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alicesivory · 8 days ago

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Old Habits Die Hard [8/13]

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Pairing: ex-Nightwatch! Aemond Targaryen x wildling female! Reader

Genre: Historically accurate Aemond, mature! Description of violence so MDNI, angst!

WC: 5050 👀

Summary: The crows aren’t the only thing Aemond had to fight against that night. He stabbed the hearts of his enemy, but can he stop himself from hurting the ones he loved?

The climb was harsh. Brutal.

Not only because of the height and how narrow the ancient wall was, but also because of the harsh winds of the north hitting her like a spell casted just for them to fall to their deaths. She made sure none of her people would fall, securely tying every single knot to the climbers.

“Keep going! We’re almost there!” She shouted against the harsh winds. She could see how they all struggled to keep their pace steady as they climbed higher and higher to reach the top. One of them slipped, breaking a fragment of the wall down. Almost hitting her in the face.

“Oi, watch it!” “Sorry!”

Her legs started to give up as she struggled to stab through the thick ice.

Whoever built this wall did not intend to bring it down anytime sooner. It was meant to stand strong for thousands of years. It scared her as much it scared the Westerosi people. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she lets out a groan to stab through the ice once more.

One. Two.

One. Two

One. Two.

One more.

Her muscles ached. Her thighs and arms stung until she could feel it in her bones. Faster to get a frostbite at this rate. Her ears started to ring as the winds roared like living beasts as they threatened to rip her lungs out of her body. She looked up; they were incredibly close. The edge was just above them as the clear sky waited just out of reach. With one last grunt, she heaved herself upward, pulling out and planned to slam the weight of her upper body. She threw the pick at the flat layer of the frost. Her elbow hit the solid stone as she struggled to lift herself up further. Luckily half of her team were already up there.

“One, two, three!” They say in unison.

She gasped, laying there on the icy surface, her chest heaved, her breath fogging the air in frantic bursts. Then she rolled onto her stomach and continued her duty and helped the ones that are still left hanging on the wall. Her arm stretched downward, “Grab my hand!” One by one, her people crested the top beside her, faces pale with exertion, eyes wide with fear and awe. Some collapsed onto their backs. Others crouched, surveying the horizon. None of them spoke. Only gasping for air.

As the final one collapsed to the surface, she stood there as her breath was still ragged. Nonetheless, the mission must go on. Pulling her hood tighter around her face as she looked out what lies beyond the land that they were separated from. Castle Black lay just ahead, faint firelight flickering in the distance. A few guards paced lazily on the watchtowers, unaware of the shadows rising behind them.

They haven’t noticed just yet.

“Blades first. No arrows unless we’re spotted.”

They nodded, hands gripping their weapons tighter.

“Climbing down should be easier,” she smirked.

They moved like ghosts across the Wall.

Silent. Calculated. Deadly.

The ground beneath their boots groaned softly, but not enough to alert the men below. The first sentry came into view as she peeked through. A young man with too much warmth in his cheeks, pacing with his hands buried in his cloak. He didn’t hear her coming.

She clasped his mouth,

Her blade slid across his throat before he could turn.

“Shh,” she hushed the man as he groaned in pain until there’s no more breath coming from him. She caught him by the collar, gently laying his body to the ground before gesturing with two fingers to her team. The others followed her lead.

Another one, just in front of the tunnel gate.

Familiar.

“Hello there,” she stepped out of the shadows. The two crows flinched and pointed their weapons at her. “How hush now. Is that how you greet a guest?” She riled out of them. Before they could even strike, two wildlings slit their throats in unison as thick blood poured out of their lifeless bodies.

One by one, the outer guards were picked off. Shadows snuffed by sharper shadows.The guards thought they were watchful– overconfident. Letting their guard down from time to time as lesser ambush came from the others beyond the wall. For the ancient wall was built to keep them away from harm.

And it did.

But not from all.

And the wildlings, they took advantage of that.

The scout walked hastily towards the tunnel. Their key to let their ambush in. That was their target, the inner gate leading into Castle Black proper. If they opened it, the south flank could surge in, led by Aemond and Gruff. But first, “Signal team two. Let them know we’ve reached the tunnel,” she said to one of her scouts.

The scout gave a sharp nod before disappearing into the dark, feet light on the frostbitten stone. She crouched low behind a frozen outcrop with the rest of her team, scanning the guards above. Still unaware. Still slow. Every beat of her heart matched the ticking pace of danger.

One wrong move and the wall would turn into a tomb.

“We move quiet,” she whispered, already pulling her blade free. The group tightened formation, pressing their backs to the cold stone as they crept forward. The tunnel’s outer gate loomed ahead with its black iron teeth, half-frozen, glistening with age and frost.

Two guards. Barely alert.

She signaled.

The first one never saw the blade that slit his throat. The second turned—just in time to catch a dagger through the ribs. He gurgled softly, crumpling without a scream. The spearwife rushed forward, catching his body before it could thud to the ground.

“Gate’s clear,” she said.

The iron cranked with a muffled groan, but held. One of her men jammed a wedge to keep it from clanking too loud. With enough force, they pried it open just enough.

Whoosh.

The winds shifted. Leaving them.

One of her men was shot by an arrow.

No.

In the distance, boots pounded. Footsteps. Alerted patrols. Someone had seen.

She snapped toward her team. “We need to open the tunnel now.”

Another scout began tugging at the pulley system while the rest fell into defense position. She had no choice but to take over as she turned back to the tunnel’s final lock, heart hammering in her chest. “Almost there,” she pleaded. It was so hard to- gods, please. “Please, almost—”

The mechanism clicked.

The gate gave way with a groan. Thank the gods, she could hear the war cries of her people already. The wildling gave the dark tunnel a cunning smile.

Gotcha.

~•~

The woods south of Castle Black were blacker than pitch, as the land was dark and cold. It was late? Early? Aemond stood still, cloaked in fur and silence, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Around him, wildlings crouched low beneath frost-covered pine, waiting for the signal like hounds on a leash. Aemond’s sapphire eye shone bright as he looked to the skies, wondering if the gods are with them tonight. To bring them victory. And to bring them home. To bring her back to him. A sense of worry washed over the prince as he found himself staring off into a distance to the ancient wall.

Why hasn’t she given them the signal?

Gruff was beside him, muttering something inaudible as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. He kept glancing toward the Wall, eyes squinting. “You listenin, boy?” Oh, he was talking to him?

“Hm?” Gruff chuckled in amusement.

“She’ll be fine,” he said.

“I’m not-,” “She might be a silly loud stubborn lass and a little clumsy at some times, but before she was your woman? She was the mightiest spearwife among us,” Gruff said with pride. Aemond stared at his companion with an unsure expression on his face. He has no doubt of his doe’s incredible skills of the art of fighting, hunting, and war but it felt so…puzzling? She has always been so bubbly around him and he has realized how much he looked past her dangerous side. She could’ve slit his throat in his sleep, although she didn’t but yet– he trusted her too much yet too little at the same time. “Trust your woman. Even if you two are in a fight- whatever it is about- she will lead us to victory,” Gruff emphasized again. “I was in a fight with my wife once, and y’know what happened? We fought like we screamed at each other like animals. But that night was the best sex we ever ha-,” “Nope. Stop it,” Aemond immediately shook his head. “Oh c’mon, don’t tell me you never had wild se-,” “–not gonna talk about it.” “Oh c’mon Targaryen, what’s the harm-,”

Swoosh

Gruff straightened. “That’s it.”

Aemond didn’t respond. He just tightened his grip on his blade as he stared the arrow slowling descending where it came from. The next few heartbeats stretched like skin over bone. Then came a low groan, barely audible from afar, but Aemond’s trained ear caught it: metal. The gate. They were in. The wildlings looked ahead and now saw the now closed ancient gate, opening its mouth as their teeth ascend from the cold floors of the north.

Gruff turned to the one-eyed prince, eyes alive and excited now. “Told ya.”

Aemond didn’t need telling twice as he smirked back to Gruff. Acknowledging his reassurance. He raised one hand and the south flank surged from the trees, furs rustling, blades unsheathed, feet crunching low. Just breath, blood, and steel. As they crossed the short distance to the wall, the Watch’s towers came into sight that’s dimly lit, lazily patrolled. Complacent.

Gruff laughed low under his breath. “By the time they piss themselves, we’ll be knee-deep in their guts.”

Aemond didn’t answer. His eye flicked toward the tunnel.

A flicker of movement on the ridge. Just a shadow, but he knew.

Gruff raised his axe. “Tunnel’s open. Let’s give the crows a proper good morning.” Giving Aemond one last smirk before roaring his battle cry as he ran into the tunnel. The wildlings poured their heart into their battle cries, following Gruff. Aemond ran with them. not behind, not apart. With them. One eye fixed on the tunnel ahead. On the gate that now yawned open like the mouth of fate.

If he had to burn through every man in Castle Black to find her, he would.

He has done worse before.

~•~

The night was young. So was the battle. Cries of pain and triumph rang out together, echoing across the cursed frozen land, as savage fury met disciplined steel. Aemond fought beside Gruff as they slashed every crow that’s on their way. The torch giving them light, shining their path at every bridge and path they took. A guard turned, wide-eyed.

Too late.

Gruff buried his axe in the man’s chest. Another tried to blow a horn, but an arrow from above clipped his neck, silencing him with a wet gurgle. They may have figured out that this was an ambush, “-but there’s no need to bring in more crows, yeah?” Gruff mocked the dead body before him. “Move along now,” Aemond dragged the red haired wildling away to cut his stupid mockery towards a dead man.

The courtyard of Castle Black lit with sudden motion. Fires flared as crows spilled out from their barracks. Aemond didn’t hesitate. He moved like a ghost; fast, precise, and unrelenting. Another guard came at him wild, panic in his eyes. Aemond caught his blade on the downswing, twisted, and drove his sword up through the man’s ribs. He barely registered the body falling. He swept through the keep like a phantom, eyes scanning every corner, looking for that familiar figure—her fur cloak, her braids–.

“Get off from me, you crow!”

She’s alive.

Blood was smeared on her cheek. It seemed she had a rough night. Her blade swung upward, cutting into a guard’s thigh—but there were too many.

Aemond didn’t think. He moved.

Gruff shouted after him, but his voice was drowned and muted by the roar of his own fury to get that bloody crow off her as soon as possible. He was blinded. He always was. Battles, wars, violence, he always seemed drawn to them no matter what he was. He was born to fight. To survive.

Aemond Targaryen was born by fire and blood.

It was his fate to come across battles and pooled his own body with the blood of his enemies.

Violence was always his answer.

Aemond surged forward, cutting down one man with a vicious swing, then shoulder-checked another into the stone wall. Steel flashed. He grabbed the guard trying to wrestle her to the ground and slammed the hilt of his sword into the back of his skull. She blinked in surprise, shoving the crow away from her as he laid dead in the ring of death.

“I had it under control,” she rasped, but breathing raggedly.

“He was choking you–,”

“–and I had him–,”

“–no you did not–,” “Mum, dad please! Stop fighting each other!” Gruff butts in with a snicker. But before the couple could answer, the ground shook as they heard a roar of an explosion; someone had set fire to the eastern ramparts. “Right, find the Lord Commander,” Gruff told the two as he took over some soldier to keep them both unharmed as they sprinted towards the main event. “You’re stupid!” She half-scolded the one-eyed prince as they ran. “Then let me be stupid for you,” Aemond smiled. She opened her mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to say something softer, but another horn blared. As they were just about to enter the nest, she turned around, “My people-,” “We’ll save them. But we have to finish this first,” Aemond gripped her arm, tight. His one eye observed as she swallowed a lump in her throat, giving him a sharp nod. “Good girl,” Aemond gently whispered before he gave her forehead a kiss. Praying that this shall not be the last kiss he will give to her. The primary headquarters of the night’s watch was certainly empty. They walked hastily, keeping their weapon in hand if there were some surprise attack. Even the dining hall was empty. The same place where he would eat hard bread and meat that smelled like a soldier’s armpit. Alone, at the edge of one long table. He shook his head and lead her deeper towards the castle. “Why is it empty?” She whispered, keeping herself close to him.

“I don’t know. Something’s not right.” He felt her gaze at him, “Aemond, wait.” Aemond halted, just as she asked him to. Turning to her, “What is it?” He asked, as he cupped her dirty rosy cheeks. “If we survive this,” she paused. “I…I-,” “I know,” he said. “I won’t go anywhere without you.” His precious doe’s eyes softened. “I shall go with you. To Kingslanding, The keep- I promise,” she said with a smile. “And you shall,” Aemond reassured her as a glint of hope appeared in his eyes. “You don’t have to promise me anything. Fate has placed me in your life, and it is more than an honor for me. I trust you more than I trust myself,” he confessed, letting himself study his woman. With all of this chaos, she was his peace. For a moment, he was just happy to have her back into his arms.

How her smile brightened when she registered his words, it was all enough.

"We'll find the Lord commander, make him surrender and your people would never live in fear amongst the crows. We, will be free."

“Aemond-,” “We have to inform Lord Stark ab-,” Their moment was abruptly shattered as they heard a voice from the other side. A young man, with his dark cloak standing tall with two crow men standing behind him. The new Lord Commander. The prince quickly shielded her as he drew his sword.

The men started to draw their sword until…their commander commanded, “Stand down.”

His men were puzzled as they looked at each other, reluctantly pulling back their weapons. Aemond swallowed a lump in his throat as he didn’t pull back his. Yet this brand new– young Lord Commander was oddly familiar. “Prince Aemond,” the young man addressed. “W-we– I, mean no harm.” The couple were puzzled. Yet the chief finds it amusing. “You don’t remember me? I-it’s me…Jack.” Jack.

Jack– the boy.

