was made to hit all the right spots like it was made for your cunt. It looks like it’s almost too big for you, having the capability of stretching you out in ways that would burn so good it was almost painful. But oh, the pain would be worth it. So worth it to feel so full, so utterly and completely stuffed full of her.

You lean forward, tracing the happy trail that starts just below her navel, the coarse hairs tickling your fingertips. The scent of her fills your nostrils, musky and dark and so distinctly her. She's an intoxicating cocktail, all brute strength and raw power and that sharp, sinful mind. You're addicted, thoroughly and completely.

Sevika's cock is too big for your hand, stretching your fingers obscenely as you wrap them around her dick. She's hot and heavy in your palm, the veins ridging her length pulsing against your skin with every beat of her heart. The sight of her, all big and hard and ready, sends a fresh gush of arousal flooding your cunt. You whimper, your hips rolling involuntarily as you stroke her from root to tip.

Your thumb catches on the weeping tip, smearing the pearly bead of pre-cum that's gathered there. You're overwhelmed, completely bowled over by her. By this. By the sheer, breathtaking perfection of her cock. A cock that's all for you.

Sevika moans, a low sound that makes your clit throb. "That's it, baby," she praises, her voice rough with desire. "Just like that." She thrusts into your hand, her hips rolling in shallow little circles that send pleasure shooting up your spine. You can’t help but moan, your eyes fluttering closed as you lose yourself in the feeling of her, hot and hard and so fucking perfect in your grip.

"God, your hand feels so good," she pants, her grip on your hair tightening until it's just shy of painful. "But I bet your mouth would feel even better." The words are a challenge, daring you to prove her right. To take her down to the base and show her just how good you are with your tongue. You open your eyes, meeting her gaze head on.

You look up at her through your lashes, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. The simple act, so quick and innocent on its own, is dripping with intent in the charged air between you. Your message is clear: you're going to devour her. Swallow her whole until she's begging for mercy. She inhales sharply, her eyes darkening with lust at the blatant promise. "Fucking hell," she breathes, the curse little more than a whisper." You're going to be the death of me, aren't you?"

You just smile, slow and filthy, before diving forward and swallowing her down. The surprise and pleasure mingling on her face at the first touch of your tongue is almost as satisfying as the taste of her, salty and bitter and so delicious.

Your mouth is hot and wet and eager around her, your tongue working feverishly to coax more of those heady drops from the tip. Sevika shudders, her grip on your hair tightening until you're sure you'll feel it for days. The sensation sends a fresh wave of arousal coursing through you, your clit pulsing with the need for attention. You whimper around her, the vibrations of the sound traveling down her length until she's keening, her hips rocking into the blessed heat of your mouth.

You let her fuck your face, taking her down to the root with every pass until your eyes are watering and you're lightheaded from lack of oxygen. The discomfort is a small price to pay for the sheer depravity of it all, for the knowledge that you're the one driving her to this, making her fall apart with just your mouth and hands. You're insatiable, gluttonous in your desire.

Sevika is lost in the bliss of your mouth, her head thrown back and her eyes screwed shut as she chases her high. She fucks your face like it's her sole purpose in life, every thrust designed to push her closer and closer to the edge. You're along for the ride, letting her use you for her own pleasure. Because fuck, it's hot. Watching her like this, all wild and undone and so beautifully debauched. The noises she makes are obscene, low and filthy grunts and groans that make your cunt clench with want.

Her words are even filthier, praise and profanity tumbling from her lips in a steady stream. "God, your mouth," she pants, her grip on your hair bordering on painful. "So fucking good. Love watching it stretched around my cock." Her thrusts speed up, growing erratic as her climax nears.

Your nose presses against the neat thatch of curls at the base of her shaft, the musky scent of her arousal flooding your nostrils. Her hands are fists in your hair, holding you in place as she grinds against your face.

Your jaw aches, your lungs burn, but you don't stop.

You can’t stop.

Not when she's so close, not when you can feel her pulsing against your tongue as she fights not to come.

The need to make her fall apart is a living thing inside you, driving you forward until she's writhing, her legs trembling with the force of her impending release. And then she's coming, your name a ragged groan on her lips as her cock jerks and twitches and spills down your throat.

The sound of your name on her lips is sweeter than any praise, more potent than any aphrodisiac.It sends a fresh gush of arousal flooding your cunt, your clit throbbing with the need for some much needed friction. You work her through her release, milking every last drop from her as you greedily swallow it down.

The saltiness coats your tongue, slides down your throat in hot spurts. And god, it's delicious. A perfect complement to the musky taste of her skin, the spicy scent of her cologne that clings to your hair and skin. You're drunk on her, high on Sevika.

In this moment, you'd do anything for her, be anything she wants you to be. Even if it means falling on your knees like some cheap whore and choking on her cock like your life depends on it. Which, right now, it feels like it does.

Sevika tugs you to your feet, your legs shaky and unsteady as she pulls you into her arms. She doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath before she's kissing you, her tongue delving deep to taste herself on your lips. You open for her, letting her invade your mouth just like she's going to invade your body. Her hands are everywhere, roaming over your curves like a woman starved.

She squeezes and kneads and leaves bruises in her wake. Marking you, claiming you for her own. And fuck, if it doesn't turn you on. You've never been so aroused in your life. Your pussy is dripping, your panties soaked through with the evidence of your desire. She breaks the kiss, only to trail her lips down your neck, sharp teeth nipping at your pulse point. You moan, your head falling back to grant her better access.

Your head hits the pillow a split second before Sevika is on you, her body a warm, solid weight pressing you into the mattress. She kisses you again, her mouth slanting over yours in a filthy embrace that steals the air from your lungs and the sense from your head. The scent of her is dizzying, the taste of her a heady ambrosia on your tongue. You're drowning in her, lost in the drugging pull of her lips and the hot slide of her skin against yours. Your hands roam, mapping the dips and curves of her body like you're trying to commit them to memory.

You'd happily spend the rest of your life exploring every inch of her, tracing each freckle, licking each scar. But right now, there's only one thing on your mind. One thing your body is screaming for with every frantic beat of your heart and every ragged breath in your lungs. You need her.

Sevika is a woman of contrasts, every inch of her hard planes and sharp edges. The smoothness of her skin is a shock against the roughness of her hands, the gentleness of her touch at odds with the desperate need in her eyes. She worships your body like it's a religious experience, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your sternum until she reaches the valley of your breasts. There, she pauses, her hot breath ghosting over the peaked nipples. Your back arches, seeking friction, but she just chuckles, the sound rumbling through you like a shockwave.

"So pretty," she murmurs, her fingers ghosting over the straining peaks. The skimmed touch is torture, leaving you aching and wanting and ready to beg for more. But then she's taking you in her mouth, sucking you deep like she's trying to pull your soul straight from your body.

Sevika sucks harder, her teeth grazing the sensitive nubs and sending sparks of pleasure-pain zinging straight to your clit. You're keening, your hands fisting in the sheets as she works you over with lips and tongue and teeth. She's relentless, determined to push you to the brink until you're a mewling, writhing mess beneath her. And fuck, if it doesn't work. Your cunt is clenching, juices trickling down your thighs as she drives you insane.

Just when you think you can't take anymore, she's pulling away, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your stomach as she makes her way down your body. Her tongue dips into your navel, teasing the hollow there before she's moving on, nipping at the jut of your hipbone. You gasp, your fingers tangling in her hair as she settles between your thighs.

She inhales deeply, her nose brushing against your clothed mound. The scent of your arousal fills her nostrils, and it’s so fucking perfect. She can't wait any longer.

Can't deny herself the taste of you.

Then she’s tearing at your panties, her fingers ripping the delicate fabric like it's tissue paper. The cool air hits your overheated flesh, making you shiver, making your cunt clench with want. But it's nothing compared to the heat of her breath, the first lap of her tongue against your dripping slit.

You moan out, your hips bucking up to meet her, to grind your cunt against her greedy mouth. She moans, the sound vibrating through you, making your toes curl and your eyes roll back in your head. She's everywhere, her tongue delving deep, her nose grinding against your clit as she eats you out.

Sevika throws a thigh over her shoulder, opening you up to her in ways that are almost obscene. And then she's diving in, her tongue delving deep to taste you as her lips and chin get slick with your juices. You're incoherent, babbling a stream of curses and praises as she works you over like a woman possessed. She doesn't let up, fucking you with her tongue like she's trying to lick you inside out.

Your clit is throbbing, aching for attention, and she gives it to you without hesitation. Then she’s there, laving the sensitive bundle of nerves with long, slow strokes that make your vision white out. You're so close, teetering on the knife's edge of release, your cunt clenching around nothing. But you need something more, need to be filled up, stretched out until you're a quivering mess.

“Feel good, baby?”

You say yes, a wordless cry that's swallowed up by a moan as she doubles her efforts. Her tongue is everywhere, in your cunt, on your clit, over every inch of skin she can reach.

And she reaches a lot, her long arms spanning your body as she holds you open for her assault. You're lost in it, drowning in the pleasure, in the knowledge that she's the one giving it to you, driving you wild with nothing but her mouth.

Then need for more is a living thing inside you, a clawing desperation to be filled up in a way only she can provide. But she's too good at this, too skilled at drawing out your pleasure. Each touch of her tongue brings you closer to the edge, closer to that blissful precipice where you'll shatter into a million pieces. And you want it. Want to come on her face until you're shaking and boneless and spent.

She doesn't let up, fucking you with her tongue as she's trying to taste your very soul. Your cries are getting louder, higher in pitch, until you're sobbing out your pleasure, your voice breaking on each desperate moan. She's relentless, her lips and tongue working in tandem to push you over the edge.

And then, finally, she's hitting that spot deep inside, the one that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. You come with a shout, your cunt clamping down around her tongue like a vice as your orgasm crashes over you in waves of searing bliss.

You're thrashing, your legs shaking and your nails scoring the sheets as she wrings every last drop of pleasure from your body. It's too much and not enough, the sensation bordering on pain as it pushes you past the point of ecstasy and into something else entirely. Something primal and raw and so deeply, soul-shakingly intense.

Sevika comes up your body, her kisses reverent against your sweat-damp skin. The slow press of her lips to your thighs, your hips, your stomach, is a soothing balm against the aftershocks still coursing through you. She takes her time, mapping your body like she's trying to memorize every inch. Your fingertips tangle in her hair, keeping her close as you bask in the warm glow of your release.

"God, you're gorgeous when you come,"she murmurs against your skin, her words sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. She nuzzles into your neck, her breath hot against your ear. "Love watching you fall apart. Love knowing I'm the one who made you do it." Her cock is hard and hot against your thigh, a silent demand for its own release. But she doesn't rush her, doesn't try to mount you and fuck you into oblivion.

She rolls you onto your stomach, her hands skimming over the planes of your back, the dip of your waist. She takes a moment to admire the view, the curve of your ass, the long line of your legs. You're exquisite, all soft angles and warm, supple skin. And she can't wait to sink into you, to bury herself balls deep in your perfect cunt. But first, she's going to taste you again.

Her tongue traces the swell of your ass, dipping into the cleft between. She takes her time, kissing and nipping and laving at your flesh until you're squirming beneath her, desperate for more. Your legs fall open, a silent invitation that she's all too happy to accept.

Sevika dips her head, her tongue dragging over your dripping slit from clit to hole. Your taste explodes on her tongue, musky and sweet and so fucking perfect. She moans, the sound vibrating through you as she devours you like a woman starved.

Her hands grip your hips, keeping you in place as she feasts on your cunt. She eats you like she's trying to crawl inside you, like she wants to taste every inch of your body. And fuck, if it doesn't turn you on. The need to be filled by her, to have her stretch you wide and take you hard, is a clawing desperation inside you. You're panting, your fingers scrabbling at the sheets as you push back against her mouth. Your clit is throbbing, aching for attention, and she gives it to you in spades.

She spreads you open with her fingers, her tongue delving deep to lap at your dripping walls. You're keening now, begging her for more, for something, anything to fill the aching void inside you. "Please," you whimper, your voice hoarse and broken. "Please, Sev. I need you. Need your cock." She pulls back, her lips shiny with your juices as she looks up at you through lidded eyes.

"Need this, baby?" she purrs, fisting her dick and giving it a languid stroke. You can't tear your gaze away from the sight, mesmerized by the thick, veiny length, the bulbous head already weeping with precome.

You nod, too far gone to form the words.

But she knows.

Reads it in the desperation in your eyes, in the way your body arches up into her.

You nod, unable to form the words to beg. But it doesn't matter. Sevika reads it in the desperation in your eyes, in the way your body arches up into her. With a low, feral sound, she's on you, settling between your spread thighs. The head of her cock nudges against your pussy, smearing precome over your slick lips. You moan, your hips lifting to meet her, to urge her deeper.

She thrusts in slowly, torturously so, her thick length splitting you open inch by inch. The stretch is delicious, the bite of pain giving way to pleasure so intense it borders on overwhelming. You clench around her, your inner walls fluttering as they try to adjust to her size. But she’s too big, too thick. Even as your body yields to her, you know it will never be enough.

Now she’s in balls-deep, her thick cock stretching you in ways you never thought possible. You shudder, your body convulsing around the sudden intrusion as you struggle to adjust. It's too much, too full, too fucking perfect. You can feel her in your throat, her cock nudging against your cervix like it's trying to burrow into your womb. Your clit throbs, pulsing in time with the frantic beat of your heart as your cunt clenches desperately around the thick length. The need to move, to fuck herself on Sevika in a desperate, mindless frenzy, is a living thing inside you.

But she doesn't let you. Her hands grip your hips, stilling you even as she pulls out until just the tip remains before slamming back in with a force that steals the air from your lungs.

You sob at the drag of her thick cock against your sensitive walls, your voice breaking on a guttural moan. "F-fuck," you stutter, your nails scrabbling for purchase in the sheets. "D-daddy, it's too big. S'stretching me out. Gonna break me."

Your voice is high, thin and reedy, like it doesn't belong to you. But the words do. Those filthy, desperate pleas for her to ruin you, to fuck you until you can't remember your own name. Then she’s only too happy to oblige. She sets a brutal pace, her hips slamming against yours with every thrust. The headboard slaps against the wall, the obscene rhythm mixing with your cries and begging until it's a carnal symphony. She fucks you like she wants to split you open, like she wants to crawl inside you and never leave.

You can't catch your breath, can't do anything but take it as she fucks into you. Your legs come up to wrap around her waist, ankles locking at the small of her back as she pounds you into the mattress. The new angle lets her go even deeper, the head of her cock battering against your cervix with every thrust. The need for more is a living thing inside you, a clawing desperation that drives you to meet her, to push back against the relentless thrust of her hips. But she's too strong, too overwhelming.

She just holds you down, pins you in place with her weight as she takes what she wants. What you're begging her for with every wild thrash of your body. You're a moaning, writhing mess beneath her, lost in the pleasure and the pain until there's no distinction between the two. It's all Sevika, all this hot, hard, perfect cock splitting you open.

"Did you want this, baby?" Sevika grunts, punctuating the question with a sharp smack to your ass. You yelp, the pain mixing deliciously with the pleasure radiating from your core. The smack makes you clench, your cunt gripping her cock like a vise.

"You wanted this, yeah? Wanted me to fucking wreck this good pussy?" She yanks on your hair, forcing your head back to expose the slender column of your throat. She latches on, biting and sucking, intent on marking you as hers for all the world to see. Your hand flies to your mouth, your fingers plunging between your lips to muffle the scream tearing from your lungs. Your hips buck, trying to meet her, to take her deeper, but she just pulls harder, holding you in place.

Sevika’s slaps your ass again, the sharp sting sending a jolt of pleasure racing through your veins.She doesn't let up, her hand coming down again and again until your skin is hot and aching. The need to beg for more, to plead with her to hurt you, is overwhelming. But she's already giving you what you need, what you crave. Her filthy words wash over you, praising your tight cunt, telling you how good you feel wrapped around her cock. You're sobbing, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as she pushes you higher, fucks you harder, takes you deeper. The need to cum is a physical ache, a desperate clawing at your insides.

But you can’t.

Not yet.

Not until she says so.

You cry out, your voice cracking on a sob as she sets a brutal pace. She fucks you like she's trying to imprint herself on your very soul, her cock driving into you with a ferocity that borders on violent. Your body is a puppet on her strings, jerking and twitching with every thrust. You're incoherent, babbling pleas and praises as she wrecks you. Your cunt is like a vice around her, fluttering and clutching like it's trying to keep her inside.

"That's it, baby," she pants, her grip on your hips tightening until you're sure you'll have bruises. "Take it. Take my big fucking cock." She's so deep, so fucking huge. You can feel her in your stomach, in your throat. It's overwhelming, more than you ever thought you could handle. And yet, you want more.

"Cum," Sevika demands, her voice rough with need. That single word is all it takes. You shatter, your release crashing over you in waves of blinding ecstasy. Your cunt clenches, spasming almost violently around her cock as you gush, squirting your release all over her thick dick. It's filthy, obscene, the evidence of your pleasure dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets below. But Sevika doesn't care. She spurs her hips, fucks you through your climax until you're shaking, boneless, spent.

Your lips move in a wordless litany, begging her to stop, to ease up, to give you a moment to breathe. But she doesn't. If anything, she fucks you harder, her thrusts growing erratic as she chases her own release.

You're whimpering, keening cries that barely qualify as words. The sounds are lost in the harsh slap of flesh on flesh, in the creaking of the bed frame as it strains against Sev’s brutal pace. She's relentless, pistoning into you with a single-minded ferocity that steals the air from your lungs. The sweat drips down her brow, her muscles standing out in sharp relief as she holds herself up on shaking arms.

She's fucking you now, not into the bed, but into the fucking room itself. Her hips snap forward, the drag of her cock against your sensitive walls sending sparks of pleasure racing through your veins. You're whited out, lost in the sensation, the sheer overwhelming bliss of being fucked into oblivion by your own personal god.

"Fucking hell," Sevika breathes, her voice ragged with effort. Her hips are moving now, the pace growing erratic, stuttering as she nears her peak. Thenneed to feel her come is a desperation, a clawing hunger that makes your teeth ache. The need to be filled with her, marked by her, owned by her.

"I'm gonna cum," she warns, her fingers digging into the flesh of your hips hard enough to bruise. "I'm gonna fucking cum in this pussy and make you take it all. Gonna fucking fill you up until you're dripping with it. Until everyone knows who you belong to." Her words are punctuated by a final, brutal thrust, her cock spearing you deep as she erupts. Her cum floods your channel, hot and thick and endless.

You shudder, your cunt clenching and fluttering around her pulsing cock as your own release crashes over you. The need to be closer, to feel her all around you, is a visceral thing. You turn your head, your mouth seeking hers in a desperate, sloppy kiss. She meets you halfway, her lips crashing into yours like she can't get enough.

Can't taste you deep enough to satisfy.

Your moans are muffled, swallowed up by the kiss as you grind against her, fucking yourself on her softening length. She tastes of dark promise and forbidden pleasure, and you can't get enough. She kisses you through your orgasm, her words tumbling into your mouth in a filthy litany. Telling you how good you are, how perfect you are. You seek and find her praise, the need to hear it drowning out everything else.

Sevika pulls out with a wet sound, her softening cock slipping from your well-used cunt. Instantly, you feel empty, bereft. But it's only for a moment. Then the first gush of her cum dribbles from your hole, sliding down your inner thigh. A second later, her mouth is there, her tongue lapping at the pearly trail like you're her favorite treat. She cleans you thoroughly, her lips and tongue mapping every inch of your swollen flesh.

She doesn’t stop until you're spotless, until not a single drop of her release remains on your skin. Satisfied, she comes up to curl around your sweaty body, her arms wrapping you in a secure embrace. Then she calms you down, pressing soft kisses to your temple as she murmurs soothing nonsense. The need to be close, to be touched and held and cherished, is a visceral need.

Sevika gives you a chance to breathe, letting you bask in the afterglow for a second. Then she’s flipping you over, manhandling you onto your stomach like you weigh nothing at all. The sheets are cool against your heated skin as she settles over you, the hard planes of her chest a delicious contrast to the soft material.

She kisses your body, her lips trailing over each bump and hollow like you’re the most fascinating thing she's ever seen. "You did so good, baby," she murmurs, her voice low and rough and filled with a dark satisfaction. Then she's praising you like you're the finest prize, like conquering your body has been the ultimate accomplishment. And maybe it has. Because in this moment, with your legs spread and your cunt throbbing from her possession, you feel owned.

Consumed.

And utterly fucked out.

[fish145]

hidden tapestries

Aemond Targaryen / female Lady!reader

Warnings: lewd paintings, kissing, making out, groping, oral (receiving), PiV sex, loss of virginity (reader is a noble lady so a virgin), praise (!!!), unprotected (this is fiction, use protection), MDNI

Summary: during a visit to the Red Keep, you and Aemond sneak off together to a closed off section of the castle. There, you two find very interesting tapestries... which heighten tensions.

Note: not proofread,,,, again,,,, maybe one day

3.9K

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Your carriage arrived at the Red Keep, coming to halt before the grand doors. Your father exited first, then your mother. You held onto the knight’s hand as he helped you down, before you joined your parents. You had been looking forward to this visit to the Red Keep for weeks now, and now you were finally here; for a week, no less!

You entered the grand entryway, bowing politely before the royal family. You were every inch the lady, but your eyes were automatically drawn to him.

Prince Aemond.

He stood upright, his posture that of a true prince. 

“My lady,” he greeted with a polite bow of his own, his voice tinged with a bit more warmth than it had when he greeted your parents. “Prince Aemond,” you replied, careful to not sound too fond as well. 

You and Aemond had grown closer to each other over the years. When you met him, he had been bitter and resentful, already missing his eye. But you had been intrigued; having found him in the library one day. He was reading a book on Ancient Valyria, and after almost half an hour of begging, he agreed to read it to you.

From there on, you grew closer and closer, the bond between you shifting from friendship to something more, something less proper.

He’d taken your first kiss when you were just fifteen, having snuck away together when there was a tourney being held. He’d taken you with him to a hidden alcove, his heart pounding when he backed you up against the stone wall. And then, before you could even mutter something, he’d boldly pressed his lips against yours. It was short, but it was enough for your heart to pound so hard you thought you might need the maester. 

From there on, any visits were filled with both of you sneaking away and kissing, and…

Aemond had thought about going all the way with you. It would be wrong, of course. You were a highly respected lady of a great house. He wouldnt take your innocence, it was a border he simply refused to cross. 

That doesn't mean he hadn't thought about it. And dreamt about it, and stroked himself to the thought of you underneath him, writhing and moaning and-

“Our servants shall show you to your bedchambers,” he heard his mother’s voice, shaking him out of his thoughts. He looked back at you, seeing you nod politely.

It didn't take long for you to find him. He was alone in his study, reading through letters and missives. “Good afternoon,” you said softly, sweetly. Aemond looked up at you, his lone eye meeting yours. 

“My lady,” he breathed, “please, come in.” You saw him stand up from his chair, gathering the parchment and placing it in a neat pile on the corner of his desk. “How are you faring so far?” he asked you, “enjoying your stay in the Red Keep?”

You saw the smile on his face, and you couldn't help but smile as well. “It has been nice,” you tell him, slowly walking towards him, “a bit boring, maybe…”

Aemond gasped, faking hurt. “Boring? You wound me, my lady.”

You smiled at his teasing.

When you stood in front of him, he gently grabbed your hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles. “I suppose I shall have to remedy that, no?”

His hand didn't let go of yours, instead pulling you closer to him. One of his hands rested on your waist, a touch that made a shiver go down your spine. 

“I have missed you,” he whispered, your own hands resting on his chest. “Writing letters… it simply isn't enough. I wish to hold you, and kiss you…” he admitted, resting his forehead against yours. 

“I know,” you replied, tilting your face up to look at him. “Did you notice I sprayed perfume on one?” Aemond laughed softly and nodded. “Aye, I did.”

He boldly pulled you closer by your waist, his lips hovering above yours. “I also read them all. Multiple times.” You were silent for a moment, feeling the heat of his body. “You did?” you whispered, earning a hum in return. 

“I did,” he murmured, before leaning in for a kiss. After all those moons apart, that first kiss felt like you were floating. His lips were soft, yet eager. He parted from the kiss after a moment, brushing a finger over your lower lip.

“Do tell, my lady,” he said while you were still reeling from the kiss, “is there anything you wish to do during your visit? Go sightseeing, perhaps? Or a flight on Vhagar’s back?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I do not wish to be anywhere near that beast.”

Aemond faked offense, pulling his hands away from your waist. “Vhagar is a most formidable dragon,” he started, making you wave your hands. “Yes, yes, old and strong and all that. I've heard this speech before.”

Aemond grinned at your audacity, leaning back against his desk. “Very well,” he said, “tell me what you would like to do, then.”

You watched him for a moment, straightening out your dress. “A tour,” you decided.

“A tour?”

“Of the west wing.”

That made Aemond pause. After his father had fallen ill, his quite religious mother had taken over in his stead. And with that, she had completely changed the interior of the castle. The once scandalous tapestries that hung on the walls had been removed… and were now stored in the west wing.

If you were to see those… 

“Are you certain? Perhaps i could show you more of the gardens instead-”

“No,” you said, crossing your arms. “I wish to see the west wing. I have never seen it before.”

“And for good reason-”

“Please,” you whispered, stepping closer to him again. “Imagine what secrets are stored there. Unexplored chambers and dusty tombs…”

Aemond was silent for a long moment. He knows he shouldn't, but seeing you now, begging him so sweetly… He decided those tapestries would be a worry for him later. A couple hours from now, probably.

“Fine,” he said finally, quietly, “but we’ll have to be discreet. And you’ll have to be quiet, because i know how loud you can be-”

“I’m not-!” you huffed in reply, before covering your mouth. “I’ll be silent,” you whispered, “like a mouse--no, like a-a tiny ant-”

Aemond sighed, scratching the back of his head. This was a terrible idea. 

They both snuck off to the narrow staircase that led to the west wing, nearly getting caught twice. Aemond hated to admit it, but it was exciting sneaking around like this. 

“Go,” he hissed when you were taking too long walking up the stairs. You huffed, wanting to complain that your dress was too heavy, but decided against it at the last second. You reached the top of the stairs, seeing the dusty hallways in front of you. They looked quite similar to the rest of the hallways, but the walls here were… busier. There was more art, more decorations, more furniture.

Aemond reached the top of the stairs behind you, barely suppressing a desperate sigh when he saw the state of the corridors. There were definitely far more tapestries and murals here than he had remembered.

“This way,” he said, quickly grabbing your hand and pulling you into a different chamber where he prayed there would be no lewd paintings. And lucky he was. He had pulled you into a small chamber, with a bunch of books and a dusty desk in the middle.

“Oh, look-” you said as you walked over to the desk, “look at all these old books…” you slid your fingers over the spines, grabbing a thick one with a dragon on the spine. “Is this also old Valyrian?” you asked Aemond, walking back over to where he was standing. Aemond stepped closer, his eye scanning the ancient words on the front. “Yes,” he said softly, his fingers touching the book. “It is.”

He grabbed the book you handed him, opening the old pages. It was filled with ancient history, names of people long gone and forgotten. You stepped closer to him, close enough so that he could smell the scent of your hair. He straightened himself, doing his best to focus on the book instead. “How curious,” you murmured, “what does it say?”

As Aemond started translating the words for you, you moved around the chamber again. You looked through other books, skimmed over letters, until you found something covered by a linen sheet. Aemond was too focused on reading, and couldn't stop you from pulling the sheet away, revealing a tapestry.

And what a tapestry it was. 

You gasped softly, looking at the woven scene. Two men, two women, seemingly tangled together. They were nude, and touching, and… you felt your cheeks heat up. Whatever was this? Who would create such a… brazen scene? And more importantly, why was it here, in the Red Keep?

Aemond finished reading the passage, looking back at you. And then he fell silent. He watched the way you couldn't look away, the way your cheeks had turned red. 

“Ah…” he said softly, closing the book and setting it down before walking over to you. “I see you have found some of the… old art of the Red Keep, my lady.”

It was a sinful scene, Aemond knew. Men penetrating women, women sucking off the men… if he hadn't grown up around such scenes hanging in the hallways and bedchambers, he probably would have been shocked, too.

“I…” you stammered, “I didn't mean to…” but there was no way to talk yourself out of this one. Aemond smiled softly, stepping closer to you until his front was pressed against your back. “Didn't mean to what, my lady?” he asked teasingly, “Didn't mean to reveal such a… lewd artwork?”

You flushed an even darker red, swallowing heavily. “I-I had no idea…” you stammered. But Aemond just tutted. “No? But I think you did, my lady. How wanton of you.” 

“I didn’t-” you retaliated weakly, feeling Aemond’s hands now rest on your waist. He just hummed in your ear, still looking at the painting. 

“Tell me,” he said softly, “what do you think of the painting? Does it… channel certain emotions?” You couldn’t reply, feeling your body heat up in a way it never had before. Not even when he had stolen kisses from you, not even when his tongue had parted your lips for the first time. This was new. More intense. Addicting.

“I… I do not know,” you said quietly, and he luckily didn’t ask more. Because he knew. 

“I always thought I looked quite similar to…” he moved closer, his hands moving towards a certain man, “this woven person. Then again, it might just be the hair.”

You let out a shaky breath, looking towards the character Aemond had pointed to. You could see what he meant. It was a muscular figure with long, white hair. All he was missing was the eyepatch. 

“I suppose,” you breathed out, not trusting yourself to say more. Your eyes moved from the man to the woman, seeing the way she was being penetrated. You let out a shaky breath, even more aware of Aemond’s strong torso pressed against your back. 

Finally, after ages, Aemond pulled back. He intertwined his fingers with yours, pulling you with him. “Come,” he said, “allow me to show you my favourite one.”

Together they re-entered the dusty corridor, and he guided her towards a hidden chamber with his favourite painting. It was even more provocative than the painting with the foursome you had already seen, and his heart was already pounding with the prospect of showing you this one.

He entered an even smaller chamber, where the grand tapestry hung. He came to a halt in front of it, squeezing your hand. “This… this is my favourite one,” he said quietly.

You looked at the tapestry, seeing an impossibly more intimate scene in front of you. There were just two people displayed, a man and a woman. The man knelt before the naked woman, his face pressed against her most intimate place. Her head was thrown back in ecstasy, her hand in his hair. The man was just as nude, his hands on her thighs as he ate her out, his hair wild from her hands.

Your face was a bright red, never having seen anything as depraved at this. You felt hot--too hot. Your heart was pounding, and your hands clamming up a bit.

“Well?” Aemond asked you, moving to stand behind you again, his large hands finding your waist again. “Do you love it as much as I do?”

And he did love it. Standing in front of the painting with the lady he adored so, it was not difficult to imagine them in the place of the characters in the painting. He’d love to kneel before you, sliding your dress up and eating your wet cunny. But he was holding himself back.

“It’s truly something,” you whisper after a long silence, “it makes me feel things I have never felt before.”

Aemond had to hold back a groan. Fuck, he was certain you were soaked, your pretty innocent eyes unable to look away from the painting. 

“Mm..” he groaned softly, his hands moving higher on your waist until they were resting just under your breasts. “Do you wonder what it would be like?” he asked you softly, unable to stop himself from pressing his now hard cock against your backside. “Me… kneeling before you…”

Your breath hitched, a soft whimper escaping you. Aemond let out a shaky laugh, your reaction telling him everything. “Oh… you do, don't you?”

His hands finally slid up further, cupping your breasts. “Sweet, sweet lady…” he whispered, making you whimper again. “I can tell you want it, want me… on my knees…” 

He tilted your face up with his hand, making you look up at him. And oh, what a sight you were. Flushed cheeks, parted lips, lidded eyes…

He leaned in, kissing you deeply. You turned in his arms, your hands tugging at his tunic, wanting him even closer. “Aemond-” you whined softly, the prince placing one hand on your breast, the other sliding up into your hair. 

“My lady,” he groaned softly, sliding his tongue between your lips. He could feel you melting against him, leaning more eagerly into his touch. He groaned, squeezing your breasts more firmly, making you moan and arch into his touch. He broke the kiss, trailing his lips down to your throat. 

“You taste so sweet,” he managed to breathe out, “I could just eat you whole…”

You whimpered again, looking down at him. “You have imagined this?” you gasped softly, seeing a wicked smile form on his lips. “This and much more, my lady,” he said lowly, pressing his hips harder against you. 

He knew he should reel himself back in, to not claim your innocence. But the way you were looking at him, your pupils so dilated…

He pressed a final hard kiss to your lips, before kneeling boldly before you. Your breath hitched as you stared down at him, seeing the way his breeches strained against his heavy arousal.

“Please,” he whispered, “I’ll make you feel good. Just like the painting.”

You swallowed heavily, feeling your smallclothes drenched. You needed him, you realised. To fill the void inside of you, to make you feel things you had never felt before.

“I trust you,” you whimpered, “I-I want you, Aemond-”

Aemond groaned, his hands moving towards the hem of your dress. You leaned back, leaning heavily against the brick wall as he revealed inch after inch of your stocking clad legs. His hands were warm and strong as they slid up your calves, towards your thighs…

“Hold them up for me,” he ordered gently, and you listened, holding your skirts tightly in your hands. 

Your thighs were trembling as his hands slid over them, reaching the top of your stockings. With a smooth motion, he slid both of them down your legs, gently removing your boots as well. Your feet, now bare on the plush carpet, made you shiver. He pressed a kiss against the inside of your thigh, something that nearly made your knees buckle. He smiled softly, looking back up at you. 

“Swooning for me already?” he teased, before pressing more kisses against your inner thighs. You were whimpering, holding your skirts up for him like a good girl. 

“Please,” you panted out, not even knowing what you were begging for, but being impatient all the same. And as much as he wanted to tease you more, he was growing more needy himself.

His fingers hooked into your smallclothes, tugging the soaked fabric down, and revealing the curls at the apex of your thighs. He gently tapped your legs, having you step out of the offending garment.

And then you were bare for him, making him groan softly.

“You’re so wet for me,” he groaned softly, pressing another kiss to the inside of your thigh. You swallowed heavily, your hips bucking forwards, craving his touch. 

Unable to resist any longer, Aemond moved forwards, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your dripping core. You gasped loudly, pressing your hips against his mouth. Aemond complied eagerly, licking your wet folds before moving up to suck on your clit. He could feel your knees buckle again, so he held your waist tightly, helping you stay upright. 

“Oh, Gods-!” you mewled out, feeling his tongue move away from your clit, sliding inside of your pussy. The pleasure was so immense, so new, you could feel a knot forming in your lower stomach. Keeping your skirts gathered in one hand, you moved the other down to slide into his long hair. 

“Don’t stop-” you moaned out, “please don't stop-!”

Aemond growled low in his throat, one of his hands moving up to slide a digit inside of you. You let out an even louder moan, your walls fluttering around his finger. “Fuck-!” you moaned out, your head falling back against the stone wall. He started sucking on your clit again, his mouth and finger working in tandem to bring you over the edge. 

“Let go for me, sweet lady,” Aemond panted out before resuming his ministrations. You tasted so good, so sweet, he couldn't get enough. His cock was straining in his breeches, precum staining the fabric, but that could wait. He could hear your moans rising in pitch, your breathing growing quicker until finally--you shattered.

Your back arched violently, the knot in your lower stomach unraveling as stars exposed behind your eyes. All you could do was moan his name and press his face hard against your mound. 

After some time, you had to shove him away, the pleasure becoming too much. Aemond leaned back on his heels, looking up at you with a drenched mouth and a satisfied expression. He brought his drenched fingers up to his lips, sucking them clean. 

“By the Gods,” you whispered softly, dropping your skirts back down. “That was… wonderful.”

Aemond stood back up, pressing a kiss against your lips, letting you taste your own arousal on his tongue. “You are wonderful,” he replied softly, resting his forehead against yours. “I have never seen anything as beautiful as you coming undone.”

You smiled softly, your breathing still a bit heavy. 

Aemond pressed another kiss to your lips, his hips pressing insistently against your body. “I can make you feel even better,” he whispered, his hands moving towards the laces of your gown, slowly undoing them. “Make you cum even harder.”

You gasped softly, the fabric of your gown loosening before pooling on the floor around your feet. 

“Don’t you want that?” he said softly, tilting your chin up so you were looking at him. “Do you trust me?”

You swallow heavily, before nodding. “Yes,” you whisper, and that was all he needed to hear. 

He picked you up easily, your bare legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you over to a dusty chaise. He laid you down gently, taking a moment to take in the debauched sight of you. Completely naked, your inner thighs still stained from your earlier release. You looked like utter sin, and it made his cock throb in his breeches.

He stared at you as he undressed, removing his tunic first, then his boots, and lastly his breeches. You watched as he slowly bared himself, seeing the wet stain at the front of his smallclothes. 

“Watch, my lady,” he ordered gently again, and you obeyed, watching as he stepped out of his smallclothes, his cock springing forth. It was hard and thick, the tip leaking precum. Your thighs parted further almost on instinct.

Aemond smiled at that, walking closer to you, before crawling over you on the chaise. He positioned himself between your legs, the tip of his cock pressing against your core. 

“Tell me you want this…” he murmured softly, feeling your breath hitch. “I do-” you whimper, wrapping your arms around his neck. You kiss him deeply, your tongue moving eagerly against his. “I want you-” you whine again, making Aemond groan and move forward, his cock sliding into your tight, wet heat. You were gripping him so tight, he knew he wouldn't be able to last long.

You gasped and whimpered at the intrusion, the feeling stinging. Aemond looked down at you, before kissing you deeply. “You’re doing so good for me,” he whispered, “taking my cock so well--ah, fuck-” he groaned, his head burying in the crook of your neck. 

He pressed in further, sliding his cock into you, inch by inch. When he was finally completely buried inside of you, he let out a long, low groan. 

“Sweet merciful Gods,” he panted out, your fingers now digging into his strong shoulders. He gave you a moment to adjust, before he started up a slow, steady rhythm. He pulled back until just the tip of his cock remained inside her, before surging forward to fill her again, setting a deep, sensual pace. He kissed you deeply, sliding his tongue against yours in a way that turned you on even more. He held himself up on one arm, using the other one to grope your breast, his fingers pinching the nipple. 

“Oh, Gods, Aemond!” you moaned, your fingernails raking over his back. 

“That’s it,” he praised, “taking my cock so fucking well-”

He sped up his thrusts until he was fucking into you, the sound of your wet cunny taking him in filling up the chamber. His hand that was squeezing your breast moved down your body, his fingers rubbing hard against your clit in a way that nearly made you scream. Your hips moved up against his, something that made him smirk. 