“Jack?” The couple said in unison. “The boy who saved us,” the she-wildling said in amusement as she took one step closer, which Aemond did not like. Yet Jack could only smile, “I never regret that once,” he confessed. “B-but how? Look at you! You’ve grown so tall!” She pointed out.

“My prince, it has been three years since you’ve left us,” Jack said. Three years? Aemond never realized how long it was. “I never kept on track of time,” Aemond said, quite amazed how time has passed so quickly. “And your hair is shorter than before,” Jack pointed out. Aemond nodded, glancing at doe who was also suddenly burdened with guilt. For how they’re currently massacring his men. Jack’s men. I mean, sure they’re crows but Jack was an exception, wasn’t he? “Are you here to kill us?” She asked, her tone guarded. “No. You ambushed us,” Jack said. His words were sharp and intentional. “Jack, we must take over–,” “I can’t let you both do that–,” “I know! But Jack, please!” “My Prince,” Jack turned to Aemond. Aemond could only look up as his purple eye stared at the boy he once knew, now have grown to be a confident leader. He respects that. “Jack,” he addressed back. “What shall you want from us? Stop this war and I shall give you what you want-,” “–Letting my people in–,” “My prince.”

What Aemond wants.

He could’ve said no and stabbed Jack in the heart, but…

“You could give me anything?” The she-wildling was baffled. Her heart racing as Aemond considered this offer, “Aemond-,” “Anything, my prince.” Aemond considered as he gave the commander a look. “My love-,” “–Aemond, you promised!” Her voice breaking. “Aemond, please. Let us finish this. You’ll be free, I’ll be free, my people won’t have to live like this anymore–,” “Is my mother still alive?”

Selfish.

Silence hangs in the dimly lit room. The suspense was so thick it could cut it open. The Lord Commander stared at Aemond, “My prince–,” Jack paused before looking down. The gods have left him that day as Aemond’s heart dropped to the ground. The Lord Commander couldn’t even look him in the eye. By the grace of the gods- please, any gods–,

“Your mother died. Four moons ago. By the winter fever.” The gods were mocking him. Laughing at him. The world turned mute as Aemond could only look at the commander. His hand trembled as he couldn’t even hold his sword. “A-and of the witch of h-harrenhall?” Aemond asked, shakingly. Somehow, he knew of the answer as Jack nodded. “Dead. Three moons ago. By the winter fever and complications of childbirth–,” “Did the child survive?” Aemond asked as he grits his teeth with anger and desperation.

The Lord Commander could only sigh. “The child did not survive.” Aemond stood frozen, as if the very ice of the Wall had crept into his bones and rooted him to the stone beneath his feet. The torches flickered, casting long, dancing shadows, but all light had drained from his single eye.

Dead. All of them.

His mother, whom he had burned for, bled for. Dead.

Alys, who had lured him into madness, into sin, into prophecy, into chains of fire and omen—dead.

Their child. His child. Gone before he could ever hold it.

His breath caught, ragged and shallow, like he’d been stabbed in the lungs. He blinked once, and the room rippled, as if it no longer made sense. The room started spinning as an incredible pain shot through his chest. Something inside him cracked, and it wasn’t quiet.

And what did he have now?

His sword slipped from his hand. It clattered to the stone floor, a hollow, echoing sound that rang louder than all the screams outside.

He sank to his knees.

Heavy footsteps were heard as a group of wildlings rushed behind the couple. “What’s going on here?” Gruff moved instinctively, stepping forward to reach for him, but she caught his arm and stopped him. She didn’t speak. Her breath hitched as she watched Aemond bow his head, silver hair falling around his face like a curtain hiding the ruin behind it.

He didn’t sob. He didn’t scream.

But something in him broke, and everyone in the room could feel it.

“I was too late,” he said, voice hoarse and empty. “I always am.”

Jack took a careful step forward. “Is this what you wished for, my prince-,”

“You did well,” Aemond desperately murmured, though the words felt like ash on his tongue. The ashes of his brother, his sister, his mother, Alys, and– his child. He could hear their pleads, begging for Aemond to save them as ashes engulfed their existence from this world. Dead. All of them.

And he could see a distant boy, his hair wet, skin pale as white as snow. Ashes covered his body from head to toe. The one eyed prince could see the boy slowly turning around as he stood amongst the ashes of the ones he loved. Those dark brown curls he could identify from afar. His eyes white, soulless. Sea water spilled out of his open mouth. The strong boy pointed at his uncle. "You did this," his voice gurgling, an indication that he drowned. "YOU DID THIS!" The boy roared, as he pointed at his dear uncle.

“Aemond?” Dead. Dead. Dead.

She slowly let go of Gruff as they stared at Aemond, frozen in his own place.

“AEMOND—!” she screamed, but he didn’t hear her.

He didn’t want to.

Aemond picked up his sword and swung it towards the gut of the black cloak standing nearest to Jack. The man collapsed, twitching. Another lunged to stop him—crack, Aemond slammed the hilt into the man’s jaw, shattering it. Another stepped in—too slow. Aemond cut through his black coat with terrifying ease. Aemond couldn’t control himself as he stomped towards Jack, pinning him to the ancient walls of the fortress. His sword pinning the young commander’s throat

“AEMOND! STOP!” She pleaded once more. Gruff now was the one to hold her back.

The sword clattered to the ground, but the silence didn’t last.

Aemond turned slowly, his breath ragged with fury. Blinded by madness. He reached toward the wall, fingers closing around the iron bracket that held one of the single torch lighting the room. He yanked it free. The fire hissed as it caught the draft. Everyone was trying to take that torch away from him, but Aemond threatened to burn anyone who comes near.

Jack stumbled back, coughing, holding his throat. “Aemond,” Jack pleaded as he struggled to talk watching him with caution as he coughed. “Aemond, please–What are you doing—?” She asked pleadingly as she tried to make him come back to his senses. The prince didn’t answer. He turned in a slow, deliberate circle, the flame throwing warped shadows across his face.

“I could burn it all,” he growled. “This cursed place. These walls. These men.”

He raised the torch high, sweeping it in an arc. The flames roared, and the men around him backed away instantly, the crowd chanted no’s or pleadings for him to not burn them down. Even Gruff froze where he stood.

“YOU THINK I WON’T?” he barked. “This is nothing but rot and ghosts! A tomb! And all of you! We were supposed to die in this place! You think this is mercy? NO! It’s a fucking death sentence! We are punished, afterall aren’t we? For our sins– banished! And that stupid oath?! They’re trying to make you think that dying for this cursed land is noble! Well it isn’t! Men die every single day! And what’s the fucking difference if I burn us all together– right here, right now!”

“Aemond, stop this,” Jack coughed out. “You don’t want to—”

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH!” The flame lunged toward him. “I should’ve let them slit your throat when you were a boy!”

The flame crackled, reflecting wild in his violet eye. Little did he know, everyone was afraid.

No, I think Aemond knew that already.

She sneakily followed each step Aemond took from behind. She suddenly lunged towards him and wasn’t afraid for a fight. Unafraid, reaching for the torch, trying to rip it away from him. He jerked back in surprise as she grabbed his arm; firm and unyielding. Aemond, lost in the fury, spun violently to shove her off.

The torch swung.

“Do not try to stop me!” He roared.

He didn’t mean to. He really didn’t.

But at that moment, he swore he let the fire touch her. Like as if it was on purpose, but it wasn’t!

They didn’t realize it at first, but the spell of fury was lifted from Aemond’s foggy mind when one cried out, “Fire!” As the edge of the flame licked her arm, spreading towards the fabric of her coat, just enough to scorch through the fur and fabric and sear the skin beneath

She hit the ground with a grunt and screamed as the fire burned her skin.

The room went still.

Aemond froze. The torch in his hand flickered. His eye locked on her, her face twisted in pain as she clutched her shoulder.

His voice cracked as he called out her name. Not a prince’s voice. Not a soldier’s. Just a boy’s. She looked up at him. Hurt, stunned, not from the burn, but from him. He knew that look all too well.

He has seen that look.

When he was ten, he almost killed Jacearys with his small dagger. That lead to Luke defending his brother and took out his eye. When he was ten and nine, he saw the fear in Luke’s eyes when he asked him to put out his eye. Then the next year, the look on his sister’s face when she lost her two children to blood and cheese.

And that’s when it hit.

Fear.

She fears him

The torch slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a clang.

Aemond staggered back like he’d been stabbed. “I didn’t—” he shook his head, panic rising in his throat, “I didn’t mean—”

She didn’t speak as she backs away.

No.

He lost her.

Aemond turned from her, chest heaving. He backed away toward the shadows, shaking violently. “I can’t do this,” he whispered to himself, voice nearly lost beneath the howl of wind outside. “I can’t—.”

He heard screams outside the castle. The wildlings retreating as more troops came at the fort. They have been cornered once again. All because he failed to bring them the Lord Commander and seize every single crow in this damned place.

It was all his fault.

The mighty dragon rider of Vhagar.

Prince Aemond Targaryen

The one-eyed prince.

The Kinslayer.

He lost once again.

“We have to go, now,” Gruff said, holding the her up. “Aemond please, let’s just go-,” she pleaded as he reached out a hand for him to grasp. “No”

“No, Aemond listen to me-,” her voice cracked, raw with urgency and pain. “Please, let’s just go–.” He wasn’t hearing her.

He doesn’t want to hear her.

Aemond stood half in shadow, half in flame, trembling like something untethered. His eye was glazed, not with tears, but with a madness barely leashed. His fingers flexed at his sides as if still gripping that torch, still seeing her recoil burned into his memory.

“I swore I’d never become this,” he said, almost to himself. “I swore to you to never be like him.”

“Then don’t be,” she said quickly, stepping forward despite the throb in her arm. “Aemond c’mon, let’s just go back, we can form another plan! We have time– it’s just a burn– Aemond please please please please please,” she shook his arm as she held her burned shoulder with one.

“You’re not him,” she whispered. “You’re no one else but you. Not your father, or your brother, or the ghost of some Targaryen prince. You’re Aemond. You’re mine,” she said desperately through tears. He touched her instinctively. But Gruff stepped beside her, and Aemond stopped. The way Gruff held her, how she leaned against him, her injured shoulder shielded as she was holding back her pain.

Aemond looked down at his own hands. Bloodied. Burned.

A monster’s hands.

He took a slow breath. “I hurt you.”

“You lost control,” she said gently. “That’s not the same.”

“It is,” he muttered. “It always is.”

Outside, the horns blared again. The crows were closing in. The fort was no longer theirs.

“We’re running out of time,” Gruff said.

Aemond looked at her one last time. Truly looked. A silent apology. She saw his eye shift, his brain was whirling. She knew he was planning something, and she did not like it. Aemond saw as she quickly shook her head to him. His chest rose and fell like a wave crashing against a rock.

He stepped back.

“Jack, stop this insanity and take me.”

Her face dropped, “No…no no no no no no, Aemond!” she shook her head as she screamed. “You come with us, you come WITH ME!” She roared as she points at herself. “Don’t you dare! Aemond—please—.”

“Aemond, I- We have to take y—,”

“An eye for an eye,” Aemond insisted as he marched towards Jack once more. The two men paused as they looked at each other. Jack saw the determination of Aemond’s eye. He wanted to keep her safe. It might not be the only way, but somehow they knew it’s the best option to stop this chaos.

An eye for an eye.

To keep her away from harm. So they wouldn’t harm her or her people.

“Seize him,” Jack spoke plainly.

“C’mon lass, we have to go!” Gruff grunted as he dragged her away from her lover. She tried to fight his grip but Gruff was strong when it comes to survival. He wouldn’t let her move away as he drag her further away from the Targaryen prince.

“Aemond—!”

But they were already leading him away as they held him as their prisoner. Their swords raised once more, heading for the opposite direction. They pushed the one eyed prince to move along, yet Aemond did not falter. He looked back, looking at his love one last time.

Aemond wouldn’t forget that look. Or anything that lead to this. The time he met her, when she saved him. It’s time for him to repay her. He wanted to save her as much as he needed to save himself.

Avy jofraāelan.

a/n: I think this is the longest chapter I’ve written🤗UPDATE! I’m going to expand the chapters ><! I realized how I really want to stretch this series a little bit more with the world building and also the characters, it’s necessary to add more chapters for this series :D yay

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alicesivory · 10 days ago

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if you don't know how to end a written work you should be able to just let the words fade out like an 80s song and not resolve anything for the reader

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alicesivory · 11 days ago

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hello! I think I need some help.

Honestly, I would love to write longer fics. I have to be honest that Old Habits Die Hard is quite fast paced, I want to stretch it further but I'm still afraid of being consistent for the pacing.

I don't want to ruin something just because I get lazy.

I have to be truthful, I do get lazy that lead to my writer's block. I don't want that to touch OHDH or any of my future series.

It's just that I look up to AO3 writers so so much that could write 80k words and 90k words and by the time OHDH, I'm stuck with 40k words if I do keep the pace as it is. I've done so much research of the GOT world since I love my fics from a canon source. And I don't want to waste that just because I got lazy.

I haven't been a writer, never got or even studying for a degree on it but I want to learn. I'm very proud of OHDH, and I wish to make more of it and write more. I enjoy writing very very much and I'm here to learn as I do so.

It would be lovely to receive tips and suggestions from fellow writers! You all amaze me <3

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alicesivory · 12 days ago

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Old Habits Die Hard [7/13]

Previous Chapter // Main Masterlist // Next Chapter

Pairing: ex-Nightwatch! Aemond Targaryen x wildling female! Reader

Genre: Historically accurate Aemond, mature!

WC: 4404👀

Summary: Aemond true nature slips between the cracks of his new skin. Strained during the ambush, him and the she-wildling realized how easily they could wound each other.

The furs were tangled around their legs, heavy with shared heat and the scent of smoke and skin. Her back was pressed to his chest, his arm slung over her waist. She slept with him every night—letting him hold her, letting him stay. An honor for him to hear her gentle snores.

Trust. That he wouldn’t vanish by morning. That she wouldn’t vanish either.

“Do you see yourself having children one day?” Looking up at him as her calloused finger drew lazy circles on his bare chest.

He would ask if she was jesting.

It was just a simple question, yet he thought deeply of it.

“Sadly, I don’t,” Aemond answered truthfully. She took no offense of his answer and shifted in his arms. “What a shame. I was just dreaming of three little silver haired toddlers running around the camp.”

It made the one-eyed prince smile.

Matter of fact, it made his stomach flutter; a warm, foolish, and dangerous feeling.

His arm reflexively tightened around her.

“So confident that I’m going to put a babe in you.”

“Why? You want to put a babe in another woman’s womb?”

“Never.”

He kissed her nose. “I’d be under a spell to betray you like that.” She didn’t push the matter further, just curled closer in his arms. She knew his family’s history. She knew how complicated these talks were for him. Somehow, she made them easier.

“Three children, huh?” he murmured, reopening the conversation—not wanting her to think he was entirely against the idea

“And you’d name them after your silly Valyrian customs.”

“I wouldn’t straightforwardly name them th-“

“-oh yes you would-“

“-no I wouldn’t-“

“-yes you would, snow hair-,”

Laughter spilled from their mouths, uncontained and unguarded. Their tent was filled with warmth, the kind that made the biting cold of the North feel like a distant threat. It was their safe haven, carved out of chaos and winter.

“Imagine little feet stomping you dead at night because they’re hungry,” she mimicked little feet with her fists on his chest.

Touch felt dangerous. So did tenderness. He knew how to grip a sword; he sometimes felt like didn’t know how to hold a woman. Holding her without hurting her. His thumb grazed against her cheek.

“Actually… I wish they’d inherit your hair,” he whispered. “Your smile, too.”

She flushed, giggling softly in his arms. “You keep wooing me.”

“Why shouldn’t I woo my lady?”

A comfortable pause settled between them.

“You showed me the wonders of this life,” he said. “It’s the least I could do.”

She shifted just enough to turn and look up at him, her chin resting on his chest now. In the dim light of the dying fire, her eyes looked like something out of a half-remembered dream that’s open and full of mischief and something he still couldn’t name without fear of it slipping away.

“You were the one who chose to stay,” she murmured.

He didn’t reply right away.

She tilted her head. “Did you regret it?”

“No.”

The answer came fast, too fast.

Aemond blinked, then added, quieter, “But sometimes I wonder what it cost me. What I left behind.”

Her hand stilled over his heart.

The silence stretched between them again. But this one was different. He could feel the tension shift in the air, subtle as a change in the wind before a storm.

“You mean your family,” she said plainly. Not a question. A truth.

“Yes.”

She nodded slowly, like she understood. “And do you miss them?”

“I don’t know.” His voice dropped. “Sometimes I miss the idea of them. What it was supposed to be. My mother. My sister. My name. I miss the boy who believed it all meant something.”

Another pause. Not cold, but careful.

“Would that boy still want to lie beside a wildling woman?” playful—even if her words carried weight.

Aemond looked down at her. Her expression wasn’t hurt—it was curious. Steady. Testing something in him. Not out of cruelty. Out of hope.

He smirked, “He would’ve been afraid of you.”

Brushed a few strands out of her face.

“And do you now?”

“I still am,” he admitted. “But I want you anyway,” the prince said as he turned to his side to envelop her completely in his arms. Desperately trying to shield her from the world.

She curled back into him, resting her head against his chest. But she said no more.

And neither did he.

Because neither of them knew if this quiet between them would last forever.

But gods, for tonight— it was enough.

The days grew colder as they moved northward, deeper into the wilderness where no crow dared follow. Aemond had never seen a people move so quietly through ice and snow.

Drawing closer to the wall, they were ghosts, skilled and precise. It both impressed and unnerved him.

The camp was nestled between a forest of ancient pines, their limbs heavy with snow, and a cliff that overlooked a frozen river. Aemond stood at the edge of the cliff one evening, watching the smoke from scattered fires below curl into the purple dusk.

He stared into the fire like it might burn away the questions. Or the man who kept asking them.

He should feel peace. He had escaped the noose. Found someone who didn’t flinch when he looked at her. Someone who spoke to him like he wasn’t a prince, or a monster, or a man with a sapphire eye who killed his nephew and never once apologized for it.

But he didn’t feel peace. He felt like a man playing dead on a battlefield, waiting to be found out.

What did she see in him?

He shut his eye and saw her again—not his beloved doe, but his mother. Alicent, hands clasped in prayer, lips moving with silent desperation. Would she have prayed for him if she knew where he was now? Or cursed him?

Would she want him to return?

Would she still touch him like she always would? Even if she knew how much of a sinful man he was.

If she still breathed—and sometimes he allowed himself to believe she did—would she even recognize the man her son had become?

Would he?

“Aemond.”

Would she like my doe?

He turned around, slightly startled. But his gaze softened as it was only her, approaching him as her fur coat weighed heavy on her body. It’s rare for her to call him by his birth name, yet everytime she does it— felt like home to him. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, out of habit. She smiled at the gesture as she brushed snow from her coat with her free hand, “They were looking for you.”

Dropped beside him with a sigh.

“Why?” He asked.

“Strategy. They somehow needed you for it.”

They sat in silence for a long while, the only sound between them the fire popping like an old wound reopening.

“You are awfully quiet today,” she pointed out.

He didn’t answer.

“Do you doubt us?”

His head snapped toward her. “What?”

She shrugged. “That we might fail.”

“No. No, you mustn’t,” he found himself saying.

She questioned him, “We mustn’t?”

“Well, we must not. We’ve planned this ambush for so long, the chances of us to fail are slim. I’ve fought wars and it’s not likely for us to fail” he snapped at her. A little on edge this time. She looked at him then. Quietly. Like she saw something in him he didn’t want her to see. “Then why do you look so tense?”

He didn’t answer.

“Why do you look scared?”

“I am not scared.”

“You are scared,” she said, voice low. “But not of the crows.”

“You think I’ll betray you?” he asked, after a beat.

The question threw her off.

“I never mentioned betrayal. Are you planning to betray us, Targaryen?”

“No, fuck no,” Aemond groaned frustratingly as she stood up on his feet. A heavy silence nestled between them. “Do you think I would betray you?” He asked again. A question that he desperately wanted her to answer. A reassurance. A sign for him.

“I wish that you would not.”

Aemond sighed deeply.

“I’m still the man who burned a castle to the ground and didn’t flinch.”

“I know that.” She didn’t flinch either. “I know who you were. I see it in your eye when you think I’m not looking. You’re cruel when you're cornered. You strike first.”

The words hung in the air like smoke.

“What’s going on in your head, Aemond?” She approached him. “I know this argument lies beyond our ambush—,”

“Oi, you two.”

They turned around to the source of the sound. “They need you back at the chief’s tent,” Yuri said. He saw her nodding, “We’ll be there.” She catches Aemond’s eye once more, trying to read him once more. To find something out of him.

He somehow can’t tear his eye off her.

“We’ll continue this conversation,” he said as he brought both of her hands up to kiss them. “I promise,” he muttered gently against her knuckles.

The camp stirred like a restless beast. No battle horns, no polished armor—only the hush of snow and steel being sharpened in silence.

They did not march in lines. They did not speak of honor or banners. But they prepared all the same efficient, primal, and bound by something older than loyalty: survival.

The spearwives and raiders moved like wolves in the snow, furs wrapped tight, blades strapped to their thighs. Some crouched by the fires, painting soot and blood across their cheeks, not for ceremony, but to break their shapes against the white. They would not be seen until it was too late.

They entered the chief’s tent with Yuri leading them inside. Inside stood warriors cloaked in furs and bone-stitched leathers, faces shadowed by flickering flame. Gruff gave them a nod of acknowledgment.

The silence was tense—like the moment before a blade strikes.

The chief’s voice was low, guttural, but sharp with command. “They’ll march through the ice valley come dawn. Crows think the pass is safe.” He jabbed the tip of his blade into a marked ridge. “We’ll strike here,” he pointed where an ‘X’ marks the map. “-where the path narrows. Archers above. Spears below. Break them before they can even raise a horn.”

Murmurs of approval rolled through the gathered fighters. Yet the chief looked up to the one eyed prince, “Any thoughts?”

Aemond silently scanned the planned out ambush. “It is still flawed.”

The one-eyed prince stepped forward, arms folded behind his back like a general. “The ridge is too exposed. The snow’s too soft. We’ll lose footing before we reach them.”

“It’s where we’ve ambushed crows before,” his doe said, puzzled. “It worked well back then.”

“Then you were lucky,” Aemond quickly interjected. “Luck is a fool’s ally. I fight to win.”

The tension thickened like a storm cloud.

“I know war,” Aemond said coldly. “And I know how the Night’s Watch fights. Even if I’ve only been there for a few moons- I know what they are. You want to break them, not just scatter them, then trap them. Split the groups, some will climb the wall—,”

“That wall’s cursed,” Gruff muttered.

“It’s also narrow. There’s a tunnel aswell. Send your skilled fighters in and some to the west to pin them from two sides. Slaughter the ones by the tunnel and let the rest of your army in. They’ll bottle themselves in, with nowhere to fall back and nowhere to run,” Aemond countered. “You’ll slaughter them like pigs.”

“They are not pigs,” the woman interjected, voice calm but clear. “They’re men. Trained. Hungry. Angry. We underestimate them, we die.”

She took a breath. “I don’t care who’s right. I care that no one dies for pride.”

“I promise you, your people will not die.”

“And how would you guarantee that?”

For a moment, no one dared speak.

Then Aemond exhaled through his nose, slow, controlled. He didn’t look at her.

“I know what they’ll do,” he said at last. “The Night’s Watch. They’ll expect us to come charging down like wolves. Fast and reckless.” Aemond’s voice sharpened, more soldier than lover now. “But if we split them and attack them with precision and calculation, we can trap them in their own maneuver.”

“Let the crows chase the noise. Give them something familiar. Something that they will chase.”

A few agreeing nods and murmurs filled the tent. Aemond saw how his doe’s face changed, into something sure and ready

“I’ll climb the wall,” she said then, surprising them all.

Aemond’s eye widened, “No. Absolutely not.”

“You said it yourself, they’ll chase what looks familiar. And I can lead my team,” she said surely and steady. “They’ve seen me before. They know me. Let them think they’re catching something predictable.”

His mouth opened, but she cut him off.

“I know what I’m doing too. I’ve done this before.”

A long pause passed between them.

He looked at the chief, begging for him to change her mind. Instead, the chief smirked at her; one of his finest soldiers. Nodding in agreement, he said,“Fine. We’ll bleed ‘em from both ends.”

It weighed heavy in Aemond’s heart.

“And once they realize they’ve been boxed in?” Yuri asked.

“We let them surrender,” Doe said simply. “We kill the ones who don’t.”

Even Aemond didn’t argue with that.

Agreement settled over the camp like a layer of snow. Thin, cold, and still holding the heat of something smoldering beneath.

The lovers didn’t look at each other for the rest of the meeting.

But they stood on the same side.

For now.

He followed her into their tent.

The fire had burned low in their tent, reduced now to coals and flickering shadows. Inside, it was almost too quiet.

Aemond stood behind her, arms crossed, watching her braid her hair with her usual speed and precision. They hadn’t spoken since the meeting.

“You volunteered yourself,” he said finally, low and measured. “Without warning. In front of the others.”

Her fingers didn’t stop moving. “The Watch knows me. I make a better decoy than any of your men.”

“That’s not the point.”

She turned fully towards him. Challenging him,“Then what is?”

He scoffed,“You think this is about control?” he asked. “It’s not. It’s about not letting you bleed when you don’t have to.”

“And I think you’d rather burn the plan than admit I’m capable of surviving without you.”

Aemond’s jaw ticked. “You speak like someone who’s never watched everything she loved die in front of her.”

Doe finally turned to him, gaze steady. “You speak like someone who only believes in death. I fight so I can live. So others can too. That’s the difference between us.”

“I will not die like the ones you’ve killed in the war.”

Aemond flinched. Not visibly, but something flickered behind his eye. The one he still had. The one that saw too much.

He stepped forward, voice low. “You think I wanted that blood on my hands? You think I enjoyed it?”

“I think you never stopped carrying it,” she answered quietly. “And you wear it like armor, even when no one’s trying to wound you.”

Hands curling into fists at his sides. “Is that what I am to you now? A relic from a war you weren’t there to see?”

“No,” she said. “You’re the man who chose to leave that war behind. But sometimes, you speak like he’s still the one inside your skin.”

“I didn’t volunteer because I want to prove something. I did it because I trust the plan. I trust you,” she pokes his chest. “But I don’t trust you to trust me. Not when it matters.”

That landed harder than either of them expected.

Aemond’s mouth parted, but no words came. Just a long breath through his nose, the kind he took before unsheathing a blade.

“And I’m tired of being treated like another body you’ll bury if things go wrong,” she added, “I didn’t crawl through blizzards and blood to be your ghost.”

“I never wanted that,” Aemond whispered-shouted at her. “I never wanted any of this.”

“But you have it,” she said, turning back to him. “The day you agreed to come with me—.”

“—I chose survival and freedom—,”

“—Then maybe you were never meant to be free,” she snapped. A heavy silence hung between them as her expression slightly dropped. It was what she believed in.

She saw his eye flickered. Wounded. “Don’t say that,” his voice was quiet and low.

Her gaze was guarded and mournful, “You act like I dragged you out of something sacred. Like I ruined you.”

“I ruined myself long before you ever touched me,” he snarled. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

That made her go still.

It wasn’t the volume. It was the venom.

“Aemond-,”

“You make it look easy.”

A beat.

“What?”