“Oh, Gods, I’m gonna-” you whined out, “I-I’m gonna-!” and before you could finish your sentence, you shattered around him. Your pussy clenched tightly around his cock, making him groan before slamming one more time into you, then cumming deep inside of you. 

He could feel your back arch, and he held you close as you slowly came down from your second climax.

After a moment, he dropped himself on top of you, utterly exhausted. With a lot of effort, he moved off of you, lying down next to you on the chaise. 

“That was amazing,” he panted out. You whimpered softly, curling up against him. Aemond held you close, his hand moving up and down the curve of you back. 

“You are perfect,” he whispered, leaning down for a soft, sweet kiss. “You did so well, my love. Took my cock so well.” 

You blushed a bit, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Aemond laughed softly, holding you even closer. 

“I think we’re gonna have a lot of fun this week.”

You nodded in agreement. 

[wordsofwhimsy]

๑ The Cycle of You ๑

y'all got to know it by now if you live in the Mark Grayson tag like I do but art credit goes to the amazingly talented @gods-banshee!!!

Pairing: Shiesty!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: Toxic relationship!! Threatens of self-harm

Genres: Angst, romance, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 2,172

Inspiration: “Ex-Factor” — Lauryn Hill

Synopsis: You and Mark are in love in the most toxic way, and neither of you are willing to let go.

Being in a relationship with Mark was hard. It was the kind of hard that made you question your sanity, like walking through a storm you knew would tear you apart, but somehow still hoping for something better on the other side.

Mark, or as he called himself these days, “Invincible,” wasn’t exactly the most… stable partner. Sure, he was cocky and brash, wearing that boldly colored costume with the shiesty mask over his face like it made him untouchable. He’d walk around like he owned the world, that signature smirk plastered on his face, a swagger to his every step that screamed confidence. But beneath that facade? It was like peeling an onion—layers of insecurities, fears, and emotions he refused to acknowledge or deal with.

He’d snap at you for the smallest thing, then pull you close and kiss you like it was the only thing that made sense in the world. He could be sweet one moment and cruel the next. You'd fight, you'd argue, and then... nothing. Just silence, until he made some grand gesture to keep you close. It was a toxic cycle, but damn, it was a cycle that somehow felt impossible to break.

“Don’t you get it?” Mark would say. “I’m doing this for us. We’re in this together. Always.”

To him, this was love. He’d never learned how to show affection without wrapping it in a barrier of pride and chaos.

You were tired of the back-and-forth, tired of the games. It was exhausting, and yet, you always found yourself coming back. Why? Because no matter how much he hurt you, no matter how many walls he put up, you loved him. And you knew, deep down, he loved you too.

One night, after another argument that felt like it was leading nowhere, Mark stormed out of the room—slamming the door behind him. You barely had time to process what had just happened before you heard the faint sound of something heavy being thrown against the wall. Your heart started to race, an awful sinking feeling crawling up your spine.

You waited for a moment, listening for any more sounds. Silence.

Then, it hit you. You didn’t have to wait. He was doing it again. You knew Mark’s patterns—this wasn’t the first time he’d stormed off, only to return later with some kind of dramatized crisis, desperate for attention. Desperate for you.

You stood up, moving toward the door to make sure everything was okay. But before you could reach the hallway, Mark’s voice—low, desperate—sounded from the other side.

“You think I don’t care? You think I don’t care about you? I do—I just... I can’t keep doing this.” His voice was shaking, and you could hear the weight of his words, even if you knew part of it was for show. “If you want me to just leave you the hell alone, I will. But you need to know this: I can’t handle it anymore. I just... I don’t know what else to do.”

Your pulse quickened, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. You reached for the doorknob, but before you could open it, the door slammed open on its own, revealing Mark standing in the hallway.

He was holding something in his hand—a bottle of pills, his knuckles white around it. His eyes met yours, dark and frantic.

“You think this is a joke?” Mark’s voice was unsteady, but there was a sick, twisted confidence in it too. “Maybe I’ll just take these. Maybe I’ll just make it all stop. You’ll see how much you really mean to me, huh?”

Your stomach dropped. You tried to take a step forward, but your feet felt frozen to the floor. “Mark, don’t—”

He laughed, though it was more of a bitter chuckle, his hand shaking as he twisted the cap off the pill bottle. “What? You think I’m bluffing? You think I’m just trying to get you to stay?” His smile was all teeth. “Maybe you’ll believe me this time, huh? Maybe then you’ll realize what you’re doing to me.”

"Stop it!" Your voice broke, and your hands shook as you tried to reach for him, but he stepped back, holding the bottle further away. "Mark, please—this isn't the way. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to hurt yourself to make me care."

For a moment, his eyes flickered, and you thought—just for a split second—that he was going to drop the act. But the moment passed too quickly. His smile faded into something darker, more desperate.

“Maybe you’ll finally care if I’m gone.” His voice cracked, barely a whisper now. “Maybe then you’ll see how much you mean to me. How much this—you—mean to me.”

Your heart was hammering, and the fear in your chest was suffocating. You knew the pattern—this was his way of drawing you back in, pulling you into his chaos to make you feel responsible. He wasn’t going to hurt himself. Not really. He never did. But it was a tactic. A manipulation.

But the fear still gripped you, because no matter how many times he used this trick, it still cut deep every time.

“Mark, listen to me. You can’t do this. You’re scaring me.” You took a step closer, carefully, trying to get him to listen. “I’m here, okay? I’m here.”

He hesitated, staring down at the bottle, and for the briefest moment, you saw the cracks in his facade. His chest heaved with emotion, and the hardness in his face seemed to soften just enough for you to see the truth—he was scared. Just as scared as you were. But he didn’t know how to admit it. He didn’t know how to reach out without trying to control the situation.

“I... I don’t know how to fix this,” he murmured, his voice suddenly much quieter, almost fragile. “I don’t know how to make it stop hurting.”

You reached out, slowly taking his hand, your fingers brushing over the pills. “You don’t have to fix everything by yourself, Mark. We can work through this... together. But not like this.”

There was a long, tense silence between you, broken only by the sound of Mark’s shaky breath. Slowly, his grip on the pill bottle loosened, and he let it fall to the floor.

“You make me crazy,” he muttered, his face buried in his hands as he dropped to his knees. “I just—I don’t know how to be enough for you. How to be what you need. I’m losing you, aren’t I?”

You knelt down beside him, wrapping your arms around him. “No. You’re not losing me. But this—this isn’t how we fix things. You don’t have to push me away. I’m here, okay? But you’ve got to stop doing this.”

Mark clung to you, his body shaking with the weight of everything he couldn’t say. The storm raged inside of him, and you both knew it wasn’t over. The cycle would continue, as it always did. You loved him—too much, maybe. But sometimes, love wasn’t enough. Sometimes, it just wasn’t enough to save either of you.

And yet, you stayed.

—

Later that night you were sprawled out on the couch, half-watching some random show on TV, trying to unwind after a long day. The soft hum of the television filled the living room, but your mind was elsewhere, drifting between the quiet moments and the chaotic ones with Mark. You were still trying to piece everything together, to understand the weight of what had happened earlier. The arguments. The tension. The love that seemed to both save and suffocate you.

The sound of water running from the master bathroom snapped you from your thoughts. Mark was showering again—something about him needing a few moments to himself after everything, the way he used water to wash off his frustrations. You let the sound of the running water settle in, letting it be one of the few things that could calm you down.

Minutes passed, the only noise in the room being the occasional clink of the TV show’s soundtrack. You were starting to lose track of time when you heard his voice calling out to you.

"Hey... babe," Mark's voice was soft, almost tentative. "Can you come here?"

You sat up, letting out a sigh as you got off the couch and stepped thoughtlessly toward the master bedroom. When you walked in your breath hitched, freezing at the sight of him. Mark was kneeling on the bed, shirtless and pantless, his toned body gleaming with the remnants of the shower. He was still wearing his shiesty mask, the familiar fabric dangling loosely over his face.

You couldn’t help but admire the sight. He looked good, too good. The way his muscles rippled as he shifted, the way the water droplets clung to his skin, his posture—it was all so raw and real. But beneath all that, you couldn’t help the tinge of sadness that crept up in your chest. Even in his most exposed state, he still felt the need to hide his face. The part of him that you wanted to see the most was always shrouded in darkness.

Mark beckoned you with a simple, almost casual gesture—a slight motion of his hand, inviting you to join him on the bed.

"Come here," he said quietly, his voice rougher now, but still laced with that trademark confidence. Something in the way he said it—something in the way his body was tense, the mask still perched on his face—told you it wasn’t just a casual request. It was more. It always was with him.

You moved toward the bed, your steps measured but gentle. As you climbed onto the soft sheets in front of him, you couldn’t help but feel that pull between you, the one that had always existed, even when the space between you felt impossible.

You gingerly reached for the fabric of his mask with a quiet determination, your fingers brushing against the rough material. Mark’s body stiffened at first, like he wasn’t sure what you were doing. But he didn’t pull away. He didn’t stop you.

You slowly, carefully lifted the mask off his face, your fingers grazing his skin as it fell away. The look in his eyes—wide, almost a little unsure—caught you off guard. He was so exposed now, more vulnerable than he ever wanted to be. But there it was, that beautiful face of his—the face you always wanted to see, the one that made your heart ache when he kept it hidden.

You looked at him for a long moment, your gaze soft but filled with affection. His expression was uncertain, like he was waiting for you to pull away or laugh or say something hurtful, something that matched the cold, guarded mask he so often wore.

But you didn’t. You just took his face in your hands, your thumb brushing across his jawline as you appreciate the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. "Mark," you whispered, voice full of tenderness, "You’re so handsome."

You smiled softly, your thumb still brushing gently across his cheek. "I'm so lucky to have you," you continued in a whisper. And then, without another thought, you leaned in to kiss him—softly at first, as if you were trying to reassure him that these weren’t just empty words.

Mark’s lips met yours with a softness you hadn’t expected, a tenderness that felt almost out of place. Normally, his kisses were rough, urgent, filled with a burning intensity that left no room for hesitation. His touch was always a little too strong, his hands pulling you close like he was afraid you might slip away. But this—this kiss was different.

For a brief moment, you let yourself enjoy it, savoring the gentleness of his lips against yours. You could feel the sincerity in his touch, a quietness to it that you weren’t used to. It was almost like he was letting his guard down, just for a second, and you let yourself fall into it. The world outside of that kiss faded away, and you held on to that softness, grateful for it.

But the softness didn’t last long. The kiss quickly grew more insistent, more familiar. His hands found their way to your back, pulling you in with a possessive force that left no room for doubt. The tenderness dissolved, and what was left was the intense, commanding kiss you were used to—rough, desperate, a silent demand for you to feel just how much he wanted you.

And despite the shift, despite the intensity of it, you didn’t pull away. You welcomed it, knowing it was just as much a part of him as the gentleness had been. You knew the balance—knew how to dance between the softness and the fire.

[please-destroy]

Pieces Into Place

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count 5k

.

Sophomore year of college was not going to plan and it hadn’t even started yet.

You’d made the choice not to apply for dorms. Instead, you’d made plans with your two best friends from freshman year. The three of you had been inseparable for two semesters, and it made perfect sense to rent an off campus house together.

As the summer went on, it started to feel like you were the only one in the group still excited for the experience of living together. You found yourself sending links for potential houses into the group chat, only to be left on read.

You should have seen it coming. You started to stress as the start of the semester loomed closer. Your anxious messages were still being left on read by both friends. Worry started to flood you on a daily basis, houses were being rented at a rapid pace and any good options were running out.

There were barely two weeks left until the start of the semester, when you finally received a message. Both of your friends were going to move in with their boyfriends instead. They’d met the boys in the last few weeks of your freshman year, and somehow the relationships had lasted through the summer. The four of them could split the rent of a two bed house close to campus. 

They were overly apologetic, promising that you could visit whenever you wanted.

Anxiety spiked immediately and you found yourself crying in your car as you read over the message. You were already late for the last shift of your summer job. You felt profoundly stupid like you should have seen it coming. You also felt lonely, you were only really close to those two girls.

You realised how different the next year was going to be. You tried to think clearly as you calculated how much money you’d managed to save across the summer. You’d only budgeted for one third of a house’s rent. There was no way you could afford a place on your own. 

You spent your lunch break scrolling through Craigslist ads. Your friends messaged you again and their apologies were more heartfelt. You knew they were feeling bad about your lack of response. You didn’t have time to care. 

You tried to filter through the housemate requests. You decided quickly that you didn’t want to share with couples, still feeling bitter about your friends’ decision. Boldly, you decided against sharing with multiple other people in general. You were feeling sick already of being the third in a friendship. You didn’t think you could stomach living with two best friends and feeling even more alone.

There was only one advert that met all your criteria. It was a little far from campus, but the rent was more than reasonable. The offered room was small, but there were trees outside the window and you decided it looked peaceful.

The listing itself was short and to the point. Female sophomore looking for a friendly housemate to help out with the rent.

You sent them an email. You kept it formal, not quite sure how to phrase yourself. By the time you’d finished your final day of work for the summer, you had a reply.

They replied with two words, an address and a name.

Visit Saturday?

Natasha.

You tried not to feel nervous about the girl’s blunt response. You replied and agreed to meet her, heart beating loudly as you typed. You spent the next two nights stressed about the potential serial killer you were likely going to meet on Saturday morning.

You considered asking one of your friends if they would come with you to the meeting. Then, you saw their joint posts on social media about their beautiful newly-rented house and decided you’d rather be murdered.

You pulled up outside the house early on Saturday. Something in your heart settled as you examined the outside from the driver's seat. It was smaller than the house that your friends were renting, but it also looked prettier. There were red leaves falling from the tree in the front yard. The roof looked new, but it matched the older style of the house.

The front door was painted a dark blue and the paint looked fresh. It didn’t look like a student house, it looked like someone’s home. You wanted to live here. Absent-mindedly, you wondered at how authoritative your potential housemate might be to keep a house looking so neat. 

You imagined being pulled into a rigorous cleaning rota and decided it might still be worth it. There was a cute bench swing on the porch. 

You walked up the path to the front door and knocked hesitantly. It opened only a few seconds later.

The redhead stood there with awkward expectancy and you knew that she’d seen your arrival in the car and had been waiting for you to knock.

Two things struck you immediately.

Firstly, this sophomore was in her thirties. Secondly, this sophomore was an Avenger.

Natasha Romanoff shifted slightly from foot to foot as you stared a little too intensely back at her.

‘Hi.’ She addressed you and her hand moved up to give you an uncertain wave.

‘Hi.’ You replied in a nervous exhale.

‘I’m Natasha.’ The woman introduced herself. You bit your lip to stop yourself from explaining that you recognised her. It felt strange to acknowledge it. This woman couldn’t have looked less like a professional superhero.

Her hair was loose and hung down past her shoulders. It was braided at the top and the style framed her face with a particular kind of softness. Her grey hoodie was oversized and her black leggings made her look unassumingly normal.

Your eyes glanced down at her fluffy socks disbelievingly. You tried not to be too obvious.

‘I’m (Y/N), I’m here to see the room.’ You informed her unnecessarily and your hand moved automatically for a handshake. Natasha shook it readily, an amused smirk flickered over her face.

‘Would you like a tour?’ She asked you warmly and you nodded, feeling shy.

You started to take your shoes off at the door and Natasha glanced at you in surprise. 

‘There’s not a rule or anything.’ She assured you.

You shrugged.

‘This place is so nice.’ You answered simply, looking over her shoulder at the clean hardwood floors. Natasha’s smile was small, but it seemed proud.

‘I always travelled around a lot.’ She told you suddenly. ‘I bought this place last year, and I ended up staying through the summer. It's the first place that’s really felt like home.’

You smiled back automatically at her words.

‘So, you’re the landlord?’ You confirmed teasingly, following her through to the kitchen/dining area. The lighting was soft and golden and it made the room feel warmer. 

Natasha rubbed the back of her neck unsurely.

‘I don’t really need a housemate.’ She admitted as you wandered over to the oak dining table accompanied with two matching benches that stood in the centre of the room.

‘It’s just a quiet house.’ Natasha added softly. You looked up from the table and met her gaze. Natasha’s eyes flitted away from you with embarrassment and she gave a small shrug. You wondered how lonely an Avenger could get. Abruptly, you realised it was likely lonelier than most.

‘Are you a sophomore?’ You asked her suddenly, wanting to confirm what you’d read in her advert. Natasha moved through to the living room area, opening a door for you to walk through. 

She nodded briefly. Your eyes caught immediately on the  rows of bookshelves that lined the far wall. There was a laptop sitting open on one armrest of the sofa and a grey blanket folded on the other. 

This didn’t look like a typical student house. You didn’t care, this was so much better.

‘I realised that I’ve only ever learned things for my job.’ Natasha explained from the doorway. ‘But I’ve never learned about anything just because I wanted to. I know I’m a bit older.’ Natasha paused again and she smiled carefully at you.

‘It’s okay if that bothers you.’ She added. ‘I won’t be offended.’ 

You caught the briefest shadow of loneliness cross her face. You felt sympathetic, Natasha seemed lovely and already you wanted to know her more. Still, you weren’t surprised that it had been hard to make friends on campus.

You grinned back at Natasha, trying to make her brighter with your own smile.

‘Doesn’t bother me at all.’ You assured her. You’d had an action figure of Natasha as a kid. It was too embarrassing to mention.

Natasha started asking you some questions then. You found yourself explaining the highlights of your own first year. She asked you follow ups and soon you were telling her about the shock of your friends ditching you unexpectedly. 

Natasha’s focus was flattering as she listened carefully. You tried to hide another wave of shyness as you realised that you’d been explaining your problems to an Avenger. You realised how different your problems probably were.

Natasha showed you the bathroom and gave you a brief look into her spacious and tidy bedroom. Then, she opened the door across from it, revealing your own.

You were right that it was a little small, but it was clear that Natasha had recently renovated it. The paint seemed fresh and the IKEA desk facing the window still had a protective plastic cover wrapped around it.

‘Perfect.’ You said aloud, because it was. Natasha beamed now, leaning against the doorframe, her hands rested easily in the pockets of her hoodie.

As you descended the stairs, Natasha told you about her degree choice. She’d picked an English major and her cheeks flushed slightly when she told you that she’d started the year’s reading list early.

You started asking her about the ones that she’d read so far.

Natasha’s conversation felt hesitant to begin with, but you could sense her desire to talk. You wondered how long the summer alone here without classes must have felt. Natasha’s explanations were detailed in a way that told you she paid attention in class far more than you did. You fought a grin as you realised Natasha Romanoff might be a huge nerd.

When you arrived back at the front door, there was an abrupt pause as Natasha cut herself off. You lingered in the hallway awkwardly for a second before you realised that she was awaiting your verdict on the house.

‘I’d love to live here.’ You told Natasha upfront, feeling suddenly much younger as you stood in front of her.

It felt bizarre when some tension seemed to lift from Natasha’s shoulders at your words. It was inconceivable to have her seek your approval. Natasha Romanoff had stopped aliens from invading New York.

Natasha’s answering smile seemed more relieved than anything else.

‘When do you want to move in?’ She asked easily.

.

The next time you pulled up at the house, car filled with cardboard boxes and assorted items, the weather was perfect. 

Natasha opened the front door while you were walking up the porch steps.

‘Let me help?’ She offered immediately and her eyes shone with something that made you feel like friends already.

You spent the next hour together, bringing heavy boxes up the staircase. Even Natasha had started to sweat with exertion. She seemed excited though, and you shared slightly giddy smiles when you passed each other in the hallway.

When the last box was in your room, Natasha hovered awkwardly by the foot of your bed. Before she could turn to leave, you gave her a reassuring smile.

‘You wanna sit?’ You offered casually, though your heart was pounding in your chest. You’d been crushing on Natasha Romanoff, the superhero, for years. Meeting her in real life had only made that feeling stronger, but you tried to push through it. More than anything, you wanted to be friends with your housemate. ‘You can give me decorating advice?’

Natasha’s eyes widened slightly in surprise at your suggestion and she moved obediently to sit on the end of your mattress. Her hands rested in her lap and she looked around your room unsurely. You could tell she was trying to think of something to say.

You started up a conversation about her upcoming classes. Natasha told you about a professor she’d been hoping to avoid but had ended up having for the second semester in a row. Any hesitancy left her voice as she found her rhythm. One story led to another and Natasha stood up to help you move clothes into your wardrobe as she told you all about an assignment she’d handed in to that professor before.

You tried not to smile at the realisation that the Black Widow was talking to you like you were friends. It was endearing to hear anyone talk so interestedly about a subject. 

There was something fresh in the way she told her stories and answered your questions. You could tell Natasha had formed opinions about her classes that she’d never shared with anyone before. It made you feel special.

After you’d moved most of your things into the right places, you decided to take a shower. The bathroom was shared and it gave you the opportunity to unpack your items for showering. 

You wandered downstairs an hour later, hair still wet. Natasha was sitting on one end of the sofa, legs curled under her as she stared at her laptop screen. When Natasha saw you, she straightened up. You waited for her to speak. Irrationally, you worried that she was going to tell you a list of house rules that included not showering in the afternoon.

‘I’m making lasagna’.’ Natasha told you suddenly. You nodded, realising now why your mouth was watering. ‘There’ll be extra?’

You felt like you were in a different reality, sitting at the dining table as Natasha presented you with a plate of food. You asked if you could play some music, trying to diffuse the tension. The first song that played was embarrassing and much louder than you’d planned. You hurried to skip it on your phone. Natasha huffed out a soft laugh. You glanced up from your phone and saw the amusement in her eyes. Somehow, you found yourself laughing too.

Soon, you fell into light conversation. Natasha wasn’t like anyone you’d ever met before. You knew already that you were in love with her voice. You tried to focus on the lasagna. You were so glad that you’d answered that Craigslist ad, but you could already feel the sting in your heart. Unreciprocated crushes always ended badly.

You insisted on cleaning up the kitchen but Natasha hovered close. She was curious about the music you were playing and started asking you questions about your other interests.  

The soft lighting made her eyes sparkle and you tried to focus on loading the dishwasher.

Natasha’s hand brushed your back as she moved past to start the coffee machine. You startled at her touch, feeling warmth rush to your cheeks. 

.

There were three more days until classes began. You’d been worried that Natasha might get sick of you just in those first few days. Instead, the pair of you gravitated towards each other with an unexpected familiarity.

The first morning, Natasha offered to walk with you to the nearest convenience store, so you would know the route. You felt shy at her thoughtfulness. The morning had been perfect, wrapped in scarves, shoulders brushing as the cool wind blew the falling leaves in spirals around you.

You bought the ingredients there to bake cookies, feeling weirdly festive as you embraced the last few days of vacation.

Natasha looked flattered when you offered her one of the cookies. She smiled carefully and told you how much she liked cinnamon. You were pretty sure that you’d fallen in love with her.

The next few days kept their festive theme. You felt like you were sharing a holiday with someone you already knew. Every once in a while, Natasha would take a phone call and leave the room.

She’d glance back at you as if conscious about how strange her behaviour must be. You barely reacted. It was easy to forget that Natasha was an Avenger on hiatus, but it didn’t bother you at all. You did wish that you’d acknowledged it from the start. It felt too late to explain that you knew her other identity, but it was painfully awkward when Natasha was elusive about details from her past.

.

Your first class was not as bad as you’d been expecting. You’d resigned yourself to trying to find a new place to sit in the lecture theatre. You softened slightly when you entered the room and saw your two friends waving eagerly from the back row. The situation stung less now that you’d ended up sharing a house with Natasha.

You sat next to them and soon you were talking in hushed voices about your summer vacations. Your friends gushed about their boyfriends and you tried to look mildly interested. It was clear also that they’d spent a lot of time together during the summer break without inviting you.

When they asked about your new living situation, their voices turned sombre, as if they were giving you condolences. They were surprised to hear about a sophomore that they hadn’t met before at any party. When you explained that Natasha was older, their looks became even more sympathetic.

You stopped talking, allowing them to move onto other topics. You felt annoyed that they’d made a snap judgement about Natasha. You tried to focus on the professor, speaking at the front of the class. Your friends were talking about a party they were throwing that night. They invited you enthusiastically and you couldn’t help but wonder if they’d only done so because you were sitting with them.

You agreed quietly, deciding that if nothing else, at least there would be other classmates there too. You had a feeling that you needed to expand your college social circle.

It was lunch right after the class and one friend invited you to sit with them and their boyfriends. The other, shot her a resentful look when she made the suggestion and suddenly you saw just how false they both were. You declined politely, realising with certainty that these people were not your friends. 

There were several places to eat on a street just off campus, and you wandered there without much of a plan. 

Natasha was sitting in the back corner of one café, your eyes caught on her red hair, tied back in a loose ponytail. She was wearing an oversized sweater and her focus was entirely on the book in front of her. You tried to catch her eye but she didn’t look up.

Without thinking, you entered the café. It was slightly more expensive than the chain coffee shop next door and so there were hardly any customers sitting inside. Natasha glanced up at the sound of the door opening and her eyes widened at the sight of you. You waved awkwardly, heading over to the counter to place an order. 

Natasha gave you a surprised smile and you prayed that you weren’t being weird and overstepping by coming in here. The waitress told you to sit down and she’d bring your order over to you. You moved awkwardly over to Natasha’s table, feeling like a school kid as you tried to fight the nervous lump in your throat. You just had to ask to sit with her. 

Natasha glanced up from her book again and looked at you quizzically. She smiled politely, evidently a little confused. You wanted to sink into the floor. You glanced down at the chair sitting opposite her and something clicked in her head. Natasha scrambled to move her items over to her side of the table. 

You sat down, wishing that every social interaction you started wasn’t always this mortifying. Then, Natasha gave you a shy smile.

‘I didn’t think you wanted to sit here.’ She told you embarrassedly. ‘I thought maybe you were leaving to meet friends.’

You rolled your eyes automatically at the word friends and Natasha laughed easily, shutting her book and instead picking up the sandwich that had been lying forgotten on the table. You explained briefly about your interaction with your friends. Before you’d finished, your own sandwich had arrived. You felt almost dizzy with your change of mood. Suddenly, you felt lighter than air.

Between bites, Natasha told you too about her first class. Her memory seemed eidetic as she recalled the contents of the lecture. You marvelled silently at how skilled she must be as a secret agent.

You mumbled about how impressive her memory was, and Natasha tucked her hair back with a hint of self consciousness. You gave her a reassuring smile.

‘I’m really glad I answered that ad.’ You told her randomly and Natasha’s features relaxed as she nodded in silent agreement. 

You both had an hour to kill before your next class. Slowly, Natasha returned to her book, jotting down careful notes as she went.

You listened to music as you tried to neaten up the notes you’d made in your last class. You groaned quietly when you saw the address scribbled in the margin.

Natasha looked up immediately, head tilted.

‘I promised I’d go to this party.’ You explained, head in your hands at the prospect of your plans for this evening.

Natasha looked surprised. 

‘Why don’t you want to go?’ She asked curiously and you explained who was hosting.

‘You can always ditch.’ Natasha suggested hesitantly after a moment. ‘I was only going to watch movies tonight but you’re welcome to join.’

You’d never felt so ready to abandon a social plan. You imagined how perfect the night could be. Then your mind caught on something and you hesitated.

‘I can’t keep relying on these two friends.’ You muttered, feeling embarrassed about your social failings.

‘Three.’ Natasha corrected quietly, taking a drink from her glass of water. ‘You have three friends.’

You felt a rush of gratitude suddenly and your smile was uncontrollably wide. You glanced down at the table trying not to look too silly.

‘Would you come with me to the party?’ You asked suddenly, picking at the side salad on your plate.

Natasha hesitated and immediately you felt mortified with your question. You opened your mouth to try and backtrack. 

Natasha spoke before you had the chance.

‘If you’re sure that you want me there. I’ll go.’ She promised quietly and her voice rasped with her assurance.

‘I do.’ You mumbled shyly, trying to process that Natasha, the beautiful Avenger, was going to a party with you. ‘I really do.’

.

Your classes flew by and, before you knew it, you were back at your house. For the first time, Natasha’s bedroom door was shut during the daytime. You hovered outside it for a moment, too nervous to knock. 

You worried that she’d changed her mind about going to the party with you and she didn’t know how to tell you.

You ate dinner by yourself and started getting ready soon after. You tried not to make any assumptions about Natasha coming with you. You told yourself to get a grip in the mirror as you fixed your hair. 

There was something rhythmic to getting ready. You tried to focus all your stress into the various tasks. Twenty minutes before you were planning on leaving, there was a knock on your door. You smoothed your outfit nervously, sure that Natasha was going to cancel officially, but still wanting to make a good impression.

Your jaw dropped as you opened the door.

Natasha was the hottest person that you’d ever seen, let alone stood a few feet away from. Her green dress hugged her curves. Her hair was intricately braided and your eyes ran over the beautiful patterns of her plaits, before catching on her exposed ear piercings.

Natasha looked tense, balancing in her heels.

‘I haven’t done this in ages.’ She murmured. ‘Do I look okay?’

You huffed out a quiet laugh.

‘Natasha.’ You said, reaching out to take her hand. ‘You were already next level beautiful. But, right now you might cause heart attacks on campus.’

Natasha rolled her eyes and you watched as a rush of confidence buoyed her slightly in her heels. Her mouth stretched into your favourite easy grin.

‘You’re looking pretty fucking hot yourself.’ She told you simply. The genuineness in her voice was unexpectedly attractive and you felt a rush of heat run through you.

You squeezed her hand suddenly.

‘Thanks for doing this.’ You mumbled. Natasha squeezed your hand back. 

‘Thanks for asking.’ She replied and you felt the undeniable want to kiss her. 

Unrequited crushes were the worst and you forced yourself to stand still. Natasha was far more of an adult than you could ever imagine being. You couldn’t fathom how many lives she’d saved. You felt stupid for hoping for more luck than you already had.

‘You’re the best landlord.’ You joked lightly, trying to remind yourself of the boundaries between you. Natasha laughed loudly and her fingers interlaced with yours.

.

You were still holding Natasha’s hand when you knocked on the door of your friends’ house. You’d expected a wave of jealousy or bitterness when you saw it in person, instead you found yourself even more grateful for where you’d ended up living.

One of the boyfriends opened the door. Awkwardly, you introduced yourself again and Natasha for the first time. His eyes widened as he took in Natasha’s outfit.

He hurried to welcome you inside. He offered you both a bottle of beer which you accepted, before leading you into the living room. There were various seats arranged in a loose circle around the room. Most of them were already full, you’d arrived purposefully later so that there’d be plenty of other people.

You watched as a sea of faces turned to stare at Natasha. Natasha’s own expression was careful and a little guarded. You recognised the uncertainty in it and squeezed her hand. You knew that for everyone else, her expression could only be adding to her intimidating beauty. 

You caught sight of your two friends in the corner. They looked shocked at your arrival and at the appearance of your housemate. You ignored their pointed stares, instead squeezing onto an old sofa, next to Natasha. Her bare leg was pressed against yours and you felt a strange electricity in the air between you. 

Natasha was only here for you. The awareness of that made you feel even warmer in the crowded room. Your hand touched her thigh. Conversation started up again and the room devolved into smaller social circles.

You found yourself taking steady sips of your beer. Different conversations started to spark up around you. You realised that, despite the presence of many people from your classes, Natasha was the only person you wanted to speak to.

You bumped your knee against hers familiarly and she bumped your shoulder in response. You shared a secret smile. A few people tried to catch Natasha in a conversation. She answered politely, always staying pressed close to you. You watched as their brows furrowed as they tried to decide if she really was the Black Widow at a college party.

Each time they seemed close to asking directly, Natasha would turn back to you, purposefully cutting them out of the conversation. She offered you her half drunk beer when you finished yours and you sat together in quiet conversation as the party grew more boisterous around you. The house had been filling up rapidly, and soon there was barely any space to move.

Finally, the chairs and sofas were cleared to the walls and you found yourselves stood together in the corner of the room as the speakers began to blast loud dance music. 

Natasha’s shoulders tensed and you saw her blink in discomfort at the sound. 

She turned to you, her lips next to your ear when she asked if you wanted to dance. 

You shook your head wordlessly, you didn’t know how to express what Natasha’s attentiveness made you feel.

You could sense how much of an effort this whole night had been for her. You remembered the hours she’d taken getting ready and you felt a sudden certainty in your chest.

Your arm slid around her waist as you led her quietly from the room. Natasha acquiesced immediately. 

You stood together on the cold front porch. Natasha watched the other dancers through the window, the party seemed strangely magical from a distance. You could still feel the thump of the speakers through your feet.

You didn’t move your hand from Natasha’s waist. Instead, you turned to face her, moving both your hands to rest on her hips.

‘I do want to dance with you.’ You admitted shyly. ‘But, just with you.’

Natasha looked at you carefully. You saw her take a deep breath as her hand moved to your face. Her thumb brushed your cheek and you couldn’t look away from her green eyes.

‘You don’t know everything about me.’ Natasha told you seriously. ‘There’s a lot I haven’t told you.’

‘I know who you are.’ You interrupted softly. You tried to memorise the way her body felt under your touch in case this was the only time you would be allowed to hold her. Natasha’s mouth opened in surprise.

‘I know that it’s not as simple as being a superhero.’ You said quietly. ‘I know you’re not just one thing. There are so many pieces that make you up. But, I like you with all of those pieces.’

Natasha’s eyes softened, her brow relaxed as she considered your words.

‘You’re beautiful.’ She told you simply. ‘I want to dance with you too.’

You couldn’t hear the music properly, only feel the beat of it under your feet. Still, you started swaying together. Natasha brought her body closer to yours and her hands rested on your shoulders.

With every sway, you found yourselves drifting closer together. Natasha’s lips made you think of fall. 

You leaned closer. 

Your first kiss was perfect. The night air was cold, but Natasha’s arms were around you. She tasted like cinnamon. You felt like you were flying.

[anantaru]

boothill pussy eating but he can't stop moaning <3 ily miss yoru

⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ synopsis. your boyfriend boothill is always so loud when he eats you out (not complaining) // ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱ ♡ cw. oral (fem! receiving), a little filthy, brazenly loud boothill, he just loves tasting you <3, fem! reader ♡

boothill was silent for a second, eagerly feeling how your pussy throbs beneath his tongue as his breath wafts over your glossed folds—  and he couldn't help but smile at your glazed eyes watch him closely from between your thighs, his own body riveting at the filthy look on your face.

your legs automatically spread wider for him as he kisses your clit lovingly before placing the flat of his tongue against it, your hole squeezing and twitching as he suckles on your pulsing pearl before roughly dragging down between your folds to taste you on his tongue. "ugh, right there, yeah?" he groans before shamelessly moaning into your cunt, the wet and gooey texture of your arousal slick on his chin.

your belly begins to feel hot and tight at the same time as he repeats himself, filthily licking through your folds before wrapping his plushy lips around your clit to boldly moan out your name with an obvious break in his voice.

boothill goes down on you and couldn't ask for more, he's so thankful and treats your juices like the tastiest substance he's ever had the honor of having on his tongue. and well, such might be the case, because the man thought you tasted just heavenly, out of this world with the perfect amount of bitterness accompanying your natural musk.

you let out a whimper and stroke one hand into his hair as he buries his face further into your cunt, immediately moaning into it, "mmh, baby," you drawl out shakily, "i need you closer," and dig your fingers into his scalp to leave subtle scratches behind.

it turned him on when you practically rubbed him where you needed him to be, because please, please please be rough with him, okay? it makes his blood boil and dick throb in his pants.

the more of your arousal he lapped up, the better his tongue felt coaxing all the more out of you before he flicks back and forth your perfect pussy.

your nerves practically come alive and turn sensitive, sharp and delicate, hot and tight, it's a sick whirlwind of reactions no one could ever lure out of you besides your boyfriend.

you just need him so bad— not only that but the sheer presence of him was so intimidating, sweet and, simply ethereal. it had you biting your bottom lip hard enough for it to ache a little, curling your toes as he keeps you prettily spread for him.

perhaps after this, he'll eat you out once more until you're perfectly ready for him, in fact, it seems like you're enjoying yourself a lot and such was, well, everything boothill wanted to achieve.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[santaasi]

story of my life

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

summary: what are you willing to do for the love of your life?

warnings: !major spoiler for obx4 final!, angst, establish relationship, nearly death experience, no use of y/n, english isn't my first language

word count: 2.8k

a/n: requested by this ask. i still haven't found the strength to watch s4, but i like to write about it. you know, after all this emotionally difficult month, all your requests help me not to go crazy. so thank you very much.

ᯓ★ now playing...

one direction - story of my life

YOU HAD ALWAYS LOVED LIFE. Even through all the chaos and heartbreak, you clung to it with fierce devotion, treasuring every moment. Your greatest dream wasn’t wealth or fame — it was to live boldly, to see the world in vivid color, to grow old with stories of wild adventures alongside the Pogues, the family you had found and held so dear. They were your anchor, your everything.

But life, for all its beauty, has taught you a bitter truth: it isn’t always fair. More often than not, it is harsh and unrelenting, a storm that leaves you scrambling for shelter. You’d learned to accept that, to carry on, to find joy even in the darkest corners. And you did, always.

What you never prepared for — what you could never imagine — was just how cruel it could truly be.

You weren’t ready for the knife. You weren’t ready for the split-second decision, the instinct that drove you to shield him, to put yourself in harm’s way without hesitation. All you cared about at that moment was that JJ would be safe. And he was.

But you?

No amount of planning or foresight could have prepared you for this — the searing pain, the hot Moroccan sand beneath you, and the endless blue sky above, eerily reminiscent of home. You’d spent your life navigating every twist and turn, surviving every trial fate threw at you, but now your strength ebbed away with every heartbeat.

Life really was cruel.

You and the Pogues had always known that, enduring its relentless trials together, earning your scars the hard way. But this? This was different. This was a cruelty you’d never known — a cruelty you couldn’t accept.

It wasn’t the dying that broke you, even though your dream of growing old with stories to tell burned brightly in your chest until the very end. Death itself wasn’t what hurt most. You had danced with it so many times before, always escaping, always one step ahead.

No, what shattered you was the sight of JJ Maybank, the boy who had stolen your heart and become your everything, cradling you as life slipped through your fingers. His tears fell like rain, his voice hoarse from screaming for help that wouldn’t come. His hands trembled, desperately trying to hold you together, trying to stop the bleeding, trying to defy the inevitable.

That was the real cruelty. Watching his world break as yours faded.

But now, as you stared up at the endless blue sky, its hue so much like his eyes and the tranquil ocean, it didn’t seem so cruel after all. Dying to save the person you loved most — it wasn’t a punishment. It was a gift, wasn’t it? To offer your life for the one who taught you how to love — that was a blessing.