“This life. Trust. Belonging. Like you’ve always known how to be loved.”

She blinked, stunned, but only for a second. Then she stepped forward and reached for his hand. “It’s not your fault. Life gave us different paths.”

He didn’t take her hand. But he didn’t move away either.

“I don’t care what you’ll do after we win,” she said, voice softer now, but no less fierce. “I’m here to set you free. You may define freedom however you’d like,” she paused, taking a deep breath, “-but the choice lies in your hands, Aemond. I would go to the ends of the world with you. But not like this. Not when you're shadowed by your own fears.”

His shoulders sagged. Just slightly.

“I fear myself,” he pulled himself away from her. “I’m not a good person. I never was.”

“I am no better-,”

“But you are.”

Their eyes met. He hated the way she’s sympathizing with him. It made him look weak.

Maybe, his old self never did left.

He’s just really good at hiding.

“I need to be alone for tonight.”

She didn’t question his statement and let the silence linger.

And when she finally turned away, leaving him to the flickering fire and the weight of his ghosts, she didn’t look back as the flap of the tent swayed shut behind her.

Because she knew he would either follow or he wouldn’t.

But this time, the choice was his.

The tent fell into stillness the moment she left. No more warmth. No rustle of her breath. Just a distant howl of the wind clawing against the canvas that he calls home.

Aemond sat, unmoving. The silence pressed against his skin like frostbite. He buried his face in his hands.

What am I becoming?

He had killed men with less hesitation than he’d shown her tonight. And still she stood there. Brave. Bare. Speaking truth like a blade, slicing through the fog of his fears. And somehow, she has said more truths than he said to himself for years.

He hated that he’d snarled at her. Hated that part of him still reared its head when cornered. The old Aemond, born of fire and blood—and punishment, slipping through the cracks of his skin. The boy who once believed duty and legacy were all that gave a man worth.

He looked down at the empty furs that they once slept in. Her imprint was still there. So was her scent.

It lingers, and he wishes for her to be here.

He had been raised to crush softness. To question it. To fear it. And yet—she loved him in spite of the broken places. Or maybe, because of them. He feared of losing her now.

What if it will all be in vain?

He could see it—clear as day. Her gone. Her blood on snow. His hands stained, not with rage, but regret.

If he sails back to Kingslanding without her, then all of this will be in vain.He will have nothing to fight for anymore. If she does survive and she sees the man he once was, she’d hate him.

She’d loathe him.

Aemond stood up suddenly, pacing like a caged beast. His breath was shallow, like there wasn’t enough air in the North to fill his lungs.

He was terrified.

Of becoming someone she couldn’t recognize. Of becoming someone she shouldn’t love.

He had never truly believed he could be more than what the gods made of him: A weapon. A Prince. Kinslayer.

But she didn’t ask for a prince. She asked for a man.

Could he be that?

Could he hold on to himself and still hold on to her?

He sank to his knees in the dark.

A feeling that he has not felt since he was boy. A boy with no dragon. Shame..

“Seven hells,” he whispered into the quiet, voice cracking like a fault line.

He didn’t sleep that night.

Not for a moment.

Scared that he might draw a blade onto himself.

“What happened to you and that snowman?” Gruff asked, his tone teasing as he nudged her shoulder. “It’s none of your business,” she replied flatly as she stomped on the grounds of the inclining ground. Up to the hill, approaching the ancient wall.

“I’m just saying,” he raised both of his hands. “A second ago, you two were drooling over each other. And now? It’s like avoiding a white walker’s eyes—,”

“Don’t say that!”

“Say what?”

“The…y’know…white walkers,” she whispered. “You can literally behead a man, but you’re scared of saying two words?”

She stopped in her tracks and swinged her dagger towards his throat and glared at him, “You know why.”

“Oh I do know why. More than anyone, actually,” Gruff said, expecting her to react this way as he gently pushed her dagger away from him. “And I know how brave you can be, lass.”

She lowered her arm as her gaze softened.

“Has he turned you soft?” He teased once more, making the spearwife blush under the sun. “What? No! He has not- no one has turned me soft.” She turned back to resume her stomping.

Gruff kept pace beside her, chewing on a strip of dried meat. “You ever wonder why you care so much, girl?”

She rolled her eyes, slowly turned towards him. “You think I care?”

Gruff arched a brow. “I think you want to pretend you don’t.”

For a moment, she looked like she might punch him. But instead, she exhaled through her nose and turned back toward the climb. “He’s got ghosts chasing him,” she muttered. “I just thought I could be louder than them.”

Gruff fell silent for once. The wind howled overhead like it pitied them both. “He’s a dragon,” he finally said. “They burn things. Even when they don’t mean to.”

“I’m not afraid of being burned,” she said. “Yeah? Well, I’m the one who’s afraid that you’ll get burned.”

“I’m not going to get burned,” an annoyed tone escaping from her. Gruff just chuckled, “You wild women and your hearts.”

She didn’t reply.

Because somewhere behind them, a prince walked alone, and her chest ached in ways she didn’t know how to fix. She missed him dearly. Missing the way how she’d feel safe in his arms. But would he welcome her in open arms?

After what she said? After how she wounded him?

As realization started to sink into her, she shook her head to physically and mentally shoo away those thoughts from her head.

So she pushed forward.

Aemond Targaryen can wait.

Snow swirled like ash above them as the wildlings moved into position.

“Summer snow,” she muttered.

They’ve planned this for so long, summer snows have fallen once more.

From the ridgeline, Castle Black lay unsuspecting in the dark. Just a few torches flickered along the ramparts, their light swallowed by the night. The men of the Watch had no idea what crept toward them from both flanks.

The wildlings had split into two units. One climbed along the jagged eastern base of the Wall. Scaling ancient ropes and ice-anchored ladders that had been set quietly in the night before. The other group, led by Gruff, moved around to the western edge, where the shadows ran thick and long from the overhang of old glaciers. Their goal: to encircle the brothers of the Night’s Watch and pin them in their own stronghold.

While her group would strike from above, after the first arrow whistled through the air.

Silent and coordinated.

No shouting, no war cries.

She gripped the hilt of her short blade. The leather was worn smooth where her hand always landed.

Her eyes flicked up the rope, where several of her kin had already begun climbing. They were fast and practiced. Their tools were strong and steady to hold their weight.

She turned to the boy behind her. “Tell Gruff we move now. Quietly. No mistakes.”

The boy nodded and slipped off into the darkness.

She took one last look over her shoulder—toward the line of tents in the distant trees, where one tent sat quieter than the rest. The one he hadn’t come from.

Then she grasped the rope and began to climb.

Each pull upward burned her muscles. Each step was ice and silence and fear biting at her heels. But she climbed like her life depended on it.

From afar, Aemond’s eye flicked up the Wall. A rope swayed gently against the stones, too far to see who climbed it. It could be her. Or someone else. Or no one. The wind didn’t answer him.

She was stronger than him.

He knew that.

Aemond closed his eye, jaw clenching. Before he could doubt himself, the kinslayer stepped forward, finally. To the south. He watched her climb up the wall. A strong and determined woman she is, something about her that he admired very much.

Aemond called out to one of the wildlings crouched near the camp's edge, his voice sharp as steel, “You, boy!” The younger man straightened like he'd been struck. “Lead me to Gruff. Now.”

The boy blinked, then nodded, grabbing his bow and heading toward the darker stretch of forest.

Aemond didn’t look back. Didn’t watch her vanish over the Wall.

Because if he did, he might climb after her. And if he climbed after her, he might not come down again.

a/n: I’m back? yay?😭 It has been so long since i’ve updated this series but I’m back to finally continue this series<3 Thank you for reading and stay tuned🌷Also, if anyone has any questions about this series, my question box is always open:>

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alicesivory · 27 days ago

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I see these pictures in my gallery and I'm just like awwwww

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alicesivory · 27 days ago

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’til death do us apart

main masterlist

pairing: Billy Washington x female! reader

warning: pure angst

WC: 4078

summary: The accident happened. There was no miracle or anyone to save Billy. No one was willing to let him go no matter what he has done in this life. Especially his past-lover that was very dear to him.

There was almost nothing left of him.

No one wants to know what was left of him.

“In loving memory of Billy Washington.”

The words sat heavy on the page—on the pamphlet they’d handed out at the door. I stared at them, but even days after the announcementThere was nothing left of him to see, like as if his death was…

The church smelled of lilies and old wood. He hated going to church. I could still hear him, mouth full of leftover sandwiches, muttering “Church is crap.” The wind would always toss his sandy blonde hair around, and I’d wipe ketchup from the corners of his mouth. “I’m not a baby,” he’d say.

The thought almost made me smile. Almost.

I didn’t want to sit in the front. That was for his mum, his brother, the uniformed officers with medals on their chest and clenched jaws. People who had still mattered to him at the end.

I sat near the back. Third pew from the door. Close enough to hear the priest’s words, far enough that no one would ask me what we were to each other. Somehow some of them still knew and said their condolences to me. I would only nod and smile— or thank them for coming. Some even thought I was still a big part of his life.

People got up to speak. Lana, his parents, some childhood friend who called him “Billy-boy” and made the room chuckle through their tears. I didn't go up. What would I even say? That we fought towards the end of their relationship? Never mending the bonds? That I was the reason why he died? How the last words they said was how much we hated each other?

That he died without knowing I forgave him?

I couldn’t even feel anything. Not properly. Sadness, anger, denial, heartbreak—maybe all at once. It just pressed down on me like fog.

I rubbed my bare face with both hands, trying to keep myself together. Then I felt it. Cold metal against skin.

The ring he once gave me—just a silver band from a Camden market stall—dug into my finger like punishment. “It’s nothing much— hey! it fits just right!” That specific memory flooded my brain. “I’ll get you a fancier one once I get a better job.” He added with a crooked smile.

A smile I could never forget.

Now the ring means more than any gold or diamond in the world. It was all I had left of him.

As they carried the coffin past us, draped in the Union Jack. Honoring him. He would love it, I thought. But I didn’t dare to look up.

I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe.

Instead I prayed.

I loved him. God help me, I still did.

“The funeral’s over, sweetheart.”

Lana’s voice echoed softly through the now-empty church. They were stacking chairs near the back. I looked up. I hadn’t even realized I’d moved—I was now sitting on the steps just outside the main doors. The cold wind bit through my jacket. “I…of course..I lost track of time-.”

“It’s alright,” she said. “Ya should’ve told me you were gonna stay a bit longer.”

Lana sat down beside me.

Like old friends would.

She has always been kind to me. Even after everything.

I kept my eyes on her as she let out a sigh, arms folded against the cold. “He talked about you,” she said, after a moment. “More than you’d think.”

That’s when the lump in my throat returned. I looked straight ahead, avoiding her gaze. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” I didn’t even try to hide the bitterness in my tone. Lana hesitated, eyes on the ground.

“It mattered to him,” she said quietly. “Right up until the end.”

I flinched, just slightly. She didn’t mean it as a knife, but it landed like one. Right in the place I’d spent days trying to ignore—the guilt, coiled and festering just beneath my ribs.

I exhaled, slow and shaky.

“We-“

“I know-“

“No.”

I cut her off, voice breaking.

“I didn’t mean— I didn’t mean to. I was angry. He was angry.” My chest tightened. My throat burned. “He was supposed to lend me his car that day. We were fine, we’ve talked again a few days before- but we got into an argument that fucking day, and I screamed at him—”

I couldn’t even finish my sentence. All of my words dissolved into a sob. I crumpled forward, arms wrapping around myself like I could hold the grief in place.

It hurts. Like as if my body was experiencing grief. My head hurts, my chest hurts, I couldn’t breathe properly— I wanted to slam by body to the ground.

“I was the one who should’ve been in that car,” I gasped. “Not him.”

I couldn’t look at her. I hugged myself tighter, as if it could keep me from falling apart completely.

“I didn’t mean to... Lana, I’m sorry—”My voice cracked under the weight of it. “It’s all my fault.”

I couldn’t stop crying. Even after Lana moved closer. She didn’t speak right away. Just pulled me gently into her arms like she used to when we were younger—before the distance. Like when I used to cry to her whenever I had problems with Billy before we dated.

“Stop,” she said softly, steady but not unkind. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

“You both fought. That’s all. People fight. It doesn’t mean you put a bomb in the car.”

“But if we hadn’t argued—”

“He still would’ve taken the call,” she interrupted gently. “He still would’ve gotten in. That’s who he was. You know that.”

I didn’t respond. Still drowning in my own grief and sadness.

“You loved him,” she added. “He knew that. Even if you didn’t get to say it again, he knew.”

I wished I could believe her. Really, truly believe her.

“I just want him back,” I croaked out.

Lana gently pushed a few strands away from my face. “Me too, love. Me too.”

The key turned stiffly in the lock, like even the door wasn’t ready to let anyone in.

Lana stepped aside to let their parents go first—I followed, hesitating in the doorway like I was stepping into something sacred. Or haunted.

It was like as if time froze in there.

It smelled like him. Laundry detergent, a hint of aftershave, and cigarettes or burnt toast maybe, or the lingering memory of Sunday mornings that no longer existed. No one spoke for a moment. We just stood there, surrounded by the life he left behind.

His trainers were still by the door. His jacket was still slung over the back of the couch. Everything untouched. Like as if he never left. Like as if he’s currently on a trip with his lads to London— or overseas.

I didn’t know what I was supposed to touch. What I was allowed to. I was quite surprised when they asked me to help them clean the place up. Not his so-called current girlfriend, Becky.

Am I allowed to touch his clothes? His computer? His guitar?

I walked to the shelf by the window. His books were still there—dog-eared thrillers, a beat-up copy of 1984 he pretended to read more than he actually did.

Silly Billy, I’d call him.

I smiled as I picked it up. As I did, the lights in the hallway flickered—just once. A soft buzz. Then silence.

I turned, but no one else seemed to notice. Just faulty wiring, perhaps. It was an old flat. But still.

I set the book down and walked toward the desk.

Everything was the same. His keys are still in the tray. A wrinkled parking ticket tucked under a coaster.

I walked towards his bedroom.

It was still a mess.

A family picture shattered on the floor, his guitar untouched. An empty can of beer on his gaming desk. His unmade bed.

A hint of nostalgia as I remember restless nights with him in this bed. Happy days whenever I throw dirty laundry at his face. Watching him gaming as I drift of to sleep. It all felt so familiar. Through this journey of grief, how could I fully let him go?

Touch his stuff to take them away forever? Like as if he never existed?

The curtain moved slightly—no breeze, no window open. Just a flutter, soft and almost curious.

I turned. Nothing.

But still… I felt it. A presence. Not threatening. Not even sad. Just... watching.

Lana’s voice suddenly called for me gently from the hallway.

I blinked, startled.

“Yeah?”

“You alright, dear?”

I stared at the curtain a moment longer.

“Yeah,” I lied. “Just... taking a minute.”

She didn’t press.

Later that afternoon, as the sun sets and turned the sky into a warm orange color, Lana zipped up the last suitcase from his bedroom.

“We’ll take the rest in the morning,” she said, brushing her hair back with a tired hand. “There’s no rush.”

Billy’s mum was sitting quietly on the sofa, holding one of his old hoodies in her lap like smoothing it out again and again like she was trying to memorize the feel of him.

His dad stood near the window, arms folded. Watching the street. He hadn’t cried once—not where we could see. But I saw his knuckles whitening around the curtain edge.

“I could stay here,” I said suddenly.

Lana looked up.

“What?”

I cleared my throat, already regretting how impulsive it sounded. “Just… for a few days. I can finish sorting through the smaller stuff. You know, go through the mail, take care of the fridge, help with the laundry runs. Might be easier to keep it moving without too many people coming and going.”

Lana glanced at her parents. “You all have enough to deal with,” I added.

Billy’s dad turned then. Studied me. “You sure?” Lana asked. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” I said too quickly.

There was a beat of silence.

Billy’s mum finally looked up at me. Her eyes were red, but steady. “He always said you looked after him better than we ever could.”

“I think he’d want you here.”

She glanced down at the hoodie. “He was messy. He was always messy, but you knew how to find the order in it.”

Billy’s dad gave a faint nod. Not quite approval, but permission.

He stepped forward and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out the keys. The worn silver one still had the little Arsenal keychain Billy had found hilarious because his dad didn’t even like football. But Billy adored football. “You don’t have to do everything,” he said, placing the keys in my hand. “Just… be here. For as long as you need.”

The keys were cold in my palm. But his hand on mine was warm. Rough. It said more than words ever could.

“Thank you,” I said firmly and appreciatively.

Billy’s mum stood slowly and walked to me. Without a word, she pulled me into a hug. “Take care of our boy’s place. Let it feel like home for a little while longer.”

The echo of the front door closing behind them felt final — like they’d sealed me in with his ghost.

I stood in the middle of the living room, jacket still on, the ring of keys cold and heavy in my hand. The same space we had fought in. Laughed in. Kissed in. Fallen apart in.

The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

But I wanted it to be quiet.

I just wanted it to be me and his place. The kitchen light hummed softly. A leftover mug still sat on the counter with the faint outline of a tea stain at the bottom. I didn’t move it. Not yet.

Night time came. I was just done showering and putting on my pajamas. It was a quite impulsive decision but, I was planning to stay here for a week if I do manage to pack most of his things up. I got up and moved slowly, brushing the wall as if it might steady my steps. The door creaked open.

His bed was unmade.

I left it unmade.

We managed to sweep the floors and placed everything back in place yet I simply left the bed and his gaming chair unmade. Like as if I was waiting for him to come back after a lazy day.

Pillows piled like he left in a rush. A crumpled t-shirt still lying across the sheets. A bottle of deodorant tipped over on the nightstand, like it had been knocked off mid-morning. I sat on the edge of the bed, one hand tracing the dent in the mattress where he used to sleep.

I looked around.

Nothing has changed, physically.

But he was gone.

He’s gone.

Billy’s gone.

My Billy.

One tear.

Then another.

I could only hear my own sobs echoing through the empty apartment — his apartment — hoping I’d feel his arms around me like he used to. Whispering little nothings, soft promises only I ever heard.

I let myself collapse into the bed, clutching the blanket.

It still smelled like him.

It wasn’t fair.

I just wanted him back.

I miss him.

So much.

“Come back,” I choked out. “I just want you back.” Burying my face to the mattress. “I’m sorry…I just miss you- Billy I-,” I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The curtain moved. I didn’t notice.

“I didn’t mean what I said.”

The light flickered. I didn’t notice.

“I miss you,” I confessed desperately. Tracing the empty space next to me. Trying to memorize how it felt like having him next to me.

And I swore—

The blanket shifted. Just slightly. Like someone had laid it gently across my back. So subtle, I might’ve imagined it. But it felt… right. Familiar.

The way he used to touch me. The way he rubbed my back when I cried. The way he’d hold my hand in the dark and say, “I’ve got you.”

That very same feeling.

I rolled onto my back. Staring at the ceiling.

I let out a scoff, wiping my tears away.

“I’m going crazy.”

I didn’t even dare eat breakfast at the kitchen table.

Instead, I sat on the floor, legs crossed on the cold tiles, as I poked at the reheated chicken with a plastic fork. The silence was deafening. The scent of floor cleaner still lingered faintly — lemon and something synthetic.

Most of his clothes were boxed up now. His dishes had been washed, dried, and tucked back into their drawers. His world, once messy and loud and lived-in, was slowly being stripped down into something clinical.

Manageable.

I stabbed a piece of chicken, watching it tumble off the fork.

What would happen to all of it, once I was done? Would his parents keep it? Sell it? Donate it to people who never knew him?

I sighed and leaned back against the wall, head tilted up, eyes unfocused. I looked over to the coffee table. A silly picture he kept of the both of us.

It was a picture Lana took of us on Christmas day. He looked handsome in it. But he poorly chose the frame.

Silly Billy.

I placed down my plate and head over to the picture.

“It’s leaning. It’s annoying. Just let me fix it,” he would say. A chuckle came out from me as my fingers reached for the frame. I straightened it slightly, out of habit more than anything. Just like he would’ve.

As I stepped back — click.

The hallway light flickered. Once. Then again.

My smile vanished.

I stood still, listening. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

But not empty.

My chest rose, then fell. I swallowed hard.

Then I whispered into the air. The words only a mad man would say; “…You’re still here, aren’t you?”

No answer.

But in that moment, I could feel it. A soft shift in the air, like something brushing past my shoulder. Not cold. Not warm. Just… familiar.

I turned back to the coffee table.

The photo frame was crooked again.

Not much. Just a fraction of a tilt. Just to annoy me.

I stared at it for a long moment. Not moving. Not breathing. Then finally — a shaky breath, a smile tugging at my lips through the weight in my chest.

I left the photo as it was.

I didn’t want to disturb him. I wonder if he wants me to disturb him as I packed his stuff, placing them into boxes— sorting them out how he would like it, maybe?

While also letting his place breathe every single day. Letting the windows stay cracked open. Letting the dust settle slowly.

Not rushing.

While also making peace of his departure.

Sometimes I would try to talk to him?

For example using his favorite mug, misplacing his toothbrush on purpose. Sometimes I even talked to him. Silly things. Small things. Things I knew would’ve made him roll his eyes.

Can’t believe he’s haunting me.

Well, I mean…

I did ask him to.

It was one of those nights — tangled in bedsheets, skin warm against skin, breath mingling in the dark. “Please haunt me if you leave me behind,” I whispered to him as I traced his face. Trying to remember his face even by touch.

Billy chuckled softly, the unexpected request tugging at his heartstrings. He pulled me tighter, his arms strong and sturdy around me.

“You’re a damn weirdo, you know that?” he teased, his voice affectionate. “Just in case,” I pouted.

“But hell, if I gotta haunt you in our old age, you better believe I will. I’ll be the most annoying ghost you’ve ever seen.”

He always made me laugh.

“Please do,” I whispered back.

“I’ll be the ghost that keeps moving your keys just when you’re looking for them. The one who turns the lights on and off right when you’re nearly asleep. A real pain in your ass.”

“And the ghost who would hold me at night? Sit beside me as I sit on my wheelchair when I’m old?”

I recalled how his expression softened, the teasing note in his voice replaced by tenderness. “Of course, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hand gently caressing my cheek.

The sound of dragging furniture scraped against the silence.

We had spent the whole day lifting and wrapping. His dad grunted under the weight of the couch, while his mum wordlessly folded Billy’s old bedding into plastic bags. No one said much. The only thing that spoke was the sound of tape tearing, drawers opening, and the creak of old wood being disassembled.

I did what I could. Boxed the picture frames. Labeled the storage bins. Handed tools to his dad in silence. I kept busy because I had to — because standing still felt unbearable.

It was late afternoon when the last item left the room.

I stood in the middle of the living room, my palms dusty, sleeves rolled up to my elbows. His parents were by the front door, talking softly — something about the storage unit and when to drop the keys off.

But I couldn't hear them.

Because the flat was...empty.

No furniture. No mugs in the sink. No clothes flung over the arm of the sofa. Nothing but scuff marks on the floor and faint outlines on the walls where shelves once hung.

It echoed.

The space where his laugh used to fill the air — silent. The corners where we once kissed, fought, forgave — hollow. His absence was being packed away.

I knew it was time but, I just realized how painful it was.

I slowly walked across the floor, each step making the emptiness louder.

This wasn’t his apartment anymore. It was just a place. A shell.

Tears blurred my vision.

I sat down on the bare floor, in the exact spot his old rug used to be, the one we bought together on a stupid whim because he said it “felt soft as hell.” I pressed my hand against the wood, wishing I could feel something of him left behind.

“Are you mad at me?” My voice echoed through the empty space. I stood there, waiting for an answer. Anything!

There was no answer. Just silence. But then—

A flicker of warmth.

The air shifted, not cold, not sharp — but soft. Gentle. Like a hand hovering just above mine. Not touching, but close enough that my skin remembered what it used to feel like.

Then, a subtle breeze—one that didn’t come from any window or draft. It brushed against my hair like fingers threading through it, careful, slow. Like how he used to do when I couldn’t sleep.

“Honey? You coming?” His mother called out from outside. I looked around the empty unit for a moment. Reluctant to leave but— “I’m coming!” I said.

The keys felt different in my hand that day. Lighter. Final. Like they knew this was the last time they’d be passed from me to someone else.

Lana had texted me earlier. “Mum and Dad are meeting the realtor Thursday morning. They’re selling the flat.”“Thought you might want to stop by before then.”

So I did.

The apartment was completely empty now — not just cleared out, but stripped bare. Even the curtains were gone, leaving the windows wide open to the grey afternoon. The walls, once lined with photos and posters, were blank. Patches of paint slightly lighter where frames had hung too long. A ghostly outline of a life.

I stepped inside slowly, keys dangling loosely between my fingers. My footsteps echoed more now. Everything echoed more now.

I stood in the middle of the room.

Tried to remember the sound of his laugh bouncing off these very walls. The smell of burnt toast on lazy Sundays. The click of his controller. The way he’d call my name like it always meant something more than just syllables.

I stepped into the other room- once his bedroom. It looked smaller now, without the bed and shelves. The dent in the wall from when he once threw a pillow too hard during a fake argument — still there.

“I’m not going to ask you to haunt me anymore,” I said, quietly. “I think you already did enough of that. In your own way.”

There was no reply. No flicker. No wind. Just peace.

Walked towards the door. Paused once more at the threshold.

It felt silly, he’d mock me for it.

But I kissed the door.

“I’ll always miss you, I’ll carry you with me wherever I go,” I whispered gently as I looked down to our ring. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

And for once, the air felt lighter.

The bonds that once chained him down was set loose.

We were free.

The unit was no longer haunted.

The fog has lifted.

He’ll see me on the other side.

Billy chewed his gum, sliding into the driver’s seat with a grunt. He glanced at his phone. No messages. Not from her.

He stared at her name sitting quietly in his contacts, thumb hovering. She won’t pick up.

He knew that.

But still.

He tapped the mic and started recording a voice note

“Heya love, hope you got there safe. I know things didn’t end well back there— but I’m not mad. I get it, I suck. I shouldn’t have said all those stuff. I just don’t want,” he paused. “To lose you again, ya know?” He chuckled awkwardly. “I’m a piece of shit, aren’t I?”

A note to self.

“Ya know what? Let’s go to that sushi place you like. On me. I wanna talk and I wanna say sorry— properly. I’ll even break up with Becky if you asked me to,” he chuckled. “I’ll pick you up when you’re done with your shift, ‘kay? Love ya.”

And send-

Lana Mate. I’m with Becky. She came to mine looking for you. Call me NOW.

Billy blinked.

“…Fucking hell.”

His thumb hovered again and exited the chat.

not delivered.

a/n: hey everyone, it’s me i’m back lol. I had a really bad writer’s block. I felt like everything I write is shit and I hate everything I write. I scratch everything I write so I’m so sorry for the lack of activity. But here’s a little treat for you. Something I wrote overnight hehe. Enjoy🫰🏻Thanks for reading💫

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alicesivory · 1 month ago

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friendly reminder that you are in fact capable of of writing period pieces about könig without making him completely reprehensible or a literal n*zi. God forbid he’s a reclusive Austrian farmer or an honourable knight sworn to protect you or a pagan convert turned Christian monk who falls in love with a nun or a germanic tribesman who falls in love with a Roman woman etc. (giving away gold here btw) either pick up an Austrian history book (or a European history book in general) and get creative or just stick to the present. Y’all are gross

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alicesivory · 2 months ago

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Girl!Dad Billy taking his chubby little baby to the pool, she's strapped to his chest.