A soft smile touched your lips as you reached out a trembling hand to his face, your fingers brushing his cheek, catching the tears that fell like rivers. His pain was unbearable to witness, but the warmth of his skin under your touch grounded you, even as the world slipped further away.

“Jay,” you whispered, your voice thin and fractured, each word scraped from a well of pain you refused to show him. You had always been strong — for the Pogues, for him. You couldn’t stop now. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

He froze, his frantic movements stilling for a moment as your words cut through his panic. You swallowed hard, pushing down the agony clawing at your chest, determined to ease the fear in his eyes, if only a little.

“The luck had to run out eventually,” you continued, a faint chuckle escaping despite the weight crushing your lungs. “And, honestly? Dying in the arms of my first and only love… That’s pretty romantic, don’t you think? I’m like the main character in one of those cheesy teen dramas you hate so much.”

The effort of your laugh sent a sharp jolt of pain through your body, pulling a wet cough from your lips. The metallic tang of blood filled your mouth, and your chest burned with the force of it. You tried to hide it, but JJ saw — of course, he saw.

His face crumpled, and the desperation in his voice pierced through you like the knife had. “No. No. No. You’re not dying. I won’t let you die.”

His hands trembled as he held you, his grip firm yet unbearably gentle, as if afraid you’d slip away entirely if he let go. He rocked you slightly, his movements uneven and frantic, his voice cracking as he screamed for help, calling out for the others, begging the universe to give him just one more miracle.

“You can’t leave me,” he choked out, his words tumbling over one another in a broken, frantic rush. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy, you hear me? I’ll pester you until you’re old and gray. Forever. That’s the deal, remember?”

His words wavered, drenched in panic and pain, as if sheer determination alone could defy the inevitable. You wanted to tell him it was okay, that he’d be okay, that you didn’t regret a single thing. But the truth was, seeing him like this — the boy who was your whole world shattered and breaking — hurt more than the knife ever could.

 A soft, broken laugh escaped your lips, each tremor in your chest sending ripples of pain through your body. Breathing felt like trying to hold onto smoke — fleeting and agonizing. Why did it have to hurt so much? You drew a shallow, shaky breath, your hand brushing over JJ’s tear-streaked cheek. He clung to you like you were the only solid thing left in his crumbling world, his eyes squeezed shut, his face twisted with anguish.  

Even now, even like this, he was beautiful. It wasn’t fair.  

You’d thought it a hundred times before, over the years spent by his side. No matter the situation, no matter how disheveled or broken, JJ Maybank always carried a beauty that was effortless and infuriating. He was a contradiction — a masterpiece painted in chaos — and you could never look at him without being reminded of how deeply, unfairly he had your heart.  

You had seen him in every state imaginable: bloodied and bruised, grinning through the pain, laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe, or asleep under the stars with his face softened by peace he rarely found. Even in his worst moments, when life dragged him down to its cruelest depths, he was breathtaking. You used to joke that Aphrodite herself must have crafted him, a cruel trick of divine perfection meant to mock you.  

But it wasn’t a joke now, lying here in his arms. Because you knew you’d never see the life you’d imagined with him.  

You’d thought about it more times than you could admit: the way his children would carry his same irresistible charm, the way his hair might gray but his smile would never lose its boyish mischief, the way you’d both grow old together, teasing and bickering like you always did. But none of that would happen now.  

You wouldn’t be there to see it.  

You wouldn’t see the Pogues again, wouldn’t see John B and Sarah raising a family, wouldn’t wake up in JJ’s arms to greet the sunrise and talk about life like it was endless. All those dreams, those plans — they were dissolving, fading into the hot Moroccan sand beneath you, slipping from your grasp like water through trembling fingers.  

But at least you’d die saving him.  

JJ’s voice cracked, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts. “We should have stayed... I should have listened to you... I...” He repeated the words in a frantic, looping mantra, his tone raw with regret, his breath hitching as though saying it enough times could rewrite the moment. As though this were some nightmare he could will himself to wake from.  

And maybe it would have been a dream — a bad one — if they’d all just listened to you. If they hadn’t chased after the crown, if they’d let greed and desperation go. Maybe you’d be lying in the chateau right now, the sunlight warming your skin, talking about tomorrow with hope instead of fear.  

But life didn’t work like that.  

You knew this outcome was inevitable. You’d known something was off, a shadow lurking on the edge of this adventure. You’d felt it in your bones. But even so, you couldn’t walk away. You couldn’t leave your family behind.  

Because they wouldn’t have made it without you.  

You were the glue that held them together, the one who kept the chaos from consuming them all. You cooked when they forgot to eat, bandaged wounds when they refused to stop, made plans when they leapt without looking. You were the mother, the voice of reason, the protector. You carried their burdens as if they were your own, no matter how heavy they became.  

And you’d never leave them in trouble. Even if it meant leaving the world behind. 

“Hey, hey, it’s not your fault,” you murmured, your voice trembling but steady enough to cut through his despair. With a shaky hand, you wiped the tears from his face, your fingers brushing against the salt trails on his skin. “I couldn’t leave you. I couldn’t... leave you alone.”

“But that’s what you’re doing now!” JJ cried, his voice cracking like a child’s. A loud, broken sob tore from his lips as he pulled you closer, holding you as if sheer force could tether you to him. The raw pain in his eyes shattered you more than the knife ever could. “You’re leaving me! It should’ve been me! Why— why did you take it all on yourself?”

“JJ...” you whispered, your fingers threading weakly through his hair, softer than you’d ever imagined. The sunlight kissed the golden strands, turning him into something otherworldly — a fragile angel, aching and broken. Your vision blurred, the world dissolving into a haze, but you clung to him, fighting to stay present. For him.

“I did it because you have to live,” you said softly, your voice cracking under the weight of your words. “Because you deserve to live. You deserve a happy ending.”

Your breath hitched, and a cough wracked your body, leaving a metallic tang on your lips. A thin stream of blood trickled from the corner of your mouth, but you ignored it, your focus entirely on him. On the boy you loved more than life itself.

“You deserve a happy life more than anyone, JJ,” you continued, the words fragile but unyielding. “You have to go on your adventures, see the world, make your dreams come true... I...” You paused, gathering the last fragments of your strength. “At home, under my bed, there’s a box. It has the money left from El Dorado...”

A faint, bittersweet smile touched your lips as the truth of it all washed over you like the tide. Every decision, every moment over the last few months had led to this. Saving that money, denying yourself fleeting indulgences — it had all been for this. Deep down, maybe you’d known. Maybe you’d felt it all along, the shadow of inevitability hanging over you.

From the very beginning, when the crown became a glimmering temptation, you’d sensed it. Something about it felt wrong, like a weight in your chest that wouldn’t ease. You hadn’t wanted to go — you’d begged them to stay, to stop chasing after danger and live, just live. But they wouldn’t have listened, not even to you.

And so you’d gone. Because they needed you.

The irony struck you now, sharp and bitter, and you almost laughed. All you’d wanted was a simple life — a reprieve from the constant running, the relentless searching, the near brushes with death. You’d only wanted one quiet moment to breathe.

But life had never let you stop.

“Take the money,” you whispered, your voice thin but insistent. “Leave. Start over. Find your happiness, JJ. Live... for me.”

Your fingers lingered on his cheek, memorizing the warmth of him, the boy who had been your whole world. The tears falling from his eyes pooled at the edges of your smile.

Even as the edges of the world began to fade, you clung to one truth: you would give everything for him. And you had.

“Don’t you dare do that,” JJ choked out, shaking his head as if denying the reality before him could rewrite it. His trembling hand brushed a damp strand of hair from your forehead, the tenderness in his touch breaking your heart anew. “Don’t you dare say goodbye,” he sobbed, pressing a desperate kiss to your head. His arms rocked you gently, cradling you as though the rhythm alone could anchor you to him. “We’ll do it all together, you hear me? We’ll start over. We’ll visit every corner of this damn world. We’ll grow old together... I won’t — I can’t let you leave me like this.”

You tried to answer, but your body betrayed you. It was slipping further out of your control, growing lighter, weightless, like a feather carried off by the wind. Still, you smiled — soft, faint, but filled with all the love you couldn’t put into words.

Your eyes fluttered shut, the pull of oblivion so strong, but you forced them open again. Over and over, you fought against it, clinging to the fragile thread of life. Not for yourself — for him. For the dreams you had spun together in quiet moments, the ones you had whispered into the dark when the world felt too heavy.

You thought of those dreams now, pulling them close like a lifeline.

You’d planned it all, written it down in the little diary you kept hidden away since you were a child. Its pages were filled with messy sketches of hearts and scrawled dreams, and in so many of them was his name — your best friend, your everything. Back then, you were too shy to confess your feelings, too scared of what losing him might mean. But that little girl, the one who poured her heart onto those pages, would be over the moon now. She’d never believe JJ Maybank had become hers.

How many times had you imagined the life you’d build together? Leaving Kildare behind, hand in hand, to find new adventures in the wide, open world. Finding that perfect spot by the sea — a place that felt like home. Slowly, brick by brick, you’d build a new life together, one where all the scars and broken pieces of your pasts didn’t matter anymore.

You could almost see it. The day JJ would propose.

He’d plan it for weeks, determined to make it perfect, pouring over every cliché from the romantic comedies you adored. He’d rehearse speeches in secret, dragging John B and Pope into his schemes, pestering them to help him nail every detail. And yet, on the day itself, when he finally saw you, everything he’d practiced would vanish.

He’d forget the rehearsed words, the plans, everything but you.

JJ would drop to one knee, his hands shaking as he pulled out a small, worn ring — the one he’d kept hidden for years, a precious piece of his mother’s legacy. He’d hold it out to you, his voice cracking as he whispered the only words that mattered: Be mine. Forever.

And you would be. You’d take his hand, slip on that ring, and promise him everything. You’d become the happiest girl in the world, every piece of your soul woven into his.

Forever.

But now, forever felt impossibly far away.

“I love you, JJ Maybank,” you whispered, the words barely audible but carrying the weight of a lifetime. Your gaze lingered on his sea-blue eyes, anchoring yourself in their depth, memorizing every detail — the way they shimmered like sunlight on water, the way they always felt like home.

“You’ve become my dream.”

The words left your lips like a prayer, soft and eternal. Your eyelids fluttered, heavy with the pull of exhaustion, and slowly, they closed. Darkness crept in, warm and quiet, wrapping around you like JJ’s arms — steady, protective, safe. If this was death, it wasn’t cruel. It was peace. And if this was how it felt to go, you thought, then you would gladly endure it a thousand times over just to feel him near.

But as the silence deepened and the void seemed to pull you further away, a voice rose above it — a sound so strong, so certain, it cut through the emptiness like a lifeline.

“I won’t leave you. Never.”

His voice was raw, desperate, but unshakably firm, as if willing the universe to bend to his promise.

And you believed him.

You fell, your body surrendering to the weightlessness, but the thought of him grounded you. You held on to his words, letting them guide you like a beacon through the dark.

Even as the void swallowed you whole, there was a certainty buried deep within your heart.

When you opened your eyes again, you knew he would be there.

thankx for reading <3

I love one direction. I love jj maybank. and I love this fic. but I don't like killing characters. I can't write about death after Liam and JJ's death, it's very hard for me, so I decided to leave the ending kinda open? for me, the reader is still alive, but if you like dramatic endings, then you can end the story on the death of the reader.

and as usual, you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox :3

                                    – your santi 🪐

masterlist

[swanlikely]

Current Nanami Brainrot: Husband Nanami!

TW & Content: Sexual Harrassment, Violence (barely), Cunnilingus, Penetration, Usage of she/her pronouns, and bad writing?

Thinking about Nanami watching his pretty little wife sway softly to the suggestive music that hummed over the audience in the club. His eyes followed every sultry move, a small smirk playing on his lips as he nursed the whiskey in his strong palm. Nanami, being the ever-so-sweet husband he was, agreed to accompany you on your night out with your girls, ensuring your safety while secretly enjoying the view. Chuckling, he couldn't help but trace every curve of your body with his eyes, reminding himself how lucky he was. The way you moved, so effortlessly seductive, captivated him completely.

The mood and your fun were immediately ruined when a man, barely a few inches taller than you, sauntered up against you. The horrible sensation of his front pressing against your rear drove you to swivel quickly around, your face plastered in disgust. As the event unfolded, Nanami was already downing the whiskey and approaching you, his instincts kicking in.

"Please don't do that. I'm married," You yelped over the blaring music, fighting back the bitterness in your voice. The man with no manners cocked his bushy brow, appearing to be enticed by your attitude, and placed a rough hand on the side of your waist. His hold was unwanted and aggressive, causing dread to flare up in your chest.

"I don't see your husband here, do I? Besides, what's a married woman doing in a place like this, wearing that?" he spat, his eyes raking over your body with a predatory gleam. The anger surged through you as you realized he was referring to the black, tight dress Nanami had lovingly picked out for you. The dress that made you feel confident and beautiful, now tainted by this stranger's leering gaze.

"He's right here," Nanami's voice uttered reassuringly as he swatted the stranger's hand off your waist. Relief washed over you as your mountain of a husband placed his large hand on the small of your back. He wasn't just rubbing little circles or patterns; he was tracing letters, grounding you with each gentle touch.

"Sorry." He traced, so courteous as always.

"Ah, well. Maybe you shouldn't let your wife out looking like that. Gonna give someone the wrong idea," the rude stranger mumbled, swiping at the back of his hand where Nanami had gripped so tightly to pry him off you. Nanami was like a tree, towering over the pathetic man before you, both in sheer size and presence.

"Looking like what?" you scoffed, taking a step forward. Nanami still kept his hand on you but didn't intervene. He knew you were capable of handling yourself. He knew better than to stop his wife in the moment. "Like a slut," the stranger laughed, the sound actually nauseating to Nanami's ears. He rolled his eyes, knowing only a child would call a beautiful woman in a designer dress that. Only he could do that, though under different circumstances.

You rolled your eyes at the insult, mirroring Nanami's earlier gesture. With a swift pivot, you grasped Nanami's hand with your right, feeling the comforting strength in his grip. Using your left hand, you boldly flipped the bird at the stranger, your heart racing with a mix of defiance and satisfaction.

But before you could completely walk away with your kind husband, the stranger grumbled and reached out to pull your hair. Except, you didn't feel a thing. Instead, you felt your husband shift, and your eyes followed suit. Nanami was gripping the man by the back of his neck. God, did he look delicious, his arm flexing through the thin fabric of his button-up. His eyes were cold and fierce, a stark contrast to the warmth you always felt from him. You couldn't help but ogle at the way his muscles tensed.

"We shouldn't put our hands on pretty ladies, now should we?" Nanami asked the man, his voice dripping with a disgustingly sweet tone. He tossed the man onto the floor, and he landed on his rear with an "Ugh." Nanami tossed him like he was nothing. Good lord.

Nanami began to gently fold up the sleeves of his dark blue button-up, revealing forearms that could probably make angels weep. He was the living embodiment of "sex on legs." You couldn't help but notice the club's collective gasp as several eyes locked onto the scene, some surprised, others blatantly undressing Nanami with their eyes. Join the club, you thought with a smirk.

Nanami silently squatted down next to the man who was still recovering from the fall, bringing a hand up to grip his collar. Nanami whispered something to the man that you couldn't catch, but whatever it was, it made the stranger's eyes fill with panic.

"I-I'm sorry, ma'am," the man stammered out, bowing his head like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

You didn't even respond to the stuttering fool as you just looked at your husband, half-lidded. You were mad, originally. But who could stay angry when your husband was defending your honor, his chiseled jaw clenched and his eyes burning with intensity, making a heat stir in your stomach?

"Are you alright, sweetness?" Nanami asked as he stood up from his position, walking towards you. Towering over you, again. He was just so big.

You nodded and glanced at your girls, who were raising their eyebrows knowingly. They recognized that look on your face—it was the same one they gave their husbands when things got, well, interesting. They waved you off with giggles and a few exaggerated winks, clearly enjoying the show.

"Kento," you grabbed his hand, weaving through the sea of people like a determined woman on a mission. Despite his towering size and rugged masculinity, Nanami always listened to his wife with a smile. Little did he know, you were about to make him the happiest man in the club.

As you pulled him through the exit and toward his car, he started to put the puzzle together. He couldn't help but chuckle, his eyes glued to your ass sashaying in the dress he bought you. "Well, someone's in a hurry," he teased, knowing full well you were about to make his night unforgettable. "Need you," was all you could manage before yanking your husband down to your level with his spotted tie. His lips met yours in a hungry kiss, leaving you breathless. His hands found their way to cup your cheeks. His fingers traced down your neck, each touch causing your skin to ignite.

Your tongue danced on his bottom lip, and he politely allowed you to delve deeper, exploring the heat of his mouth. He tasted absolutely irresistible, a mix of rich whiskey and mint. The flavor was intoxicating, he was intoxicating, making you crave every bit of him even more. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, so close that you could feel everything.

You could feel his heavy cock pressing against your thigh, the cool metal of the car contrasting sharply with the warmth of his bulge. He was overwhelming. "What's got you so eager, sweetheart?" Nanami mused as he pulled away, just a little, your forehead still pressed against his. His breath fanned against your swollen lips, his chocolatey eyes dark with want. God, he was perfect.

"Can't a woman just want her husband?" you purred, your voice like honey. Husband, oh how he loved when you called him that. It sent a rush straight to his cock, lighting a primal desire that made his breath hitch and his grip tighten on you.

"I guess I'll have to be a good husband and please my wife, huh?" he murmured, his voice low and filled with promise. His eyes never left yours as he reached into his pocket to unlock the car. Like the gentleman he was, he opened the car door for you, his touch lingering just a moment longer. The backseat of his car never looked so good.

Nanami and you slipped inside, and in an instant, Nanami was nestled between your thighs. He was electrifying. His teeth gently tugged your panties to the side, and his tongue working hard on your cunt. He was both sloppy yet precise, each movement sending jolts of pleasure through you. Nanami's big hands roamed your thighs, his fingers pressing into your skin, grounding you in the moment. His tongue worked magic, alternating between slow, deliberate strokes and quick, teasing flicks. The sensation was overwhelming, and you could feel the tension building within you.

Every now and then, he'd glance up, his eyes locking with yours through his glasses, a mischievous glint in them that made your cunt clench around nothing. His dedication to your pleasure was evident, and the way he moved and responded to your reactions showed just how much he loved you. You were dripping, almost sopping at this point.

"Kento, no m-more. I want you," you groaned as your delicate fingers tugged at his neat blond hair. Nanami paused for a moment, his eyes darkening as he looked up at you. The sight of you, needy and breathless, clearly affected him. He slowly rose, his lips brushing a trail up your body, leaving a path of tiny bruises in their wake. You'd scold him for that later.

"God, you're such a good wife," he murmured, his voice deep and husky. His right hand found your waist, while his left undid the zipper of his slacks, tugging them down just enough to reveal his heavy cock. Even in the barely lit car, it was mouthwatering. He was rock hard and throbbing, all seven inches of him.

As you reach to grab him and pull him into your slippery cunt, he stops you with a tut. "Be patient, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?" His voice, low and commanding, added an extra layer of excitement to the moment. You pant, "Yes sir," as you bring your hands to claw at Nanami's strong arms. Your hands looked so tiny in comparison to him.

Something in him seemed to awaken at the sound of your petname for him, ramming into your cunt. The stretch was overwhelming. His strong arms that you loved so much held you tightly, as he fucked you dumb, completely consumed by the raw walls of your cunt. Your thighs were pushed against your chest as your husband kept pounding into you, his groans and grunts sounding like a symphony.

"So good for me, so perfect," Nanami groaned into your neck, his words vibrating against your sweaty skin. As your climax approached, Nanami continued to sing praises into your ear, telling you how good you were, how much he loved you. "Gonna be a good girl for me? Gonna make a mess all over your husband's cock?" He spat as he nipped at the side of your jaw. You could barely answer, your mind already slipping into ecstasy. Nanami was completely pussy drunk, his cock dragging in and out with a pace you couldn't comprehend.

"Y-yes! Yes, oh god, yes!" you screamed, certain that everyone on the block could probably hear you. But you didn't care, because your husband made your walls gush and clamp around him. Nanami's own high wasn't far after yours as his pace somehow quickened, his head kissing your cervix. "Gonna cum," Nanami groaned.

"Gonna get my pretty wife pregnant," his voice dripped with desire as he continued. His seed was thick and warm, filling you to the brim. As he pulled out, he gently massaged the area above your cunt.

"So perfect." ________________ i need him biblically.

If any of the grammar is bad, I am so sorry. I wrote this while I was ovulating.

[bbokicidal]

OT8 as 'First Encounters' | OT8 SKZ

Notes : The SKZ members as romance trope-type first encounters. It's hard to explain, but read and you'll see what I mean. (I'm actually super excited to write this.)

These are going to be short because they're just your first encounters - nothing more. But if you're interested in a part two for someone, let me know!

Warnings : None, just fluff. :) (Mildly suggestive content in Hyunjin's.) Genre : Fluff Pairing : SKZ OT8 (Individually) x Reader

Bangchan - Meeting in a cafe

You'd been there just to get your morning coffee when you'd crossed paths with a man you hadn't seen there before. Usually you were within ten minutes of each other when it came to popping in for your early morning drink but you'd never actually seen each other or knew the other existed. This morning however, you physically bumped into him when slipping past as your drink was called. He apologized, looking up from his phone to spare you a soft smile. His eyes trailed after you as you grabbed your drink, brushing by once more to leave the coffee shop. A simple meeting but memorable, for him at least.

Lee Know - Bumping into each other in class

Chemistry was, as of right now, the greatest of your burdens. But after accidentally bumping bags with a cute older boy you'd never really noticed before (and exchanging quick and shy glances to each other in silent apology), class didn't seem so awful every Thursday.

Not when you got to ogle him from your seat behind and kitty-corner to his own. Even though the view was three quarters the side of his head, he was still oh-so-pretty. (And oh-so-gay.)

Changbin - Meeting each other on the subway

Work was awful and the commute never softened the blow. Taking the subway was shit, as per usual, but there were some days - like today - where it wasn't as awful.

Standing in an all too-crammed car in a pair of heels and a tight pencil skirt you just had to wear for your stupid office job, a man sitting adjacent to you along the bench had taken notice of your stumbling sway and uncomfortable expression at the men beside and behind you. So he stood, offering you his seat in return, and with a thankful nod and smile, you take the offer up gratefully.

And ogle his arm when he lifts it to hold onto the handle where he now stands.

Hyunjin - Approaching each other at the bar

Never really one to go out of his way to talk to others because of his naturally shy nature, especially when it came to beautiful women, Hyunjin wasn't sure what it was that made him so drawn to you - and so boldly, at that.

You'd accepted his charming advances and the way he leaned on the bar, drink in hand and eyes glossy with already consumed alcohol. You'd listened to him go on about how he'd seen you from across the bar and thought you to be oh-so-beautiful, exquisite in his words, and how he just had to come over to introduce himself and shoot his shot. You'd let him sweet talk his way into your head - and your bed later that night.

Han - Meeting in the pharmacy

A man visiting to pick up his anxiety medication for the first time and a woman working her first shift on the job, the two of you seemed to get along because of your socially awkward demeanors and shy exchange in conversation. Looking at his ID and then passing him a small bag with a bottle of pills inside, he'd bowed his head politely and given you the shyest smile you'd seen to date.

And as he left the pharmacy with a heavy heart and a newfound adoration for the girl working behind the thin glass window, he'd forgotten to sneak a peek at your name plate sitting afront the glass. Shame - He'd just have to stop by again. (Not that he had a choice.)

Felix - Meeting during a bad first date

Sitting alone and sipping from a glass of a bitter and heavy red wine, a man with long blonde hair slides carefully into the seat across from you. He certainly wasn't the man you were waiting on - though, you shouldn't be complaining.

"I saw you sitting alone, figured you might want some company." He charms, smile amused but bright, calming and comforting to your lonely heart. When you nod and hum out in pleasant surprise, he takes it as a welcoming of him sitting in your no-show-date's seat and promptly flips open the menu sitting amongst the table. "Now, what are we having?~"

Seungmin - Meeting at a bus stop in the rain

You'd seen him before, though never bothered to exchange conversation. You got on at the same time each morning, the tall and handsome brunette at your side each day until you departed from the bus an hour later at your workplace.

This morning was like no other, until you arrived at the stop. The brunette was nowhere to be seen and as the rain poured down, you stood in defeat waiting for the bus to arrive. With hair slick to your cheeks and clothes drenched and heavy, the rain suddenly stops meeting your shoulders as a shadow appears overtop of your head. You peek up to see it's the brunette from every morning, holding a blue umbrella above the two of you. You look back ahead, cheeks rosy with heat, missing the way his lips quirk upward into a knowing (but adoring) smirk.

I.N - Meeting during Trivia Night

Trivia Night during college was probably one of the more 'loser' things to do around campus, but you were determined to find a club and hobby - and this was the easiest to pick. Alas, the group who agreed to go with you all bailed last minute, and you ended up alone at the massive table that should seat 10 people.

The MC of the night turns to point at you, exclaiming you wouldn't be able to play without a group, and a boy just a tad younger than you abruptly stands nearby to shout. "Get over here!" The boys surrounding his table gesture excitedly and you fumble to take a seat with them, unable to help the way your heart swells at the youngest's excitement and grandeur at having you now on their team.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

The Ballad of the Golden Knight and the Flower Nymph ~ Jaime Lannister x Tyrell Reader

Summary: Y/N has been Jaime and Cersei's best friend since before they were born, the fated trio of a bard's adventure story, however, not with a happy ending. When Jaime and Y/N fall in love, and Cersei becomes more and more bitter and jealous, revenge must be had. If Cersei does not know happiness - Then no one is allowed to.

> The story follows Y/N's relationship through the years with Jaime and Cersei, all the way until Daenerys' return to Westeros.

(( Jaime Lannister fanart by Michael Komarck ))

"There it goes! Quick, Jaime, before it gets away!" a lovely young lady was running around the flower garden trying to catch up with a cute orange cat they spotted while sparring in the training grounds. They had heard the knight training them to come back or they'll get scolded - But the warning fell on deaf ears. The same as the cat, who didn't want to cooperate, and escaped by climbing up a tree... And Jaime after her.

The poor boy was struggling to climb up the tree, but the cat was much faster and nimbler than him. "Shut up, Y/N, of course, you’re faster on the ground - But I can't climb up as fast as the cat! In fact, why don’t you climb up here and scare it down, so I can chase it around instead?"

Y/N wasted no time and climbing up by his side, grinning like a little imp. "I was enjoying my view." she teased the boy who blushed a little. "Besides - You were being graceful! I have to let you overcome this challenge, right? Knights are supposed to be strong and nimble, aren't they?"

"I’ll have you know, I’m as nimble as that cat!" he sounded mock-offended, pouting at her, only to hear the cat meowing defiantly from a higher branch, just out of reach. Both of the children started giggling.

"Oh yes, Ser Jaime the Cat Knight the Nimble, sworn to the chase. Shall I sing of your exploits?" the girl leaned forward, close to his face.

Jaime, however, hit his chest with pride. "You’ll be singing of my victory when I catch it! Just wait." he declared boldly as he lunged for the cat, darting further up the tree - Though he went to fast that he almost lost balance, making Y/N worry.

"Careful! If you fall, I’ll have to make you a crown of thorns instead of flowers! I want to sing of your success, not at your funeral!" the statement made the boy let out a confident laugh.

"I would wear it proudly either way, if it came from you, my sweet lady!" Y/N blushed a little at how charming Jaime could be - With them being spoken for, it was difficult not to imagine a loving and beautiful future together.

Eventually, however, they both gave up trying to catch the little devilish feline, retorting to laying on the ground by the flowers and looking up at the clouds lazily passing by - And then, they looked at each other, and laughed.

"Do you think it's laughing at us now? Two idiots, defeated by a scrappy little stray cat?" Y/N asked, turning to her side to look at her beautiful betrothed.

Jaime grinned, sitting up enthusiastically. "It is not over, Y/N! Next time, I will catch it for sure! And when I do, you will owe me a proper song about Ser Jaime the Cat Knight!"

Y/N smiled sweetly at him - He was so innocent, so untainted, so pure and genuine - A golden knight, a true sunshine, who deserved only the best in the world. He was beautiful, with golden hair messily emanating around him like a Godly aura, and those emerald eyes sparkling so precious with boyish enthusiasm and vitality. He was perfect. "Fine. But if you fall again, I will make the song about Ser Jaime the Tree Tumbler instead." they shared a laugh again, before Y/N had an idea, and fell back on her belly, quickly gathering some white, yellow and red flowers, quickly making a gorgeous flower crown. "For Ser Jaime of House Lannister - I have made you this crown, fit for a gallant knight, for when you prevail over that feline demon!"

Jaime's eyes went wide with surprise, and his cheeks were red. "A knight, you say? I’m hardly one yet... But I’ll gladly accept it from you, my lady."

"You look very regal. Like a lion of summer, crowned in blooms. It suits you, Jaime." her compliment made the boy smile even wider - One of his baby teeth had fallen, and he looked goofy and cute. Still, he laughed carefree.

"A lion of summer? How silly! What would Father say if he saw me now? 'A Lannister wears gold, not daisies,' he’d grumble. Ha!" Jaime imitated his father masterfully, making them both laugh even more.

"Oh, hush! It suits you. Besides, gold can be cold. This is warmer, don’t you think? Flowers are beautiful - And so are you." she spoke in such a sweet tone that it made Jaime's heart melt with warmth and darling.

"It is… warmer. Thank you." but much to his surprise, instead of a response from the girl, he received a sweet kiss on his cheek; Jaime's cheeks reddened more than the flowers he was wearing. "Wh-What was that for?"

"For being my knight in shining armor, of course! Every fair lady should reward her champion of light and justice, don’t you think?" she giggled cutely, making the boy stand up straight and tall, like a valiant knight should.

"Yes, that is right! And when I become knighted - Ser Jaime Lannister - I shall make for our wedding - What say you, the most beautiful Flower Lady?" he picked her hand gallantly, kissing it; He adored how lovely she looked, so demure and graceful, even when she wasn't trying, even when she was covered in dirt and wearing breeches. She was so soft and sweet, like no other. Everything she did made him so deeply in love with her.

"Ser Jaime Lannister the Golden Knight, and Lady Y/N Tyrell, the Rose of the Realm."

But it was always "The Knight and the Rose", not "The Knight, the Queen and the Rose", Cersei bitterly remarked, as once again, she was being left out from the activities her own twin brother and best friend were so joyfully doing. She wasn't allowed to horse-ride, wasn't allowed to spar, to do archery, to wear breeches and tumble around the mud like a pig, or chase after cats and dogs like a simple fool.

She was simmering internally with anger, and her face was twisted in envy, watching those two being all lovey-dovey. After their mother caught them in bed together, she separated them to sleep in different wings of the castle; She was forced to share a bed with all those headless chicken who try to befriend her, while Jaime enjoys the glee of having his bedchamber just across Y/N's own room. Why does their mother not make a fuss about those two sneaking into each other's room? Of course, Cersei snitched on them, but it wasn't a problem, because they were betrothed, she said. They need to get to know each other, she said. Horse shite, Cersei said, before having her mouth slapped.

Angry hot tears stung at her eyes that night, punching the pillow and kicking her bed maid off the bed. If the person by her side wasn't Jaime or Y/N, then they didn't deserve to share the comfort of her bed. It was hers, not theirs.

As dark thoughts kept tainting her heart, she didn't realise how she butchered her embroidery, and even stabbed her own finger with the needle - Nor that her father stepped behind her.

"You might be proficient with the wrong kind of needle." her whole body shivered in shock as she heard her father's grave voice. "You are supposed to bleed the enemy to death, not your own self."

"Father..." she grumbled under her breath, looking at Y/N and Jaime going back to sparring. "Look at them. Rolling in the dirt like common stable boys. It is unbecoming of a lady, don’t you think, Father? She is unworthy of becoming Jaime's wife - The future Lady Lannister, the wife of the heir of Casterly Rock."

"She’s indulging Jaime. That is not unbecoming; it is strategic." he spoke calmly. "Do not think I have any love for her family - In spite of that, however, politically speaking, this alliance is as powerful as it can get. Save for the Crown, there is no stronger family worthy of our lineage."

But Cersei was hearing none of it. She was bristling with rage and deaf to the political truth of the matter. "Strategic? She’s filthy! If that were me, you would drag me by the ear and lock me in my chambers for a week!" she exclaimed like a brat. "Her whole family is uncouth filth - She said she was riding horses since she was old enough to walk, and has been training in falconry with her brother all the same! How is that worthy of our noble family?!"

Tywin took a sharp inhale, making his daughter's blood freeze in her veins; It was clear he was getting fed up with her complaining."If that were you, Cersei, you’d be shouting at your brother, demanding the sword instead of proving you can wield it better. Or sulking when it wasn’t handed to you." she tried to complain, indignant at the accusations, but her father cut her off immediately.

The Lannister Lord looked at the yard, his piercing green eyes staring at Lady Y/N ducking with great agility under Jaime's swing and lightly tapping his side with her sword - His son laughed, declaring her the victor. Unlike his twin, Jaime was not a sore loser; He worked hard to overcome his weaknesses, to become a better version of himself. He was not the smartest, academically speaking, and he was having great problems even reading - But at least, when it came to wielding a sword, he was a prodigy. Tywin knew better than anyone that he needed a shrewd and intelligent wife to help him govern Casterly Rock after he was no more.

"She knows how to play her role in this mummer's show. A lady when it matters, and clever enough to win favor when it doesn’t. That is why she is worth my time, Cersei." the Lord told his daughter.

Cersei hissed at her father angrily. "So I’m not worth your time because I don’t prance around with flowers and simper like a fool?"

"No, you are not worth my time because you waste it. You’re too busy complaining about what you’re not allowed to do instead of mastering what you are. She can stitch a tapestry as finely as she can outwit Jaime with a wooden sword. Can you say the same?" Cersei's fists clenched with simmering rage, her nails biting into her palms painfully. Her voice got lower, venomous.

"She isn’t perfect. You only favor her because she’s a Tyrell. She brings wealth and alliances. If she were not, you would scold her just like me." she declared boldly. "Besides - Mother didn't have to behave like a fool to charm you. She was just pretty... And a maiden. Just like me.

"Do not mistake my favoritism for weakness. If she falters, I shall correct her. But unlike you, she doesn’t test my patience every time she opens her mouth." Tywin scolded his daughter coldly, watching as she flinched at the harshness of his words, though characteristically of her ego, she refused to back down. Her gaze shifted back to the two playing fools, watching as Jaime helped Y/N get up from the ground, though he still looked bright and full of admiration at the Tyrell girl, despite her being filthy from head to toe, just like him.

"It's not fair... She’s bewitched him. Jaime looks at her like she hung the moon. That’s why you’re so indulgent. Because she’s wrapped him around her little finger, and you think she’ll keep him loyal to you." she huffed, her eyes narrow and filled with murder. "Jaime is mine, not hers. He is my twin brother. He should spend time with me, not her - She is just a stranger. She can't steal everything from me, in my own home!"

"Cersei - Open your ears and listen clearly to me." her body froze in place with unexpected fear. "We all must play a role in this life, based on what dice we roll." he spoke solemnly. "The circumstances of your mother and I were far different than those of Y/N and Jaime - Though do not think, even for one second, to downplay your mother's worth to only her beauty and maidenhead." she never heard her father speak that way - He wasn't a man of compliments or sweet words, yet in his own way, he was scolding her for reducing his wife to being just another woman. "Y/N is here to make Jaime fall in love with her, marry, make children, and inherit Casterly Rock. The strongest two houses in Westeros are bound to thrive for generations on end." he continued his speech. "Likewise, she is here to teach you how to behave in the same way - How else are you supposed to learn how to shake down that nasty attitude of yours and become a woman worthy of charming Rhaegar Targaryen?"

Cersei jumped in her seat, her attention shifted completely on her father. "Rhaegar... Targaryen...? Th-The Prince, you mean? The Heir to the Iron Throne?"

"I will not have mine own daughter marry any less than the best there is in this realm." he declared coldly, looking into the horizon with cold spite - Cersei knew there was some bad blood between her father and King Aerys, but she wasn't aware of the details. "I will make you the Queen of the Realm, even if kills me - So instead of sulking and spitting venom like a viper, how about you use even half of that effort into honing those skills you take such pride on - Bitterness will get you nowhere. Listen to her. Learn from her. Never falter - And then, you shall become Queen."

For once, Cersei didn't protest - She hadn't met the Crown Prince yet, but she heard tales of how gallant and handsome he was, just like in those romantic tales she heard - For once, Cersei imagined herself Jonquil, in the arms of her beloved Florian - What a foolish tale - She was foolish indeed, to be dreaming of such childish things - She wasn't just a girl, she was the daughter of Tywin Lannister; She wasn't supposed to fall in love to the idea of a beautiful and valiant Prince who would treat her right... But she was get enamoured, dreaming of a man she had never met.

For once, Cersei didn't dream of sharing a bed with either Jaime or Y/N, but with a silver-haired boy with purple eyes like amethyst, and with the heart of a dragon. Y/N and Jaime can have each other, for all she cares; A dumb lion and a cunning rose. They can do whatever, as long as she marries Rhaegar Targaryen and becomes the Queen of the Realm.

"Jaime! Jaime! Look!" a young girl chirped enthusiastically, holding her skirts up in her arms, as if she was holding something. "Look what I found!"

Jaime looked at the pretty little lady with utmost interest and curiosity, drawing closer to her - To his surprise, he saw four baby bunnies nestled together. "Rabbits? Where did you find these?"

"I was in the flower garden nearby, looking for pretty red flowers to make crowns for you and Cersei - I found the mangled bunny mommy under a tree, and a few babies next to her. These three were the only surviving ones." the golden haired lioness also approached the two, looking at the little fluffs with a frown and slight disgust.

"They look... Weird." she muttered under her breath. "They're too small. We can't eat them, nor make pelts out of them. You should have left them to die as a family. They're too small to know they are suffering, regardless - Father says it's a mercy."

"I..." little lady Tyrell's smile fell, and she looked down at the terrified bunnies. "I... Hoped we could take care of them. Maybe Lord Tywin will see this as an early way of taking responsibility - Learning how to take care of a frail and vulnerable creature, so we get used to taking care of our babes when we grow older?" she tried to reason, but Cersei only scoffed, looking away.

"As if my Lord Father would ever agree to such a folly..." without much grace, she pinched her fingers around the scruff of a brown bunny, lifting it up - As soon as she got it to eye-level, the little critter squeaked loudly, making the lioness let go of it to fall back on the skirts of the Tyrell girl. "What an awfully loud and uncouth creature."

"You were much like it when you were born, daughter." the three children all jumped in shock as they heard the Lord Lannister's stern voice; Thankfully, he was followed by his Lady Wife, who was smiling warmly at them. They remained mute as the father raised another of the rabbits and inspected it.

"This one looks old enough to live without its mother. The eyes are open, the teeth are strong, and its limbs are nimble." he put it into his wife's delicate hands.

"And almost as darling as a baby." Lady Joanna added with a motherly hum. "I think Lady Y/N's idea is a most brilliant one - I would say they are old enough to learn the way of the household, would you not agree, my darling?"

"For Cersei and Y/N yes, I would say so, but what about Jaime? He has no time to fool around, he is to become a knight, not a kennel master for rabbits." Lady Joanna placed her hand delicately over her mouth, stifling a sweet giggle as she placed the bunny in Jaime's hands.

"You are most correct, my darling - However, would you not agree that it would bring Jaime and Y/N closer, taking care of babies together, the same they shall do in the future, when they marry and create a family of their own? Mayhaps this little exercise of responsibility will foreshadow their future happy life together." as always, Tywin couldn't argue with his dear wife's reasoning - He could almost never refuse her. In fact, the man held a half-smile and offered a curt nod to the children before leaving them to their plays.

"And there even is a fourth little bunny, for Cersei's and Jaime's little brother!" Y/N exclaimed, making Lady Joanna smile kindly, placing her hand over her slightly swollen belly.

"Don't come crying to me when they die." was his last response before he entered the castle to return to his duties, followed by his wife.

Although Cersei didn't want to admit, she was quite happy her father agreed to allowing them to keep the rabbits - In spite of it not being thanks to her own persuasion, but her friend. Truly, it was fine, she tried to lie to herself - Though whenever she looked at Y/N as saw that radiant smile... Or, rather, whenever she saw how happy Jaime was, staying around Y/N like a moth to the flame... A piece of her was breaking. Jaime was HER twin, they shared the same womb, he came into this world holding her foot - Jaime should love HER the most, not Y/N!

But Cersei couldn't be angry at Y/N - Not when Y/N was the only person who understood her. Not when Cersei could talk to her about falconry and horse-riding, about archery and swordsmanship. Y/N wasn't like all those stupid bedmaids who know only to gossip and seam dresses. Not when Y/N was supposed to marry Jaime, not Rhaegar Targaryen.

No, Y/N was different, she was raised different. She had loving parents and loving siblings who adored her; The people of Highgarden weren't looking down on her for wearing breeches and playing in the mud with her brothers or learning how to ride with them - In fact, they praised her for being proactive and wishing to learn as many arts as humanly possible. She was always praised for every little thing she did - Something that Cersei had never heard of, especially from her father. The only comfort Cersei ever had was the loving embrace of her mother, and the company of Jaime and Y/N...

However, she was jealous on both of them, to such a burning degree, that oft times, she couldn't hold back a sneer or a snarky comment that would hurt them.

She wanted to be a nice person, truly, she did - But why was Jaime treated differently, just because he was a body? Why was he allowed to play around and get dirty, to practice swordsmanship, archery, horse-riding... While she was stuck learning the history of dead men, and sewing some ugly flowers of a dress. She loved Jaime - She wanted to be Jaime - When they changed clothes, they were one and the same, not even Tywin Lannister could differentiate between them two. She loved Jaime - But she also hated Jaime.

The same way she loved Y/N, but also, hated Y/N. Y/N could embroider the most beautiful patterns, she could paint the most picturesque landscapes, make the prettiest flower crowns and bouquets, master all the arts taught by the Maester... As well as roll around in the mud like a pig with her brother... Or help with spar... Or indulge in archery competitions... Or ride small horses... Or chase cats through the garden... Or even indulge in falconry...

She hated how she felt so bitterly about everyone around her - She wasn't like this, she didn't want to feel like this. She wanted to be beautiful, graceful, kind - She wanted to be a woman worthy of being called 'The Queen of Westeros' ; and yet... She was well aware, these dark, tainting feelings were eroding her from the inside, and only her mother could help her diminish those awful thoughts and feelings plaguing her soul. It was times like those that not even the thought of marrying the silver haired beauty wasn't capable of consoling her.

"Well then!" Jaime was the first to chirp up, digging his hands into Y/N's skirts and retrieving the most energetic and robust bunny; That one was a gorgeous shade of blue-grey and velvety soft, with light coloured eyes. "You shall be mine companion!"

"He is definitely a fighter, just like you, Jaime!" Y/N giggled cutely, watching her beloved hold the bunny up so awkwardly, yet with a sunny grin on his face.

"And just as much of a fool - Look at it, wiggling in your grip, as if it wouldn't shatter his bones if he fell to the ground from that height. Fragile little fool." Cersei crossed her arms, spitting at the two, though not even she could deny how cute those little critters were.

Jaime, however, ignored her comment, and only let out a boyish snigger. "You shall be the greatest knight to ever be! Just like The Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur Dayne!" he claimed boldly. "So young, yet already so legendary - Ser Bunny Dayne!" he said in a loud, confident roar.

"What. An. Idiot." Cersei let out a loud groan, before picking her own bunny; It was a golden girl with light coloured eyes. It could, in no way, match her beauty - But it was, by far, the prettiest of the three, and the most refined-looking. "Mine shall be called Queen. I will have the blacksmith forge a crown for her, and you and your plebeian rabbits shall bow down and kneel in front of us." she smirked at the other two, who smiled sweetly at her, doing a joint reverie curtesy.

"My Queen!" they giggled in unison, as Cersei finally seemed satisfied with the outcome.

The runt of the litter was a white rabbit with black eyes, small and scrawny. "My little darling shall be named Rose." Y/N cuddled the little petal-sized bunny into her neck, watching as Jaime cooed at how cute they were, with the rabbit nuzzling into her cheek as if seeking protection and warmth.

"It's settled! We now have three companions worthy of a ballad to be sung by the bards across generations! The Knight, The Queen and The Rose!" declared the boy boldly.

"Sounds like a wonderful tale to be sung for tourneys and events of all kinds!" Y/N clapped cheerfully.

"Yes, yes, magnificent, I agree." Cersei looked at the two bright idiots with disdain. "But has either of you any idea whatsoever on how to take care of a bunch of rabbits?" they remained mute and unmoved. "Thought so. You two are idiots, that's what you are." she scoffed once again. "There are midwives and nurse-maids who take care of infants - But who in their right minds would know how to take care of infant rabbits?" she scolded the two. "No matter. Let us see if the maesters can help us - Or perhaps the horse or kennel masters. They are all animals, cannot be that different, can it?"

"Cheers to Queen Cersei for being the brightest of us!" Y/N clapped at her for her bright idea - It wasn't that she didn't think of it, but Cersei had been so upset lately, that she needed to find some way of gratification - Of validation - And since her own father was never going to give it to her, and the words of her mother were already beginning to dwindle on her, the last thing she held was some authority grip on her little group of friends.

But that wasn't long to last, as no matter how hard she tried, Cersei could never receive the praise she so dearly craved for. No matter how pretty her writing was, Y/N's calligraphy was always better, more gracious, more feminine and elegant. No matter how good her seaming and embroidery was, Y/N's was always more refined and intricate. No matter how well she did in politics and history lessons, there was always some little tid-bit useless trivia that Y/N came up with to impress the Maesters and Septas.

Not fair! It was not fair!

She was still young, she had time to learn, of course! She was still young, and so was Jaime - They still could switch places and pretend to be the other twin, and Y/N never snitched on her... But that was worse, because her father allowed Y/N to train and play around with Jaime, and it was so much fun!

She loved to swing a sword around, to get dirty and wear breeches, to do calculus and think up war strategies, to pull back the string of the bow and shoot arrows -- Sure, she wasn't very good at it, but how could she be, if she wasn't allowed to train herself, like Y/N did? Oh, she was so very jealous, watching Y/N ride on a beautiful mare, by Jaime's and Tywin's side, and on her gloved hand, a most beautiful falcon nuzzling its beak into her cheek as she fed it some meat.

She wanted to be the one on that horse. She wanted to be loved by the falcon. She wanted to have her hair breezed by the wind as she rides into adventures. She wanted her heart to race with adrenaline and excitement. She wanted to spill blood and gore.

Instead, she was doomed to be mounting a throne, to be loved by a disgusting old man probably, to have her hair breezed by the air on her balcony, to have her heart race with annoyance as he climbs into her bed, and spill the blood of her maidenhood and the gore of her births.

It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair! Just because she didn't have a cock between her legs didn't make her any less worthy and capable!

She looked at Jaime with disdain and envy, stabbing her embroidery and biting her lip until blood trickled down her chin - He couldn't even read properly, but he was allowed to train to become a knight? All of father's good traits came to her, but she just had to be a woman like her mother - Yes, she was beautiful, but at what cost? It was a curse to be a woman.

But how can she excel, when her bitterness and jealousy overwhelm her very senses? When her pride and greed for validation are stronger than her will of remaining a passive little doll to be manipulated by others. She is a lioness, she is strong, noble, prideful, arrogant and confident - How can she allow herself to sit back and just embroider and smile and... Nothing else.

These gnawing worries and emotions kept plaguing her to the point that she hadn't realised how she was falling behind in her studies, until her father went to check on their maesters and septas to see how they were doing - And it was not a pretty sight.

The Lannister Lord looked at Jaime's work with a rare nod of approval - Though slower than average, his son was capable of clearly reading out loud the words written on the books he was supposed to study; Tywin had tried time and time again to make sense of the letters jumbled inside his own son's head, and was never able to sort it out. "The Maester tells me you’ve been making progress with your reading, Jaime. I was beginning to think it was beyond you."

Jaime, not having expected a compliment from the cold man he calls father, blushed faintly, looking down with a boyish smile, before gazing at Y/N. "It wasn’t easy. But I had help." likewise, the girl smiled sweetly at him. Of course it was the Tyrell girl who got Jaime to learn how to read properly, he needn't be surprised anymore.

"Y/N has been incredibly patient with me... More patient than I deserve, if I am being honest. She found ways to make it easier for me to piece words together, despite the letters not making sense to me and looking chaotic in my head." Cersei wanted to vomit at how annoyingly cutesy those two idiots were being with each other. They didn't have to flaunt how very happily in love they were with each other, and all that nonsense they were shamelessly displaying in front of everyone.

"I do not deserve all the praise, My Lord, I truly have not done much; Jaime did all the hard work himself - He is very diligent when he sets his mind to do something. He just needed a push in the right direction, and he flew on his own from there." oh, what an annoyingly humble and selfless response - Cersei hated that. If she achieved something, she wanted to be praised for it, not to pretend to be holier than thou. "Diligent or not, you did well, Lady Tyrell. Jaime is lucky to have a devoted and patient wife such as yourself." Tywin felt like his body was being burnt and prickled with thorns, spewing such compliments, but if it meant achieving what he set as his goals, it mattered little. Cersei needed to learn from Y/N, and Jaime had to marry Y/N. The Highgarden resources were highly valuable, and so was the Crown power.

Alas, his plans were only going half his way, as his daughter, with the ever spiteful venomous tongue, cut in to protest. If only she would learn to shut up, she would be seen as wiser. "I tried to help him too, Father. But it’s impossible to teach someone who doesn’t even try to learn."

"That’s not fair, Cersei! It's not my fault I see the letters flying and constantly changing places!" Jaime protested immediately, not appreciating the way his sister was blaming him like that.

Cersei slapped her hands on the table, raising up and hissing at her stupid younger brother. It was times like these, when he was agreeing with her, that she felt completely alienated in her own home, by her own family - She was truly alone. "Oh, it is not? Did you try this hard when I sat with you for hours, sounding out every word? No! You just stared at the page like a dullard, and when I corrected you, you sulked like a child!" she crossed her arms, huffing in anger. "I was right to stop wasting my time. You’re hopeless, Jaime. More suited to swinging swords like a lowborn than inheriting Casterly Rock. You never had a problem reading - You just wanted Y/N's attention so you can impress her."

The room falls silent, echoing with the sound of a slap, as Cersei's face gets struck, and she falls to the ground. Jaime stiffens, remaining silent, while Y/N instinctively bites her lip and holds his hand for comfort. She was always somewhat afraid of men who acted violent, though she couldn't fault Tywin for disciplining his misbehaving daughter - Y/N herself wanted to strike Cersei for speaking so ill of her beloved Jaime.

"I, myself, tried teaching Jaime how to read - Are you saying I would not know if my own son had a problem with his studies? Or do you assume that, when he says the letters are jumbled in his head, he is lying to get out of studying?" the Lord's voice was harsh and grave.

"Exactly so!" Jaime sighed, squeezing Y/N's hand. "Y/N helped me read intuitively... I read the shape of the letters, of the words, so I try to read the first and last letters and guess the words. I read fast this way, yes, but I do not always read correctly - So I have to go back to reading the same word again, and figure out where I was wrong..." he tried to explain, though his own ailment was difficult to understand even for himself, let alone to put it into words. "I... I am sorry I am so difficult to deal with... I promise I really tried my hardest to get better... And I still am... But it does not always work as I wish it to. It takes patience... And I am very grateful for every bit of it."

"Jaime has worked so, so hard, and he has improved so much. When we study together, he focuses with such determination... He stays up every night to practice reading, even though he wakes up tired in the morning." Y/N cleared her throat. "He wanted to make Lord Tywin and Lady Joanna proud by reading a poem for them, on the anniversary of their wedding."

Jaime’s tension eases slightly, and he gives the Y/N a bashful, grateful smile. Tywin, in turn, looked sharply at Cersei - How was she going to make Rhaegar Targaryen want to wed her, when she has such a disgusting attitude? No man would ever want a spiteful and opinionated wife like her. "Do you hear that? Patience. Encouragement. Qualities you sorely lack, Cersei. Instead of supporting your brother, you insult and belittle him. And you wonder why you fail where others succeed?"

Cersei's voice rose up, in spite of her knowing she will get awfully punished - Her red cheek was stinging, and tears streamed down her face, but it was in vain - Whenever her pride took over, her mind took a backseat and she forgot herself. "Why do you always take her side? She’s not even your daughter! In fact - You treat her more like a daughter than you treat me!"

Tywin rose a quizzical eyebrow, though remained unshaken. "Is that so?" he spoke in such a low, cold tone, that it made all three children shiver with a terrified chill. "Then tell me, Cersei. Why is it that every report I receive from your Septas and the Maester mentions your negligence? Your embroidery is sloppy, your history lessons are incomplete, and your arithmetic is abysmal."

Cersei, however, remained on the defensive. "They exaggerate! I’ve been studying, obviously, but how can I focus when she—" she gestured her hand towards Y/N. "When she keeps giggling with Jaime and skipping classes and distracts me all the time?"

Her father cut her off with a tone as sharp as valyrian steel. "Enough." Cersei froze on the spot as her father stepped in front of her, looking down at her with such disappointment that it physically hurt more than the slap itself. "Making excuses for your failures by dragging others into it is unbecoming of a Lannister. You think you can mask your laziness with lies? To humiliate the noble House of Lannister?" he called for one of the Septas to come in - She nervously did a curtsy, unable to look up at him. "Show me her embroidery - And than Lady Tyrell's."

The other Septas waiting outside hurried to retrieve the most recent pieces hastily - He was not proficient in embroidery, but one needn't be, when comparing Cersei's uneven stitches, and the little prickles of blood stained on the sides, to Y/N's delicate and intricate romantic pattern of a golden lion surrounded by blooming roses. What a disappointment. Surely his own children should have inherited some of his talent and wit... Hopefully, the third would be better. "Discipline, diligence and pride - As opposed to lack of interest, haste and boredom."

Seeing her own embroidery next to Y/N's made Cersei feel positively humiliated - She hadn't realised until then how far apart they were. "You take pride only in being a Lannister with wealth and power - Though you do not possess the skills, nor the will for it. Perhaps if you studied as much as you complained, you would reach at least a quarter of Lady Tyrell's level."" her face was burning with shame, as her father asked the Maester to bring about their academic progress records.

"Lady Tyrell has consistently excelled in her studies, my lord. Her arithmetic is precise, her history essays insightful, and her understanding of High Valyrian is remarkable." the old man cleared his throat awkwardly. "As for Lady Cersei…" he hesitated, gulping down as he glanced nervously at the Lannister Lord. "… has struggled to meet even the minimum expectations."

No one spoke another word; The maesters and septas all left the chamber, leaving Lord Tywin alone with the three children. With a nod of his head, Jaime took Y/N's hand and they, too, bolted out of there, not wanting to be subjected to his wrath.

"What do you have to say in your defense, daughter?" one last chance he offered her, before a tidal wave of critique shall follow.

"What would you have me do, Father? I see Y/N for who she is - She is not nearly as much of a fairy as everyone thinks she is! She is pretending - She seduced Jaime and everyone around her - She is trying to steal everything from me!" and Tywin expected nothing more from his brat of a daughter. Why could she not be as well behaved as her own mother? He swears Jaime is more like Joanna - How could Cersei inherit nothing from her own mother?

"For her to 'steal' things from you, as you say, you must first 'own' things - Which, mind you, you do not own anything. Everything you have is thanks to me and mine own efforts, not by any means anything that you have done thus far." Cersei’s hands tremble with rage, but she says nothing. "Why must you squander every opportunity to prove yourself? Can you not see you are not nearly as smart as you think you are?" he continued with his disappointment. "You are angry for being a pawn used for political alliances, yet you do nothing to prove your worth above marriage - Yet how much use can you be of me, when you behave like a spoiled child, and you would repel the Crown Prince at first sight with your unruliness?" the idea of Rhaegar looking at her and running away from her broke her heart in pieces.

"What would you have me do? Sit and smile like her? Pretend to care about embroidery and make up while Jaime is allowed to chase glory?" Cersei’s eyes burn with tears, but Tywin pays her no mind, as usual.

"I would have you master the tools at your disposal. You are a woman of House Lannister. You wield power not with swords, but with intellect, charm, and influence, yet you refuse to cultivate any of these because you cannot see beyond your own bitterness. That is why you fail. Instead of using your advantages to secure a future worthy of our name, you squander them with petty jealousy and spite." he then continued in a softer, yet no les chilling tone. "You embarrass me, Cersei. If you drive away the Crown Prince with your disgusting arrogance and spite, then you are of no use to me."

Cersei storms out, her anger boiling over into hot tears as she vows silently that one day, she’ll show them all. She’ll show him. She’ll prove she’s more than they think — At any cost.

She sought out the only person of comfort to her, and fell to her knees before her mother, dramatically hugging her legs and sobbing loudly into her lap, as Joanna could only pat her golden locks to appease her. "Not fair! Mother, it is not fair! Why does father always scold me, but never Y/N? Why does Jaime like Y/N more than me? Why can Y/N do the same things Jaime can, but I cannot?!" she cried like the little five year old child that she was, noticing the blinding differences between them. "Am I not good enough for father? Am I not a worthy daughter? Am I meant only to breed like a cattle cow, and bring babes into this world, while Y/N and Jaime have fun together, going on adventures and living a happy and fulfilling life?!"

"Oh, my sweet child, that is not true." Joanna kissed the golden crown of her head. "Your father cannot scold Y/N because she is not of our own family, but a Tyrell - She is an important member to alliance with, for political purposes - The fact that Y/N and Jaime get along so well is just a pure coincidence."

Joanna smoothed a hand over her daughter's golden curls, her touch gentle as always. "You are your father's only daughter, Cersei. He holds you to the highest of standards because he expects great things from you."

Cersei sniffled, pulling away just enough to glare up at her mother. "He expects me to sit still and be quiet! He expects me to smile and curtsey and act as if I am no more than a broodmare to be bartered away!" her little fists clenched at the fabric of Joanna’s gown. "Why doesn’t he expect that of Jaime? Why can Jaime do as he pleases while I—" she hiccuped, her voice breaking "... while I am scolded like a child for simply wanting the same?"

Joanna sighed softly, brushing a tear from Cersei’s flushed cheek. "Because Jaime is a boy, my love. And you…" she hesitated, then cupped her daughter’s face in both hands, forcing Cersei to meet her eyes. "You were born to be something else entirely. Something greater."

Cersei blinked, her breath hitching. "Greater?"

"Yes." Joanna nodded, her voice soothing, but there was an undeniable weight to it. "Jaime will grow into a knight, yes, but you, my sweet girl — You will be the Queen."

For the first time since she had fled to her mother’s chambers, Cersei’s breath steadied. The Queen. That meant being the wife of Rhaegar Targaryen, the mysterious and gallant prince of her dreams, the man she had never met before, but often fantasised over. The thought sent a strange thrill through her veins, stronger than any promise of adventure, stronger even than her desire to best Y/N. The realisation that, being the Queen of Westeros, gave her the power to rule - And she always loved having authority and power over people.

"The Queen..." she repeated, as if tasting the words for the first time.

"Queen Cersei." Joanna smiled, though it did not quite reach her eyes. "But a Queen must have patience, my love. She must be clever, and careful. She cannot lash out like a little girl throwing tantrums."

Cersei frowned. "But Y/N—"

"Y/N is not you." Joanna interrupted gently. "She will marry Jaime one day, yes, but that is her role. Yours is far grander. Yours is to rule. When you father and I are no more, and Y/N and Jaime marry, Y/N will rule over the Westerlands and most - But you? You will be the sole power over the whole Seven Kingdoms."

Cersei swallowed, her mind racing. To rule. The words filled her head, drowning out the ache in her chest. Perhaps she had been foolish to cry over Jaime’s affections and attention. Perhaps she had been wasting her energy on a war that was already lost. Let Jaime and Y/N have their foolish happiness.

She would have a crown.

She straightened, brushing the last of her tears away. Joanna, ever perceptive, smiled faintly as she watched the shift in her daughter’s expression.

"I understand now, Mother." Cersei said, lifting her chin. "You are right - I am a big girl now - And big girls don't cry. Rhaegar would never like me if I was snotty and bratty, after all."

Joanna pressed a final kiss to her brow. "Good girl."

And in that moment, Cersei decided—if she could not have Jaime’s freedom and Y/N's favoritism, she would have the world's respect.

At any cost.

The four little rabbits had become the heart of their small world - And the fourth one was always laying on Lady Joanna's swollen belly, as if to protect her baby and become a symbol of safe birth.

Jaime had taken it upon himself to bring her fresh greens from the kitchens, and even Cersei — Who had been reluctant at first — Would sit beside her mother, gently stroking the little white rabbit’s fur as they talked about the future. It was true, she was jealous thinking there would be another Lannister to be the competitor for her mother's love - But she would teach her sibling some discipline.

And then, the day of the birth came.

Joanna’s cries had echoed through the halls, sending a cold shiver through the children as they waited just beyond the chamber doors, into the garden outside.

Jaime paced restlessly, his hands clenched into fists. He looked at Y/N, who was trembling, mortified - If they marry, he would have to put Y/N through this horror? Was that what being a woman was? Was that how their mother shrieked delivering them also? It was cruel and unfair - He didn't want his mother to go through this - And he didn't want Cersei and Y/N to go through this either.

Cersei sat rigidly on the bench, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her foot tapping anxiously against the floor as she manically petted her rabbit. Y/N, though her hands trembled, kept her voice gentle as she spoke to them - Yet it was wavering and weak. It was the first time the twins saw the perfect rose being shaken and afraid.

"Your mother is strong. She’ll be fine."

Cersei shot her a sharp glare but said nothing. As much as she wanted to snap at her, she didn't have the power to.

Then, at long last, the screaming stopped. Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Jaime reached for Cersei’s hand, squeezing it tight. Y/N bit her lip.

And then— Finally— The door opened.

But it was not Lord Tywin who emerged. It was a Maester.

Jaime and Cersei leapt to their feet at once, searching his face for any sign of relief. Y/N felt her stomach twist as the old man hesitated, adjusting his chain as if weighing his words carefully.

"The child is a boy..." the Maester said at last, subtle tears pooling in his eyes.

Jaime let out a breath. A boy. A little brother. He always wanted a little brother to play with, to protect, to teach. Cersei, however, could care less, and Y/N was deaf to those news. She knew, based on the man's face, something awful happened.

"Lady Joanna, however ... Did not survive the birth."

Silence.

Jaime went pale.

Cersei froze.

Y/N’s heart stopped.

"No." Cersei’s voice was barely a whisper at first, then it grew. "No. No, she—she wouldn’t—"

But the Maester only bowed his head. "Lord Tywin has asked for no disturbances. He is mourning in solitude."

Jaime’s breath hitched, and then he broke in fits of loud sobs; He stumbled back against the wall, his hands covering his face as the first sob tore from his throat.

Cersei stood shaking, her fists trembling at her sides, and then she screamed, and shrieked her lungs out - A raw, ugly sound, filled with fury and heartbreak. She threw herself against the Maester, shoving him back with all the strength her little body could muster.

"You’re lying! She’s not dead! She can’t be—SHE CAN’T BE DEAD!" the old Maester staggered but did not retaliate. Grief destroys people, he knew it all to well, and at such a frail age, no les... ; Cersei spun toward Y/N, eyes burning with tears and rage. "You said she would be fine! YOU LIED TO ME!" Y/N flinched, but before she could say a word, Cersei lunged to attack Y/N, to shake her, to yell in her face, to blame her; Jaime barely had the strength to stop her. He caught her wrists as she swung at Y/N, his sobs breaking between his desperate pleas.

"Cersei, stop... Please..."

But she was too lost in her grief. "I hate you!" she screamed at Y/N, her face contorted in anguish. "I hate all of you! I hate him! That little monster! He killed her! He killed her!"

The little brown rabbit — Joanna’s rabbit — Had been placed in the crib with the newborn, its soft fur brushing against the infant’s tiny hands. Cersei saw it, and something inside her snapped. With a choked cry, she tore away from Jaime’s grasp and ran.

Jaime collapsed to his knees, his face buried in his hands.

And Y/N, stunned, heartbroken, knelt beside him, wrapping her arms around his shaking shoulders. She wanted to tell him everything would be alright, but she could not bring herself to lie - Not when she was so deathly afraid of her own fate.

Time, however, waits for no one, they say, and Lady Joanna Lannister's body was burnt, while everyone else had to move on with their lives, just as before.

Casterly Rock’s grand halls felt suffocating under the weight of grief, though its lords and ladies carried on as if nothing had changed. But something had changed — Everything had changed. Lady Joanna Lannister was dead, and in her place was a wailing, red-faced babe who had done nothing to earn his family’s love. Lady Joanna Lannister was dead, and with her, so was the last bit of humanity in Lord Tywin Lannister's heart.

Still, just as previously planned, Princess Martell of Dorne, along with her son and daughter, had arrived not long ago, and their presence brought an unusual warmth to the keep. Oberyn and Elia — young, lively, and utterly unafraid, had made their way through the lion’s den with confidence, their sand-kissed skin and bright Dornish silks standing in stark contrast to the heavy crimson and gold surrounding them.

Cersei had taken it upon herself to guide them through the Rock, though Y/N and Jaime were never far behind, trailing lost lost puppies trying to catch up to her - Or stop her from bringing them to the Lions' cages.

"You must see the monster." Cersei had said, leading them toward the nursery with a cruel glint in her eye. "The beast that took my mother’s life."

Elia hesitated, casting a wary glance at her brother, but Oberyn, always the curious mischief, followed with amusement. It was even better seeing the worried and apprehensive look on Y/N and Jaime, as they looked at each other, though had no clue how to stop the imminent problem that Cersei Lannister was. As beautiful as she was, she was perfectly ruthless.

The nursery was quiet, save for the soft cooing of a wet nurse tending to the infant Tyrion who layed nestled in his crib, with the tiny brown rabbit still curled beside him, twitching its pink nose in sleep.

Cersei wasted no time in dismissing the wet nurse, and showing off her cruelty for the world to see. "Look at him." she sneered, stepping up to the crib and glaring down at the child. "This grotesque little thing, with his misshapen head and his ugly little stubby hands. He should have died instead of her. He has no right to live."

Jaime stiffened beside Y/N, his hand curling into a fist. Y/N swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably as Elia frowned deeply, her hands clasped before her.

"He is just a babe, Cersei." Elia murmured, but Cersei did not hear her, nor did she care to hear. She reached into the crib, her fingers curling around Tyrion’s soft, chubby flesh.

"Cersei, don’t —" Jaime warned, but his sister ignored him. With a sharp squeeze, she took hold of the infant’s tiny prick and pressed, harder and harder, watching as Tyrion’s face scrunched up in agony before he let out a high, piercing wail.

"Cersei, stop!" Y/N gasped, stepping forward, but the golden-haired lioness only pressed harder, her teeth bared in fury.

"You are the reason she is dead!" she hissed at the helpless babe. "You took her from me! You killed her! You should have been strangled in the cradle, you little monster!" Jaime lunged, shoving Cersei back just as Oberyn moved. The black haired Prince grasped her wrist with a firm but careful grip, his dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

"He is just a babe." Oberyn said smoothly, though his voice held an undeniable sharpness. "He has done nothing wrong."

Cersei trembled with fury, but she did not pull away. Instead, she tore herself from Jaime’s grasp and stormed from the room without another word.

Silence settled awkwardly between them. The wet nurse hastily returned into the room to sooth the crying Tyrion, rocking him gently in her arms.

Elia exhaled, shaking her head. "I did not think Lord Tywin would allow such cruelty in his house, but I see now that grief can fester in many ways."

Y/N sighed, rubbing her arms as she turned to the Martell siblings. "I apologise sincerely for the way she acted... Cersei, she... She hasn’t been the same since Lady Joanna passed."

"Grief does not excuse cruelty, little rose." Oberyn countered, tilting his head at her. "Though I believe you already know that."

Jaime scowled but said nothing, his jaw tight with emotion. Then, as if the moment had never happened, Oberyn grinned. "Let us not dwell on sadness. I did not come all this way to be scolded by a child who thinks herself queen already."

Y/N blinked, startled by his sudden shift in tone and the boldness of his speech. "Our mother was friends with Lady Joanna, you know." Elia offered, her expression softening. "She had hopes that Oberyn would one day wed Cersei."

Jaime’s brows furrowed. "And now?"

Elia’s lips pressed into a thin line. "Now your Lord Father refuses to even entertain the idea. He says Cersei will only wed a king." Y/N frowned.

"But..." Oberyn cut in with a venomous smirk "He did have a counteroffer."

Elia rolled her eyes. "He suggested I wed your little brother."

Jaime stiffened, and Y/N’s mouth fell open in horror. "Tyrion?" they both gasped in shock.

Elia nodded. "As an insult, no doubt."

"And here I thought Tywin Lannister was known for his tact." Oberyn mused, shaking his head.

Jaime bristled, insulted by the free way the two siblings were talking. "You don’t have to accept it."

"Oh, we would never." Elia assured him with a tired smile.

Oberyn, however, had turned his gaze back to Y/N, his smirk growing playful. "But perhaps I was meant to marry the beautiful rose, not the feisty lioness, after all." he purred, stepping closer to her. "You seem far more interesting than your golden-haired friend; Mother told me only praises of you - The Queen of Thorns raised quite the beauty. "

Y/N’s eyes widened, being rendered speechless, as Jaime immediately stepped between them, scowling. "Don’t be foolish, Martell." Jaime snapped. "She is betrothed to me."

"A tragedy, surely." Oberyn sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to his heart. "But not one without its delights — I do enjoy a challenge."

Y/N flushed brightly at the Dornish Prince's boldness, as Jaime sneered further; Elia only laughed. "Do not let him tease you." she told Y/N warmly, taking her hand in hers. "My brother is reckless, but he means well."

Y/N smiled hesitantly. "I shall keep that in mind. Thank you, Princess." she replied, trying not to look at the way Jaime’s hand twitched at his side. For some reason, Elia's hand holding hers made her feel... Warm. It was a special kind of safeness and joy that she only had when playing around with her own sisters. How strange, feeling that with a girl she has only just met.

Oberyn winked. "Good. That makes it all the more fun."

Elia thought her brother was only hell-bent on humiliating the Lannisters, though the little rose proved to be his main source of interest. Was her brother actually interested in a girl to marry, for once? Usually he wasn't so delicate with girls he wanted to charm the skirts off. That night, the two Martell siblings chatted away until they fell asleep - How happy Oberyn was that he no longer had to marry such an awful girl - The mere thought of having to marry Cersei Lannister had him want to drown himself in the Water Gardens.

The two were very close with one another, and hoped to remain that way forever, sharing gossips and indulging in fun adventures together - One of them, of course, being the Tyrell rose - She was such a lovely girl, and so sweet once she actually started speaking to them; No more shyness as before, Y/N was giggling and laughing away with Elia and Oberyn at the feast, indulging in red wine like never before. Both Jaime and Cersei were shocked to see her like that - So free, so easy-going and haughty - She blended in with the two Dornish siblings almost perfectly; No wonder Highgarden and Dorne were so close to one another, the South was so lax and free of rules and regulations.

Y/N sat in front of Elia and Oberyn, between the two Lannister twins, sharing laughter and conversation, while Jaime sat strangely quiet and awkward; Cersei, meanwhile, was very clearly displeased, scowling over her goblet of wine as she watched her only friend bond with Elia in ways that the two of them never did before. What did that Dornish whore have that she didn't? She had black hair and black eyes, and looked average at best - And she wasn't the least bit interesting or special. Elia Martell wasn't a lioness like her - So why was she so much more interesting to Y/N than her?

"And then I met Baelor Hightower - He was a very nice young man - Or at least, that's what I thought. Half in love with him; Very gallant and sweet... That is..." both siblings bent over the table to speak in a hushed tone.

"He farted!" they said in union, making the three of them loud loudly and very peasantly.

"No way! Really?!" Y/N couldn't believe her ears. "That is horrible!"

"Now he is Ser Baelor Breakwind." Oberyn said confidently, making the girl double over laughing.

"I could not look at him anymore without laughing - Poor man!" Elia was crying tears of laughter.

"That sounds hilarious - Truly!" Y/N entertained them so; Jaime tried to laugh a little, but felt ashamed, whereas Cersei continued to drink herself into a jealous drunkness; Why did Y/N never laugh like that around her? Was she not as funny as that ugly peasant girl?

"I must say, Y/N, you remind me so much of home." Elia mused with a warm smile. "We do not often have guests who understand the importance of good company and gossip. All these serious men, always talking of battles and honor."

"Exactly!" Y/N agreed eagerly. "They act as if laughing and enjoying oneself is some kind of crime. But truly, they just don’t know how to have fun."

Elia chuckled, while Oberyn smirked. "That, little flower, is where I come in." he said smoothly, pouring more wine into Y/N’s cup before she could protest. "I am an expert in fun. I could teach you, if you’d like."

Y/N raised a brow at him, amused. "And what exactly would you teach me, my prince?"

"How to live, of course!" Oberyn said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "You are too young to be caged in a place like this, burdened with duty. In Dorne, you would be free. No one would make you wed against your will. You would never have to birth heirs if you did not wish to. You could ride where you please, dance when you like, and no one would dare tell you otherwise."

Jaime made a face, finally speaking. "That’s easy to say when you’re not the heir to anything important. Just a second son meant to inherit nothing."

Oberyn laughed, unbothered. "Exactly, little foolish lion. That is the very best part." He turned back to Y/N, eyes twinkling. "I am not the Prince of Dorne, I am merely a prince of Dorne. That means I may do as I please. And if you were to come with me, so would you."

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. "You make it sound so tempting."

"That is because it is." he said, lifting his goblet to his lips, watching the beauty before him with his sparkling gem eyes.

Jaime clenched his jaw, while Cersei rolled her eyes. "You do realize she is to marry Jaime, don’t you?" Cersei said, her voice dripping with smugness. "She is betrothed to my twin. You may flirt all you like, but Y/N belongs to House Lannister. Not Dorne."

Oberyn didn’t even bat an eye. "Is that so?" he mused. He turned to Y/N, a teasing smile on his lips. "And tell me, my lady — Do you wish to belong to House Lannister?"

Y/N hesitated, and said nothing. Suddenly, the fun vanished, and she was placed behind two rocks that could kill her. She glanced at Jaime, who looked more sullen than anything, before shifting her gaze to Cersei — Who very much expected her to say yes.

Y/N sighed, placing down her goblet, sobering up. "My name is Y/N Tyrell, The Rose of the Realm, Lady of House Tyrell of Highgarden, daughter of the Warden of the South, protector of the Reach." she spoke, earning a widening grin from the Prince, who realised just what she was saying - She is her own master, and no one can own her.

"Then take a vacation - Come to Dorne." Oberyn said, resting his chin in his hand as he watched her with loving eyes, completely enamoured by her. "I shall steal you away, and we will see what adventures await you beyond these dull stone halls."

"You cannot steal what is already mine!" Cersei snapped, glaring and slamming her empty goblet on the table.

Oberyn laughed. "Yours? How curious. I see no collar around her neck."

Jaime scowled. "She’s not going anywhere."

"We shall see, little lion. Duty can only get you so far - Dissatisfaction gets you even farther." Oberyn mused, twirling his goblet between his fingers before looking back at Y/N. "If ever you find yourself longing for happiness and warmth, remember — Dorne is always warm, the Water Gardens are always open, and I will always be happy to escort you there myself."

Y/N bit her lip, trying to suppress a smile. The thought of walking hand in hand with Oberyn and Elia, and having fun in the Water Gardens actually sounded fantastic. Elia giggled beside her. "You truly are shameless, brother." she said. "Though, I agree - Y/N, I would love it if you visited us someday. We could have so much fun."

"Oh, dear sister, that is not even the half of it." Oberyn winked.

Jaime scowled, Cersei fumed, and Y/N found herself laughing despite it all. It seemed Oberyn Martell had a way of making everything more interesting, the Tyrell girl thought to herself, somewhat blinded by the allure of freedom and hedonism, of a life filled with luxury yet none of the responsibility; The cries and death of Lady Joanna still haunted her, reverbing through every night terror she had;

But could she really forsake it all and run away, just for her own happiness?

The night was still, save for the whisper of the sea far below and the distant hoot of an owl. The candles in Y/N’s chamber had long since burned low, leaving only the glow of the moon spilling through her open balcony doors, along with her restless thoughts and the pain in her heart.

Why was choosing so difficult, she thought to herself, absent-mindedly staring at the ceiling. She wasn't truly betrothed to Jaime, they were far too young, of course - However, her mother and Jaime's mother were good friends, and alliance between their two houses was an outstanding power; Of course, the fact that the two of them got along so well was simply a coincidence, though a much pleasant one.

Yet there she is, racking her brains over a choice - And it wasn't just the illusion of choice that most people lament over - It was a true choice handed to her.