The sun in Hawkin's Indiana scorched the pavement, the air thick with chlorine and the sound of splashing kids. But Billy Hargrove wasn’t focused on any of that, not when his little girl was about to be strapped to his chest, adorable in every way. Billy was shirtless in a pair of low-slung black swim trunks, his skin gleaming from sunscreen and sweat, as his messy curls were pulled back loosely at the nape of his neck. A thin gold chain rested on his chest, glinting as he leaned over the shaded stroller to lift his daughter out—his baby girl.

“C’mon, princess,” he murmured low, his voice gravelly with sleep and irritation, “Daddy’s gotcha.”

She was chubby, drowsy, and dressed in a pink ruffled bathing suit with a tiny sun hat that barely stayed on her curly head. Billy gently bounced her against his bare chest, one strong hand supporting her bottom, the other shielding her eyes from the sun as they made their way toward the pool. Her pudgy fist clung to his necklace, tugging with baby strength that made him huff. Droll already coating his neck as she tugged the necklace into her mouth.

A few pool-goers spared curious glances—some at the heavily muscled man with the dangerous edge in his expression, others at the absolute softness with which he cradled the baby girl in his arms.

“Back the fuck up,” he muttered under his breath when a group of older kids splashed too close as he turned his body away to shield her.

He took a seat on the shallow end stairs, dipping just his legs in while keeping her propped up carefully on his lap. She gurgled happily, her toes curling as the cool water touched them. He smiled—just a little. Just enough.

Behind him, stretched out on a lounge chair under a striped umbrella, you slept soundly, arms loosely draped across your stomach, your bikini top tied askew from sunbathing earlier. Billy glanced back at you, the corner of his mouth twitching up. He loved you like this—peaceful, relaxed, trusting him enough to watch her while you dozed.

Some teenager whistled nearby.

Billy’s eyes snapped to them with laser precision.

“You look again, and I’m drowning your scrawny ass in the deep end.”

The kid disappeared real fast.

He kissed the crown of his daughter’s head and sighed.

“Mommy’s got the right idea,” he whispered to her. “She gets to nap while I deal with all the little pricks.”

His daughter squealed, kicking happily in the water, her soft tummy wriggling in excitement. Billy grinned, catching her wet feet in his big hands, pretending to nibble on her toes while she shrieked with laughter.

Yeah. He used to rule the pool with cigarettes and swagger.

Now he guarded it like a territorial golden retriever with a baby in one arm and a scowl for anyone who looked twice.

And honestly?

He liked this version of himself a hell of a lot more

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alicesivory · 2 months ago

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kiss him with chocolate lips

billy hargrove x fem!reader

gif by @biillys

word count: 1,837

warnings: swearing, some sexual references/themes, allusions to sexy adult things, play-fighting, reader and billy being in love and that love language is being little shits to each other (also acts of service), smooching and one use of the word saliva

synopsis: you decide to bake cookies, and billy decides he must be included, but you’d never let your cookies perish in return for an insatiable man.

a/n: hii!! i came up with a few lines of dialogue for billy a little bit ago, and then they just sat in my notes app because i couldn’t think of what to do with them. halfway through writing this, something i wanted to be sweet and silly, i felt lost and didn’t know how to end it or where to go with it, and started looking for inspiration. but then it came to me! and i’m very happy with how this turned out. i hope you like it! happy reading <33

————

Your hands are buried wrist deep in cookie dough, because you got sick of the shitty spatula not doing its job.

You keep folding it in and over itself, trying to get all the chocolate chips and dry ingredients properly combined. You feel like the cookies just don’t turn out right if you don’t get in there and make sure it’s the way it’s meant to be.

You reach over and grab a handful of mini chips to toss in your mouth. You have this mixture of regular size ones, minis, and chunks that you swear by.

“You missed the bowl.”

A pair of large, warm hands slide over your waist, pinkies grazing over that spot where your pelvis dips because they know that’s your ticklish spot and just want to see you squirm.

“Fuck off, prick.”

Billy smiles into the soft and slightly sweaty skin of your neck, peppering kisses in a trail from your collarbone to your earlobe. You nudge him with your shoulder, trying to ward him off.

He licks a stripe up the back of your neck. And if you weren’t making an effort to look annoyed by his presence, your eyes might’ve just rolled back into your head.

Instead you let out a sort of strangled howl to emphasize your agony. You are busy, after all. Making cookies you know he’ll eat before you can have any for yourself. You’ll have to hide some this time.

You elbow Billy in the stomach, but his hands never leave your hips. He’s chuckling lightly, enjoying every minute of teasing you and being the biggest nuisance he can be.

“I should castrate you,” you say, rubbing your nose with your forearm to avoid spreading cookie dough all over your face.

Billy laughs into your neck, the tip of his nose cold against your warm skin. “Oh, but you like that part of me too much, baby.”

You scoff. “Dick.”

He places a finger on your chin so that you’ll meet his gaze. “Exactly.”

“I hate you,” you say, your eyes boring into his and saying anything but. They’re practically twinkling just looking at him.

He hooks another finger under your chin and coaxes you closer, “I know,” he smiles, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that tastes like chocolate chips.

The flavor being on his mouth makes you pull away in shock. You put your hands on your hips and feign being absolutely appalled and ashamed.

“You come in here, on my ass, when yours has been fillin’ up on chocolate for how long?” You raise up on your tippy toes, trying your best to get in his face. He bends slightly to make it easier for you.

His gaze drags over each of your pretty features in that way he knows gives you goosebumps. “You think you just get to eat ‘em all or something?”

You press your hand to his chest. “I bought the damn things, Hargrove. And I think, as the woman making the cookies, I’m entitled to eat as many chocolate chips as I want.”

Billy leans in again and kisses you, but this time it’s slow, too slow, and sensual. The kind that feels like it lasts forever but in reality was a few seconds. One that really should last forever. It makes your brain go all fuzzy.

He drags his hand up your spine and pulls back. “Yes, ma’am.”

Your stomach flips, your blood rushing to all the important parts of your body because he knows just what buttons to push and you despise him for it. Cocky little shit.

“Now look who can use his manners,” you say, your voice taking on a sing-songy lilt. Billy grins at you, biting his lip, and then returns to his place behind you.

You both settle down, quieting and melting into each other's presence. Billy watches over your shoulder as you pour in more chocolate chips. He knows you always hate it when people cheat you out of your chocolate.

“I need a tray, B, can you get one for me?”

He pats your ass and moves to the designated cabinet without answering. He rips out a sheet of parchment paper without you having to ask. You always say that the bottoms don’t burn as easily that way, or you quote something from a cooking show you watched on tv that morning.

He brings the cookie sheet back to you and then pushes up so he’s sitting on the counter next to you, bare thighs pressing into the cold stone.

You pass him the rest of the chocolate chips to snack on and bend to kiss his knee. He blushes. You’ve been together for a few years now, but each time you give him affection in small, uncommon ways, it makes him feel like teenage boy.

Billy watches you separate the dough into even-ish chunks before sliding it all into the oven. He tilts his head back and tosses the rest of the chocolate chips into his mouth before hopping down from the counter.

He grabs your hips when he sees you move toward the sink. “Uh, uh. Go sit, mama. I’ll take care of it.” He knows you’re going to push back, and before you can he picks you up and places you in the living room.

You let out a small huff and walk right back to your starting point. There aren’t even that many dishes to wash anyway, but what’s the fun in cooperating with him?

“Billy.”

“Hm?” He’s squeezing soap all over the dishes you’d already pre-rinsed.

“Go sit your pretty ass down and let me do this.” You hear him laugh over the sound of the tap running and roll your eyes. He feels it. And he ignores you, squeezing out a sponge.

You wrap your arms around his waist and pull, trying to lift him up the way he had with you just moments before. You manage to heave him up just enough that his toes leave the tile and he cackles at your effort to be such an adorable irritant.

He looks at you over his shoulder, your brow creased in concentration, the tip of your tongue sticking out just slightly. “How’s that workin’ out for ya, princess?”

“It’s not my fault you’re so big and heavy and strong.”

His ego practically skyrockets, his brain picking out any bit of flattery you’ll offer him.

“Big and strong, huh?”

You cross your arms and spin around, hiding your wide smile before he can catch a glimpse at it. At how pleased you are to have riled him up. You let out a little petulant “Hmph!” and start to pad away. You know what’s coming though, and you try to pick up speed before you can be captured.

Billy’s arms are around your thighs in seconds. He’s managed to turn you around and lift you up, throwing you over your shoulder like it’s nothing, like this is a normal daily task. “I’ll show you big and strong, pretty baby.”

You beat playfully on his lower back, fighting off a fit of giggles. “Billy! Put me down motherfucker!” He’s laughing too, all too pleased with himself for being able to get you like this.

He pulls you down so you’re hanging onto his front and starts maneuvering you onto the couch. Your every nerve ending lights up when you feel Billy’s hand at the crown of your head, cradling you as he sets you down.

The gentle manner in which he handles you does not correlate to the way he kisses you.

Billy settles between your legs, grabbing your arms and coaxing them around his neck. He’s giving you a job, giving you instructions, and it makes your brain go quiet. Honing in on him, and nothing else. He’s all you can see, all you can smell, all you’re capable of thinking about.

One of his hands slips beneath your t-shirt and settles against the dip of your spine, allowing him to pull you upward, allowing him to mold your body to his without you even having to put in the effort to arch your back and meet him.

The other slips into the hair at the base of your neck, fingernails scratching over your scalp to get the goosebumps going, the heel of his hand rubbing determinedly at your skin, massaging it and reveling in the heat radiating off of you.

Each time you try to say something, Billy kisses you harder, laughing into your mouth. He’s getting sloppy, losing himself in the taste of chocolate and lip balm and you.

He sucks on your bottom lip, nips at it with his teeth, and it makes you let out a small, quiet moan. Billy slaps your thigh and you pull his hair. He groans, loud and unashamed. He shoves his knee in between your legs, meets the hottest, softest part of you and—

The timer on the microwave goes off.

Your cookies are finished.

You pull back from Billy’s warm mouth, because you can’t let your cookies burn. What kind of monster would you be, letting cookies perish for a man? Absolutely not.

His lips are still in a pout and there’s a string of saliva connecting the both of you.

Instead of laughing like you want, you groan, “Oh dear Christ, ew, Billy.”

While he’s processing that you just said “ew” to him, you slide out from underneath his arms and race to pull the finished cookies from the oven.

You’re carefully picking each cookie up and setting them on a cooling rack so they’ll become edible—without burning the skin off the roof of your mouth—sooner rather than later.

Billy finally appears in the kitchen and puts a hand against the counter. His brow creases like he’s just been told something very serious, though his mussed hair and flushed cheeks say otherwise.

“Did you just say ew to me, baby?” An evil smirk starts to appear on his face and he closes in on you. “You definitely don’t think it’s gross when I spit on your—”

You shove a warm cookie into his mouth before he can finish that sentence. His face takes on a comical expression of his surprise, but he happily chews on the melting chocolate chips you’ve provided him with. He does like the warm cookies the best.

You reach for a towel to clean off his face, but he moves too fast.

Billy is kissing you all over, your neck, your collarbones, your cheeks and forehead. He’s doing his damndest to get chocolate all over you as payback for your teasing little attitude.

“Billy!” you squeal, giggling and shrieking with joy.

“Take it back! Take back that fucking ew, princess, and you can go!” He’s cackling, tickling your sides.

“Okay, okay! I love your nasty ass, I do! Let me go!”

He removes his fingers from your hips and starts to wipe off your face with a wet cloth while you both catch your breath.

“Damn right you do.”

————

tagging: @clovermunson (i got you bestie)

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

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alicesivory · 3 months ago

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like what am I even for

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alicesivory · 4 months ago

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alicesivory · 4 months ago

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hello! do you still plan on updating old habits die hard? 🫶🏻

yes i am!! I’m just currently on a lil writer’s block and I’ve been so busy with uni but it’s on my docs as we speak😭😇 But it’s a ton of drafts (gotta fix it and post it asap atp) Stay tuned💙 And ty so much for waiting😭

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x reader

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alicesivory · 4 months ago

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‘Badlands’ (1973) dir. Terrence Malick

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alicesivory · 4 months ago

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Haunted [3/3]

could be a stand alone fic, but here's le previous chapter // epilogue // main masterlist

pairing: modern! Aemond Targaryen x female reader

warning: slight mature themes(these characters are at the age of 18!), mentions of murd3r and violence (but nothing too graphic)

wc: 6134

summary: an irreversible crime.

It was better to live a week with someone who loved me for what I was, then years of loneliness

The steam from the shower still clung to my skin, but the chill that ran through me now had nothing to do with the cold. It was as haunting as you could imagine it would be. I froze in my place as I stared at him. He panted —clearly he had been running.

His hands were red.

Thick, dark red.

Blood in his hands.

“Aemond,” I could only utter his name with a tremble.

“I didn’t mean it.”

His voice wasn’t confident like it usually was. He wasn’t standing tall this time. For once, he looked his age. I didn’t understand what was going on—or rather, I did, but I didn’t want to know. I was praying that he hadn’t done what I feared he did. “Aem-,” “I didn’t mean any of this!”

I pulled him inside, afraid if anyone was passing by. It would cause more trouble than it already has. “Calm down,” I tried to reassure, holding his hands. Not caring if my hands were tainted with blood as well. “Your hands are cold,” I muttered as I felt him trembling, cupping his hands in mine. “I…I…he’s gonna get cold,” he started to whimper and sob. Falling into my arms. I could do nothing but hold him. I didn’t want to acknowledge what was going on, for I knew it would just stir him into a deeper spiral and he will drag me down to it as well. The room felt smaller with every passing second. The air was thick, like it couldn’t decide whether to settle or suffocate us. Aemond’s weight was heavy against me—not just his body, but everything he was carrying.

I didn’t know how long we stood there. Minutes? Hours?

He had gone quiet. Too quiet.

I pulled back just enough to look at him. His eye was distant. Unfocused. Like he wasn’t in the room anymore.

“Aemond,” I whispered, brushing his hair back.

He blinked slowly. Then again. His jaw trembled before he finally rasped, “I…I lost control of myself, I…I didn’t…he went to our house, agreed to talk to me but I said the wrong thing, he was angry- I was angry and..,”

“What?”

His voice cracked. “Lucerys. He—I couldn’t even remember what happened.”

A sharp, invisible blade twisted in my chest.

“Just…me…standing there.”

“And then?”

Aemond pulled away from me, dragging both bloodied hands through his hair, leaving streaks of red in those silver strands.

“He was on the ground,” he said. “And the next thing I know, he just…bled.”

He looked at me then, truly looked at me, his eye hollowed out by something deeper than regret.

“I dropped the knife from my hand. Then I realized it.”

The silence that followed was louder than any scream.

Then the distant sound of sirens—faint, but unmistakable.

I did not know what should I say, honestly. Was I horrified and surprised that Aemond was capable to commit such crime? Of course I was. From every single outcome, I did not see murder in it. It shouldn’t be, h-he…he promised it would be harmless. I blinked, snapping myself back to reality as I stared at him. Aemond didn’t seem to care as he was also inside of his own head.

“We have to clean it up.”

He looked up at me. Not expecting me to say those words

I was sure that in his head, he was certain that I would scream and shout at him and even curse him and never want him to return. Slam the door in his face and leave him to rot in whatever hell he’d carved out for himself.

But I didn’t, didn’t I?

Maybe it was shock. Or maybe it was something deeper—something uglier—that I didn’t want to examine too closely. He stared at me, searching for something in my face. A sign. A signal. Maybe permission. Maybe damnation.

But all I gave him was a quiet, “We can’t let anyone see you like this.”

Aemond nodded slowly, like the words took time to reach him. His hands still shook. His breaths were shallow, fast. He looked like he wanted to be sick. Or disappear.

“Wash the blood off. I’ll… I’ll get something for your clothes.”

I didn’t even see him moving as I stood there, my legs felt like they didn’t belong to me. There was blood on the floor. Just a few drops. But it looked wrong here. Too real. Too red. It didn’t belong in this version of my life. I stared at it for a long time. Long enough that the edges of my vision felt like they were curling inward. Like the walls were tilting.

He had killed someone.

Not just someone.

Lucerys.

The boy who used to sit across from me at the school canteen. The boy who once laughed so hard he spilled juice all over his lap and his uniform. The boy who never knew when to shut up, but the sweetest boy I’ve ever met in my entire life.

Gone.

This changes everything.

Aemond returned. His silver hair was wet. His face scrubbed raw. But his clothes—still soaked, still clinging to him like a second skin of guilt.

“I couldn’t get it all off,” he murmured, voice hollow.

“It-it’s okay…we-we…we’ll just burn them, hm?” I said, starting to panic.

He flinched. Not because of the suggestion, but because of how easily it had come from me.

“You don’t have to do this,” he whispered.

“You came to me. And what shall I do when blood are in my hands as well?” I replied.

We were too far gone.

We didn’t speak much after that. What should speak about when there were things to do? Terrible, irreversible sins. I gave him my old hoodie and a pair of sweatpants—mine, oversized but a perfect fit on him, clean. His bloodied shirt lay limp on the bathroom tiles, dripping into a pool that had no business existing in a house like mine. I hurried and took it before hurriedly scrubbing the floor. “We don’t have time,” he warned. I looked back at him, unwavered and alarmed, “It’s my bathroom, isn’t it?” I snapped.

He didn’t answer.

No lights in the windows. No footsteps on the pavement. Just a stillness so thick it felt like even the moon was holding its breath. Aemond’s house was next door—but that made it worse, not better. Close enough to see from my bedroom window. Close enough that a single mistake would shatter whatever thin veil of normalcy we had left.

I pulled on gloves from beneath the kitchen sink—the kind my mom used for cleaning—and handed a pair to him. His hands slipped into them with quiet reluctance. The blood had already dried beneath his nails.

We exited through the back.

The grass was damp beneath our shoes. Each step felt deafening in the silence. Aemond moved ahead, unlocked the side door to his house. No creak. No light.

Inside, the air was heavy. Like the house itself knew.

He led me to his room.

Lucerys was still there.

He looked so small.

Pale, stiff , and lifeless.

There was a moment where I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do anything but stare at the boy who was supposed to walk back out of this house earlier. Who was supposed to go home. Who wasn’t supposed to die here.

I think Aemond said something. I didn’t hear it.

But somehow we moved.

I wiped the floor making sure that it had no stain or whatsoever as he wrapped the body in an old bedsheet—navy blue, like it could hide the color beneath it. The shape was awkward. Too human to ignore. I didn’t gag. Not once. That scared me more than anything. We took him out the same way we came in—through the back. Across the strip of grass that separated our houses. Every rustle of leaves felt like a gunshot. Every shadow on the porch made my heart slam against my ribs.

But we made it.

Into his garage.

His infamous black car.

The same car I saw a few months back.

Never in my life would even think that all of that would lead to a death of a boy.

I helped him unlock the trunk of my car with trembling fingers and we slid him inside like luggage. The sound he made—soft, final—will never leave my head. We didn’t use words. We couldn’t. It was all movement now—raw, mechanical. Numbness was a mercy I hadn’t expected.

We didn’t use words. We couldn’t. It was all movement now—raw, mechanical. Numbness was a mercy I hadn’t expected.

We drove.

No headlights. No music. No conversation.

Only the sound of the road, and our breathing, shallow and sharp in the dark.

The place we chose was a clearing, tucked behind rows of trees that had long since forgotten the touch of a human footprint. The soil was soft from the last rain. The same soil we stepped on every single week for the past month. Everything was too overwhelming as the same ground I stepped in was now tainted with our crimes. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. The same trees, the same rocks, the same creek that we both used to sit beside and had conversations. The silly ritual, it wasn’t supposed to end in a murder.

It felt like hours, but it didn’t take long.

We walked further to go deeper and find the source—the river. It was deep enough to let the body drown. I also saw Aemond burning his shirt, letting it slowly burn above the river. And when it’s just right, he lets it drop to the water.

By the time we finished, our hands were shaking for the same reason.

The silence on the drive back was louder than before. Like the air itself was holding its breath. I couldn’t speak to him, nor him to me. The silence in the car wasn’t awkward. It was deliberate. Like an understanding passed between us—no more questions, not yet. The road stretched ahead as I didn’t know where we were heading. But definitely not home.

Aemond drove like he had done this before. Not recklessly, not slowly—just steady. Focused. His jaw tight, profile calm, lit now and then by the passing streetlamps. He looked like marble, carved to withstand storms. His grip on the wheel wasn’t trembling. It was firm. Controlled. Like he was holding all of this together as he tried to remove the tension on his shoulder and neck, letting it crack as he slightly stretched it.

I didn’t say a word. I didn’t have to. The weight between us spoke louder than any whisper.

We were out of town now. Darkness opened wide, stretching into forests and empty stretches of highway. I looked back and saw a place that I once called home, now abandoned by us.

The road kept unfolding ahead of us, like it would never end. Like it knew we couldn’t stop. I watched the subtle changes—the way his shoulder rose when the silence got too heavy, the way he blinked slower than usual, like his thoughts were running ahead of him.

“I used to drive out like this,” he said finally, eyes fixed on the void beyond the windshield. “Middle of the night. No one knowing where I went. It made me feel like I existed on the edge of something.”

“And now?” I asked quietly.

He exhaled through his nose. “Now I don’t know if I’m running from something or just trying to get far enough away.”

We fell quiet again, but it was softer now. Not cold. Just… tired.

“You didn’t look afraid,” I said after a while.

His eye flicked toward me. Just briefly. “Would it have changed anything if I did?”

“No, but it would’ve felt more real.”

“It is real,” he said, his voice firm. “All of it. I just can’t let it break me. Not now.”

I studied him for a moment. There was something impossibly composed about him in that moment—not detached, but deliberate.

“Do you regret it?” I asked, unsure which part of this I even meant.

He hesitated, fingers tapping once against the steering wheel.

“I regret dragging you into it.”

“You walked in.”

He went quiet again. The lights of the highway danced over his profile. Marble and shadow. Ice and blood. But from the corner of my eye, I saw his hand moved from the gearshift to rest over the space between us. Not touching me. Just close enough.

“Maybe this is just who we are now.”

I looked down at his hand. The one that had once been slick with blood. Now steady. Open.

I placed mine on top of his.

He didn’t flinch.

“We keep driving,” he said.

“And then what?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I want you there when we find out.”

The night swallowed the rest of our words. But they weren’t needed.

We drove. No destination. Just the two of us, stitched together by shared silence, terrible choices, and something we didn’t dare name yet—but whatever it was, it was real.

And right now, it was all we had.

The road eventually spit us out near a stretch of neon signs and empty parking lots. The first signs of morning were creeping in—not bright, not warm, just that washed-out grey where night and day blurred together like someone smudged the horizon.

Aemond pulled into the lot of a diner with a flickering red sign: OPEN 24 HRS. It buzzed like a fly trapped behind glass, and inside, the light spilled amber onto the pavement, cutting through the dark. He stopped the car and got out first. I didn’t think much of it as I unbuckled my seatbelt, still thinking of what we have left back in town. I reached the door handle and as I was about to push it open, Aemond was also reaching out to open the door for me. I didn’t expect him to do that—he didn’t need to. My cheeks turned into a gentle shade of coral as we stumbled a little, him pulling the door awkwardly as I also pushed it a little.

“Thank you,” I mumbled. He only nodded, but I swore I saw a small smile in return as we both headed towards the diner.

The bell above the door chimed as we stepped inside. The place smelled like grease, burnt coffee, and something sweet lingering in the air—maybe syrup from someone else’s breakfast an hour too early.

We chose a booth on the corner. Cracked red vinyl, table slightly sticky from years of unspoken stories. Aemond sat across from me, his face unreadable under the warm yellow light. For a second, the weight of everything disappeared. Just two people. Early morning. No one else around, only an old truck driver a few tables from ours. Just two people who didn’t commit murder a few hours earlier.

Except we knew better.

A menu was already on the table, laminated and curling at the edges. Neither of us opened it.

“You should eat,” Aemond said, his voice steady now. Quiet, but not cold. Just low enough to make me lean in to hear him.

I didn’t answer right away. Just studied him—his hands resting on the table, no longer shaking. His hair slightly messy, strands falling in front of his eye. The blood was gone, but the night was still on him, clinging to the space between his shoulders. I wonder if he had dinner yet before the events of what happened. He looked tired-

“I’m okay,” he said, like he could tell what I was thinking.

I smiled a little, “We can share.”

Aemond smirked. It made my heart skip a beat.

The waitress approached. “What can I get you two?”

“Uhm cheeseburger and fries,” I said.

“Fish and chips..and coffee. Black,” Aemond added.

The waitress scribbled our order,“Any drinks for you, hon?” She asked. “Just tap water is fine,” I said with a polite smile. She nodded, scribbled it down for the last time and walked away.

I looked out the window. The parking lot was empty. The sky still pale and dead. Everything felt like it was suspended—like we weren’t part of the world anymore. Just drifting through it.

“We can’t go back,” I said quietly.

“No,” he replied. “We won’t.”

I turned to him again. “Then where?”

Aemond didn’t answer right away. Just watched me with that same unreadable calm.

There was no grand gesture. No promises of forever. Just two people sitting in a diner, hearts still racing from the night before, quietly deciding not to be alone anymore. The coffee came. The world outside kept turning.

“Let’s keep driving,” I said.

“Yeah?” he asked.

I nodded. “We should disappear.”

Aemond’s thumb brushed against the inside of my wrist, slow. Tender. “I’ll never let them find you,” he said.

I believed him.

We ate our breakfast slowly. Not wanting to the road, just wanting to savour our last normal breakfast. My eyes flickered from time to time to see him enjoying his chips and coffee. The booth creaked when he shifted, the vinyl sticky from years of late-night drunks and truckers passing through. The kind of place that didn’t ask questions, didn’t remember faces. It felt safe in the strangest way. I watched the way his lips moved when he chewed, the way the dark circles under his eyes caught the yellow of the overhead lights. Yet he was grounded. Steady. Somehow invincible, even now.

He caught me looking. Didn’t say anything—just offered a fry off his plate. I took it, brushing his fingers by accident. Or maybe not. But I smiled either way.

His gaze lingered a little longer this time.

“Do you think they’ll talk about us?” I asked finally, turning my gaze towards my food instead with my voice low, barely above the hum of the old fridge behind the counter.

Aemond took another sip of coffee, swallowed. “They’ll talk about him. Not us.”

A pause.

“Good,” I said.

He looked at me, something unreadable in his face. “You’re not scared?”

I shook my head. “I think the moment you knocked on my door… I stopped being scared of the wrong things. I just hope our names would be forgotten one day. It’ll be easier for them.”

Aemond’s jaw twitched—just a little. His fingers tapped against the ceramic mug.

“Everyone thinks they know who we are,” he said, his voice softer now.

“They don’t,” I said. “Not really.”

A flicker of something passed behind his eye. Not guilt. Not grief. Something older. Deeper.

“Come here,” he murmured.

I leaned in.

He reached over the table, resting his hand against my jaw, thumb brushing the curve of my cheek. The contact made my pulse stumble, but I didn’t pull away. He looked at me like I was the only thing in the room that was real.

“You still don’t have to come with me,” he said, barely a whisper.