She met Jaime when they were so young, and they got along so well; He was so just and gallant, a true knight in the making, and Y/N was sure he will end up growing into such a strong and righteous man who would treat her right and protect her from any woe...

And then, there was Oberyn Martell, the half-mad Prince of Dorne; Already a young man, older and more experienced than her in both life and romance; He was insane enough to steal her away from the Rock and make her his Princess, lavish her with jewels and flowers and ride together into adventures... Possibly even indulge in hedonism and lust that would make even the most experienced whore ge flustered and blush... And for the first time in her life, Y/N felt excitement in her heart, and restlessness, as if her feet were burning to run with no shoes down the grassy field, so fast that she would end up flying like a cageless bird.

She was so... Bored to death, being the perfect little flower, here in the cold Westerlands; She wanted to go back home in the reach and ride with her sisters and hunt with her brother, to recite poems dramatically and play with her falcon... She wanted to decipher riddles with her mother, and dance and sing with the commonfolk surrounded by flowers of all kinds...

She hadn't realised how much she missed home, until Elia and Oberyn came into her life, reminding her of the sweet memories lingering in her heart, tugging at the strings and shrieking at her to return to her origins, down South where it was warmer and more welcoming.

"Truly, little rose, you ought to lock your doors." a familiar voice was followed by a thud and Y/N's imminent yet adorable squeak of surprise. "Unless, of course, you had been waiting for me, and to that, I would have to apologise for my tardiness. It is unbecoming of me to make such a lovely lady wait."

Y/N turned sharply, only to find Oberyn Martell perched upon her balcony, balanced effortlessly on the rail as if he had all the time in the world. His grin was wicked, his eyes gleaming in the dark. Just like a viper ready to steal her away from this life.

"Ryn...!" she hissed, rushing forward, not sure whether to scold or shush him. "Are you mad? What if someone sees you being an absolute menace, sneaking into my room like that?" though she scolded him, her fingers dug hastily into his disheveled open shirt and pulled him into the room to safety, checking for injuries all over.

"Then they will think I have good taste. I have always been a fan of sweet perfumes." he said easily, holding her hands gingerly. "Come, I have come to steal you away for one last adventure before I must return to the red sands of home."

Y/N crossed her arms, playing defiant. "You think I will just climb out of my own chamber like a common thief? Do you not know it is unlady-like for one of my status - Betrothed, no less - To be roaming around with a bachelor like yourself, in the shroud of mystery and the veil of night?"

Oberyn bent at the waist and offering a suave yet provoking smirk. "Do you need me to carry you, then? Young ladies like yourself truly have high standards these days." she swatted at him with a bratty huff, but he only laughed, catching her wrist and pressing a soft kiss to the inside of it. "Do not make me beg, sweet girl." he murmured against her skin. "Come walk with me one last time, before I must leave you behind in this prison of stone and gold."

"What if I do want you to beg? Would you do that?" with an air of arrogance that clearly wasn't quite working (Oberyn found it quite funny, in fact, how coy she was playing, as opposed to the snobby Cersei and her unbecoming arrogance), Y/N looked away from the Martell prince, as if she wasn't even noticing his presence.

"Aye, but of course, for such a beauty -- " he gallantly went on one knee, holding her hand and kissing her fingers gently. "I would even beg on my knees for favour."

Y/N hesitated. But gods, how could she say no? The Dornish retinue was to leave back to Sunspear the following morning; That was the last time she would be seeing Oberyn in a long time, she was well aware... Denying his offer would make her regret her entire life...

Perhaps, just a little bit of naughtiness couldn't hurt, could it?

With a sigh, she grabbed a cloak from her chair and threw it over her shoulders. "You have earned my time, I suppose..." she cleared her throat as a way to hide the rosy hue of her cheeks.

Oberyn grinned before hopping back to his feet and picking Y/N up like a princess and sneaking through the quiet halls and down into the moonlit gardens, where the scent of roses and lavender filled the cool night air.

For a while, Oberyn didn't want to let Y/N down, and he walked like that just holding her in his arms, as if she was as light as a rose; Though he knew, something was awfully wrong, by the way she was so awfully silent and snuggling into the crook of his neck as if she was nothing more than a baby kitten.

"You are too quiet, little rose." Oberyn said, glancing at her. "What could be ailing that a lovely dove?"

Y/N exhaled. "I..." her voice was as sweet as a whisper. "I am afraid of the power of choice and consequence."

"Ah, thought so." he said, carefully placing her on the ground. "For someone who has lived a pre-determined life, a story already written, to be facing a crossroad with different destinations... Well, I do not envy you, sweet girl." he let out a dry chuckle. "At least you are wise enough to know you deserve better than to be shackled by duty."

"Duty is all I have ever known." she admitted. "And the love of my parents, who wish for me to live a happy life bound to a man who would care for me as if I was a porcelain doll."

Oberyn’s playful expression softened. "What great parents you have, sweet rose." he said, stepping in front of her and twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. "And between duty and love, what is it that truly terrifies you?"

She swallowed. "What terrifies me is the intersection between duty and love." she hesitated, her voice faltering.

Oberyn, ever perceptive, filled in the blanks. "You are afraid of childbirth." he murmured, watching with gentle eyes as Y/N looked away, her hands tightening in her cloak with great shame. "I know. Elia told me." he continued, his voice ever darling. "To be afraid, and to be unable to speak it out, in fear of snubbing and judgement. You are not the first, nor the last woman in such position - And once again, I do not envy your position." his rough hand was warm, caressing her delicate face. "Men are simple creatures - We get drunk, we get our cock buried deep in some pretty woman, and we run to war." he picked her chin, raising it up. "I do not claim to be a saint. I will not lie to you - I am as much of a whore as the girls in the brothel, except I don't get paid. I like women, and I like men, the same as I like to shed blood and kill. If you marry me, I will not promise you faithfulness, but I can promise you safety, luxury and understanding. I do not require children of you, nor will I ever." his other hand sneaked around her waist, pulling her closer to his body.

"Then why... Are you doing this...?" her voice was so soft that he almost didn't hear her; A good question - One which made him chuckle, looking down into those sparkling eyes of her, gleaming in the silver light of the moon.

"Not from the goodness of my heart, nor from selflessness, of course." he joked. "Not only did Elia like you very much - But you are also a beauty that has intrigued me so."

"Beauty is not what captivated you, Ryn." his smile widened.

"Not alone, true, though it paid a good part in it." he said. "Truth is, you are what Elia would have been, if she weren't so sick. Now, don't get me wrong, I haven't gotten smitten with you because you remind me of my sister - I am not those foolish lion cubs - But you are... Just like a little kitten, trying to look all cute and graceful, but you wouldn't pass up an opportunity to run around hunting mice and scratching the drapes to ribbons."

"Are you calling me a mischief, Ryn? My, how unbecoming of me - I have become haughty!" she tried to laugh it off, but it caused no effect.

Oberyn looked down at the girl, and his smile softened. "Your heart belongs to Jaime Lannister, doesn't it?" she remained silent as she averted her sight away from him. "Thought so. He is the dream of every little lady, isn't he? A gallant knight to take care of the fair lady."

Y/N looked at him then — Truly looked. The way the moonlight kissed his sun-bronzed skin, the way his dark hair framed his sharp features. He was beautiful, and he was tempting.

But her heart was torn.

"Jaime... He... He is not like Cersei." her breath was hitched in her throat. "He... Is very kind with me, and very sweet. He is genuine... And a little dumb sometimes, but not in a bad way. I mean... He is very... Innocent and pure. He is... Like a ray of sunshine. That's how I see him... And when he smiles... When he is happy, he... He is just so..."

Oberyn studied her for a long moment before letting out a small sigh. "What a lucky lad." he said. "I've heard enough, sweetling. No need to tease me more, I understand your heart better than you do." he said, pulling her closer. "Just know, if the lions ever forget their place, and you find yourself feeling all alone, that half of my bed shall remain empty only for you, and that I will marry no woman but you." hearing such a bold statement, Y/N tried to protest - Except, she was hushed instantly.

"And if I never do?" she asked, almost terrified to know the answer.

Oberyn’s fingers brushed her cheek. "Then I shall mourn the loss of my sweetest dream." she felt her heart clench, and gleaming crystal tears started stinging her eyes. "Now, now, sweet girl, don't cry over me - Instead, let me teach you one little trick that you can use on that fool, to see if he truly loves you."

"Wh-What...?" the girl stammered over her words, unable to understand his meaning.

"When you get bold enough to go for a kiss, do this --" he cupped her face carefully, making her look him in the eyes. "Look into his eyes, and see deep into his soul - Don't ask me to explain, you will understand when it happens - And then... Lean in slowly..." his lips captured her soft ones, as pink and soft as the petals of a flower, and sweeter than anyone he's ever tasted before. He was going crazy, his body felt hot and his hands wanted to grip her body and feel her skin; He was suffocating with love and lust all over. "... you will know."

He observed the small pants of her breath, and the sparkle of her eyes as she looked up at him as if she'd seen the Gods. He knew - And now, so did she.

"Yes." she breathed out. "I do know, now." and before she could stop herself, she reached into her cloak and pulled out a small, embroidered handkerchief. "Here..." she said, pressing it into his hand. "Something to remember me by."

Oberyn glanced down, fingers tracing over the intricate golden suns stitched into the soft fabric. His lips quirked, twitching into a smile. "Ah. You wound me, little flower — This will only make me miss you more."

Before she could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that was as soft as it was fleeting. It was not a kiss of conquest, nor of demand. It was a kiss of promise. Of something unfinished. Of reunion, not of confession like the one before.

When he pulled away, he sighed. "Ah, if only I had met you first."

Y/N smiled, though her eyes were misty. "Goodbye, Oberyn."

He smirked, stepping back into the shadows. "Not forever, sweet girl. Just for now." and with that, he was gone, leaving her alone in the garden, clutching her lips, and wondering if fate was truly so cruel.

That night, she did not sleep - Instead, she pondered over his words - Now, she knows - Yes, she knows, Oberyn's feelings for her; She felt those through that kiss; He was genuine, he was true. And he, also, knows her feelings for him - Though, he knows her heart better than even she, and he knew, she loved Jaime, not him. How peculiar love is - An emotion she does not comprehend as well as she thought she did.

Perhaps that mattered little - The sweet dream will be over in the morn, and with it, so will the reverie. Oberyn and Elia will be back in Dorne, and Jaime will be going away from the Rock for his training as a squire; That meant Y/N was finally free to return home where she was happiest and safest, away from problems and responsibilities - And away from the love confusion she created for herself.

Tywin Lannister's ambitions remain big, and for Prince Viserys' birth, he hosted a tourney at Lannisport; Once again, Y/N and the twins were inseparable as they watched the jousting and cheered for the finest knights;

Of course, Cersei was completely head over heels in love, watching Prince Rhaegar Targaryen winning joust after joust, defeating the likes of Tywin's finest knights - And even the renowned Barristan the Bold! Everyone was cheering for the Young Dragon -- Only for him to lose to the Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur Dayne - That is when Jaime started cheering the hardest; He worshiped Ser Dayne more than anything - And he wanted to become just like him.

Of course, the Crown Prince was then knighted, and Cersei couldn't stop babbling about her supposed future husband - Her aunt, Lady Genna, had told her their betrothal will be announced at the feast, and she was so excited to marry such a gorgeous and strong Prince!

Thoughts of Jaime were no longer in her head - Y/N can have Jaime, for all she cares - As long as she has Rhaegar Targaryen, she was happy;

That night, Cersei climbed into Y/N's bed, shaking her awake. "Don't you dare sleep, Y/N. I've got plans for us." she said, before dragging Y/N, along with her other two bedmaids, Melara and Jeyne, towards the forest, at the tent of the witch, Maggy the Frog.

The air was thick with the scent of damp moss and rotting leaves, the distant hoot of an owl cutting through the quiet as four cloaked figures slipped through the trees. The tourney grounds were far behind them now, the laughter of revelers and the clang of steel lost to the whispering night.

"We shouldn't have left the camp." one of the bedmaids muttered. "If we’re caught — "

"We won’t be caught." Cersei interrupted sharply. "Unless you keep whining and get us lost."

"Uh... Cersei...? Are you sure you know what you're doing...?" Y/N wasn't particularly afraid, rather, she was confused and uncomfortable at the idea of seeking fortune from an old crone. She was never superstitious, and she believed people forge their own fates - However, there was a little bit of a gnawing thought at the back of her head, screaming at her to run away.

"Don't be a craven, Y/N. We'll get your prophecy also. Now hush - Get inside." the lioness spat, shoving Y/N further.

Ahead, nestled between gnarled trees, was a crooked tent, its thatched roof sagging as though burdened by centuries of secrets. The only light came from within, flickering behind crude shutters. Y/N felt the chill before they even stepped inside.

Cersei was the first to push through the sheer leather door. A sickly-sweet aroma of herbs and decay clung to the air. Maggy the Frog expecting them.

Her skin was sallow, her lips shriveled, her eyes like frog slits in a face wrinkled and worn by time and warts. She was seated behind a battered table, three bowls of some dark, viscous liquid set before her.

The girl with the golden curls put her hands upon her hips. "Give us our foretelling, or I'll go to my Lord Father and have you whipped for insolence."

"Please..." begged Melara. "Just tell us our futures, then we'll go."

"Some are here who have no futures-" Maggy muttered in her terrible deep voice. She pulled her robe about her shoulders and beckoned the girls closer. "Come, if you will not go. Fools. Come, yes. I must taste your blood."

Melara paled, but not Cersei. A lioness does not fear a frog, no matter how old and ugly she might be. She should have gone, she should have listened, she should have run away. Instead she took the dagger Maggy offered her, and ran the twisted iron blade across the ball of her thumb. Then she did Melara too.

In the dim green tent, the blood seemed more black than red. Maggy's toothless mouth trembled at the sight of it. "Here..." she whispered. ".... give it here." when Cersei offered her hand, she sucked away the blood with gums as soft as a newborn babe's. Y/N looked with disgust, her body cringing away from the sight.

"Three questions may you ask." the crone said, once she'd had her drink. "You will not like my answers. Ask, or begone with you."

But Cersei was unrelenting and ever confident. "When will I wed the prince?" she asked.

"Never. You will wed the king."

Beneath her golden locks, the girl's face wrinkled up in puzzlement. Did that mean she will marry Prince Rhaegar after King Aerys died? Was he ill? Was that why her father and aunt told her about the betrothal so soon? "I will be queen, then?" asked the girl again.

"Aye." malice gleamed in Maggy's citrine yellow eyes. "Queen you shall be... Until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear." Y/N was sure she had heard that in some fable sung by a bard at a tavern. There was no way that was true, she thought to herself, rolling her eyes. Far too unspecific.

Anger flashed across Cersei's face. "If she tries I will have my brother kill her." wrathful as she was, she still had one more question due her, one more glimpse into her life to come. "Will the king and I have children?" she asked.

"Oh, aye. Six-and-ten for him, and three for you."

That made no sense to Cersei. Her thumb was throbbing where she'd cut it, and her blood was dripping on the carpet. How could that be? she wanted to ask, but she was done with her questions. She looked at Y/N, who looked back at her - She was just as confused, yet held a solemn look on her face. She must be sensing something amiss.

The old woman was not done with her, however. "Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds." she said. "And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you."

"What is a valonqar? Some monster?" the golden girl did not like that foretelling. "You're a liar and a warty frog and a smelly old savage, and I don't believe a word of what you say." Cersei huffed in anger, stomping her foot on the ground before grabbing Y/N's hand.

Y/N was silent, and she looked at her golden friend with a pondering look. "You got us all the way here to hear your future, but you are not happy with it." came her cold reply. "Granted, I agree with you - Everything the witch has foretold sounded like nothing more than the stories old nan used to tell us when we were nothing but babes. Fairy tales and bard songs for children who love dreaming. Nothing specific to you, nor something that could prove her craft." no, she was lying, and by the ugly grin on the witch's face, she knew she was found out. "Witch Maggy, my name is Y/N of house Tyrell. I shall give you blood, so in return, grant me three questions. Fair exchange?"

The old woman grinned disgustingly. "As fair as a deal can be, little rose." she tapped her fingers together with enthuse, watching the young lady cut her finger and offering her blood for her to lick off. "Mhh, sweet blood, like a flower's honey. Your answers might be more to your liking than your friends' over there." she let out a broken cackle. "Ask away, ask away."

"Here is an easy one - Like any lady, I am interested - Who will I marry?" Y/N stood tall, eyeing the old witch for her response. She knew best what was in her heart, what was in her life - Any bit of specifics, she will know.

The witch inhaled deeply. Then she exhaled a long, slow breath — One that sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine. "Two men shall claim your hand - A red viper, swift and deadly; A golden lion, valiant and proud" she foretold. "One shall dance under the red Sun, while the other will sing under the golden Moon." that... Sure was cryptic enough, Y/N thought to herself; It wasn't difficult to guess the two people involved, though the cause of it sure was mysterious.

"Will I have any children?" came her most feared question,

"Your womb shall be as the winter earth — cold, barren, untouched by spring. No babe shall suckle at your breast. No heir shall cry your name."

Her breath hitched. She wasn’t sure if it was relief or fear curling around her ribs. Y/N's hands trembled, along with her heart. Would a husband cast her aside for this? Would she be tossed away like a withered rose, unwanted and forgotten?

She felt Cersei’s fingers curl around her wrist, nails biting into her skin. Cersei was smiling, albeit, bitterly.

"Poor Y/N." she murmured, feigning pity. "No children for you. No little lions. No legacy." even better, Cersei thought to herself - If Jaime and Y/N don't have children, they can't have reason to return to the Rock and leave her alone in King's Landing.

She was pleased - And Y/N knew very well why. Cersei was never as smart as she was, nor did she listen to her father's words when he told her so. Pity.

"Why will I have to marry a second time?" came the last question.

"The viper shall topple over the mountain, yet perish beneath its weight." Y/N frowned at the thought of Oberyn dying, thought she couldn't comprehend why. "You, who shall free the lion of its shackles, shall lead the pride."

Cersei's hand squeezed Y/N's so hard that she thought it would shatter. "Go now, little flower." Maggy crooned. "And remember… All prophecy is a curse, for it binds those who seek to escape it."

"I get three questions too!" Melara's meek voice squeaked out, and when Cersei and Jeyne tugged upon her arm, she wriggled free and turned back to the crone. "Will I marry Jaime?" she blurted out.

You stupid girl, Cersei thought, angry at the idea - She could live with Jaime marrying Y/N, provided they stand by her side - But Melara? Jaime does not even know you are alive, you dumb broad. Jaime lives only for swords and dogs and horses... And for her and Y/N.

"No, you absolute idiot - Did you not hear? Jaime - My betrothed - Shall marry me." Y/N rolled her eyes at her idiocy; "If you want to marry Jaime, you first have to let him know you exist, you lowborn fool." it wasn't often that Y/N spat out such vile insults - It even surprised Cersei, who felt proud of her.

"B-But... I-I... I loved him...!" there were defiant tears in her eyes.

"Hush now, Mel, no need to get upset. There are plenty of pretty boys for our status." Jeyne tried to sooth her friend,

"Not Jaime, nor any other man." said Maggy. "Worms will have your maidenhead. Your death is here tonight, little one. Can you smell her breath? She is very close."

"The only breath we smell is yours." said Cersei. There was a jar of some thick potion by her elbow, sitting on a table. She snatched it up and threw it into the old woman's eyes.

Y/N stumbled back from, Cersei pulling her away, and they ran away into the cold night air, followed by Melara and Jeyne. Once they got back to the retinue, Jeyne sneaked back to her chambers, pretending she never even knew the existence of a witch.

Melara, however... Wasn't as lucky.

"What gives you the right to marry Jaime, and not me?" the poor idiot dared to speak back to Y/N, making both the flower and the lioness look back at her with terrifying eyes. "I love Jaime - Truly, I do! More than you ever will!" her declaration was bold and false. "You just marry him for wealth and status - Besides - What good are you to the future heir of Casterly Rock when you are a failure as a woman and cannot birth him heirs?!"

"It would serve you well to shut your mouth, Melara. If my Lord Father hears about the treason you are spewing, he would sear your tongue off himself." Y/N wasn't expecting Cersei, of all people, to side with her - But in a morbid way, she was enjoying it. "Besides, my brother loves Y/N - Everyone knows that. There is no competition - Especially not from some peasant girl like you. You should count your blessings that we even know your name at all. Clearly you don't deserve even that much grace."

"You are a vile, manipulative, evil liar!" Melara shouted, backing away in tears. "You don't speak for Jaime! I want to hear it from his mouth, not yours! He is gallant and just and fair - Unlike you two!"

"Melara." Y/N stepped forward with such morbid elegance that it resembled a ghost. Melara's blood froze in her veins and was unable to stop Tyrell's hands from wrapping around her neck. "Can you smell the stench of death?" she asked, pushing her backwards, towards the well. "Because you reek of it."

"LET ME GO! HELP, SOMEBODY---"

But it was too late; Once Cersei leaped to help her friend, she slapped her hand over Melara's hand and together, they pushed her down her well, to her doom.

"At least we know the witch was right about one prophecy." Y/N grumbled, dusting herself off. "I guess this remains our little secret." she said, offering the lioness her pinky finger.

"It has always been the two of us, Y/N. In duty and in joy." the lioness smiled, hooking her pinky to her friend's. With this crime committed, they were ever closer - Closer than they've ever been before - Closer than that Dornish whore would ever hope to be to her best and only friend.

And thus, they shared a secret that will be their forever, until the dawn of time - Though Y/N refused to tell Cersei she knew the meaning of the word 'valonqar' ; She didn't want to make her hate poor Tyrion even more than she already did, though she was sure it was inevitable, with how she blamed Joanna's death on him. She shall never change.

Before long, Jaime was no longer a squire, but a knight, sered by no other than Ser Arthur Dayne himself - His greatest honour, he must be so proud, Y/N thought to herself with immense joy, as she waited his return in King's Landing; By now, Y/N had also remained in King's Landing to be Elia Martel's lady in waiting as she married Prince Rhaegar, much to Cersei's dismay, having to live three years in the castle, only the watch the man you fell in love with, marry and sire children with the Dornish whore who wanted to steal both her brother and her best friend.

She deserved to die, like sickly ugly thing.

Alas, that idiot, Y/N, was taking good care of her, even after the birth of their first child, Princess Rhaenys. What an ugly, squalling thing. HER children would never be that disgusting and loud.

Cersei was livid - She felt invisible to even her only friend, as though she did not matter anymore. How could she not? She was Cersei Lannister - There was no way that sand bitch was better than her. She deserved to die. She deserved to perish in a most brutal and torturous way.

Y/N was hers. ONLY hers. And so do Jaime and Rhaegar.

All three of them shall be hers, one way or another, even if she had to topple over the mountains and drain the oceans.

Thus came her brilliant idea - When Jaime was to return to King's Landing, they would meet up at an old inn, and she would bewitch him into a scheme; A most clever scheme, of which even her father would be proud - A scheme that would ensure both Y/N and Jaime remain by her side forever and ever and ever.

aime found Cersei waiting for him in the high tower, bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. Her beauty was sharper than a blade, her smile as knowing as a cat’s. She had summoned him, and as always, he came.

"Jaime." she murmured, stepping closer, her fingers trailing up his arm. "You are finally the knight you've always dreamt to be. Congratulations to you." she said, drawing closer to him. "You must be happy - Thrilled, even. Thrilled enough to spend the night with your fair lady, perhaps?" she purred into his ear. "Or... You would rather have me, the one who loves you most in this world? The one to whom your soul is bound for life and death?"

"I..." Jaime blinked, his head hung, feeling a little dazed. "I wanted to tell Y/N. She's been waiting for me all this time. I want to make her proud - To make her happy. She's encouraged and supported me so long... I..."

Cersei’s lips pressed together, displeasure flashing in her green eyes. But she smoothed it away, tilting her head as if in sympathy.

"Then you are happy with the marriage?" she asked. "To be tied to her? To live your days as Lord of Casterly Rock, ruling, scheming, passing dull judgments while your wife bears you children embroiders handkerchiefs?"

Jaime hesitated. When she put it like that... Being a Lord did not sound quite as exciting as he thought it would... But he had so much fun with Y/N as a child - Life with her couldn't ever be dull... Right?

"That’s not what you dreamed of, is it?" she pressed, her voice a whisper now, close enough that he could smell the perfume on her skin — Flowers and oils, intoxicating. "You wanted to be a knight. A true knight."

Jaime swallowed. "I am a knight."

"Are you?" she breathed. "Not yet. Not like Ser Arthur Dayne, not like Ser Barristan Selmy. Their names will be sung for a thousand years. Will yours?" Jaime stiffened, the words cutting deeper than he expected.

"You have always wanted to be like them - And Y/N knows this. She's a good girl. She will understand. You are a golden lion like no other - You were made for glory and fame." she continued, stroking his cheek, peppering him with poison kisses. "And now you can. You are already the youngest knight in the realm, but imagine—" she smiled, and gods, how beautiful she was when she smiled. "—if you became the youngest Kingsguard in history."

His breath caught. "You could stand beside the greatest knights in the realm, your greatest deeds written in that stupid book they have for the Kingsguard members." she murmured. "Ride with them, fight with them, be one of them. And when people speak of the Kingsguard, they will not just name Arthur Dayne and Barristan Selmy. They will name you, Jaime Lannister, the Lion of the Rock, the youngest ever knight to be cloaked in white."

The thought sent a thrill through him. "And best of all..." Cersei continued. "You will be at my side, always. Protecting me, watching over me. No matter who I wed, we will be together in King’s Landing. The same goes for your sweet Y/N - She won't leave that bitch's side any time soon; She will remain here, in King's Landing all the same. You can bed her from time to time, whenever you miss her. Surely, she misses you by now."

Jaime looked away, his jaw tightening. "Or..." she purred, stepping around him, her fingers gliding over his chest. "You could move to Casterly Rock, all alone and away from the battlefield; Watch Y/N wed you in duty, not love. Watch her bear your children, but keep her heart locked away, because it is no longer yours."

Jaime frowned. "What are you saying?" there was no way -- The Y/N he knew held his heart, and he held hers.

Cersei’s lips curled in mock sympathy. "Oh, Jaime, you don’t see it? Oberyn Martell stole her heart the moment he laid eyes on her." she leaned in, whispering. "Do you remember that day, when the retinue came to our home? Did you forget the way she smiled at him? How she blushed under his gaze? How easily they spoke, laughed, like they had known each other all their lives?"

Jaime’s stomach twisted. "Do you think she would have embroidered a handkerchief for you?" Cersei murmured, tilting her head. "She gave him something to remember her by. She let him kiss her. And now he’s gone, off to Dorne, taking a piece of her with him." she continued with her vile tongue. "Did you know - Whenever that Dornish snake comes to visit his sand whore of a sister, he always spends the night in Y/N's chambers?"

Jaime clenched his fists. "But it doesn’t have to matter." Cersei said, drawing his face to hers. "Because you have me - And I would never betray you. We are twins, after all, are we not? If we cannot trust each other - Than who can we trust?"

Her lips hovered close — Too close.

"Father knows of the Martel Prince and Y/N; I heard him speaking to the Tully Lord about changing your betrothal to Lysa Tully - That oversized fat cow, remember? You don't want that, do you?" Jaime's look was that of sheer and utter disgust. "Come to King’s Landing, Jaime. Join the Kingsguard. Take the white cloak, become the knight you always dreamed of. And at night, when the castle sleeps, you will find your way to me, and I will be yours, as I have always been. Let father have his legacy. Let Y/N pine for the Dornish Prince..." Cersei rose her skirts and undid his breeches, sitting on his lap. "... or fuck the Dorne out of her mind. It is all the same. The three of us - We belong together; She's just lost her way, surely... I have heard those Martels have magic blood - They must have bewitched poor Y/N. We must bring her back to us, show her the way. She is one of us. We cannot lose her."

Her fingers curled into his hair, tugging gently. "The three of us belong together. That is the only truth that matters." Jaime closed his eyes, torn between reason and desire. Between honor and love. "Join the Kingsguard, and you can have it all." Cersei eased into him, and the young knight lost all reason.

"I shall join the Kingsguard."

But that was a decision he had to talk with his betrothed; In secret, he visited Y/N's chambers, late at night. Sneaking out, they go into the gardens, away from prying eyes - Though Y/N, most of all, is well aware of the whispers and gossips of the palace. Nowhere was safe.

The night air was thick with the scent of lemon trees and jasmine, the gardens of the Red Keep bathed in the silver light of the moon. The hum of crickets filled the silence, a peaceful contrast to the endless courtly games within the castle walls.

Y/N wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders as she stepped cautiously over the cobbled path. A warm hand caught hers, steadying her. "Careful." Jaime murmured, his voice quiet yet filled with familiar warmth.

She smiled softly up at him, her fingers curling against his palm before she let go. "You’ve changed." she observed, tilting her head. "You stand taller, prouder." she beamed at him. "You have become a true man."

Jaime grinned, glancing down at his freshly knighted hands, as though seeing them for the first time. "Ser Arthur Dayne knighted me himself." he admitted, voice laced with pride. "I want to be like him, Y/N. A true knight, one whose name will be remembered long after I am gone."

"The Sword of the Morning himself. What an honour." there was something bright in his gaze, something fierce and determined, but beneath it lay a quiet doubt. A hesitation he had yet to voice.

Y/N turned toward him fully, taking in the golden-haired boy who had been her closest friend since childhood. "You always wanted to be a knight." she said softly. "And now you are one." yet his nervousness was clear to the girl. "... A knighthood isn't enough for you, is it? You want more." Jaime's eyes widened in shock, and he looked away towards the walls of the Red Keep - Looming, suffocating. "You want to join the Kingsguard, don't you?"

The words sent a pang through his chest. "How did you know?"

"I have suspected that for a few years now, to be fair." she smiled sweetly at him. "You are brave and just, just like Ser Barristan the Bold and Ser Arthur Dayne - Both of which belong to the Kingsguard. The finest knights of the realm - The protectors of the people."

"You think... I am like them?" the golden lion had an almost boyish wonder in his eyes, flattered yet almost afraid to inquire for more.

"Ever since I have known you, yes, I have thought you were going to become a knight worthy of the greatest stories..." Y/N looked down with a sad smile. "Even if that meant you could never hold love for me, the same way I love you."

"Y/N..." he whispered out her name, his arms shooting up instinctually to hold her, but then he stopped abruptly. "I... I am sorry, I... I just..."

"That's alright. I understand." Y/N offered him a smile - It looked bittersweet and heartbroken. "I have been trying to come to peace with the idea for a while now. I did not expect you would be knighted so soon, truly - I thought I would still have your love for a few more years, maybe even marry first before you got to make that decision..." he remained quiet, frozen in place. "Alas..."

"Forgive me." he whispered. "I truly love you, Y/N." he confessed. "I love you with all my heart - I swear I do - I really do. You mean everything to me, I---"

"Hush now. You are a man, you must not fumble over your words like that." Y/N let out an amused breath. "Don't worry about me. Worry about your father. He will go mad when he hears your decision."

"Well... I suppose..." he gulped, looking down.

"Your sister must be happy. She will have you by her side all the time. Protecting her." Jaime looked at her, as if caught with a lie.

"I... Don't know what to say..." he admitted shamefully. "You... Are right. Both times, you are right." and she was right in silently deducing it was Cersei's ploy all the same, he realised.

Y/N was silent for a moment. She inhaled deeply, steadying her thoughts, her heart. There was a time when she believed her life and Jaime’s would be forever entwined, that they would grow old together, ruling over Casterly Rock - That future was fading like a dying ember. Just like Maggy the Frog said.

She reached for his hand, squeezing it gently.

"If this is what you truly want, Jaime." she said, her voice a whisper, "Then I will always stand by you and support you every step of the way."

Jaime’s breath hitched, his gaze snapping to hers. "You will?" he asked, bewildered by her loving tone. He thought she would be mad, hysterical, sobbing - But... Her reaction... Hurt him even more. She was as kind and loving with him as he remembers... What has he done?

"Of course." She smiled, warm and steady, despite the ache in her heart. "No matter where you go, no matter what you choose, my heart will always be yours. Even if we are not bound by marriage, even if our paths diverge. I will love you all the same."

Jaime blinked, as though trying to process the weight of her words. "Y/N…" His voice was unsteady.

"You are kind, Jaime." she continued, her eyes soft as she traced his features. "You are brave, and righteous, and good. You are a knight in the truest sense of the word, and I am proud of you." she held his hands, squeezing them dearly. "Do not let the world change who you are, my love."

Jaime exhaled sharply, almost as if the praise pained him. His fingers curled around hers, holding on as though she was an anchor in the storm of his thoughts. For so long, he had been told he was nothing without Cersei, that no one else would love him the way she did. But here was Y/N, looking at him with unwavering warmth, with admiration that was not manipulative, nor possessive. Just genuine, pure devotion.

"You deserve happiness, Jaime." she whispered. "And if this is what makes you happy, then I will not stand in your way."

Jaime opened his mouth, but no words came. Somewhere, in the depths of his mind, Cersei’s voice echoed—"She loves Oberyn. She has already chosen another."

But looking at Y/N now, standing before him with all the tenderness in the world, he knew — Cersei had lied. All this time, she had lied.

Jaime swallowed thickly, his grip on Y/N’s hand tightening, unable to let go.

"I should return." she said softly. "Elia will wonder where I am." Jaime nodded stiffly. "Before I go - May I ask for one single favour?"

"O-Of course. Anything for you." he declared whole-heartedly.

She reacher her finger up, brushing away a stray tear from his emerald eye. "Do not cry, Jaime Lannister - It was your decision. Do not regret it now." she said with a playful smile. "I will teach you a little trick - To see if someone truly loves you." she giggled, remembering her late-night lesson.

"Wh-What...?" the boy stammered over his words, unable to understand his meaning.

"When you get bold enough to go for a kiss, do this --" she cupped her face carefully, making him look her in the eyes. "Look into her eyes, and see deep into her soul - Don't ask me to explain, you will understand when it happens - And then... Lean in slowly..." her soft lips captured his chapped ones, rough and broken by the wind, yet sweet and plump like no other. She was going crazy, her body felt hot and her hands wanted to grip his body and feel his skin; She was suffocating with love and lust all over. "... you will know."

Y/N observed the small pants of his breath, and the sparkle of his eyes as he looked down at her as if he'd seen the Gods. Shee knew - And now, so did he.

"Yes..." he breathed out. "I do know, now." realisation blasted him like a brick in the head, striking his heart with a crossbow arrow - That kiss meant to him more than what he and Cersei had shared just a few hours previous. The lies she told him, just to keep him closer to her... Was it all worth it? Was it worth giving away Y/N's sweet love, for honour and fame and glory, and his twin's bed?

Y/N reached into her cloak and pulled out a small, embroidered handkerchief. "Here..." she said, pressing it into his hand. "Something to remember me by." it was embroidered with a golden lion among flowers, the same handkerchief she made years ago as she was watching him spar. She only worked on that when he was sparring, he remembers. He truly can't believe she held onto that...

"I shall be seeing you around, Jaime. I am wishing you only the best in the world." she turned around, pulling her hood on. "I love you." and she faded into the darkness.

As he stood there, alone in the gardens, he felt a hollow ache settle deep within him. For the first time, he wondered if he had made a terrible mistake.

Cersei's plan, however, did not go as smoothly as she'd hoped, for Tywin Lannister saw Jaime joining the Kingsguard a slight from the King against him - First, he refused having Jaime as a squire and Cersei and the Crown Prince's Consort, and now, he wants to take away his own heir; Cersei was taken back to the Rock, while Jaime was all alone in King's Landing... All alone, with Y/N. All alone, to witness the madness that everyone was whispering about.

The Madness of King Aerys Targaryen, second of his name.

He witness the King growing more paranoid by the minute, suspecting his own servants, his own family of treason; He had honorable knights and lords killed with Wildfire right in front of him, and Jaime's heart shattered with each of them. He became disillusioned, broken and disappointed - This wasn't what he wanted to become - Protector of a mad man who massacred the people he was supposed to rule over.

There was only so much he could 'Go away inside', as Ser Gerold Hightower taught him, and in turn, he also would teach others; And when he witnessed the unfair executions of both Lord Rickard Stark and his heir, Brandon, he felt goosebumps all over his skin, and bile coming into his mouth.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't how it was supposed to be.

Yet in spite of all this, what hurt the most was not the lost promise of a legacy, nor the fact that Cersei was no longer with him, or that the King chose him not for his skill, but to spite his father --

No.

What hurt the most was seeing how terrified Y/N was every day of her life.

He had to guard outside the chamber whenever the King would want to bed the Queen - And Y/N, also, would await just outside, to tend to the Queen afterwards; Each time, she would tremble more, would cry more, would melt and wither away... And he felt all the same.

Hearing the cries of agony coming from Queen Rhaella as she was bitten and mauled and clawed by her own husband during what should have been a most sweet and intimate act between two lovers...

Seeing Y/N in such a state hurt his heart, but hearing her describe the Queen's torture and the marks on her body, her suffering, at the hands of her own husband... It hurt just as much.

"We are the Kingsguard - We protect the Realm, the people... That includes the Queen also, doesn't it?" he asked once - A pure and innocent question, that of a young lad, Ser Hightower said.

"Just 'Go away inside', young man. We swore a vow to protect the King, not to judge him. As much as it pains me to say, we have to protect the Queen, aye - But not from the King himself, we cannot." it wasn't right. It wasn't fair. It wasn't just. It wasn't how it was supposed to be.

No man should ever hurt his woman. No Lord should ever hurt his Lady. No King should ever hurt his Queen.

Y/N stood in the dimly lit hallway, supporting her weight by leaning on the cold stone walls just outside the Queen’s chambers. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burnt incense, masking the stench of blood and fear that lingered behind the great doors.

Jaime stood beside her, on the other side of the door, his newly polished armor gleaming in the torchlight, but his face was pale, his jaw clenched tight, trying to fade away into the old memory of a happy life - The dream of a happy future with Y/N - A future that he threw away down the river with his own two hands.

From inside, muffled cries echoed through the stone walls — Queen Rhaella’s cries was reverbring through the cold halls like a tidal wave meant to drown the castle.

Jaime’s hands curled into fists. He had seen battle. He had trained with the best knights in the realm. But this? This was something else entirely. He was not prepared for this kind of brutality, nor did he want to be. Not when he had a duty to protect, and he was unable to.

Y/N stood stiffly, her hands trembling at her sides, wrinkling her skirts. Jaime could see it now — Truly see it. The way she clenched her teeth to keep her lips from quivering. The way her breathing was shallow, controlled. The side of Y/N that he'd never imagined he would see - Y/N, terrified, petrified out of her wits. And she had every reason to be. She was there where the Starks were killed. She was there when the Queen was abused. She was there when so many were burnt alive. The horrors, the crimes, the atrocities committed by the King himself - She had seen them all, in the past years since she's been at the court.

"Y/N…" he whispered her name, making her flinch at the sound of his voice, her shoulders tensing before she slowly turned to him. Her eyes — Gods, her doe eyes — Were wide, filled with unspoken terror and pooling with tears threatening to fall. How pitiful, how terrible.

"It’s alright." he murmured, reaching for her hand without thinking. She took it, fingers cold as ice. "Just try to Go away inside. It's the only way I manage to cope."

The Queen’s cries grew louder. Jaime swallowed, his grip on Y/N’s hand tightening. He had always thought her brave - Oft times, braver than him, but now, he understood — Her bravery had never been the absence of fear. It had been enduring it, despite the horror.

And he hated it. He hated that she had to endure this. He wanted to promise her that she will be safe in his arms, that he would protect her from any danger, that everything will be alright...

Not for the first time, he questioned everything - The Kingsguard. The vows. The honor he had been taught to uphold. What good was a sword if it could not protect the ones who needed it most?

As Y/N trembled beside him, Jaime made yet another oath, though this one was personal, made by his heart - No matter what, he would protect her - Even if it meant breaking all the other vows he had taken before.

The door was slammed open, and the King exited the chambers - He looked at Jaime and Y/N and let out a disgusting snarl. "Hands off the maidens, Lannister - You swore a vow to keep your cock dry like the deserts of Dorne." he pushed the lion away from the girl. "And you - Do you revere me so much that you tear up at the mere sight of my excellency? Ha!" he aggressively grabbed her jaw, squeezing it tightly, his long claw-like nails digging into her soft cheeks. "If you want something, get on your knees and worship my cock, just like your ancestors did before, you little Tyrell whore." he let out a gargled cackle, before pushing her to the ground and walking away. "Tag along, Lannister - You have to guard me as I take a piss."

Angered beyond belief, Jaime was forced to peer his eyes away from the tearful Y/N who picked herself off the ground and forced herself to get inside the Queen's chambers to tend to her. Reluctantly, he followed the mad king, listening to his awful insults of poor Y/N and the disgusting things he'd do to her;

This man wasn't meant to be King - This man wasn't even a man anymore. He was an outright monster, the nightmare that old nan told them when they were little children. Vile, uncouth, unworthy scum.

As the Lannister Knight was forced to hear the mad man's rant for longer that night, Y/N swiftly returned to her chambers, all alone, and hiding under her blankets, sobbing her woes into the pillow. She only remained in King's Landing out of love for Elia, not wanting her to remain all alone, especially after how she almost died giving birth to her second child, Aegon.

The moon hung high over King's Landing, casting silver slants of light through the thin curtains of Y/N’s chambers. A single candle burned on her bedside table, its flickering flame barely keeping the darkness at bay.

But the darkness wasn’t just in the room. It was in her mind. It was in her chest. It was the suffocating weight of fear pressing down on her ribs, curling around her throat like unseen fingers.

She wailed into the void, her body trembling, her breath ragged, her hands tearing away at her gorgeous hair...

A soft creak at the window stopped it all.

She barely registered it until a warm hand touched her shoulder out of nowhere, making her jump in her skin, almost shrieking her lungs out - Only to have a hand placed over her mouth, and a body over her;

"Sweet dove, it is me." a hushed voice whispered into her ear, soothing enough to calm her panic down.

"R-Ryn..." she stammered out, after the man in cause slowly took away his hand. "D-Don't do that again... I-I thought... I-... Y-You..."

Oberyn’s voice was softer than she had ever heard it. His usual teasing bravado was absent, replaced by something raw. Something real. Pure worry for her.

Y/N looked up at him, her tear-streaked face illuminated by the candlelight. Her breath a panting pace, her eyes puffy and pink, and face wet, hair disheveled; All whilst he looked as flawless as ever, those black eyes of his warm and darling, burning with the flame of the dimming candle light.

"What happened?" he asked, shifting his body so he would be kneeling on the bed before her.

The dam inside her broke, and her arms were thrown around the man, clinging onto him tightly, pulling him back on the bed so she could sob her life away into his bare chest.

"The King-" she gasped between sobs. "The things he does, Ryn—you don’t understand. Every night, I hear her scream. The Queen—" She choked on her words, shaking her head violently. "No one does anything. No one can do anything." she continued her broken string of words. "I tend to her every night when he claims her - And Every night, the wounds, the scars, the bruises... Worse and worse..." she mewled pitifully, breaking his heart. "And tonight... He... He even threatened me... Again... Spoken such disgusting words..."

Oberyn’s jaw tightened. She could see the anger in his eyes, simmering, barely restrained, like burning coal in the fire.

"Elia is safe with that silver haired cunt." he assured her, voice firm. "The Prince would never let any harm come to her. He can do at least that much, especially now, after she birthed him an heir." he grumbled with spite. "Almost at the cost of her life, that is."

"For now." Y/N whispered a truth that was better left unspoken, her voice barely audible. "But if anything happened to Rhaegar—"

She didn’t finish. They both knew what would happen. The Mad King was a monster, and no one was safe from his wrath.

Oberyn lifted a hand, brushing away her tears with a touch so gentle it nearly undid her. "You don’t belong here, sweet rose. This place is rotting. It’s poison." she nodded, her throat too tight to speak. "I’ll take you away from here." he vowed. "The next time I return to King’s Landing, I will bring you to Dorne. I swear it on my life." he vowed, holding her closer to his chest. "I shall do what that imbecile couldn't do and marry you; Keep you away from danger, safe and sound."

"Ryn..." she whimpered, her fingers gripping tightly onto him. "Can you stay here for the night? Please?" she nestled into him. "I am terrified of being alone."

"Of course, my sweetling."

Oberyn's promise to her was the only thing keeping her together in the days that followed... But those days weren't long, and then the rumors started. The whispers spread like wildfire. The gossip was heard far and wide, spread by the spiders's web.

Prince Oberyn Martell had been seen sneaking into Lady Y/N Tyrell’s chambers. Every night, the guards had seen a shadow slipping through the halls. The court loved gossip, and there was no story more tantalizing than a Dornish prince seducing a noble lady under the Mad King’s nose.

And the Mad King loved to punish.

Soon enough, before his very nose, before he even realised, the sky was burning red.

Outside the Red Keep, the city was aflame. The Lannister banners had come, the gates had been opened, and Tywin Lannister’s troops poured into King’s Landing like a tide of crimson and gold.

The King thought they were his salvation - His most trusted, most loyal servant had come to defeat the rebellion; He didn’t know they were his doom; And thus, the King had enough time to pass judgement on his favourite subject, the defying maiden that kept bewitching the Queen;

The only thing Y/N could do was pray for a quick death or a miracle - She knew there was carnage outside those walls; In the throne room there was only herself, the King, and her beloved White Knight, staring at them, stunned and mind-blocked.

Aerys’ fingers were bruising her wrists, his breath hot and vile against her cheek.

"You think you can defy me in my own castle?" he seethed, his grip tightening as he slammed her against the cold stone of his chamber wall. "You and your Dornish filth — Whoring under my roof—"

"I didn’t—" Y/N sobbed, struggling against him. "I swear, my King—please—" if Jaime thought Y/N was sleeping with another, would he still protect her? Would he still feel the same for her, as he did before? Did he believe the rumours?

The Mad man laughed. A sharp, deranged sound. "Please?" he mocked. "You beg me, yet you spread your legs for theviper? You deserve to burn just like the rest of them—" his fingers clawed at her skirts, and a scream built in her throat.

... Then she collapsed to the floor like a discarded doll, with blood spilling and spraying all over her; A blade slid through flesh, followed by the sound of a thud.

She gasped, stumbling back, crawling away from the blood pooling around the corpse of what was once King Aerys II.

Jaime stood before her, his pristine armor splattered with red, the white cloak of the Kingsguard stained and tainted. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword, staring with horror at the blade, and seeing the reflection - His reflection - Bloody and afraid.

His breath was ragged, his eyes wide, gaze shifted away, and Y/N realized—

He wasn’t looking at the King. He was looking at her.

"Y/N." he whispered, voice breaking, before he immediately collapsed on the ground by her side, gathering her into his arms, shaking and sobbing as she was. "I’ve got you." he murmured, holding her so tightly it almost hurt. "You’re safe now. You’re safe." she clung to him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his cloak, her body trembling violently. "It’s over. He cannot hurt you again. No one can." he promised, voice hoarse. "I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not ever again."

The King’s blood pooled around them, and Jaime held her as the world as they knew it burnt all around them.

When the doors were opened, Ned Stark was the first to see the horrific scene; Y/N was huddled away in a corned, Y/N had sat on the Iron Throne, his bloody blade over his knees, and looking into nothingness; What was he trying to prove? Kingslayer, that's what he was. A man with no honour, no shame, no morals.

Though Jaime was later pardoned for his sins, and retained his spot in the Kingsguard, to protect the next King - King Robert Baratheon, and his wife, Cersei Lannister - He found, much to his dismay, that Y/N wed Oberyn Martel and went to live with him in Dorne, never to return to King's Landing ever again.

He could not fault her - She held no happy memory of the capital, after all, and there was no joy that anyone here could bring her; He could not marry her, nor bring her comfort; She could have remained Cersei's lady in waiting, although, for how long, before she was forced to marry and fulfill her duty as a noble woman of her status.

Of course, the Queen was pissed - She demanded Y/N return to court - She wanted her friend back - That was the whole purpose of everything, to have Jaime and Y/N constantly by her side. But now, she lost her beautiful flower, what was she to do? There was only so much joy she could get out of sharing a bed with her brother - He still remained as foolish as always, caring only about swords and battles and all that nonsense. At least her and Y/N were bound by womanhood, by secrets, by so many traits they shared together.

Alas... That friendship was forever lost to time and destiny.

"A Wedding fit for a King, you said?" Lady Olenna Tyrell scoffed, looking away, though the corners of her mouth twitched upwards in a proud smile. "I almost do not recognise you, my child."

"That little atrocity is as much of a King as I am." Y/N huffed at her mother, slumping down on her chair unceremoniously. "No less, he is Cersei's bastard, with all the cruelty, and even less of a common sense than her." Oberyn chuckled light-heartedly, slumping down on the chair next to her, immediately reaching for the wine goblet. "I have already killed one Mad King - What is another?"

"Hush now, child, you did no such thing - It was the Kingslayer's blade, not your hand, which pierced the Mad King's belly." her mother scolded her, before straightening up. "The Sun of Dorne must have burnt your head, for you speak nonsense."

"Dear Lady, mother by law, are you not so proud of your little flower?" he played with a lock of her hair. "Hearing the news of her sweet niece's marriage - Second marriage - She jumped on the horse and tried to come here all the way, just to see her to safety." he mused with a sly smile. "Used to be she was so shy and passive - Now she grows hot headed, thirsting for blood and the safety of her kin."

"Fools, both of you." Olenna spat, though her eyes sparkled with motherly love. "Better feel blessed for your luck, not your heart or brain, for otherwise you would have still been lovesick over that fool who lusts over his sister's golden cunt - And what then would you have done? Killed your husband's bastards and live to tell the tale?"

"Instead, I would render us both lucky for marrying a man who got four chains at the Citadel just because he was bored out of his mind - Or, rather - A viper more proficient in poisons than any Maester in the land." the Queen of Thorns was quite fascinated by the way her daughter was speaking to her.

"And what, may I ask, is the price, then? Surely, the Red Viper of Dorne would not offer his aid out of the goodness of his heart." her eyes turned stern, looking at the Dornish prince.

"Could you perhaps be suggesting me cold-hearted when faced with my sweetling's distress? How cruel must you think me be, my dear lady mother by law." he did not seem the least bit offended. "Of course, my wish to exert vengeance on the Lannisters only adds to the thrill of fulfilling my darling's every wishes."

"Men are such fools - Only ever seeking the taste of honey in between a woman's legs." she rolled her eyes.

"I will have you know, the honey is very sweet - And so is the taste of revenge." Oberyn licked his lips sultry. "So why is there I hear you complain, when our goals have mutual finality?"

"He even has the venomous tongue of a viper." the old lady huffed, before smiling at her daughter. "Much better choice, I assure you." she said, referring to Jaime Lannister.

The scent of roses lingered in the air, mingling with the sharp aroma of Dornish wine that Oberyn swirled lazily in his goblet as they contemplated murder. A deadly collection of possibilities, carefully curated for the demise of a boy king who had lived far too long and was threatening the blooming of a flower..

Olenna tapped a delicate finger against the table, her sharp eyes narrowing at the selection before her. "The Strangler is effective, of course." she mused. "It tightens the throat, turns the face a lovely shade of purple… Quite dramatic, but too quick. A shame, really. I’d rather see him linger and wither on the ground like a pig."

Oberyn smirked. "You sound almost Dornish, Lady Olenna. In Dorne, we prefer a death to be… An experience. Something one does not simply slip away from, but feels with every agonizing breath."

Y/N tilted her head, glancing at her husband with a knowing smile. "Something slow, then. Something fitting for a boy who enjoys tormenting others — Wouldn't it be poetic justice if he suffered in turn?"

"Ah, my love, you understand me so well." Oberyn murmured, shaking his arm a little, only to reveal a small vial in between his fingers, which he fingered and played with idly. The liquid inside moved thickly, a deep, oily, murky green. "Basilisk blood."

Olenna raised a silvered brow. "I have heard tales of it - I had perhaps thought it to be simply that - A tale."

"It is a rare poison indeed - Legendary, in fact." Oberyn explained, watching the liquid slosh against the glass. "Derived from the fangs of the great lizards of the Isle of Tears, just off the northwest coast of Sothoryos. A single drop burns through a man’s veins, leaving him writhing in agony. His blood turns black, his flesh festers, and he screams until his throat is too raw to make another sound." He grinned. "Is that dramatic enough?"

Olenna took a slow sip of wine, considering. "Dramatic, certainly. But we are not simply making a statement, Prince Oberyn. We need precision. A public spectacle is well and good, but we must be certain the boy dies before anyone can suspect our hand in it." she declared. "I will be damned before I am forced to find that girl another husband - After all, who else but you has such renowned illicit knowledge?"

Y/N traced a finger over her own goblet, looking at the red wine with a pondering look. "The Bloodwyrm's Lament." she said, impressing her mother. "It forces painful convulsions, as well as heavy bleeding from the eyes, ears and nose."

"Clever." Olenna admitted. "And equally ruthless." she continued. "Plenty of ideas, yet which to use?"

Oberyn chuckled, setting down the basilisk blood. "We are at an impasse, I see? Then, perhaps, a blend?" he offered. "These beauties together could make for a fine crystal. Place it in any food or drink, and it shall be no more."

Y/N and Olenna both turned their eyes to him.

"Bloodwyrm's Lament for the initial pain, Basilisk Blood for the agony… and The Strangler to make certain he does not survive the ordeal." Oberyn spread his hands as if laying out a feast. "His body will convulse, his face will turn purple, his insides will rot as he chokes, and he will die knowing it was no simple accident, but a punishment crafted just for him - And we are all happy."

Y/N smirked. "Swift, but meaningful. Sweet revenge." she glanced at Olenna. "Perfectly balanced."

The Queen of Thorns hummed in approval. "And how do you propose we deliver this delightful crystal?"

Y/N leaned back, tapping her nail against her goblet. "The wine will be too closely watched - Not to mention, Margaery would be sharing a goblet with him. The main courses will be tested for poison. But the wedding pie…" she smiled. "The doves will be the main spectacle, as will the newly weds. No one will notice if something is slipped into the king’s slice before it reaches him."

"And who, my dear, will have the honor of delivering the final touch?" Olenna asked, her voice laced with amusement.

The Tyrell woman spoke carefully. "Sansa Stark." surprising both her daughter and her husband.

Oberyn lifted a brow. "The poor girl?" he asked in surprise. "How could you have possibly managed to persuade her?"

"I never said she is a knowing accomplice." the woman waved her hand. "Girls love jewellery. Craft the poison crystal into a hairnet, and she won't suspect a thing." she continued on. "Besides - I doubt she would be opposed to marrying the grandson that you crippled, Viper. She must be in a great hurry to leave the lion's cage."

"You call me a dangerous and hot-headed man, yet every drop of your blood schemes." Oberyn grinned mirthfully. "You got that cunning tongue of yours from your mother, I see!" he looked with a twinkle of mischief at his wife.

Olenna took another sip of her wine, eyes gleaming with something murderous. "A dangerous man needs an intelligent wife to keep him in check."

"And a dangerous woman needs a husband who will let her be dangerous." Oberyn countered smoothly, lifting his goblet in a mock toast. "To a wedding, then."

And thus the deed was done; Olenna Tyrell went with her whole retinue in King's Landing to lure the little wolf pup closer to her side, with dreams of willow blossoms and marriage - And as a gift, a hairnet adorned with lovely crystals, so that she would shine with joy, knowing she was one step closer to escaping the lions, and one step closer to becoming a flower in the Highgarden.

Whilst Oberyn and Ellaria enjoyed the brothel, Y/N joined her family - Of course, Margaery was as lovely as ever, and her mother as ruthless as always. Sansa even joined them on occasion, indulging in her favourite lemon cakes.

Yet not all his pleasure and glee in the pleasure house, as the Rains of Castamere was sung by some poor Lannister bastard, who dared interrupt the Dornishman's good time; Before long, the whores had left, and the fool had a dagger shoved through his hand, binding him to the table - And the only thing saving him was not his companion, but the arrival of the Imp, who remained speechless as his intensity... And his pure hatred for the Lannisters.

Martell took the Imp aside for a little walk, just the two of them, for a conversation with little to hide - A conversation that would terrify the little golden lion. "What are you doing in King's Landing, my Prince?"

"I was invited to the Wedding." he smiled simply. "My wife's niece is the bride - I wouldn't be a good husband if I did not join the retinue, would I?"

"I thought we were speaking truth." Tyrion spoke solemnly.

"The last time I was in the capital was many, many years ago, for another Wedding - My sister, Elia, married Rhaegar Targaryen, the last Dragon. My sister loved him, bore his children in her womb; Took care of them, waddled them, fed them at her breast - Didn't even allow the wet nurse to touch them." he continued, fidgeting a little. "My sweet wife was there by her side day and night, helping her." his smile was wide, filled with resentment. "And beautiful, noble Rhaegar Targaryen left her for another woman." he went on. "That started a war - And the war ended right here, when your father's army took the city."

"I wasn't there." Tyrion looked down, feeling guilt, in spite of him having no part played in the massacre.

"They butchered her children. My nephew and niece, carved them up and wrapped them in Lannister cloaks. And my sister - You know what they did to her?" he picked the imp's chin, raising it up to look him in the eyes. "I am asking you a question."

"I have heard rumours." Tyrion gulped, his heart pounding hard against his chest.

Oberyn's laugh was mirthless. "Yes, so have I." he said. "The one I keep hearing is Gregor Clegane, the Mountain, raped Elia and split her in two with his greatsword." Tyrion tried one more time to say he wasn't there, he had nothing to do with it - It was in vain. "But if the Mountain killed my sister, it was by your father's orders." his voice dropped a little in a humourless tone. "Tell your father I'm here. Tell him the Lannisters aren't the only ones who pay their debts." he let out a small huff. "Cheer up, little man - My wife would be thrilled to see how much you have grown since last she saw you -- Perhaps you should ask your dear brother and sister; They are sure to know what I am talking about."

Thus she returned to the brothel to retrieve his paramour and left to explore more of the city - Yet back to their room, there was no sight of Y/N; Surely, she must still be with her family, he thought - Or worse, she caught sight of that foolish Lion. What a pity, he thought to himself, however inevitable that conversation would be. Fifteen years or so passed since that day when Jaime Lannister drove his blade through King Aerys' body and rescued Y/N from being burnt alive - For that, Oberyn was thankful, yet for everything else, he was not.

"You're a Queen, not an ox." Olenna huffed, looking away from those ugly necklaces displayed nobly over the red velvet cushions, before she grasped one of them. "Your grandfather gifted me a necklace quite like this, at my one-and-fifty name day." she threw it off the balcony, grinning.

"My father never did have a good sense of fashion." Y/N giggled at her mother.

"My wedding is in a fortnight, grandmother, we cannot turn everything away." Margaery scolded her picky grandma, who simply smiled.

"Of course I can - And I will." she said sternly, before addressing the ladies in waiting. "My dears, go to the royal jewellers all over the capital - Tell them who you are, tell them who sent you - The one who brings me the best necklace will receive the second best." the girls grinned happily, before skipping away with excitement.

Y/N smiled sweetly, before receiving something from inside her sleeve. "Can I receive the best, if she likes this?" Margy gravitated to her aunty, her eyes wide and sparkling beautifully.

"It is gorgeous!" Margaery smiled brightly.

Y/N placed the necklace over the girl's cleavage. "And it also suits you - Do you agree, mother?"

"Takes a flower to know a flower." Olenna laughed, sitting back on her chair. "Yes, that's the one, I agree. Enjoy your gift, Y/N."

"I suppose I do not have to rely on Joffrey to place a string of dead sparrow heads around my neck." the young girl joked, making both her auntie and grandma scold her for speaking reckless.

Out of nowhere, a very tall and strong woman appeared, speaking very politely and diplomatic, introducing herself as Brienne of Tarth - She used to be Renly Baratheon's protector, that much Y/N heard from Loras, though she did not know that she beat Loras in jousting - That was a woman! Y/N giggled to herself, thinking about a young Brienne beating Jaime up. That would have been cute to see.

Margy delicately took her auntie's hand to follow her into the gardens, to hear what the blonde lady has to say about the night of Renly's assassination; The shadow of Stannis Baratheon killed him, she said - And though it sounded beyond fantastic, Oberyn told Y/N about the stories of the water witches Princess Nymeria brought to Dorne, and she knew of the blood mages of old Valyria - There was nothing to say such forbidden magic couldn't persist to these days.

"Auntie - Lady Brienne here bravely sought Ser Jaime Lannister to safety, after his imprisonment by the Starks." so that was why Margaery wanted her along. "Perhaps you might with to speak." she smiled sweetly, before returning to her grandmother.

"Is that so?" Y/N asked with a passive smile. "Hard to believe the proud lion would be needing aid. What happened?"

"My Lady, I..." Brienne looked down for a second, gathering her words. "Ser Jaime saved me when we were captured - He lied to preserve my maidenhead, though I could not save him from the cruel fate of having his hand chopped off." Y/N's eyes widened with shock, her hands flying to her mouth in disbelief. "Afterward, the lord of the castle we were brought to allowed Ser Jaime safe passage to King's Landing, but threw me in a bear pit with only a wooden sword and a dress. He jumped in the pit and fought the bear, yelling at the people to kill the bear, while he helped me get out of the pit." she placed her hand over her heart. "In spite of his reputation as a Kingslayer, his actions are honorable and righteous as that of a true knight."

"Thank you for saving him, Lady Brienne. For that, you have my eternal gratitude and thanks." spectacularly, Y/N embraced the tall lady, who was frozen in shock. "I do not want to imagine him dying." she said. "Though I cannot believe his heart has healed - May you take me to him?"

Brienne looked down at the smaller lady - She wondered what kind of delicate connection the two of them had - Still, she could not refuse her. "Of course, my lady. Right away."

Jaime sat in the dim candlelight of his chambers, his body draped lazily over a cushioned chair, though there was no comfort in his posture. His golden hair was unkempt, his features sharper, wearier, even after bathing thoroughly a few times since he's arrived. He idly flexed the fingers of his remaining hand, but it was the stump at his side that truly defined him now - The empty spot where once was his sword-hand.

From the corner of his eyes, he noticed a shadow passing the threshold, along with the soft squeak of the door. He lifted his head, expecting another visitor to come gawk at him. Instead, he saw the sweetest dream he's ever had, right before his very eyes - The one woman he never thought he would see again in this life.

"Y/N." he breathed, almost disbelieving. Was he dead, and dreaming? Was he in a reverie? He did not take Milk of the poppy, nor was he drunk... So why...? How was it possible?

She stepped closer, the warm glow of the candles illuminating her features. She was older now, more refined, yet still radiant in a way that made his chest ache. The woman that was so close to being his wife; The woman to whom he turned his back.

"Jaime." she whispered back, and in that moment, they were children again, playing in the gardens of Casterly Rock, before the world had turned cruel.

For a long moment, neither spoke. He drank in the sight of her, the softness of her gaze, the gentle concern that had never faded. She was the same as ages ago.

"I heard what happened to you." Y/N finally said, stepping closer. "Brienne told me everything."

Jaime chuckled, low and bitter. "I imagine she made me sound more noble than I deserve." he gestured at his missing hand. "I am not the gallant and righteous knight that you used to know, you see." he huffed. "Do you pity me?"

"No." she said firmly, stepping closer to him, close enough that he could see the way her lips trembled, the way her hands fidgeted as if she wished to reach out but did not want to overstep. "I only regret that I wasn’t there to save you."

"What could you have done?" Jaime asked, voice hoarse. "You weren't saving me from Father's scoldings; Those men were savages, traitors." he looked down at the ground. "If you were there... I would not have been able to save you."

"I could have at least held your other hand." she murmured.

Jaime inhaled sharply, looking away. She had always been like this — So effortlessly kind, so willing to love... And he… had been too blind to cherish it when he had the chance. There she was, standing ing in front of him, as bright and beautiful as the Maiden, and as loving and warm as the Mother... The one to whom he was truly bound by soul...

Yet there he was, bound and broken, shackled by the mistake he did ages ago, when he chose blood ties over his ration and heart. He allowed himself to be manipulated by dreams of honey and gold, when the true reverie was right under his eyes.

A fool, he has been... But now, returned to his home... He has seen what Cersei truly was; Bedding other men, snarking him, snubbing him, blaming him for not having escaped soon enough... Guilting him for leaving her alone, as if he was faring any better; As if he wanted to be taken prisoner by the Stark boy.

As if unworthy, Jaime raised his gaze, his sad eyes looking the lady up and down; She was wearing rich Dornish silks of the highest quality, and was adorned with jewels of which even he has not seen before. It did not take an intellectual to know the truth; She was happy. "Dorne treats you well, I see?" he asked after a moment, forcing himself to ask the question that had burned in him since the moment he saw her again. He couldn't speak his name - He wouldn't - But she knew regardless.

Y/N smiled, the kind of smile that did not need words to affirm its truth. "Yes. He treats me very well."

Jaime swallowed thickly. He had always known he was too selfish to truly wish her happiness without him, but looking at her now, seeing the peace in her eyes, the way her body held no tension, no uncertainty — He knew Oberyn had given her something he never could. The last time he remembers seeing her was that day, when the Mad king wanted to burn her alive - The fear in her eyes was no more, nor the tears wetting her beautiful face. The reign of terror was over.

"Then I am glad." he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N reached out then, the hesitation gone, and took his remaining hand in hers. "But you, Jaime? How are you?" she asked. "You have been through so many hardships - Yet finally you have prevailed and returned home." a question so simple, yet it unraveled him.

"I don’t know..." he admitted tragically.

She squeezed his hand gently. "You are still you, Jaime. Even without a sword in your hand, you are still a knight. You are still worthy of being called one."

He laughed, hollow and broken. "Do you really believe that?"

"I have always believed in you." she said softly. "Even when you did not believe in yourself." she smiled up at him. "Even when you were Ser Jaime the Cat Knight."

"That cat must still be laughing at us." Jaime shut his eyes, breathing through the ache in his chest. He wanted to turn back time, to make different choices, to never let go of her hand. But time had marched forward, and now she belonged to another, and he — He belonged to no one.

"If I could do it all again..." he murmured. "I wouldn’t hesitate."

"You forget yourself, Jaime. You did not hesitate." Y/N smiled, sad and knowing. "You did not hesitate to choose Cersei over me." the man gulped with guilt - Of course she knew, there was no need for words or explanations. Y/N knew the two of them better than they knew themselves.

"Since when...?" he found himself asking in such a meek and mousy voice.

"Since your Lady Mother moved your bedchambers across mine own." the lady let out a sardonic chuckle. "The two of you have never been known for your subtlety, mind you. People just chose to turn a blind eye to your... Misbehaviour. Deeming it a twin thing. But I knew better." she said, her voice throwing daggers at the man's heart. "I have known since then that you were a lost cause for me, and that you would fall prey to your sister's lies."

"Why did you not warn me?" he found himself asking, bewildered, yet not surprised.

"Would you have believed me, over your own sister?" Jaime nodded to himself - She was right, and he replied with a negative answer. "Thought so."

A silence stretched between them, filled with everything they had left unsaid. "There is no point for regrets anymore. We cannot go back, Jaime. We can only go forward."

Finally, Jaime spoke, his voice as fragile as the moment between them. "You are right." as always.

"Jaime - What ever happened to our bunnies?" Y/N asked, all of a sudden. "I never did get to ask you, did I?"

"No... I guess you didn't." Jaime said with a sad smile. "Cersei got angry the day she heard she won't be marrying Rhaegar Targaryen, and she hugged the rabbit so hard she killed it." of course she would do that. "She got even angrier, and she went to Tyrion, killed the rabbit in front of him, then forced the cooks to make it into a meal and feed it to him." Y/N covered her mouth in shock. "As for ours... I knew Cersei would end up hurting them... So I went into the forest one night and let them go. I do not know if they got attacked by predators, or survived... But at least they survived her." what a very sad fate for them.

"Well... Can't say I am surprised." Y/N sighed pitifully. "Sorry that I asked. I soured the mood." she said, fixing her hair. "On another note - Tell me... Is there anything that you learnt from this... Journey of yours?" Y/N asked, letting go of his hand and stepping away. "Anyone that... Taught you something meaningful?" she continued.

"What are you talking about?" the man asked with confusion.

"What do you see when you look at Brienne?" his eyes narrowed, along with his furrowed brows - He could not make the meaning of the question. "Do you know what I see in Brienne?"

"What does Brienne have to do with anything?" The lion was evidently confused.

"Everything." came the solemn answer.

"What are you talking about?"

"Does she not remind you of yourself?" Y/N ask, receiving silence.

"I am not that ugly." Y/N shot him a warning look, making him apologise. "Apart from being tall, strong and blond, I can't really see what similarities we share. Do enlighten me, O, wise one."

"Snark me like that again, and I am leaving." he remained silent. "Although your sarcasm proves me that you do, in fact, admire Brienne for what she is - And for what you were incapable of doing." she let out a dry laugh. "She did what you could not - She kept her righteous heart and kindness. You became blinded by renown and power." she spoke bitterly. "Do you even remember why you killed the Mad King? Do you remember why you so readily accepted that God-awful nickname of yours?"

"Well, if I remember correctly, he was ripping away at that pretty dress of yours, and wanted to fuck you in front of me before he would burn you alive with wildfire. Am I misremembering something?" snarky as always, and with all the bitterness. "I did not even get a thank you, if I remember well enough."

"Forgive me for crying so much that I forgot to voice my gratitude." Y/N rolled her eyes. "I was trying to remind you that you used to be selfless. You used to be the man who wanted to protect the weak; Who wanted to be the champion of justice and all those who could not protect themselves. Like Arthur Dayne and Barristan Selmy."

"Yes, well - Arthur Dayne is dead, Barristan Selmy was dismissed from his post, and I am a cripple. Between the three of us, I wonder what legacy will we bear." Y/N groaned in annoyance.

"Legacy? What are you, your father? Since when did you care about legacy? Since when did you discard everything that you ever stood for? You used to have honour, justice, righteousness." Y/N shook her head. "Do you think I fell for you because you had pretty gold hair, and gorgeous green eyes, and had a rich family?" she went on. "I fell in love with you because you were hard-working and diligent, because you always wanted to do what's right, and wanted to protect those who could not protect themselves." she let out a ragged breath, her voice breaking a little. "What happened to my sweet Jaime?"

"He died, along with the Mad King." when he got the nickname of Kingslayer, and had his reputation tarnished.

"No." Y/N said sternly, surprising him. "My Jaime died when he fell prey to his sister's manipulating lies, and forgot how to think for himself. The Jaime in front of me is nothing more than Cersei's puppet that she liked to sleep with - But no more. You're not as dashing as you used to be, without one hand and the long hair." with his answer being a contemplative silence, Y/N stepped towards the door to leave.

"Y/N." he called out. "Can you promise me something?" she hummed in agreement. "No matter which way life takes us, what roads the two of us take - No matter what - Please... Y/N... Promise me you will seek your happiness above all else."

Y/N stood there in the door, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. She had to return to Oberyn and Ellaria as fast as humanly possible - Being in the same room as Jaime brought her nothing but misery... A bittersweet misery which she could not escape.

"I promise." she mumbled under her breath, before escaping back to her chambers, into a land of love and warmth where problems existed no more.

A fortnight passed, and the wedding ceremonies were in bloom; Everyone was having fun - Except, of course, the Mad boy who thought himself a King. Y/N was content staying with her husband and his paramour, feasting at a table, somewhere away from the main events - Yet even still, as she kept squeezing Ryn's hand, she saw her mother caressing Sansa's sweet face, fixing the hairnet and stealing the mischievous crystal.

But the King grew bored, and he invited a most vulgar dwarf show, depicting his enemies fighting each other... With awful words and an even more dishonorable showcase of humiliation, which left everyone watching uncomfortable... Except for the Queen Regent, of course. Poor Sansa was fighting between being numb, and bursting into tears; First she watched her father beheaded, she was abused by her supposed betrothed, and then her brother and mother, at a wedding no less...

And to make matters worse, the first time Y/N saw Tyrion, after so long, was him being metaphorically pissed on by his own brat of a nephew - Though Y/N was almost sure Joffrey wouldn't have shied away from actually pissing on his uncle if it weren't for Tywin.

Y/N squeezed Oberyn's and Ellaria's hands tightly, watching with hawk eyes as Joffrey handed Margaery his goblet - And when she placed it on the table, she added the crystal Lady Olenna handed to her prior, when fixing her dress.

The dove cake was cut, Margaery fed him a bite or two, and then the King forced his uncle to fetch him the goblet again; One big gulp, and another, and another - Until he started choking and raking his nails at his own throat until there was skin and flesh no more; Vomit was spewing from his mouth, his eyes were red, and blood was spilling from his nose and ears; His body was trembling and spazzing involuntarily, and his shrieks were sweet lullabies to all those he had wronged.

One scheme, three people, and an unfortunate innocent to be the scapegoat. Y/N had not wished Tyrion to be blamed for this ploy, they had not anticipated Cersei's and Joffrey's sheer cruelty - Alas, the poor imp was imprisoned and trialed for his crimes.

At least Margaery was safe, and with that Oberyn also was asked to join the Small Council by none other than the Lannister Lord himself - In the brothel, no less. What a very amusing turn of events.

Tyrion was imprisoned, yet his brother did not hesitate to go talk to him; He was innocent, he knew, and yet... What could Jaime do to save him? Nothing, he realised - Alas. One thing he could, however, was to save his squire, Podrik, by sending him along with Brienne... Brienne...

Y/N had been right. Brienne was just like him, in the past, and now, with Oathkeeper in her hands, she could do what he never could - Keep her oaths, protect those in need.

Bring Sansa Stark home.

In that tainted and rotten heart of his, there was still a spark of light, and even though Catelyn Stark was dead, he had sworn to her to bring her daughter back into her arms. Jaime Lannister might be incapable of such a feat - Yet Brienne of Tarth could do anything she ever dreamt of, and more.

In the gardens, Oberyn and Y/N were writing poems for his daughters back in Sunspear - And the lioness appeared to disturb their peace. Oh, for Y/N to meet Cersei like this, after so many long years, it was unpleasant. To go from 'Cersei' to 'Your Grace' with a bow - She was sure she enjoyed it very much. Or ordering them for a walk, without the capacity to refuse.

"I did not take you for a poet." Cersei started the conversation, stealing one glance at the way Y/N and Oberyn were holding hands, and her jaw clenched in anger.

"Not a very good one, I am afraid. Y/N here has the romantic heart for it." he kissed her hand sweetly.

"I did not think you would be sharing paramours." the lioness japed.

"It is for one of my daughters." he replied.

"You have several, don't you?" Cersei pointed out.

"Eight." Ryn stated proudly.

"Eight?!" Cersei looked at him. "Eight daughters?" she repeated. "Would any of them call me 'auntie'?" she looked at Y/N, who seemed uncomfortable by the question, and avoided her gaze. "Or, perhaps a son?"

"We might not have children together by blood, Y/N loves my children as though they were her own." the Dornishman spoke up immediately.

"Pity. I suppose the prophecy came true for some." Y/N couldn't help but let out a sarcastic laugh.

"It did not miss you either, I am afraid." the flower smirked antagonistic at the Queen regent. "Though I believe you are less happy with the outcome, all things considered."

Cersei glared at the girl - Dorne ruined her - She used to be so mellow and sweet; Now she dares speak back to her. Blasphemy. "What is she like? Your daughter, I mean."

"She is my fifth daughter - And the most stubborn. I named her Elia, after my sister." he began.

"Beautiful name." a lie. Cersei hated Elia Martell more than any woman alive. She stole Y/N from her. She stole Rhaegar from her. She stole every thing, including her happiness.

"Yes, it is - Though I am saddened every time I speak it - And then, I grow angry." Cersei remained unmoved.

"Perhaps that is why she is difficult. Gods love their jokes, don't they?" jokes? Oberyn asked. "You are a Prince of Dorne, a legendary fighter, a brilliant, feared man throughout Westeros - Yet you could not save your sister." she said. "I am a Lannister, Queen for 19 years, daughter of the most powerful man in the kingdom, and yet I could not save my son." she went on. "And you... You belong to the second most powerful House, on which we now depend dearly; You had my father's admiration and my brother to wed, you befriended the Crown Princess and ended up happily marrying her sister..." she smiled bitterly. "But no matter how hard you tried, you could not hold onto anything that you held dear and it all slipped through your fingers."

"Might be so, but I live a happy and worryless life now. I would say it all worked for the best for me." Y/N shrugged lightly.

"Tell me, sister - What is the use of power, if you cannot protect those you love?" Cersei asked.

"You can avenge them." Cersei agreed.

"Do you really believe Tyrion killed your son?" Y/N found herself asking.

"I know he did." Cersei spoke with certainty - It took everything from Y/N not to sigh.

"He will have a trial, and we will find out the truth." Oberyn spoke simply.