“I can’t crawl back,” I breathed back.

He nodded once. Like he already knew.

The moment held. Stretched. We didn’t kiss. It wasn’t the time. But something passed between us—an unspoken promise buried deep, beneath blood and silence and what we had done. I reached out to his scarred eye. “You think people will recognize us?” Aemond sighed, “Shall I dye my hair then one day?”

I chuckled at the thought, “We’ll see.”

And when the last drop of his coffee was gone, when the sun began to bleed through the clouds outside, we rose from the booth without a word. We paid in cash. Left quietly, hand in hand. The waitress didn’t even glance up.

The bell jingled as we stepped out into the morning light.

His hand in mine. And that was enough to keep going.

We drove a few hours as the morning sun shone above. Far much comfortable than the dead of night. But sleep was trying to get me—I yawned, blinking away the heaviness creeping into my limbs. Not the time to doze off, I told myself. Aemond seemed to notice yet said nothing. Until we finally reached another local town, miles away from home. I looked around as Aemond drove slowly.

Aemond slowed the car as we passed through, eyes flicking to the mirrors.

“Are we settling here?” I asked, my voice low, hoarse from silence.

He didn’t answer right away. Just kept driving until we turned down an alley behind what looked like an old mechanic’s garage. The building looked abandoned from the front, but the side door was slightly ajar.

He killed the engine.

“We’re not staying,” he finally said, glancing at me. “We’re switching.”

I blinked, still shaking the sleep from my head. “Switching?”

“They’ll notice my car’s missing. They’ll get suspicious and might track us down. Plates are real, someone’ll recognize the make. Too risky.”

Before I could ask how he knew this or where the hell he even found this place, Aemond got out of the car as the back door of the garage opened and a man stepped out. Mid-forties. Oil-stained hands. The kind of guy you wouldn’t remember if you passed him twice.

He nodded once at Aemond as Aemond approached the man. They shook hands, exchanging a conversation with Aemond pointing at the car and me. He looked so mature and attractive standing tall to make a transaction. He owns his himself. They disappeared inside, leaving me with my thoughts. But my thoughts were only whispering me to go to sleep. Just a little nap, it won’t be a problem. Just count to 10.

One

Two

Three

Four…

Five..

Six..

Seven..

Eight…

Nine..

Te- “Honey? You okay in there?”

My eyes snapped open, finding the source of that voice. It was Aemond, leaning on the car’s driver door. Wait- did he just called me honey? But it all made sense when the old man came up beside him. Aemond must’ve told him a pretty convincing story. “Uhm, yeah I’m fine,” I said, trying to sound a little bubbly. “Sorry, it has been a long trip for us,” Aemond fake apologized the old man. “It’s quite alright you two. I get how young marriage could take a toll out of ya.”

Aemond handed him the keys while the old man hand him an envelope full of wad of folded bills. Then turned to me.

“C’mon,” he tilts his head towards the new car.

I obeyed, stepping out into the sunlight that felt a little too bright for what we were doing. The man disappeared inside again, only to return with a different car. An older pickup truck. Dark blue. Scuffed paint. Nothing you’d look at twice.

Perfect.

We climbed in—me on the passenger side, Aemond slipping into the driver’s seat like he’d owned the car for years. The keys fit. The engine rumbled to life.

“What did you tell the guy?” I asked once we were rolling again, the old tires humming under us.

Aemond gave the faintest hint of a smirk, putting the car on reverse to exit the place. “That we were newlyweds. Heading out for a spontaneous road trip to escape the noise of the city.”

I raised a brow with an amused chuckle, shifting my whole body to take a good look at him. “You planned all of this, didn’t you?”

“I had... options in place,” he said with a smirk. “Can you help me with this?” Aemond handed me the envelope full of cash

“What’s with the cash?” I asked, shoving it in on the front compartment. “My car was worth a fortune. I chose this car and…it wasn’t worth a quarter of mine. So in return, he gave me the cash.”

I watched him in silence, watching the way the morning sun caught the strands of silver in his hair. The way his knuckles flexed against the steering wheel. He looked calm—too calm—but it wasn’t fake. It was like he’d already made peace with the weight of what they’d done. Or maybe he hadn’t, and this was just his way of carrying it.

I nodded understandably.

A beat.

“You really called me honey back there,” I teased softly, a smile twitching at the corner of my lips. He glanced over at me with a small, crooked grin. “Played the part, didn’t I?”

“You played it too well,” I said, turning toward the window to hide the warmth blooming across my cheeks.

He chuckled under his breath, but it faded into a long silence. Not uncomfortable—just full. Like something hovered in the space between us that neither of us wanted to say just yet.

I rested my head against the glass, watching as the town faded behind us. “Where are we going now?”

“West, I think,” he answered as he squinted his healthy eye. “I know a place we can lie low for a while. Remote. Quiet.”

“And after that?”

He hesitated for the first time, and then shrugged. “We still need new clothes, though. And a tooth brush, and a shampoo,” I informed him. Aemond sighed and drove us to the nearest local retail store.

We drove a few hours before stopping again at a small gas station tucked at the edge of nowhere. One of those quiet, blinking-beacon places you only find when you're halfway between something and nothing. I stepped out to order takeout for the both of us while Aemond stayed behind to fill up our new car, the low hum of the pump mixing with the distant chirping of birds waking to the late morning sun.

Our new car.

The phrase echoed in my head like a fragile truth I wasn’t sure I had permission to speak. Our. I shook it off and focused on waiting by the greasy counter, tapping my fingers against the warm paper bag once it was handed to me.

I stepped outside just as he was screwing the gas cap back in place. “Ready to go?” I asked, my voice light. He looked up, meeting my gaze with something unreadable in his expression. “Yeah, just wait a sec.”

He paid in cash, as always. No trace. No plastic. Then he got behind the wheel again and pulled us back onto the road—but not for long. Within minutes, he veered off, tires crunching over gravel as he eased the truck down an old dirt path under the shadow of a rusted, elevated train track. My eyes widened with confusion—a little scared with all honesty. We were hidden here—surrounded by tall weeds and low branches, the air buzzing faintly with power lines above us.

I turned to him, confused. “Aem, why are we stopping?”

He shifted in his seat, then glanced over his shoulder toward the back. “Uhm… can you go to the backseat?”

A breath of laughter escaped me. “Why?”

“I…I wanna eat with you,” he said, matter-of-fact. But there was a boyish glint in his eye. Like he knew exactly what he was doing. I narrowed my eyes in mock suspicion, but the corners of my mouth betrayed me, tugging into a smile. “Fine,” I muttered, climbing between the seats, careful not to spill the food.

I’d barely settled when Aemond opened his door and circled around, sliding in beside me in the back. He didn’t speak at first—just reached for the bag, placing it on the seat beside us. The moment hung suspended in the air, neither of us reaching for the food. His knee brushed mine. I turned toward him, only to find him already watching me.

And then—without a word—he reached up and cupped my cheek.

And then he kissed me.

Not rushed. Not urgent. Just… real.

His lips met mine with purpose, like he wasn’t asking for anything—just giving. It was warm. Unshaken. As if, in that fragile second, he wanted to feel something alive again. To prove that he could still touch something that wasn’t soaked in blood or guilt.

My fingers curled against his shirt, breath catching at the simple tenderness of it. Of him.

He pulled back just an inch, our bodies close with each other.

A smile tugged from both of our lips.

“I’ve wanted to do that since…I can’t even remember,” he murmured, his voice low, honest.

I smiled, still breathless. “What took you so long?”

He chuckled softly, fingers still grazing the edge of my jaw. “There wasn’t a good time for a kiss, wasn’t it?”

We both laughed then—quietly, a little broken, but real.

We didn’t leave that spot for what seemed like hours. The world forgot about us and, for once, we let it. Trains passed above every now and then, their thunder rolling like distant applause to a performance no one else would ever see. The rhythm of wheels over metal echoed in waves, a lullaby for the damned.

I was in his arms, my back against his chest, legs tucked sideways across the seat as he held me close. One arm wrapped securely around my waist, the other lazily trailing patterns across my thigh, fingers sketching invisible futures. I rested my head beneath his jaw, his heartbeat a steady reassurance under my ear. A kiss or two—well, more than two kisses. Multiple kisses exchanged that day as we smiled and giggled. Like normal teenagers would. Normal eighteen year olds.

We didn’t talk about what we’d done. Not here. Not yet.

Instead, we talked about everything else.

“You ever wanted to go to Dorne?” I asked at some point, my voice barely a whisper.

His hand stilled for a moment, then resumed its slow path. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Somewhere warm.”

“And lots of sand.”

He chuckled with a nod

I shifted slightly, enough to tilt my head back and glance at him. His expression was unreadable, soft in the way that only quiet ruin makes a person soft. He looked at me like he could still see a version of tomorrow where we weren’t hunted by the shadows of our choices.

“What about you?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “If you could start over anywhere.” I thought about it. About oceans and faraway cities, about blank pages and fake names. But in the end, I just said, “Wherever you are.” He stilled. His breath hitched—not in fear, but something else. Maybe awe. Maybe disbelief. His hand slid up to cradle my cheek again as he kissed the top of my head. “You don’t know what that does to me when you say things like that.”

“I mean it,” I said. “I don’t know where we’re going, honestly.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against mine, lips brushing softly against mine again—not hungry this time. Just reverent. Like he was afraid I might vanish if he touched me too hard.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, quietly, like a vow.

The sun began its lazy descent. Golden light filtered through the trees, painting us in amber.

“Where do you wanna settle down?” I asked, feeling his arms around me. “Pentos sounds nice,” he hums, nuzzling his nose to my hair. “yeah?” I looked up to him with a gentle smile. “Yeah…just a nice house we could afford…maybe two kids.” The idea made me giggle happily.

When the sky goes dark, we drove in silence again, our hands occasionally brushing between the gear shifts and turns. The sky had shifted from a sharp blue to a muted gold, the late afternoon sun washing the world in soft amber. It wasn’t the end of the road, but it was the end of the first day on the run.

Aemond pulled into the cracked asphalt lot of a roadside motel—one of those places that hadn’t been renovated since the '80s. The neon sign buzzed overhead, flickering as if it, too, was keeping secrets. He cut the engine and looked over at me.

“We’ll stay here tonight,” he said, his voice quieter now. Less like he was running from something, and more like he was finally letting himself breathe. I nodded, not needing convincing. I stepped out, with the envelope of cash in my hands while aemond took our new stuff we bought in a retail store earlier.

Inside the motel office, we were greeted with a staff who was possibly underpaid, lazily flipping through his magazine. “One room for two, please,” Aemond said, holding my hand with a good grip. The clerk barely looked up. Just reached over, slid a dusty registration card toward Aemond, and gestured at the bell jar of keys behind him.

“No smoking and no noise, he muttered, voice coated in monotony.

Aemond nodded once, sharp and respectful, and filled out the fake name without pause. His handwriting was steady and he paid in cash. Crisp bills folded and placed with intent. I watched his profile in the amber light of the lobby—sharp lines, calm eyes, the quiet confidence of someone who’d already accepted the worst and was carrying it anyway.

The man slid us the key—Room 9—along with a weak smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Enjoy your night.”

Outside again, the air had cooled. The motel was eerily still, save for the soft hum of bugs and the distant sound of a TV behind another door. Our shoes scuffed softly against the concrete walkway. Room 9 was near the end of the row. Farthest from the lobby.

Aemond unlocked the door and stepped inside first. I followed, letting the door close behind me with a muted thud.

The room was...just what you'd expect. Stale air, pink muted wallpaper, one double bed with a floral spread that had seen better decades. A small box TV. Faint smell of pine cleaner and mildew.

But it was ours. For now.

He tossed the bag of our necessities onto the dresser and turned to me.

“This alright?” he asked, voice soft.

“Yeah,” I murmured. “It’s better than nothing.”

Aemond took a few steps closer, now standing right in front of me. Close enough that I could smell the faint scent of his cologne, faded under the long drive and stress. Close enough to feel the tension still simmering in his shoulders. “I’ll take the floor if you want,” his tone genuine and careful. Something that made my chest tighten.

“No,” I said quietly, shaking my head. “You don’t have to.”

He nodded once. No questions. No assumptions.

Just us, tangled in this strange, fragile pocket of time, where the world hadn’t quite caught up yet. Aemond sat down on the edge of the bed and looked over his shoulder at me. “Come here.”

I crossed the room and sat beside him, our knees brushing. He reached for my hand again, not as tight this time.

Just grounding.

The neon sign buzzed outside.

“Aem?” “Yeah?” “Why did you lose control?” A question that must be asked, one way or another.

Aemond sighs, pulling me closer to him. His arms around my waist and buried his nose to my neck. “I just wanted to scare him. What he did to my eye…I haven’t forgive him. And I just…wanted to see him scared. Just once, I swear. But…he started accusing me of nonsense- I wanted him to hurt.” He squeezed me hard. Scared that I’ll be afraid and run away from him. “I didn’t mean it to happen. I thought…the ritual would work and I wanted him to feel what I felt when he took my eye. I’m not a murderer. I never wanted him to die. I just wanted him to hurt. But not dead.”

Everything unfolds in front of me. I let everything sink in.

If I were any normal person, I would run away and call the cops.

But I didn’t. Instead, I caressed his sharp jaw, tilting his face up towards me. His beautiful purple eye staring back at me. I traced his face gently with my fingertips, letting him be vulnerable and an open book. I saw him as he is. A person who wanted to be understood, not wanting to suffer such burden alone. I touched his scar gently, not letting it make me see him differently. Any sane person would run away, but instead I ran away with him. Gently pressing my lips into his.

a/n: Thank you so much for reading everyone! This won't be the last chapter, there will be an epilogue coming soon but if you want this to be the ending, I don't mind hehe :3 I'm also so sorry for not updating sooner, I've been soooo busy T-T.

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