"We will have a trial, yes..." Cersei then trailed on, tearfully speaking of how much she missed her daughter - Not that Y/N would understand, of course, she said. Still, they promised to deliver her the name's day gift and remind Myrcella of her mother's affections. Myrcella was happy.

Oberyn was now part of the Small Council, and heard plenty about the Targaryen girl in Mereen, winning and conquering far and wide; It gave the Viper quite the funny idea - Get the Targaryens back on the throne, to get rid of the Lannisters. Funny thought indeed. Rhaegar Targaryen abandoned his sister - Tywin Lannister killed his sister and his niece and nephew. Lesser of two evil? Who knows. In spite of this, Dorne still loathed the Dragons.

The trial was every bit as Y/N expected - Unfair, just like the whole country. She never expected Tywin to hate his own son so much that he would have him killed - Was it because he was a disgrace? An imp? Or because birthing him, his beloved Joanna died?

So many people testified against Tyrion, making his sound like such a horrifying monster... And yet Y/N saw the same squalling baby in the crib... The baby that Cersei was torturing in front of her and Oberyn.

And Jaime wasn't doing anything to save his little brother - Except, he went to beg his father for mercy, at the cost of his White Cloak; He promised he will accept the seat at the Rock, and find a suitable wife to marry and make heirs together -- Only if Tyrion lives.

The thought of marrying a woman that wasn't Y/N hurt his heart dearly - But... He knew Y/N would want Tyrion alive... And he would have been, were it not for the whore who betrayed him, who lied about him so ruthlessly... Who broke his heart, the same way he loved Tysha... And because of their father, his heart broke forever.

"Father... I wish to confess..." Tyrion sneered between his teeth, before turning to all the people watching the trial. "I saved you. I saved this city and all of your worthless lives. I should have let Stannis kill you all." the words of a very hurt man.

"Tyrion - Do you wish to confess?"

"Yes, father. I am guilty." he spoke with snark and defiance. "Guilty - Is that what you want to hear?"

"You admit you poisoned the King?" Tywin spoke, perched up on the Iron Throne.

"No. Of that, I am innocent. Tyrion said. "I am guilty of a far more montrous crime." he hissed. "I am guilty of being a dwarf."

"You are not on trial for being a dwarf." Tywin spoke, but he was easily cut off.

"Oh, but yes, I am. I've been on trial for that my entire life!" he exclaimed pitifully.

"Have you nothing to say in your defense?" Y/N shed a tear, seeing the little Lannister being so hated. He didn't deserve all this madness.

"Nothing but this - I did not do it. I did NOT kill Joffrey, but I WISH that I had." merciless trial. "Watching your vicious bastard die gave me more relief than a THOUSAND lying whores!" Y/N had her hand over her heart, and searched for the crowd - Her eyes met with Jaime, and in that instant, they both knew - The little Lannister was doomed to death since the day he was born. "I wish I was the monster you think I am! I wish I had enough poison for the whole pack of you! I would GLADLY give my life to watch you all swallow it." he turned to his father. "I would NOT give my life for Joffrey's murder; And I know I'll never get my justice here - That's why I'll let the Gods decide my fate."

I DEMAND A TRIAL BY COMBAT.

Y/N fell into her seat, whilst Oberyn straightened up; Jaime gulped with fear, whilst Cersei gritted her teeth in anger, and Tywin clenched his fists.

The youngest Lannister was brought back to his cell, and his brother followed with one last sibling chat. The only friend he's ever had... The strongest knight in the Kingdom, yet he couldn't even fight for his brother's honour... Couldn't even defeat a stable boy, without his precious right hand.

Bronn, his sellsword, the man who fought for him once, also did not accept to fight for him - After all, who in their right mind would fight the Mountain, of all people - And Tyrion could not blame him for that.

He was all alone.

Except...

Much to his surprise, two people entered his dimly lit jail - The man he knew as Oberyn Martell, and his wife, Y/N Tyrell, of whom he knew little, except for what he heart from his brother and sister. Even now, she was as gorgeous as a flower - Or so Jaime used to describe her.

"I thought you'd be back at the brothel by this hour." Tyrion spoke softly.

"I did spend all yesterday with a stunning blonde." Oberyn said, placing his torch on the wall. Tyrion watched as he gallantly took a chair and placed his coat on it, so his wife would not dirty her dress sitting down. "Cersei approached me - We talked a lot about her daughter, how worried your sister is about her. She was trying very hard to hide she was trying to sway me away from you - I think she may have even believed it herself."

"But, well - Cersei has never been that good of a liar. Most people aren't Jaime, you see. I think you, of all people, would know that much." Y/N smiled enigmatically.

"It is very rare to meet a Lannister who shares MY enthusiasm for dead Lannisters." Oberyn exclaimed with mock joy. "She desperately wants to see you killed."

"She didn't need to bother you. It looks as though I have taken care of that myself." he sighed. "The joy she will feel when my head leaves my neck. She's wanted it for a long time."

"Yes, I know." Tyrion was confused. "We met, you and I. Many years ago."

"I think I would have remembered that." Tyrion looked suspicious.

"I don't believe you would, little one. You had only just been born." Y/N smiled sweetly. "You do not remember even me, who took care of you until the moment I left for King's Landing." he was even more confused.

"My mother, the Princess of Dorne, took me and my sister Elia on a visit to Casterly Rock - You see, our mothers were good friends, and talks of marriage were in place. Me, to marry Cersei, they said. Of course, your father would hear none of it - Thank goodness for his arrogant pride." Oberyn let out a dry chuckle. "I did not like anything about the Rock. Not the food, not the weather or your accent - Nothing. But the biggest disappointment - You."

"You and my family might have more in common than you think." Tyrion hissed pitifully.

"That is not true." Y/N said. "Everyone, everywhere, talked only about the little Lannister monster - A head twice the size of his body, a tail between his legs, claws, one red eye, the privates of both a girl and a boy."

"That would have made things so much easier." Tyrion sighed.

"When I met your sister, she promised to look us - Dragged Elia and I all the way to your nursery and she unveiled the monster." Ryn recalled dramatically. "Yes, your head was a bit large, your arms and legs a little small; But no claw, no red eyes, no tail between the legs - Just a tiny pink cock." he said. "We couldn't hide our disappointment. That's not a monster, I told Cersei. It's just a babe, Elia told her." he went on. "And she said - He killed my mother. And she pinched your little cock so hard I thought she might pull it off. Until Y/N and your brother tried to stop her." he continued the story. "It does not matter, she said. Everyone says he will die soon; I hope they are right. He should have died long ago."

"Well." Tyrion bit back a sniffle. "Sooner or later, Cersei will get what she wanted. She always gets what she wants."

"Does she?" Y/N chuckled. "She wanted to marry Rhaegar Targaryen. She wanted to marry the man she fell in love with, and have children with him. That woman only ever loved one man, and that is Rhaegar, not Jaime. All the love she bears is for herself." she said, tilting her head.

"Tell me, little man, what ever happened to that fluffy little thing nestled to you in the crib?" Tyrion frowned a little. "This beautiful lady here, before you were born, found a bunch of rabbits. One for each, and one for you - Or so she says. I always did wonder what happened to those rabbits."

"Stew." Tyrion shrugged. "Jaime used to play with me, with the rabbits. Once he left for training, the nursemaid had to take care of all four of them. It was only me, and four rabbits. Cersei was in King's Landing too... And Y/N, I do not remember you. Forgive me." he said. "I know... Cersei's rabbit died first. Some disease, the Maester said... And then she killed the rabbit and made the cooks make it into a stew, to feed me. I remember she specifically said it was my fault the rabbit died - Just like how I killed our mother." he sighed, looking down. "Jaime said his and Y/N's ran away into the garden, to live happily ever after among the flowers... My guess is, they also became porridge. Who knows."

"Cersei has always been vengeful." Y/N nodded her head. "Truth is, since the day Oberyn and Elia came into the Rock, she has hated them like nothing else." she smiled bitterly. "All because I was getting along with them so well." she said. "Dornish whore, she called Elia. O, how I wanted to wring her neck as she stood. Cersei wishes she was even a fraction and kind and gentle as Elia was."

"You see, little man - Cersei may get what she wants - But what about what I want?" Oberyn spoke, looking at the prisoner. "I married Y/N so I can save her from the Lannisters. To keep her safe from this, when your own brother abandoned her." he leaned forwards. "But there is still one thing that I demand. Justice for my sister and her children."

"If you want justice you've come to the wrong place." Tyrion laughed mirthlessly.

"You are wrong, Tyrion. The Mountain killed Elia Martell and her children, Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon - At your father's orders. We want revenge for all the evil that has been done." Y/N said with power in her voice. "Elia was not my sister by blood, but I loved her like mine own. I took care of her each day, in this god-forsaken citadel of death - Only for her to be slaughtered by a monster who calls himself a knight. I will not have that be the last memory of her."

"I want bring those who have wronged me to justice - And all those who have wronged me are right here." Tyrion looked at him with awe and wonder. "I will begin with Ser Gregor Clegane who killed my sister's children, and then raped her with their blood still on his hands, before killing her too." Tyrion shed a tear when hearing him speak. "I will be your champion." his saviour.

"Do not worry, little cub. Oberyn is the Red Viper of Dorne. Not even the Mountain can stand in his way." Y/N smiled, bending to ruffle the messy and dirty golden hair on Tyrion's head, before holding Oberyn's hand to leave to their chamber.

"You tell him that, yet you worry more than anyone I have ever known in my entire life." Ryn chuckled carefree.

"Of course I worry - That man is a monster, that a human." Y/N grumbled, squeezing his hand lovingly. "And I did tell you that blasted prophecy." she looked down, biting her lip. "Do not allow it to happen. I do not wish to be a widow. I do not wish to part from you."

"Why? The prophecy said you will marry Jaime Lannister after me. Is that so bad a fate?" he japed lightly, getting slapped on the arm by his wife. Her reaction earned a heartfelt laugh, and a sweet kiss. "Worry not, my sweetling; We both know not even that monster can kill me."

"Unless you let it get to your head."

Ellaria and Y/N both were kissing and embracing their beloved Oberyn, encouraging him for his fight, whilst reminding him to be careful, to not get arrogant and all that. With such little armor, he had to be lithe.

"Don't leave me alone in this world." the ladies both said.

"Never." he replied, before going to show off with his spear.

Alas, those were the confident words of a dead man who got his revenge after his death; The poison of his lance offered the Mountain a most torturous death... Yet nothing could save Oberyn from having his head smashed in, as the monster pushed his thumbs through his eyes.

Poor Ellaria was shrieked her lungs out in horror - Y/N, however, collapsed to the ground. The prophecy had turned true, and with that, so did her sweet dream of summer.

Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper of Dorne, was dead.

When Y/N was brought to her room, or how did she get there, she did not know; All she knew was that the first thing she woke up to were the green eyes of Jaime Lannister, looking down at her with worry. No one else was there - No doubt, celebrating Oberyn's death, along with Tyrion's death sentence.

"... Why are you here?" Y/N whispered, her voice saddened, and growing sadder. "Shouldn't you be trying to help your brother escape the city?"

"Already done that." he assured. "Varys will get him out of King's Landing." he said, his hand placed gently over her cheek. "Enough about that - You just lost your husband tragically. My brother's well being is the last thing on your mind."

"Do you think they will allow me to go back to Highgarden?" Y/N asked powerlessly. "I'm sure they will. But a widow, at my age? How pitiful. It was not even a war that took him. What a shame indeed."

"I... I am sure that, should you want to return home, they will welcome you with open arms." Jaime reassured her.

"Is Cersei still alive?" the question confused the man.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Did she never tell you about our little secret escapade?" Y/N giggled sadly. "Our meeting with Maggy the Frog, and the prophecy she gave us?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about." he admitted, furrowing his brothers.

"During the time of Prince Viserys' birth celebration tourney, Cersei took me to the witch's tent. She answered us three questions, you see." she smiled, looking away. "Cersei's was that she would marry a King, not a Prince. That she would have three children, shrouded in gold, while the King will have sixteen." Jaime looked at her with shock - They were so young back then - How could the witch know all that? How could she predict so well? "She will become Queen, until another, more beautiful, will take her place. She will outlive her children, and then, the valonqar will strangle her to death - Or something like that." she chuckled softly. "Younger brother, it means."

"You think Tyrion would kill her?" the girl shrugged. "No, he's gone. It's okay."

"Is it?" she snorted, getting in a sitting position.

"What was yours?" he asked, surprising her with his curiosity. "What was your prophecy?"

"Hmm... How did it go now? Something like... I will marry two men - A red viper (clearly, Oberyn was that), and a golden lion, valiant and proud." she let out a sardonic chuckle. "I won't have any children because I am barren, thank the Gods for that." she went on. "And, the one I hated the most - The viper shall topple over the mountain, yet perish beneath its weight. You, who shall free the lion of its shackles, shall lead the pride."

Jaime remained silent - The thought of marrying Y/N was sweet and tempting... But surely, not at the detriment of the man she loved so much. "Y/N." he licked his lips, trying to form his words. "I know... I have wronged you. More times than I can dare count. And... I know you loved Oberyn with all your heart." he continued, awkwardly and unsure. "However... If you ever feel lonely, and you wish for a place to enjoy your days... Perhaps not as festive and easy-going as Dorne, but with all the luxury... I..." he looked down for a few seconds, before looking back at her. "I will resign from the Kingsguard on the spot and join you at Casterly Rock. No father, no Cersei, no Crown. Nothing. I won't go to war, I won't leave your side, I won't do anything stupid or reckless anymore - Not that I can at this point, anyway."

"And when the Targaryen girl comes to steal the crown from Cersei's head - What then? Will you go to save her, and leave me behind again? Will you start a war against the dragons?" but her answer was a tight hug.

"I will bow my head and bend the knee to the girl. I am tired of war. I am tired of being involved in the unjustly matters of the Crown, of my own family. I want no more part in any of it." Y/N's hand reached to caress the man's rough and scarred face.

"Can you, truly?" he nodded. "You will not desert me again?" he shook his head. "And you will love me more than you ever loved Cersei?"

"I have always love you more than I loved Cersei." Jaime admitted sincerely. "I just got caught in her lies... And in her bed. Everything she said... All her lies... I was too stupid, and I believed all of them." he muttered, kissing her forehead sweetly. "But no more of that. I cannot even stand the look of her - Not after what she did to Tyrion."

"... Alright, Jaime." she muttered, easing into his embrace. "But we are leaving the city tonight, without question."

"Anything for you, my Rose."

As promised, Jaime went to his father's tower and left the white cloak there, telling him he will become heir, and marry Y/N Tyrell; Let him believe in legacies all he wants - He is done living another man's dream - From now, he lives his own reverie.

With Tommen becoming King, and Margaery Queen, the Faith rose up, and the High Septon took over; They imprisoned Margy and Cersei - But the little rose was smart, of course, she was a Tyrell taught by the Queen of Thorns herself; Cersei, however, had the pride of a lioness, but not the smarts of it; With Tywin long dead, she was all alone in King's Landing and with no allies, save for an exiled maester, who was only able to deliver a letter to Casterly Rock - To Jaime, to come save her.

"Come at once.” she had written, in the letter he had Y/N burn in their shared chamber. “Help me. Save me. I need you now as I have never needed you before. I love you. I love you. I love you. Come at once.” Her need was real enough, Jaime did not doubt. As for the rest … She’d been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and Moon Boy for all he knew … Even if he had gone back, he could not hope to save her. She was guilty of every treason laid against her, and he was short a sword hand, a loving heart, and good reason.

He had sworn a vow to protect his wife, and he was not going to break that one, even if the Gods will it - Especially not for his sister. He was done playing the hero - He was fine being Jaime the Cat Knight, or Jaime the Tumbler, or Jaime the Whatever-Nickname-Y/N-Came-Up-With for him; And even better, she kept her promise of coming up with a song for his greatness as the best cat-chaser to ever exist.

With no allies and no one to turn to, Cersei faced the walk of shame, but with that came revenge, in the form of wildfire, and the destruction of the Sept of Baelor, along with the young Queen and her brother, Loras Tyrell, and their father, Mace.

The news of her family dying at the hands of Cersei only fueled Y/N's need for revenge - And in turn, Highgarden rose against the Crown, and was ready to pledge their allegiance to the Dragon Queen - And so did Casterly Rock. The Queen may have her Crown, but will not have the coin, army nor support of her family.

And thus, the Dragon Queen moved to reclaim her Crown, starting a war; King’s Landing burned in the distance, a city of ashes and ghosts. The Red Keep loomed above, its once majestic silhouette tainted by the destruction Cersei had wrought. The Queen of Ashes, ruling over nothing but ruin. That is what she will always be known as.

Jaime and Y/N moved swiftly like shadows through the corridors, silent, unseen. The castle was quieter than it had ever been. The scent of fire still lingered in the air, mixed with the distant cries of the people who had lost their families..

At last, they reached Cersei’s chambers. Jaime placed a hand on the door, hesitating for the briefest moment. Y/N watched him, waiting. There was no doubt in her heart — He had already made his choice. She squeezed his arm, giving him all the courage she had.

He pushed the door open.

Cersei sat by the balcony, watching the war beneath her, with a goblet of wine in her hand, her golden hair, short and disheveled, her face pale and angered. The moment she saw them, her lips curled into something between relief and desperation. It was fake, as it has always been.

"Jaime! Y/N" she exhaled, standing quickly. "You came for me. I knew you would!" she let out a chuckle of relief. "I began to fear my letter never reached you!"

Jaime said nothing. His green eyes were unreadable, locked onto hers with an intensity that made her falter. "I threw it in the fire."

Y/N stepped forward, her own gaze burning on Cersei. "No one is coming to save you, Cersei. Not after everything you've done to us."

Cersei scoffed, though there was a tremor in her voice. "Of course you would hold a grudge like a love sick puppy getting kicked." she sneered at Y/N. "I thought you got over my brother. Shame."

Jaime exhaled sharply. "You always thought me weak over you, didn’t you? The smartest child Tywin had." sis voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it. "Well - You are not as smart as you think you are, Father was right about that."

Cersei’s gaze flickered to his, searching for the brother she once knew, the one she could twist around her little finger. But he was gone. "Jaime—"

"You were wrong to tear us apart." Cersei’s lips parted, confusion flashing across her face.

"I loved her." Jaime said, stepping closer. "I always loved her. Not you. Not the twisted thing you became. I was just too much of a blind fool to admit it."

Cersei staggered back a step. "You don’t mean that." she whispered. "You and I, we were meant to come into this world together, and we were meant to leave it together. Don’t you remember? Don’t you—"

"Valonqar." Y/N purred into Cersei's ear, placing her hands on her shoulder. Her voice was laced with amusement, her lips curling into a cruel smile.

Cersei paled. Y/N continued, tilting her head. "You always thought Tyrion would be the one to end you. But oh, sweet Cersei…" She stepped even closer. "You held Jaime's foot when you were delivered into this world, did you not?"

"No—" Jaime’s hand shot forward, wrapping around her throat.

Cersei’s eyes went wide. Her hands grasped at his wrist, but she was powerless against him. "Jaime — Please!" she gasped, her voice cracking, her nails clawing at his flesh. "We were— We are... I lov---"

His grip tightened. Tears welled in her eyes as she choked, her body convulsing, her knees buckling. Jaime leaned in close, his voice a whisper. "You destroyed everything we ever had. Everything I could have been." her lips parted, her breath shuddering, but no words came out. "I hate you, Cersei. Good riddance."

Her struggles weakened. Her fingers slipped from his wrist. Her eyes, once gorgeous, green and so full of fire, dulled. And then — Nothing.

Jaime let her lifeless body slump to the floor. For a moment, there was silence.

Y/N looked down at the corpse of the woman who had ruined and humiliated them both plenty of times. Cersei, the golden lioness of the Rock, now just another body, like all the casualties of war.

She turned to Jaime. He was staring at the lifeless form of his twin, his expression unreadable. Y/N stepped closer, reaching for him. He flinched, but she didn’t let go. Her fingers brushed against his cheek, grounding him. "She was never your sweet dream, my love." she whispered. "Only a night terror."

Jaime’s green eyes met hers, filled with something raw and aching. He exhaled, the weight of a lifetime of regret leaving his body. "Let’s go home, sweet Rose." he murmured. Y/N smiled softly. "You promised to sing to me that Ballad you wrote - About the Golden Knight and the Flower Nymph."

"Of course, my darling."

Hand in hand, they stepped over Cersei’s body and left the Red Keep for the last time. Daenerys Targaryen would get her throne, would marry the bastard of Ned Stark who turned out to be Elia Martell's son, Aegon Targaryen; And Tyrion would re-take his position as Hand of the Queen.

Y/N and Jaime would remain in Casterly Rock, where the sea met the stone, forever to enjoy each other's company, in a place where they could finally be free to live their sweet dream.

[nosyp]

Under His Spell

Warning = captivity, kidnapping, controlling behaviour, isolation

Pairing = Malleus x reader

Summary = You somehow become entangled in Malleus Draconia's world. A world where love and possessiveness show no mercy.

Word count = 2.7k

A/N = kinda diff writing style... idk if i like it

It had all happened so quickly. One moment, you were walking back to your dorm, and the next, you were trapped in the clutches of Malleus Draconia. The world around you was a blur as he whisked you away into another world, far from the safety of your friends and the walls of NRC. You barely had time to react, the overwhelming pressure of his magic sealing any chance of escape.

The fabric clung to you in ways you despised. The gown, if you could even call it that, was more revealing than anything you’d ever worn. Every movement you made reminded you of how little it covered your skin, and every moment in it only fueled the indignation burning in your chest.

You didn’t want to wear it.

You never would have chosen this for yourself. But choice wasn’t something Malleus Draconia gave you the privilege of anymore.

He stood across the room, his imposing figure bathing in the eerie green glow of the enchanted light fixtures lining the walls. His gaze was heavy, deliberate, raking over you as though you were a masterpiece he’d created, a vision only he could fully appreciate.

“Beautiful,” he said finally, his deep voice sending a chill down your spine.

You crossed your arms over your chest in an attempt to shield yourself from his scrutinizing eyes. “I don’t care what you think,” you snapped, the bitterness in your voice cutting through the still air.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but it wasn’t one of amusement. It was one of satisfaction, as though your defiance was something he enjoyed playing with. He stepped closer, each movement slow and calculated.

“You speak so boldly,” he said, his tone as smooth as silk. “But look at you now… draped in the finest of fabrics, adorned as you should be. You wear it well, even if you resist.”

“I didn’t choose this,” you hissed, stepping back, only to feel the cold stone wall press against your bare shoulders. “You forced me into it.”

“And yet, it suits you,” he replied, tilting his head slightly as though pondering a work of art. “I knew it would.”

You wanted to tear the dress off, to scream, to fight. But the magic woven into the room, into him, was suffocating. Every fiber of the garment seemed laced with his power, and removing it felt as impossible as escaping his grasp.

“I’m not your doll, Malleus,” you spat, your nails digging into your palms. “You can’t just... dress me up and pretend I’m okay with this.”

His eyes softened for a moment, but only for a moment until it was quickly replaced by the intensity you’d come to dread. “You misunderstand me,” he said, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You flinched, but he didn’t pull away. “This is not about what you want. It’s about what you need. And you... need me.”

“I need you to let me go,” you countered, glaring up at him with all the fury you could muster.

He chuckled, low and almost fond, but it had a hidden subtext that made your stomach churn. “Oh, my dear,” he murmured, leaning in close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath. “You’ll come to understand. In time, you’ll see that everything I do... is for you.”

You turned your head away, refusing to meet his gaze, but that only seemed to amuse him further. His fingers brushed against your cheek, and the touch sent a shiver through you, not of fear, but of the undeniable power he wielded over you.

The weight of his magic hung in the air, binding you in ways that no physical chains ever could. No matter how much you fought, how much you resisted, the reality was undeniable.

The silence between you both stretched on, thick with tension. You refused to meet his eyes, your gaze fixed firmly on the floor, but Malleus didn’t seem to mind. He seemed content enough with simply watching you, studying you, almost as if you were something to be dissected. Something to be admired.

“You’re still resisting,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost like a murmur. “How charming.”

You could feel the weight of his gaze, like an invisible burden you couldn’t escape. You wanted to snap, to lash out, but every part of you screamed to hold onto your dignity, to not let him see how much his control rattled you.

But it was getting harder and harder to maintain that illusion. His presence was all-encompassing, overwhelming. His very being wrapped around you, suffocating you with his power.

"I don’t need this," you whispered, your voice shaking despite your attempts to sound firm.

Malleus took a step forward, and you felt your heart race. You couldn’t back away this time.  The wall had trapped you. His eyes bore into yours with an intensity that almost sent you to heaven.

“You do not understand,” he said softly, reaching for the hem of your ‘dress’. “I do this because I know what’s best for you. You are mine, and everything I do for you... it is because you need it.”

The words were strange, unsettling. As though you were just a thing to be molded. Just a thing to be controlled. He didn’t even see you as a person anymore, but as something to shape, to dress, to possess.

“I am not yours," you said again, but this time there was less conviction in your voice. The truth of the situation was pressing down on you, hard and unyielding. You were his, whether you liked it or not. And the realization burned in a way that felt worse than any physical pain.

Malleus smiled, a faint curve of his lips that was equal parts warmth and danger. "You are. And one day, you will accept it."

You clenched your fists at your sides, frustration starting to rise to the surface. "If I do," you spat, "it’ll be because you forced me to."

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were contemplating your words. “Perhaps,” he mused. “But you see, my dear, it’s already begun.”

With that, his hand reached for you again, his fingers brushing over the fabric of the dress you were trapped in. His touch was almost tender, but the intent behind it was anything but. The way he traced the material, his fingers lingering on the edge of the neckline, sent a chill of discomfort through you.

"I’ll allow you to adjust," Malleus said, stepping back to give you space, but his eyes never left you. "But don’t mistake this for kindness. This is my mark on you, and you will wear it proudly. Everything I do is for you. And soon enough, you will realize that, in time.”

His words lingered in the air, like a spell, still present. You couldn’t even tell if he was being serious, or if he truly believed that. But either way, you didn’t have much choice now. The magic binding you to this place was stronger than your will to resist.

The realization was sinking in, and you hated it. Hated that you were so powerless in his presence.

With one final glance, Malleus turned and walked towards the door, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the room. “Rest,” he called over his shoulder. “We have much more to discuss tomorrow.”

And with that, you were left in the cold, dim room, the dress still clinging to your skin, your mind swirling with the tormenting thoughts of what could come next. He could eliminate you in an instant, but he didn’t.

You had been left alone in the room for what felt like hours. Malleus’s departure had left a heavy silence in his wake, but the oppressive weight of his control lingered in the air. You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had touched you, the way his eyes had gleamed with that unsettling mix of affection and possession. The way he’d claimed you… your body, mind and soul.

But you weren’t his, no matter what he thought. And you weren’t going to stay here forever.

Your mind raced, plotting every possible way to escape his clutches. You couldn’t just run. That would be predictable, and you knew Malleus would catch you quickly. His magic was too strong for that. But there had to be another way, something less obvious that he couldn’t see.

As you paced the room, your eyes scanned every inch of it. The walls were high and covered in eerie, ancient tapestries depicting dragons, castles, and landscapes. You had no idea how this room was even built or how you could get out, but your gaze shifted to something else: the balcony door. It was locked, naturally, but you had seen Malleus use magic before. Maybe you could use that to your advantage.

It wasn’t running. It wasn’t reckless. It was just… a calculated risk.

You waited until you were sure Malleus was far enough away, probably in the garden or some distant part of the castle, before you even decided to move an inch.

You tried to recall any spell you had learned, any incantation that could break through the magic that held the door closed. You weren’t a magician by nature, but there had to be something. You were resourceful, you can use what you have.

Your fingers brushed over the surface of the door, searching for something, anything, that might give. Then, faintly, you felt it. The magic on the door was delicate. It wasn’t solid, just a thin veil keeping you trapped inside. You could feel the faintest pulse of it, just enough to give you the idea you needed.

“Focus,” you told yourself, taking a deep breath. It was risky, and you had no idea if it would work, but you had to try. You reached into your pocket, your fingers brushing against the familiar cold of your small pendant. It was a trinket you had found years ago, neglected but oddly comforting.

It wasn’t enchanted, but the pendant had always brought you a sense of calm. Maybe, just maybe, it could help you focus enough to channel your own inner magic. You closed your eyes, focused all your energy into the pendant, and visualized the door unlocking, the magic dissipating, leaving a way out.

For a long, heart-stopping moment, nothing happened. The door remained locked, the magic still pressing against you.

But then, a subtle click echoed through the room.

You opened your eyes, your breath getting stuck in your throat. It worked.

Quickly, you slipped past the threshold of the door and onto the balcony, heart racing. The moon was high in the sky, casting long shadows over the landscape below. You could hear the distant sound of Malleus’s voice, low and steady, but you didn’t have time to waste.

The castle walls seemed to stretch infinitely upward, but below, there was only a series of interwoven wooden framework covered in vines. Maybe this was your escape route. You swallowed hard, the feeling of everything moving making your head spin in circles, but you didn’t have any other choice. You couldn’t afford to waste any time, and you knew Malleus wouldn’t be fooled for long.

Your fingers gripped the vines, your feet finding itself on the stones of the trellis. You were careful, precise, and as silent as you could manage, climbing down as carefully and gracefully you could.

And then, just as you reached the ground and took a step forward, the unmistakable sound of a door slamming open echoed through the courtyard. Your heart leaped into your throat.

“Malleus...” you muttered under your breath, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

You had no idea where you were going. You had no plan beyond getting away. But as the sound of his heavy footsteps grew nearer, you pushed yourself faster, deeper into the woods.

You forced deeper into the woods, branches and underbrush tugging at your clothes as you ran past the array of trees. The soft crunch of leaves from every step you took was drowned out by the loud sounds of your heartbeat, each thump against your chest reminding you of the danger you were in. The moonlight leaked past the trees leaves, but the shadows in the forest were thick and suffocating.

Behind you, Malleus’s presence loomed. You could feel it even if you couldn’t hear his footsteps. His magic was always near, an invisible thread pulling at you, and it made your skin crawl. The forest wasn’t safe, not with him so close, but it was your only chance.

You didn’t dare look back. Instead, you focused ahead, each step faster than the last. The more distance you put between you and the castle, the more you could breathe, the less his overwhelming presence could crush you. But the sense of being hunted never faded.

The air was cooler now, and the forest seemed to stretch on endlessly. You couldn’t hear Malleus anymore. Maybe you had gotten far enough… maybe you had outrun him.

You stumbled to a stop, gasping for air. Sweat trickled down your brow, your legs burning from the effort. The trees around you were silent, but something still felt off. Your gut told you he wasn’t far behind.

You moved cautiously, your instincts alert, eyes darting in every direction. The silence was too still. Too perfect. And then, in the distance, you heard it. The sound of footsteps. They were deliberate and slow, almost like they had all the time in the world.

Malleus. The man you oh so desperately loathe.

You froze. His voice, too, reached your ears, a deep, rumbling whisper that seemed to wrap itself around you even from a distance.

"You cannot escape me," he called softly. His voice was a low growl, but there was no anger in it. Only a cold, confident certainty.

You bit your lip, eyes darting desperately, searching for an escape route. There was no way you could outrun him. Not now. He had already closed the gap. And then, you felt it, the sharp prickling sensation of magic weaving its way through the air, binding you in place.

He was here.

Before you could move, a figure emerged from the shadows, tall and imposing. Malleus, as you had known he would be. His eyes glowed like two eerie embers in the darkness, and the corners of his lips curled into an almost amused smile. But his gaze was cold, calculating.

“You don’t think I would let you go that easily, do you?” His voice was soft but laced with something darker, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

You took a shaky step back, every instinct screaming to run, to fight, to do anything to break free of his grasp. But his magic had already coiled around you, tight and unyielding.

With a flick of his wrist, the vines around you tightened, pulling you closer. Your breath caught in your throat, and you struggled against the pull, but it was useless. He had you now, and there was no escape.

"Why do you resist?" he asked, his tone almost pitiful, but there was no warmth in it. "I have given you everything. All you need is to accept me."

Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it was filled with defiance. “I don’t want this. I don’t want you.”

He tilted his head, his sharp eyes studying you, intrigued. The corners of his mouth twitched upward, a dangerous smirk playing on his lips.

“I see,” he said, his voice dripping with something almost too sweet. "Then perhaps, you just need a little more...persuasion."

Before you could react, his magic gushed through, sending threads of energy through the air. The world around you suddenly dissipated, putting you through a whole new world. When the sensation faded, you were back at the castle, standing in the middle of a grand hall, surrounded by towering stone walls.

You were trapped again.

[dioslesbianwife]

Could you please write some fluff between PB Dio/SDC Dio and a wife who is a kind, sweet person?

I imagine it would be an interesting dynamic, someone who is destructive with a person who apologizes in their wake and bakes cookies, ect.

sure, thank you for requesting and i hope you enjoy :3

Dio Brando

The first time he met you, he thought you were either naive or pretending. No one could be that gentle without some ulterior motive, right? But then you offered him a scarf you knit yourself and asked if he’d eaten anything warm that day.

You cook for him even when he’s grumpy or rude. He’ll sit at the table like a sulking cat, arms crossed, watching as you hum while plating something warm and simple. “You’ll get sick if you don’t eat properly, darling,” you say with a smile that somehow cuts through years of his bitterness.

When Dio destroys something in anger (say, a teacup or a wall), you just quietly sweep it up. “It’s alright, Dio. I’ll make more tea. With honey this time, maybe?”

After he becomes a vampire, you apologize to people on his behalf constantly, even when they’re terrified. He once crushed a man’s wrist for speaking too boldly, and you immediately knelt down and said, “I’m terribly sorry! He’s had a long week.” You even gave the man a handkerchief with little embroidered strawberries on it.

And Dio HATES it. Hates how your sweetness lingers in a room long after he’s tried to make it cold. Hates how people like you and not him. And yet… when he feels the darkest, when his rage turns inward… he finds himself sitting in the kitchen, watching you make muffins, just to calm down.

You once stitched a tear in his cape. He stared at your careful, neat handiwork for a long time and muttered, “…Thank you.” You beamed. “Of course, my love. You’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you?”

He wouldn’t. But the fact that you believe he would is the only reason he hasn't burned the world down yet.

DIO

When DIO made you his bride, it wasn’t out of love. Not at first. He thought a sweet, nurturing presence like you would be a pleasant contrast to the chaos of his followers. But over time, something… shifted.

You aren’t afraid of him, and that’s not because you’re brave- it’s because you love him so naturally that fear never even occurs to you.

He comes back bloodstained from a fight, and you scold him gently: “Don’t ruin your shirt again, DIO, I just washed it. You know how hard it is to get blood out of silk!”

You write him little notes and leave them on his desk:

“You’re doing great, I’m proud of you. But drink some water, okay? <3”

“Left cookies in the study! Don’t eat them all at once!”

He rolls his eyes but eats every single one. And then he hides the napkin you wrapped them in inside a book, unsure why he’s doing it.

You patch up his wounds when he’s regenerating slower. You hum while dabbing the blood from his lip, and he watches you with quiet fascination- soothing, soft, completely opposite his violent world.

One night, you fall asleep curled against his chest while he’s reading. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to move. The warmth of your body, your trust, your gentleness... it feels like something he thought was long lost to him.

You once whispered in your sleep: “I love you, DIO.” And he sat there for hours, watching you breathe. The next night, he whispered it back- so quiet even he barely heard it.

[jakedoxxenvasion]

unedited!

[7:59pm]

"no! my father wouldn't do that.."your shaky voice break the silent of the dimly lit cold room, the men who's standing around the room give you a look but the man who's sitting in front of you only smirk before he lean closer to your face.

you're practically kneeling in front of him now with both your hands bound together at your back, tears roll down your cheeks as you look at a piece of paper that he held. "that's what your father actually did, look.."he point his finger on the paper before it trail down at the bottom of the paper.

there's a signature and a thumb print on it with your name on it, "ah! s-stop it's hurt!"you wince when one of his men grab your hand on your back and take a look at your thumb. he nod his head at his boss after confirming it is the same thumb print on the paper but that signature is not yours.

"ah what a prick, i guess he take your thumb print without you notice it? hmm perhaps when you're sleeping?"he make a fake thinking face then smirk, "wouldn't dream to have a father if that's what my father would do to me."boldly he said those without even thinking of your feeling but then again, why would he?

"shut up! m-my father love me.. he wouldn't fake my signature and thumb print just to be his guarantor and run away."yet, that's the bitter truth that you try to deny. it was just last night you had dinner with him like a normal family dinner with your little brother too but today he just disappear into thin air, running away from his loan shark.

and in return, you were captured by them to pay back all of your father's debt. you shake your head as tears continue to roll down your cheeks and you flinch when he reach his hand over to your face and wipe your tears. "but he did, i've been saying this for third times already, miss kang y/n. are you deaf?"he look irritated but still trying to act calm.

you let out a soft sob, "h-how much? how much money did he borrow from you?"your voice crack as you speak, you look into his brown eyes. seeing how his smirk slowly creep up on his pretty lips, again he point his finger on the agreement paper that you barely read because you're too scared, mad and even confuse with what kind of situation you've been put into.

"700 million won."you feel like your heart just stop once hearing that, you close your eyes as you take a deep breath. he chuckle darkly as he watch your reaction, seeing your tears somehow unknowingly excite him. "that was due two months ago actually, but you know.."when you open your eyes, you see the way he look down at your body and slowly he lick his bottom lips.

"we could settle it with another way- aah! fuck!"you gasp at what you just did, it happened too fast that you can't even process it. you headbutt his nose like that's a natural instinct, your eyes widen in shock as you back away from him but it's too late when you feel two pairs of arms around wrap around you from escaping.

"you-"he wipe his nose that's now start to bleed, "ah i was being nice because- nevermind. yah call jay over, tell me i have a job for him."he sign it to one of his men and they hurriedly get out from the room once hearing his command. "you're a feisty one, aren't you?"

"and you're a pervert one, aren't you?"his eyes widen at how you just suddenly speak up, those shaky voice from crying earlier just disappear and that make him smile.. he like your attitude. "ah shit.. 700 million won- that would be..."you start to do a head count, "5 years of my payment for my current job!"

"bruh, you're looking for me heeseung hyung."you glance up to see another good looking guy walking into the room but he chuckle when he see that heeseung guy nose bleeding then he look down at you. "where did you pick up this feisty chick, huh?"jay stand beside heeseung but you rolled your eyes, tired of crying already.

heeseung wipe his nose using the back of his sleeve, "i need you to look for someone, what was his name again?"he glance at you then he smile, "kang taejoo."once he said that name, your lips twitch to make a disgusting face but you try hard to held it back, or else it will ruin your act.. right?

"who?"jay ask, he cross his arms over his chest, still looking down at you. one of heeseung's man step closer and show something to jay, the photo of your father's face. "ah, the guy who run away with your money?"heeseung raise hiw eyebrows to answer the younger one but jay shrug, "and what do i get in retur- ah fuck, fine i will try to look for him."

jay rub his back where heeseung smack it earlier before he left the room, you frown slightly to see the two silly act. doubting if these guys really your father's creditor or they're just playing game to scam you. but then again, knowing your father so well, you're not surprise that he did this to you. dinner with him last night? tch, so that was all an act before he decide to run away?

and what's more worst.. leaving you behind with that little child? "so.. i don't need to pay you back if you find my father, right?"you glance up at heeseung, but he shrug before he cross his arms over his chest. "and this is not some kind of scam too?"this time heeseung laugh.

"girl, was all those tears just an act of your little drama?"

"and was that acting tough just an act of your little drama too? what's the genre? action? oh wait i know, action comedy."

"fuck! aaah you're so fucking annoying!"

HELLLAUUURRRR guess who's back from dead??? i planned to make this a series? or just one shot lol idk yet kbye

[theealbatross]

Plot | They're no longer friends but unfortunately they're still soulmates.

or, Sebastian stands at a crossroads -- to get everything he wants or to get the one he loves. One choice is a mistake.

Read Part I: a habit to kick, an age old curse

Tags | angst, heartbreak, (i swear to god there will be a happy ending), when you get everything you want at a cost, emotional cheating (boy is indecisive), traumatized teenagers being stupid, low self esteem, self-sacrificing idiots in love, underaged drinking, everybody is depressed and angry and hates proper communication

[A/N: I PROMISE THERE WILL BE A HAPPY ENDING! I JSUT NEEDED TO GET THIS ANGST TRAIN GOING!!! Also I stole from a trend on tiktok so don't sue me. Stream 'we hug now' by sydney rose for full immersion. None of the photos are mine! Except the last one that's my screenshot lol]

If there is one thing that can unite the entirety of the Hogwarts student body full of such brilliantly clashing natures, it would be the Triwizard Championship. A sense of only-we-can-call-our-siblings-dickwads protectiveness sprouting on each student, even if they may deny it with a wand aimed at their jugulars.

But if there was something that can squash all that school pride and camaraderie to pieces it would be the tacit competition of finding a partner for the Yule Ball.

To be frank, there are only so much eligible bachelors or bachelorettes before you start settling.

Sebastian was going to skip that part of the ball all-together if it wasn’t for the fact that he was (a) the Hogwarts Champion (no thanks to Garreth ‘cmon-don’t-be-a-wuss-it’s-not-like-you’re-gonna-get-picked’ Weasley) and (b) his girlfriend would be properly pissed if he didn’t ask. 

It wasn’t too bad, really. Even if he didn’t win, it would still be a leg up against his numerous competitors for a space in the Auror Programme to be able to represent his school in such a distinguished competition.

He just hates the frivolity of it all – that all eyes will be on him. Prodding, uncomfortable, and unwelcomed.

A noise from behind him breaks his bitter thoughts.

Ah, but such a delightful disruption.

“Aren’t you lovely,” he muttered as Krista descended the Grand staircase, offering his outstretched hand with a smile.

“And you look dashing, Sebastian,” she giggled, standing on the tip of her toes to place a kiss on his jaw, quickly wiping the transferred stain away with her thumb.

“Shall we?” he lets her wrap her hands on his arms before leading her to the direction of the Grand Hall.

Krista Vale was a welcome surprise at the beginner of the term, a shy Gryffindor (an oxymoron he was endlessly confused by) that sent him a charmed letter to meet him after class only to boldly ask him out in the crowded hallway outside of Charms Class (there’s that Gryffindor Gall he was expecting).

In his utter astonishment (is one of the most popular girls in Year 6 asking him out?), confusion (Why!? Imelda graciously asked for him), and embarrassment (Great Merlin, everyone is staring!) he had nodded and it was a done deal.

She was a genuine breath of fresh air – beautiful, smart, and charming enough to be appealing but not aggravating. A clean slate to stack his prospects with. And if he was being truly honest, enchanting Krista Vane was just the right kind of beautiful and perfect to entice him to finally take the next step out of his social slump.

Ideally.

“Who are you looking for?”

“Huh?” he turned to be greeted by her sweet, confused face.

She smiled, cocking her head in inquiry, “Your heads been turning like Wicker for the past five minutes. Are you waiting for someone?”

No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t looking or waiting for anyone. And he definitely wasn’t cranking his head to an unholy degree like her owl likes to do just to freak him out when sending him her messages.

“I … I’m sorry I’m a bit distracted,” he lies, she doesn’t see through it. (She never does, it might just be a blessing.) “Just nervous, I’m not too good with crowds. Not usually the center of attention.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she playfully nudges his side. “It isn’t like you to be overshadowed at all.”

It was moments like these – passing words and mindless innocent quips – that Sebastian remembers how separated she was of his past life. A life where he basked in the shadow, in her magnanimous, all-powerful, kindly shadow – plenty happy to cheer on as she uncomfortably fidgets in the light, reveling in the moments that she looks back at him. (Always at him, only at him.)

He gives his girlfriend a small smile, gripping the hand on his arm tighter as if it were an anchor that prevents him from being swept away by his rushing thoughts, he hoped to bury. “You’d be surprised.”

A perfect, pretty, polished slate. He tries not to let the bitter bile in his throat rise.

The two of them fall in line, the gates open.

Sebastian turns one last time.

“I’m gonna get us a drink,” he whispers to her, letting her group of friends drown her in girlish whispers and giggles as he left. Clearly, desperate to talk about him and her relationship with a Senior. He uses it to his advantage to get away.

He tries to complete his role as the perfect boyfriend, even turning at the ideal moment to wave one last time at her before he sought out Garreth, clocking the ginger on the other edge of the room.

“Give that to me or I’m telling Imelda.”

“A please would’ve sufficed, mate,” Garreth snarled, passing on his punch to Sebastian. The taste of the strong whiskey burning his throat as he threw it down his throat in a gulp. “You alright?”

Sebastian shook his head, blinking slow and hard.

It wouldn’t be right to dump on him on this festive night that Sebastian thinks he’s losing his bloody mind. “I’m bored.”

It wasn’t anything serious.

He’s just so fucking bored. Bored and tired and bitter.

The conversations are boring, he’s grown tired of feeling like he’s playing a character he doesn’t even fucking recognize, and the horrible recognition of the growing bitter resentment he has of the one girl who saw the good in him just because she couldn’t see the bad that he was hiding (like she could, like she always would) was unfair to her and suffocating for him.

And he couldn’t fucking find you.

“Hey, Sebastian, if you’re not – I’ll call Ominis –”

Sebastian grabs Garreth arms harshly, effortlessly stopping his tracks. “Don’t – I’m fine – just … needed a break. Don’t tell Ominis.”

“Don’t tell Ominis what?” Ominis asks.

Fuck.

“Fuck! You scared me, Gaunt.”

Thank you, Garreth.

Ominis raised a brow, cocking his head as a silent command to follow. Garreth raised his hands in surrender, taking a step back before quickly bolting away (traitor) from the two as Sebastian followed his old … friend? Acquaintance? He’s still not sure. He wasn’t forgiven yet, but Ominis had implied his willingness to work on the shredded pieces of their friendship in his letter last summer on some conditions.

One of those is that there shall be no more secrets between the two of them upon further notice.

When they were in a nook outside the large enchanted ballroom, Ominis planted his cane to the ground resolutely. Sebastian took a deep breath before standing a safe distance from him, the beautiful sparkling reflection of the black lake giving no comfort to the tense situation.

Please don’t ask. Please don’t ask. Please don’t ask.

“Don’t make me ask.”

Fuuuu –

“Thank you for escorting me here, Sebastian. I had fun.”

Sebastian smiles, bending down to accept the grateful kiss but turning his head sideways so it lands on his cheeks. He knows that she’s noticing his uncharacteristically detached behavior but it just didn’t feel right.

Not tonight.

Not when his mind is running a hundred miles per second after such a productive conversation with Ominis.

“I … It’s getting to me.”

“What is? The competition?” Ominis side-eyed him in disbelief. Both of them knew Sebastian wasn’t the type to get overwhelmed by a mere contest. He never backs down from a fight. Unfortunately, Ominis would’ve added but in the middle of his friend’s meltdown didn’t seem the best time to say it.

“The competition, the – the sudden spin on my reputation that I didn’t fucking ask for, all this peacocking – it isn’t … me.”

“A good repute isn’t exactly the end of the world, Sebastian,” Ominis goaded, clearly poking on the holes of his reasoning to figure out the truth.

“It’s not that,” Sebastian snaps, nearly hissing, as he paces in short strides to try to translate his jumbled frustrations into words.

“Do you have any idea how bloody eerie it is that all these people look at me with such … awe and pride.” Even the thought of it makes him sick.

Ominis huffs at an impatient breath.

“Don’t you dare,” he points a finger. “You don’t get to act like I’m being unreasonable when I can barely recognize myself anymore! When it feels like I may have accidentally sealed myself in a role of some hero when I’m not. We both know I’m not.”

He wasn’t the hero. That was your job.

But you weren’t here – barely anywhere anymore. You aren’t here in the ballroom, or in the Great Hall, or even in the classes you both share.

It makes his skin itch, the back of his neck tingling – screaming at him that’s something is wrong but he no longer has the right nor the resources to find out what.

“You’re letting your guilt eat you up now? Why? Because the old you were so much better?” It stung, hearing how his old friend much preferred this charade over who he truly was. But Sebastian couldn’t blame him too much – he did earn every ounce of his resentment.

In Ominis' eyes, everything was going according to plan. And he cares not if Sebastian buckles under its weight, just like Sebastian didn't care when he trampled all over his oldest friend's trust.

“A false hero is so much better than the truth. And we both know that.”

“My pleasure,” he forced a smile to ease her, waving goodbye as she hesitantly looks back at him until he gently shooed her into her waiting friends. “Have a good night.”

The thud echoes off the empty wooden landing, the giant eagle glaring at him. It makes him edgy.

Though his uneasiness had less to do with how quiet the Ravenclaw Tower was and more to do with the fact that he rarely ventures to this part of the castle. The unfamiliarity, coupled with the less-than-pleasing thoughts from newfound information in his mind, wasn’t exactly a combination for comfort.

“I asked to be her partner, she didn’t want to come.”

He frowns. “Oh yeah? How’d that work out with William Frey?”

Ominis head snapped to his friend. “You’re kidding,” Sebastian blinks in attention. “They broke up over Christmas break. It’s why Frey is so persistent in crushing the Slytherins before we graduate. Sebastian, did you seriously – where has your mind been for the past months?”

… what?

What?!

Sebastian scours his mind if he has seen the two of them together at all this month. He had been so persistent in not crossing her path, turning his head the moment her name was uttered, that it must have escaped him completely.

“And here I thought you’ve truly turned a new leaf completely.”

Sebastian frowns, offended. “What the hell does that mean?”

Ominis purses his lips, hesitant and an uncharacteristically pitiful expression on his face. “Sebastian, there’s something you must know. I heard –”

“Sebastian!”

Both boys jumped in surprise, the instinct of a gentleman to always greet a lady properly standing up and the guilt of their topic had both of them comically frazzled. “I was looking everywhere for you!”

If Ominis could see he would definitely be staring daggers at his friend.

“Oh my, did they already run out of drinks?”

Oh. Right. The drinks. Ominis cleared his throat to snap him out of it. Krista seemed to have caught on to the tension between the two Slytherins and smiled the same sweet smile that was the usual balm to his gashing wounds – temporary but welcome.

“It’s okay, I was getting tired anyway. My friend invited me for a sleepover in Ravenclaw Tower,” she smiled sweetly. “Escort me?”

Ominis and Sebastian share a look. This conversation wasn’t over.

Sebastian offered his arm. He tries not to flinch.

The Blank Wall mocks him as he rounds the corner, a sliver of light from the nearest lantern slicing through it.

Maybe, there was another reason why he hadn’t returned here in a while bitter one-sided rivalry with a certain Quidditch Captain aside.

His eyes flicks on one end of the dim hallway to the other, sure that in any moment she would round the corner too, waving at him in glee, soft apologies spilling in her mouth for being late (Again, he’d fondly chastise). A smile slips out of his face at the fond memory.

Perhaps, it was in one of your treks here that you’d crossed paths with Frey. Sebastian chases the thought away.

He steps closer to the walls, phantom threads pulling him in.

Are you in here? Are you well? Is your heart broken? (Should he hex William after all?)

His fingers touch the stone, his ears press into the ridig wall. It feels alive, somehow, beating a familiar rhythm.

Would you let me in?

A door opens, he falls in.

“Se …”

The familiar voice falters, the two of you staring at each other like preys falling straight into a lion’s den – though this time Sebastian’s unsure if he was the lion or the deer.

You were clearly as bewildered as him. You face a mixture of disbelief, horror, and bafflement at the scene in front of you.

“Sebastian?”

It’s uncanny hearing his name from your mouth after so long.

“Trust me,” he groans, pushing himself up through the aches of his bruised ego. “I’m as confused as you.”

His presence here must be such a horrifying phenomenon to perplex you to such a degree because he thinks you’ve blinked once (and yes, he was counting) since this entire thing started. “What are you – where –”

The two of you turned to the suspiciously closing door. Sebastian could swear he heard the room snickering. Bastard.

“Would you believe me if I told you I was just leaning passing by and the door suddenly opened?”

“It opened?”

A half-truth but whatever saves what is left of his tattered pride. Plus, your confused face was a bit too entertaining. In the span of your doomed friendship it was usually him that had no idea what’s going on half of the time, just ready to jump when you jump and fight when you fight.

This is a welcome change.

Instead of answering, Sebastian’s attention was caught on the grand room. “You’ve been busy.”

The once rows and rows of books the two of you had devoured as you desperately searched and hoped that an answer to the source of your power could result in the cure had now turned into an actual space that could rival the Slytherin Common Room with just a hint more of you.

A flash of embarrassment trickled in Sebastian’s spine to find that you had remained in your spot when he had turned, staring at him like he was an Inferi reincarnated straight in her room. Which, to be fair, he did intrude.

Though a part of him just can’t let it go, too desperate to figure something out. After months of trying to catch a glimpse -- he finally caught you, and alone at that. Who knows when the next time will be? If there is even going to be one.

He hopes that if he somehow gets some answers, it’ll get you out of his head.

“It’s been a while, huh?” he grimaces, running his palm at the back of his head.

“It’s been,” he feels warm and cold at once when your eyes scanned his entire figure. Suddenly, feeling silly in his proper suit and tie when you are dressed so casually. He in turn took any and every detail his eyes could map. “A while.”

Then, another detail. “Your hair’s longer.”

Before his brain could stop his limbs he was reaching out, plucking out a couple of strands casually. So thirsty for information – any information – about you that the suddenly length of your hair seemed like the most interesting thing in the world.

You suck in a breath, and he curses. “My apolo –”

Suddenly, from behind him, a distant monstrous screech echoed in the room.

Instinctively, he grabs your wrist, pulling you behind him until he finally takes a moment and realizes where it had come from.

He lets out a relieved laugh and you giggle along with him.

That made him perk up.

It … really has been a while. It fills him with a deep sense of melancholy to realize how much he had miss your laugh when he used to have it in abundance.

“Do you want to visit the Vivarium?” Your eyes gleamed with humor, a stark contrast to the cold, unyielding expression you usually wore each day. “I’m sure Highwing misses you.”

Sebastian smiles, a real one. One that stretches his skin and crinkles his eyes.

As if in agreement herself, Highwing screeches again.

He unbuttons his ensemble, dragging his tie off before carefully hanging it on the arm of the nearest loveseat. He starts rolling his sleeves, a grin grows on both your faces. A juvenile type of joy that is both familiar and unfamiliar.

He wonders whether you realized that even if you had told him there was a starving, man-eating ogre inside your Vivarium, he still would have said yes.

“Lead the way.”

The brightness of the Vivarium never fails to disorient him the few times he was able to visit. The harsh difference of the moody room to the bright fields was something he won’t ever get used to.

Highwing screeched the moment she saw him, making a sharp turn and dive, landing a few feet away to jog past you as she damn near slammed into his chest. It was clear you were trying to hide your amazement when he barely flinched on impact.

He was proud of his physique which had also been the sole reason you called him into this Room in the first place.

It had been in your desperation (and inability to hide a secret from Sebastian) that you asked for his help when taking care of Highwing. She was a regal creature but she was also a wild animal that has the physical strength she sometimes forgets she owns and you’ve suffered enough bruised ribs and fractured bones to know you need someone with the physical strength to withstand hers.

But even then, it was a sharp learning curve, with Sebastian barely being able to stand his ground. Now, he plays around with her like she were some overeager childhood barn dog he used to jostle around in Feldcroft.

After giving his respects and bowing, he quickly straddled her strong back. The beast overeager at seeing her old friend and her pace too fast for any pause.

“Give me your hand!” He reached out to quickly grab and hoist you up behind him as Highwing shot up into the sky before you could settle. This forced you to hold on tightly to his waist, the two of you too busy screaming in fear and excitement to care about the sudden skinship.

He forgot he had it in him to laugh and scream so freely as Highwing chose the most precarious route, flying above the cliffs and diving down through skinny passages, clearly enjoying your torment. From the vibrations on his back, it would seem he was not alone.

Despite the stunning views in front of him he can’t help but keep looking back. Feeling like the same desperate fifth-year trying to impress his way into becoming the new kid’s favorite housemate.

And for a moment – just a moment – he sees it. The old you, one who used to brighten just at the sight of him. Ready for whatever adventure or misadventure he brings your way.

Despite the unfair odds, both of you had grown remarkably well.

He just never expected that the two of you would be apart when it happens.

He turned, managing to catch your beaming face before it fell. A haze of sadness seeming to pass over your eyes that was gone when he blinked.

“Are you alright?” he screamed to be heard despite the wind, now unable to see your face again as you looked down.

Your hold on his waist loosened. His stomach sinks.

“I’m perfect.”

“Here, watch your step.”

You’re in a sudden foul mood.

A short trip on Highwing’s back was usually just what you wanted when you needed to lift your spirits and yet he could almost see the clouds above the walls you’ve wrapped around yourself. Sebastian’s mind runs as he wonders if something happened in such a short time that has you refusing to meet his eyes again as you stare at the falling sun.

“How do you not stay here all day?” he tries to start a conversation.

He eyes you, a small weight lifting at the sight of a shy smile. “I do stay here all day.”

Sebastian realizes a second too late that he stepped on an unfortunate line.

That’s why he never sees you in the Halls of Hogwarts anymore. You were here, every day. Alone in this slice of paradise and yet somehow, something in the melancholy in your expression told him it wasn’t something you were entirely content with.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he blinks, confused, guilty, defensive. You sit on the ledge, closing your eyes as the strong, warm breeze drifted between the two of you.

“Like I’m something to be pitied,” you chuck the word out softly yet it still felt like an accusation. “I may not be future Triwizard Champion but I haven’t fallen low enough for you to feel sorry for me.”

He flusters. “I don’t – that’s not –”

“I know.”

Sebastian blinks, heart moving twice as fast in his panic at the potential misunderstanding that could implode this small peace they’re borrowing.

“I was joking.”

A moment, a mischievous smile, and then the two of you were laughing. Sebastian slumping right next to you, laying down on the warm patch of grass, and looking up in the sky.

It was as if the two of you were making up from the years of distance as you continued laughing – the type of laughter Sebastian hasn’t had in a while. The type of joy that grows from his chest and cramps his stomach.

Of course, you know – you of all people wouldn’t purposefully misunderstand Sebastian. You of all people would know what he meant. After all, only you of all people truly know who he is. Profound flaws, jagged scars, oozing wounds and all.

He thinks it a strange thing – to only find true comfort in the one person you had left in the past.

A gentle silence follows yet Sebastian finds himself scrambling. Desperately finding the next word, another topic, something that can let him borrow more of your time.

‘How have you been?’ ‘I’m sorry about what happened with William.’ ‘Actually, I’m not sorry at all.’‘Have you grown to hate me?’

“Nothing really went to plan, didn’t it?”

Sebastian’s head snaps to you. You purse your lips, almost apologetic at the words that slipped out of your mouth.

But between the two of you, you had always been the brave one.

Sebastian shook his head, sitting back down. 

If you asked him, it had all gone to hell.

He lost Anne, lost Ominis, lost you. He lost everything and everyone that he had ever held dear, all for a cure that his dying sister refused to take out of principle. She decided death was an easier pill to swallow than to live long enough to see what her brother had become.

And if that wasn’t enough, in his haze of bitterness and anger he managed to break the final bond he had left. Lashing out on the one person who had stood by him throughout it all. Pushing and pushing even as his heart screamed at him to stop – at her to stay. Afraid that she will just be another person to walk away, jumping ahead of the pain by escaping first. By hurting her first.

“Maybe it was for the best,” he mutters, unable to look her in the eyes. Ashamed, angry – ugly monstrous emotions that reminds him why he steered clear of her.

This way, being so far away from anyone who matters, he wouldn’t be able to hurt her – the one that matters most.

Finding scraps of bravery, he turns his head, surprised to find she was already looking at him. An expression he couldn’t quite read on her face.

“I mean, look at you now,” she chuckles quietly, a hint of bitterness in her tone that triggers Sebastian’s nerves. “You’re not exactly the delinquent I meet in fifth year.”

“Delinquent is quite a stretch. “ He barks out a laugh. “You’re not doing so bad yourself. You’re giving me a run for my money in Charms and DADA.”

“ -- and Arithmancy,” She adds making Sebastian shake his head.

“And Arithmancy,” he corrects himself. “At least you still suck at Divination.”

“That doesn’t count, it’s not real.”

“I think Professor Onai and my grades would beg to disagree,” she rolls her eyes, Sebastian smirks. “Plus, I know you’re doing secret research for Hecate. So, you definitely have that Auror Programme in the bag.”

That seemed to genuinely surprise her. “When were you so nosy?”

He shrugs, “I’m a Slytherin, I like to keep an eye on my competition.”

“I’m a Slytherin.”

“That no longer counts. You’re dating a Raven –"

Another landmine. He winces before he catches himself and she falters for a second. “I’m sorry about – I heard –”

Great work, Sebastian, you bloody idiot.

“You know I could still …” he waves his wand awkwardly in the air, half-hoping she’d accept his threat. Unfortunately, she just laughed softly.

“It wasn’t his fault,” she shrugs. “It’s like you said. It was for the best.”

The gall to throw his words back at him. Sebastian would be impressed if he wasn’t a bit frustrated. “Krista is … beautiful. You’re a good pair.”

He freezes.

“T-Thanks,” The sudden reminder was like a bolt of lightning to his spine. A sinking feeling of guilt and confusion of said guilt when he technically hasn’t done anything wrong. “I’m very lucky.”

She bites the inside of her lip, nodding to herself. A habit she developed when she’s trying to find the right words to say. He would be more than happy to help but for the life of him, Sebastian was too flustered to find a way out of the awkward tension.

“I guess we got everything we ever wanted in the end, huh?” he mutters, feeling the half-lie slip out of his mouth easily despite the bile that churns in his stomach and threatens to follow.

Technically, he was right. You’re about to reach your dream. Break-up aside, he knows the most noble Wizarding family are bidding their time to throw their heirs at your feet. He knows whatever you chose to do next will be another great big adventure he will now have to read in the papers instead of your letters.

However, his heart stopped when you looked at him – almost stunned, betrayed. And he feels like he has stepped on the biggest landmine of all and it just exploded all over your faces.

Before he could backtrack, Highwing screeched from behind them. Her piercing cry was like a sharp blade to his ears as she got closer and pushier.

“I think she wants us to go back,” you murmur, quickly patting your clothes clean, turning away from him. “It’s time for her dinner. And I’m sure the rest of the students are going back to the dorms.”

Sebastian takes that as his cue, offering up his hand to help you up Highwing but you stay a distance away, arms wrapped around your body, now refusing to look at him again. And he feels like whatever improvement he felt he made on the ghost of your friendship got swept away by the strong winds.

“You go first,” you mutter. “I’ll … stay here for a while.”

“You’re not going back to the dorm?”

You look at him, and that expression he recognizes. A smile filled with deep sadness you always carried.

“I … need to write a letter,” Your smile falters. “The door should open if you ask for it.”

Even though he wants to object, an uneasy feeling building in his chest at the thought of leaving you here alone he knows when he has outstayed his welcome. And he is no longer in the position to demand that he escort you back to your room.

So instead, he just nods, jumping on Highwings back. “I … this was nice. I’ll see you around?”

Your mouth parts. As if finding the right words to say, or stopping the words from getting out. Then, you nod and it feels like a healing elixir in his veins.

“Goodbye, Sebastian.”

Highwing screeches at him, patience already thin and already preparing to fly.

Sebastian turns back when you suddenly call out his name.

So quiet, he wasn’t sure if he had hallucinated it – deluded himself into thinking that you were going to ask him to stay. That you were going to tell him that tonight will be the new foundation of rekindling any semblance of friendship, that you would tell him exactly what he needs to fix, what he needs to do that will allow him back into your life. That if you couldn’t love him then you would allow him to love you even in silence.

“She …” You bite your lips again. “You are … happy, right?”

Is he? He thinks of the proud faces of his professors, completely fooled by his sudden shift of demeanor. He thinks of Ominis, suspicious but amicable. He thinks of Krista: perfect, beautiful, enchanting Krista Vane. And he knows he’s built quite a life for himself – a life after you.

He should be happy.

But his mind flashes back. Back to the quiet nights in the Restricted Section with you, the less quiet ones running around dangerous caves and forbidden forests. He thinks of the time he had almost kissed you but instead stole a hairclip, something to remember you by. The only piece of you he has allowed himself to take.

He thinks of the first time he had seen you by the fire of the common room and how uninteresting the book in his hand had transformed when compared to you. He thinks of your first visit in Feldcroft, as you floated in front of the watch tower whose wooden ground he had worn down, pacing back and forth while he waited.

Is he happy? He looks at you, really looks at you.

No. “Yes,” he lies.

How beautiful you had looked in the rising sun, how it was the first time he realized he might just fall in love with you.

But once, I was very close.

Sebastian gives you the brightest smile he could muster even when he feels his soul rip in half.

This is for the best.

“I’ve never been happier.”

The statue in the courtyard breaks again.

But nobody noticed.

Nobody noticed the swirls of ancient magic as it leaked out of the rubble, nor how quickly the Durmstrang headmaster’s carriage flew into the heavy morning fog.

“How could you not tell me, Ominis?!”

“It was her decision to make! Just as you had made yours!”

Not even Sebastian.

Ever observant Sebastian Sallow as he runs past the fragments, past the murmuring crowds, and past Ominis’ protests as he desperately hoped to catch the first train out of Hogwarts.

After all, it is hard to care about a mere statue of a heartbroken woman when the news just broke:

The Hero has left Hogwarts.

[genshin-impact-updates]

Couturiere of Countless Colors

"Chiori's really good with her hands! Whenever I try on a new outfit, she always does up my hair too — it's all part of the package, she says! Hehe, I just love it when she brushes my fur..."

— Kirara

◆ Name: Chiori

◆ Title: The Thundering Seamstress

◆ Boss of the Chioriya Boutique

◆ Vision: Geo

◆ Constellation: Cisoria

On the busiest street in Fontaine's Quartier Lyonnais lies a clothing store called "Chioriya Boutique." Though it may seem unassumingly small, you'll notice that passersby often stop to peer in. People say that its boss Chiori hails from Inazuma, and that she is as direct as a bolt of lightning. They know what happens to those who insist on interfering with her business, having witnessed the fallout with their own eyes. Not only do such meddlers invariably end up tasting the bitterness of defeat, but some of them — for the very first time in their lives — learn what it feels like to be thrown backside-first into the gutter... literally.

What sort of background and upbringing gives a foreign fashion designer the confidence to act so boldly? This is the question that local journalists ask one another when they hear or witness such spectacles, their eyes wide with amazement. They're constantly on the hunt for anecdotes that might shed some light on her past, some even having traveled all the way to Inazuma to secretly interview her friends, family, and former tailoring mentor...

Obstinate, headstrong, and disobedient from a young age, even daring to forgo honorifics when addressing her elders... overall, not a particularly positive picture.

Chiori's parents alone would let out a smile, saying that she just has "a unique way of thinking" and is "single-mindedly devoted to the pursuit of her dreams."

"Miss Chiori, may I ask... How did you manage to achieve such success? And what are the secrets to designing such wonderful clothes?"

Sitting opposite, Chiori began to put away her needle and thread as she stared coldly back at this journalist masquerading as a customer.

"I make whatever I wish to, however I wish to. How about you then — are you planning to buy anything or not?"

[otomehoneyybearr]

Kagari Amagase

XXX With The Spoiled Demon

Ch1 | Ch2 | Sweet | Premium | Epilogue | Bonus

Oh my-- .... NSFW MDNI Please

One quiet night, under the softly twinkling stars—

I was at Prince Kagari's hideout, feeling so nervous that it seemed like my heart was about to jump out of my chest.

Kagari: "Princess, what's wrong? You seem restless tonight."

Kagari: "Are you worried about something? Who do I need to get rid of?"

Emma: "Please stop saying such things! There's nothing for you to worry about, so don’t worry."

Emma: "I was just a bit anxious about whether or not the drink I brought would suit your tastes."

Kagari: "That’s unusual. You don’t normally bring alcohol."

Emma: "I happened to win it at a raffle event they were holding in town."

Kagari: "A raffle, huh?"

I poured the drink into a glass and handed it to Prince Kagari, who downed it all at once.

(He’s not exactly a heavy drinker, but he always drinks so boldly.)

Prince Kagari placed the empty glass on the tray, narrowed his eyes with satisfaction, and licked his lips.

Kagari: "It’s good. The alcohol isn’t too strong, so it’s easy to drink."

Emma: "Really? Then I’ll go ahead and—"

Suddenly, my arm was pulled, and before I could react, my lips were sealed by his.

The bitter taste of the alcohol mixed with the heat of Kagari's kiss, causing my heartbeat to quicken.

Kagari: "Tastes good, doesn’t it?"

Emma: "U-uh… I think… I was more focused on the kiss than the alcohol."

Kagari: "Then how about we try again?"

Emma: "No matter how many times you try, it’s not going to work!"

(Prince Kagari just wants to kiss... Honestly, I want to kiss him too, but—)

(For now, I have to hold back… There’s something I need to accomplish first.)

Emma: "I feel like drinking a lot tonight, so please join me."

Kagari: "So I get to see a drunk princess tonight, huh? That should be fun."

(I don’t plan on getting completely wasted, but I do want to get a little tipsy.)

(There’s no way I can seduce him while sober...!)

....

This all started a few hours ago when I got some intel from Prince Kagari’s close aide, Shigure.

Emma: "…Kagari was seen in the entertainment district?"

Shigure: "I didn’t see him myself, but my subordinates were all worked up, saying they saw Kagari entering one of the establishments several times."

Shigure: "But I’m pretty sure it’s all work-related, so when those idiots start asking me stupid questions, I just ignore them."

Emma: "Hehe, I understand. Thank you for letting me know."

Shigure: "Huh, you’re not fazed at all."

Shigure: "Well, you know better than anyone just how much Kagari is into you, so it makes sense."

Shigure: "I might be worrying for nothing, but really, don’t let it get to you. See ya!"

Emma: "..."

(Kagari’s been spotted multiple times in the entertainment district... The entertainment… district...)

...Was I being too passive in situations like this? It's true that I rely on Kagari a lot.

(No, no, there’s no way Kagari would be playing around in the entertainment district.)

(I can say that with certainty, but… I HAVE been worried about how passive I’ve been…)

(… Right, this is just a way to ensure that he continues to love me in the future.)

(I'll show him a more assertive side of me and make him fall even more in love with me...!)

.....

—At least, that's what I had resolved to do. I thought I’d let alcohol loosen my restraint a little, but I wasn’t getting drunk at all.

Kagari: “Princess, did you finish your drink already? Want another?”

Emma: “Yes, please.”

I had Kagari pour me another drink, and, just like him, I downed it all in one go.

While I could feel the pleasant warmth of the alcohol spreading inside me, my mind was still crystal clear.

(This is bad… I’m too tense and nervous… No matter how many drinks I have, I doubt I’ll get drunk.)

Kagari: “Princess, look over here.”

Emma: “Hm…”

I obediently turned my face toward him, and he licked his lips like a cat before giving me a soft, fleeting kiss.

His fingers intertwined with mine, and even though the atmosphere was sweet, my chest felt tight…

(But if things continue like this, nothing will change.)

There’s no time to hesitate over whether I can seduce him while sober.

(I've drunk enough now that whatever I do will probably be seen as ‘drunken behavior.’)

(If that’s the case…)

Emma: "K-Kagari... I wanna kiss you more. Is that... okay?"

I desperately suppressed my embarrassment and tried to sound a bit tipsy as I clung to Kagari and buried my face in his neck.

Kagari: "...Go ahead. Kiss me as much as you want."

He lifted my chin to encourage me, and I immediately pressed my lips to his, trying not to let him notice that I was faking it.

Recalling our previous kisses, I tentatively slid my tongue into his mouth, tangling and sucking, trying to please him.

(Why... isn't he responding at all.)

Emma: “D-Does it not feel good?”

Kagari: “Who knows?”

(Is he not in the mood tonight? Or is my kissing just terrible…?)

Anxiety and frustration swelled inside me, and in my mind, I began to imagine Kagari standing next to a beautiful woman…

Before I realized it, I had pushed him down.

But he wasn’t fazed at all—he just lay there, looking up at me.

Kagari: "That was pretty good effort from you, Princess."

Kagari: "...But you're not drunk at all, are you?"

Emma: "H-How did you figure that out?"

Kagari: "You’re blinking less than usual, and your eyes are too focused."

Kagari: "Did someone put strange ideas in your head?"

Emma: "No... Nothing strange..."

Kagari: "So, you're worried about something?"

Kagari: “It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it, but continuing this won’t feel good for either of us.”

(That’s… true. It would just leave me feeling empty.)

Kagari: “Princess, what’s wrong?”

He gently stroked my cheek with the back of his fingers, and my resolve started to waver.

Emma: "...You won’t laugh or get upset?"

Kagari: “No. It’ll just make me want to spoil the sad princess even more.”

So I confessed to him about the information I got from Shigure and my plan to seduce him.

And as a result——

Emma: “Why am I the one being pinned down…!?”

Kagari: “I told you, I’m spoiling you.”

He nipped at my neck and chest like a beast, sending small waves of pleasure through me repeatedly.

(Tomorrow, I’m sure I’ll be shocked by how many marks there are when I look in the mirror.)

Emma: "Nngh... This isn’t any different from usual."

Kagari: "So what?"

Kagari: “I never once though that you were too passive, Princess”

Kagari: “If anything, I love how I can pamper and spoil you every day—it’s like paradise.”

Kagari: "Now your worries are gone, right?"

(They are... but this doesn’t really explain why I’m in this situation right now...!)

With a dreamy expression, Kagari removed his gloves using his mouth, and without a word, began to dishevel my clothes.

He kneaded my exposed chest, rolling the tips with his tongue before gently biting them.

The constant stimulation made my thoughts start to melt away.

Kagari: “Princess, you look like you're enjoying yourself. You’re already so wet here, it looks like I could slip right in.”

Emma: "That’s because you’re touching me so much... Ah, no, I... nngh...!"

(He’s doing this while I’m in the middle of talking...!)

He spread my legs wide and relentlessly teased my wet area with both his tongue and fingers. Even though his touch was gentle, it was merciless, and all I could do was moan in response.

I tried to unconsciously pull away, but he grabbed my hips and pulled me back.

The lewd, wet sounds filled my ears, and the overwhelming pleasure made me grab Kagari’s hand, my body trembling violently.

(My head... feels fuzzy...)

Kagari: “How cute, Princess. Look, you’ve forgotten to breathe again.”

He wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes with his thumb and then sat me on his lap. As his broad chest rose and fell, I slowly tried to match my breathing with his.

Kagari: “The reason I was in the pleasure district was because there’s been a series of thefts recently, and I was patrolling to help a friend who was in trouble.”

(So that’s what it was... And yet, here I was, overthinking things, getting anxious, and acting weird...)

(I want to crawl into a hole and disappear.)

Kagari: “Sorry. I should’ve told you first.”

Kagari: "But I'm happy to know that you love me enough to go through with this whole seduction plan."

Emma: "...Thank you. I feel... relieved."

Kagari casually took my hand and guided it to his chest.

Kagari: "The only person I want touching me like this is you, Princess."

Kagari: "You're the only one I want to make feel good, and the only one I want to make me feel good."

He guided my hand to his neck and cheek, letting it linger there before kissing my palm.

Kagari: “My body, my life--everything. It’s all yours, so you don’t need to worry.”

His deep green eyes were filled with a thick, honey-like sweetness, conveying far more emotion than his words alone.

Any remaining anxiety vanished, leaving me feeling completely at peace.

●●●●●● Flashback ●●●●●●

Kagari: “I’ve never once thought you were too passive, Princess”

Kagari: "If anything, I love how I can pamper and spoil you every day—it’s like paradise."

●●●●●● Flashback End ●●●●●●

(He says that, but honestly, I’m the one who’s being spoiled here.)

(I want to spoil him even more, and I want to show my feelings for him just as much as he shows his for me.)

Just as I made up my mind—

Emma: "Eek!? W-wait, Kagari...!"

I felt the heat of his arousal press against me through our clothes, causing a undeniable heat build deep within me.

Kagari: “I’ve hit my limit. Don’t you think I’ve been holding back long enough, Princess?”

(Ah...)

Before I knew it, his eyes gleamed like a beast, and his thin grasp on his rationality was clearly slipping.

Emma: “Um... I’d appreciate it if you could be a little... gentle with me.”

Kagari: “Can’t. I don’t know how to hold back.”

(That’s exactly what I thought he’d say. But if he’s this relentless every time, my body won’t be able to handle it...)

(Wait a minute...)

(Maybe the reason I’ve been so passive is because Kagari is always so relentless in his demands...?)

Kagari: “Is that a problem, Princess?”

Like a playful cat, he buried his face in my chest and looked up at me.

Though his gaze was pleading, he subtly pinned both my wrists behind me, making it clear he wasn’t planning on letting me go.

(Kagari is, in a way, a hundred times better at seduction than I am.)

In the end, I was overwhelmed by his insatiable love that night, to the point where my voice and tears were completely spent.

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